She did not know whether it was hope or fear that sprang up in her. “And you are a Samaritan.”
Ares folded muscled arms over his chest. “What an interesting turn of fate, that one of the chosen shows up in the prison of a dog to beseech him for her virtue.”
Abigail did not so much as look away. She raised her chin a degree and returned, “Indeed. How blessed I am, that the Lord has brought me to the door of one who recognizes his sovereignty, when so easily I could have been given to a heathen.”
Ares’ face did not relax. He looked her up and down, but Abigail did not feel the same dart of lust from him that she did from the other men that had examined her that day. “You are deluded, Jewess, if you think you will ever get out of here. For five years I have been training and fighting within these walls, and I have watched the women rot and die from the treatment. And one with your beauty will be used the more roughly for it.”
“I know that.” Tears threatened to clog her throat, but she swallowed them away. “But my betrothed is an important man in the city, and when he discovers the betrayal that brought me here, he will come with all force necessary to save me. I promise you, you will be rewarded if you help me.”
“There is no reward that can entice me but freedom, and freedom is something only the emperor himself can grant. Tell me, Jewess, are you betrothed to the emperor?”
She saw no reason to answer such a question. “You have a wife and children. They are in Samaria, I presume?”
Ares only lifted his head, as if awaiting a blow.
“Tell me who they are, and I will see that they are well. I will do this no matter your decision concerning me, because I know what it is to lose a husband, to lose a father. To fear not seeing my child again.” She searched his eyes, looking for something, anything that would tell her she was reaching him. She saw nothing but the same even brown that had been looking on her for the past minute.
A long silence passed. Abigail’s gaze fell to the floor, her shoulders slumped. She felt despair crouching just behind her.
Ares’ voice split the air as an awl. “How long since you were in Israel?”
Startled by the question, she looked back up. “Six months.”
Ares tapped a finger against his arm. “Before I was captured, there was a man named John who traveled around the land, baptizing people in the name of one to come. My family and I heard his lessons with a yearning heart. Tell me, do you know what became of this man?”
Abigail grimaced. “John the Baptist was beheaded by Herod.”
Ares sighed and turned away, his eyes seeking the moonlight that streamed down through the window. “And what of the one whom he proclaimed? Did he ever follow?”
“Yes.” She could not hold back a small smile. “Yes, his name is Jesus, and he walked the land for three years teaching and healing the sick. As the Scriptures promised, he was taken and put to death. I saw them nail him to a cross, I watched his agony as he died. And I rejoiced with my whole soul when he rose resurrected on the third day. The messiah has come, my friend, as John promised he would, and he brought with him the baptism of fire and the Spirit. This was only days before I left for Rome.”
The gladiator looked at her again, his gaze probing this time. He nodded. “I can see your belief.” He hesitated a moment, then seemed to resign himself. “What is it you want me to do to help you?”
She tried to keep joy from leaping up prematurely. “Let me stay. I will stay out of your way as best as I am able.”
Ares drew in a deep breath. “I have been very careful these years, Jewess, not only to remain faithful to my wife, but to make certain everyone knew that I was. This will destroy that reputation.”
Abigail took a moment to contemplate that. It seemed she fell into this situation entirely too readily these days, having to appear to be one man’s lover to keep from becoming another’s. But Titus had volunteered, and this stranger was obviously hesitant at best. Was it too selfish of her to ask him to sacrifice five years of work for her, someone whose people had tormented his for centuries?
“On the other hand,” Ares continued, “that damage will not actually hurt me at all, especially since I know well that they say it is not by choice I refuse everyone they send here. Whereas if I send you away, the hurt to you will be actual and severe.” He pondered for a moment, then odded slowly. “What is your name, woman?”
“Abigail.” Relief swamped her when she saw the capitulation in his eyes.
“And how old are you? You look young to be speaking of one husband lost, a child, and a betrothed.”