“I am fifteen.”
“Still a child,” he pronounced with a surprising hint of a smile. “Or so I would like to think. I left my daughter ten years old, but she would be your age now. I cannot imagine her married, or with a babe of her own.” He reached out a hand in greeting. Only once she had slowly placed her fingers in his did he say, “My name is Jacob. You may stay in here tonight and as many nights as they bring you here, and I will make no protest. In return, I ask that you tell me about this messiah John spoke of.”
With a grateful heart, Abigail complied.
*
Volusius looked at the guard in disbelief. “He what?”
“Kept the girl,” the man stated again. “I waited an hour for the knock, but there was none. It seems our Ares was only waiting for his Aphrodite to come along to tempt him.”
“Let us just hope there is no Hephaistos to rain fire down this time, shall we?” Volusius tapped a finger against his lips in consideration. “I am impressed. She is certainly lovely, but I did not expect that to influence him. It never has before. She must be quite the temptress.” He straightened, his decision made. “Where is she now?”
“In the kitchens.”
“Bring her to me. I will take her out to observe the morning’s practice with me. Perhaps seeing the one who managed to make a lover out of Ares will inspire the others to actually become a challenge for him.”
The guard nodded and turned away.
*
Jacob tested the blade and handed it back. “Sharpen it more,” he advised, picked up the next. “This one is good.” Replacing it, he picked up a third. He tossed the sword from one hand to another. “The balance of this one is all wrong.”
The smith smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “Then be sure someone else gets it, Ares.”
Jacob smiled in reply and picked up one of the dulled, blunt practice swords. “And give them an excuse for their ineptitude? Never, my friend. I win because I am the best, not because my tools are.”
The man shrugged and went back to work. Jacob turned to begin the training. He was still tired from yesterday’s games, but that never earned him a day off. But it had, over the years, earned him the position of instructor rather than mere participant in these practices. Scores of men were in the walled compound, all of them potential enemies, all of them his students. He had to teach them what he knew just as others had taught him, not so that they could win or lose, live or die, but so that they could entertain the masses while they did so. They had to learn how to make death come slowly to their opponent, how to tease and play when they had the upper hand, how to prolong every fight when they were the underdog. Sometimes the crowds were merciful, and they would live in spite of a bad day.
Then there were the days when the victor found himself in the middle of the arena when the lions were released into it.
Jacob had not grown up a shepherd without learning how to fight off a few lions. He had not emerged unscathed from his fight with them in the arena, but he had emerged the favorite of all of Rome. That was when they had started calling him Ares, God of War, with the sword of death always poised ready to strike in his hand.
He just wanted to go home and tend to his flocks again. He wondered if they would even be intact if ever he did make it back. How could he expect his family to get along without him? His son was still a child, not even twelve years old, and his daughter was not a shepherdess. They had probably had to sell the flocks to have enough money to live on. He hoped it was enough.
Movement along the wall caught his eyes, and he looked up to see Volusius. It was not odd for the man to observe morning routines. But seeing the figure behind him gave Jacob pause. His sword fell to his side as he watched Abigail being prodded along behind Volusius. In moments, all of the gladiators were looking toward the wall.
Volusius smiled down at them. “A little enticement, men.” He reached for Abigail and pulled her up beside him. “A morsel that even Ares found worthy of his attentions. Whoever among you does the best today in practice will have the chance to plant your seed in her belly tonight!”
A chorus of very male cheers went up, and Jacob watched as Abigail flushed and turned her face away. For the life of him, all he could see when he looked at her was the little girl he had not seen in half a decade. Was his little Mary growing up to be anything like the woman-child he had spent hours talking with last night? Had she fallen in love with some lucky man, as Abigail had with her Roman? Most unthinkable still, had his wife been forced to marry her off already? Could he even now be a grandfather? He did not feel old enough to have a child with a child. But he felt decidedly too old to see Abigail as anything other than one.