Michelle Styles - The Gladiator's Honor

'Julia, where are you going?'

'I am going to where I should have been in the first place. Where I belong.'

Chapter Eighteen

In the gladiator's enclosure, Valens listened to the cheers for Tigris and tried to be happy for him and Maia. All the years of long hard work had paid off. He had won the ultimate prize.

On any other day, he'd be happy for Tigris, but not today. Today it gave Fortunata another chance to laugh at him. Once again, he had encountered Fate's slippery pole. Just as his hand reached out to grasp the final ring, it had been pulled from him. Valens gave a bitter laugh.

Last night, he had refused to let Julia make a choice, afraid of what she might choose. It now came back to haunt him. Yes, he could purchase his way out of the profession by selling everything he owned—but what then could he offer Julia?

He heard the cheers as Tigris came back in, wooden sword held aloft for all to see. He carefully composed his face and strode over to Tigris, hugged him tightly to his chest and then released him. 'Absolutely marvellous. I am so proud for you and for Maia.'

Tigris clasped Valens's forearm. 'Thank you kindly, my old friend. Without you, I would not be here today to enjoy this honour.'

His eyes said words that his mouth did not.

'I am truly happy for you, Tigris,' Valens repeated. 'I can't think of anyone who deserves it more.'

'And you? What will you do?' Tigris nodded towards where Aquilia lounged, the only gladiator not to have congratulated Tigris on his good fortune.

'I'll fight.' Valens held up the palms of his hands. 'It is in the lap of the gods but I have a job to do.

'He will be tough, but I will find his weakness, you can count on that. He will not turn me to stone. Tonight we will be raising our winecups in celebration of your freedom.'

The trumpets sounded and another pair of gladiators walked out into the arena. Valens began his final preparations, taking comfort in the small automatic rituals of checking his equipment

Julia stared at the two security guards, standing with their axes crossed, preventing her from entering the area.

'I had a ticket I tell you,' she said searching through the folds in her shawl for a third time. 'Maia, Tigris's wife, gave it to me this morning before the parade.'

The security guards exchanged a look.

'That is what they all say.'

'No, honestly.' Julia felt the panic rising in her throat She had lost the ticket All her plans were going to be ruined. She had decided to make a stand and now these two oafs blocked her way.

She started to readjust her stola and her hand touched Val-ens's brooch. She undid it and held it out to the security guard.

'You say you work for Strabo, but do you recognise this? It belongs to Valens the Thracian gladiator. He gave it to me…'

She waited as the two guards consulted. One went off. The trumpets blew, signalling the start of another bout, and Julia stood on her tiptoes, trying to see. Each glimpse was precious. She felt sure Valens would look towards the family enclosure. He had to see what she had done. That she had made her decision in the most public way possible.

'All right,' the burly guard came back. 'I've spoken to the boss. You can go in. He has seen Valens wear that brooch. No trickery, mind you. They are about to signal the last bout.'

Julia clasped her hands together, took a deep breath and started forward. The trumpets blared a complicated fanfare and she began to run. She made her way to the edge of the enclosure, pushing past various people, trying to see what was going on in the arena. When she reached the front, she looked directly at the box and nodded to her father.

A small stab of pleasure filled her as she watched Sabina notice and point. She waved back and watched Sabina's face grow redder and redder. She saw her stepmother start to make angry gestures. It felt wonderful to watch Sabina impotent for once, reduced to merely opening and closing her mouth.

There was no point in thinking about what might have been. She had reached her discrimen , her dividing line, and gone beyond it. Now she could only go forwards.

'The die is cast,' she whispered, quoting the line from Meander's famous play. 'Let my die fall where they will.'

She noticed a man gesturing towards her.

'I'm Strabo, the owner of this school and you are…' The man in a badly fitting wig leant towards her.

'Julia Antonia.' At Strabo's hooded look, she hesitated. Then she tightened her hold on the brooch. 'Valens's woman.'

'Bah, he has no woman. He is a lone wolf.'

Julia held out the brooch. 'He does now.'

'Just so.' Strabo touched the side of his nose and his lips stretched to the briefest of smiles. 'Afterwards we talk, but now the fun begins.'

Julia's breath stopped in her throat. She watched Valens stride out of the tunnel, looking every inch the perfect warrior. This morning's brilliant splendour of silver had been replaced by much more mundane steel. Even from where she sat, Julia could see the hammered-out dents from previous battles. She had expected Valens to come out carrying his helmet like the other gladiators had done, but his visor was firmly locked on his head.

She stood up, trying to make it easier for him to spot her, to see what she had done. He never looked her way. Julia sank down, her knees trembling too much to hold her.

The trumpets played a faint mournful tune, then a great cheer went up through the crowd.

'What does that mean?'

'It is a signal for a fight to the death. I hope Caesar understands how much this pair is worth. Whatever happens, his purse will be much lighter,' Strabo answered, leaning forward.

Julia felt ice invade her veins. She wanted to run and hide, but her feet were rooted to the spot and she was unable to tear her eyes away. Her hand curled around the brooch and she started to pray as she had never prayed before. He had to live, to survive.

At the sound of the trumpets, Valens started forward. He gave his helmet one last click and did not acknowledge Aquilia's snarl. His gaze swept around the arena again searching for Julia. If she were anywhere in the arena, she would be under the watchful eye of her father. Valens made a quick check of the purple-draped box—there was no sign of her.

His heart constricted. He had hoped to see her one last time before this bout, but the gods had decreed he would not. He gave a bow to Caesar and to the rest of the occupants and then crouched in his stance, waiting for Aquilia to make the first move.

They circled each other, testing and probing for strengths and weaknesses. Valens moved forward and slashed with his sword. Aquilia jumped away.

'You will have to do better than that, Tribune,' he called, wiping a hand across his mouth before spitting at Valens's feet.

'Why do you call me a tribune?' Valens blocked a thrust from Aquilia's trident.

Aquilia's eyes narrowed. 'Because I remember you. I remember every last detail about your time with me. The feel of the deck beneath my feet, the smell of salt and blood in my nose. There is a certain sweetness to the stench.'

The horror of the fetid pirate's hold swept over Valens. He heard Aquilia's voice and remembered the time when Aquilia strode across the deck of the trireme with the power of death in his voice. He felt the cold creep of fear along his spine. How much did Aquilia remember that he had forgotten?

Valens used his shield to block a stab with the trident.

'I remember everything,' Aquilia's voice became singsong, lulling him, as hypnotic as a snake. Valens knew he should be concentrating on finding an opening, but Aquilia's voice sent out silken tendrils that caught his mind and dragged him back to those dark days. 'How you cried when your friends died, how you raged with anger when the ransom did not arrive, how you begged me to spare your life and sell you as a slave.'