“She used that money to buy my life when she could have used it to purchase the title to the ludus, as you’d agreed.”
“That title will cost more than just your slave price.”
“Sorcha—Achillea—can pay the difference,” I pressed. “And if it’s still not enough, I have this.”
I fished in the leather pouch at my waist and found the little rolled scroll Charon had given me, along with my armor. I handed it over to the praetorian guard, who gave it to Caesar. I silently begged the slave master to hold true to his word—my need was dire—and it was for my sister, whom he loved. Caesar glanced at the black wax seal, and I could tell from his face that he recognized the insignia. He broke the seal with his thumbnail and unrolled the vellum. His eyebrow arched.
“And if it’s still not enough,” I said, “my sister can turn my contract over to you, and I will continue to fight in your name until I can win enough to someday buy it back myself and—”
“Fallon.”
“My lord?”
“A good bargainer knows when to stop pleading their deal.”
I bit my lip and fell silent.
After a moment, Caesar sighed. “My daughter, Julia, was not so very much older than you are now when she left this world. She died in childbirth while I was off campaigning in your lands.” As he spoke, I was shocked to see the sheen of unshed tears that rimmed his lashes. “She was such a light, like a clear, shining flame . . . I see her light in you. It is you, my dear Fallon, whom I would choose to honor Julia’s memory by fighting in the guise of Victory in the reenactment of my conquering of Brittania.”
I held my breath.
Caesar leaned forward in his chair, his gaze sharpening like an eagle spying prey. “And if—if—you win the crowd, then you will have your deal.” Then he shook his head, chuckling. “I think Julia’s spirit has guided you to this moment. But from this moment on, you’re on your own. Don’t disappoint me, gladiatrix.”
I could sense that our conversation was over, but there was one thing I needed to know before I left. “May I ask a question, my lord?” I said.
“Would it be in my power to stop you?” He smiled.
“Why?” I asked. “Why the games? Where I come from, there is no such thing, not really.”
Cleopatra answered for him. “Rome was built by a nation of warriors, dear girl,” she said, her dark eyes twinkling. “And now that they’ve conquered most of the world, there’s no one else to kill! So they’re obliged to satisfy the Republic’s bloodlust here at home with their games.”
Caesar smiled at her teasing. “The Daughter of the Lotus—no stranger to bloodying her own blade on occasion, I might add—is right, to a degree,” he said. “The people crave the games—the excitement, the thrill, the violence. We are a nation born of blood. If we do not at least attempt to satisfy those cravings, then we will turn inward and fall to corruption.”
He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I turned to leave, almost giddy with relief that I had successfully argued my case with Caesar.
That relief was short-lived.
“One more thing,” Caesar said, raising his voice just enough so that I would stop in my tracks and turn back. “Not that you seem to need any added incentive, but you should know that I’ve made a wager on the outcome of your competition. If you lose, I will be obliged to sell you to the Ludus Amazona, as I have already done with your rival, Nyx. She’ll be performing opposite you, playing the role of that goddess of yours. You know the one I mean—the Morrigan.”
Nothing, it seemed, was ever an easy win with Caesar.
? ? ?
Cai had been instructed to escort me, after my audience, not to the town house in the capital but back to the Ludus Achillea. Sorcha and the other girls had already set out for home, and we would meet them there. Nyx, Cai told me, had been sent directly to the Ludus Amazona after her meeting with Caesar. I shuddered to think what her reaction to his decision had been—and just how venomously she was plotting to take me down when we met in the Triumphs. I put it out of my mind, determined instead to enjoy the fact that I’d just emerged from a battle of wits with one of the most brilliant strategists alive relatively, if not wholly, unscathed.
I had changed into a simple tunic and trousers so that I could ride, and we traveled at a pleasantly languid pace, just Cai and me. I couldn’t help smiling. At midday, halfway to Lake Sabatinus and the academy, Cai led us off the road to a shaded hollow carved out of a hillside by a little tumbling waterfall. We dismounted and sat upon the grass, and Cai unpacked a lunch of cheese, pickled eggs, bread, and wine. I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees and watched him spread our meal out on a square of white linen.
I sipped from the cup Cai passed me. “He wasn’t anything like I expected,” I said, my mind still reeling from my sparring match that afternoon. “Caesar, I mean. And yet . . .”
“Yet he was?”