Part 26 (1/2)

Valerius dipped his head toward Maius. ”A bold decision. I applaud your courage.”

Guests relaxed visibly.

But for Ariella, the declaration sickened her beyond tolerating. She pushed away from Valerius.

He seemed to antic.i.p.ate her and snaked out a thin hand to clutch her arm in a vicious grip. He smiled at Maius. ”Sadly, since I lost my favorite here, I have had to use a subst.i.tute.” He pressed his lips against her arm. ”But as you said, the two are a matched pair. So I have not suffered too greatly.”

The truth of what Valerius had declared rained down on Ariella like a torrent of hot coals. She could not look at her brother. Could not breathe.

Oh, G.o.d. How could you allow such a thing?

But it was a question with no answer, a question she had asked too many times in the past nine years. She expected nothing in return. Nothing but the hollow burning where her soul had been.

Maius was laughing. ”And I applaud your creativity.”

Valerius rubbed her arm with his fingers, as if to erase the welts he had caused. ”I must confess that I've grown quite fond of her replacement. Ah well, perhaps when we celebrate again, they can both partic.i.p.ate.” He lifted his eyebrows and winked in Maius's direction.

It was too much. Fearing she would vomit and suffocating with rage, Ariella yanked herself away from Valerius and stood, unsteady and breathing hard.

Valerius sighed. ”She is not as submissive as she once was, I fear. And I grow tired of her tonight, Gnaeus. Can you find somewhere to keep her for the night?”

”Of course.” Maius signaled a slave at the doorway. ”Put the girl in the cells and put a guard on her.”

Ariella sought out her brother's eyes once more, even as the slave yanked both her arms behind her back. Micah turned to her, but there was a dullness there, a slackness about the mouth, that she had not noted before, and she trembled with fury to see it. Valerius reached out to stroke her leg, and she kicked his hand. He yelped with pain and anger, and she laughed.

It seemed only moments later that she sprawled on the mud floor of a tiny chamber under Maius's terrace. Little surprise that the man kept private cells in his house. At least Portia had not been chained here.

The thought of Portia brought memories of Cato on its heels, of Maius's threat to have him executed, of Cato's eyes on her as Valerius led her away.

She paced the cell, her wrath building to the breaking point.

It was all absurd, everything Jeremiah had taught her. There was no freedom of spirit without freedom of body. She belonged to Valerius once again, all of her. The Creator had forsaken her, as she had always believed.

Her heart pulsed with the desire to lash out, to hurt someone as she had been hurt, to destroy and to tear apart, and in the destruction to dull her own pain.

The searing hatred for Valerius, for the Romans who had razed her city and destroyed her family and annihilated her faith rose up inside her with a boiling heat, overwhelmed and set her screaming. Screaming out her rage and pain at the G.o.d who had allowed all of it, her fist raised to the low ceiling as though she could reach through it into the night sky, all the way to the heavens above.

No one came. No guard chastised. No G.o.d, either.

She was alone.

Spent, she dropped to the floor and lowered her head to her bent knees.

She would forget everything that Jeremiah had nearly made her believe. There was no contentment to be found in injustice and despair. There was no community here to help her. And most of all, there was no G.o.d who cared.

She would not give up fighting. Never. But she would fight alone. For herself and for her brother, she would do what must be done. In the darkness, she made a vow. And through the long, sleepless night, she repeated this vow until it hardened into solid rock within her soul.

Even if it brought about her own death, Clovius Valerius would not live to abuse them again.

CHAPTER 39.

Late into the night, Cato paced the city streets, reliving the day and berating himself for his foolish pride. He should never have brought Valerius to Pompeii. What a stupid, arrogant thing to do. To think that he could control the situation, manipulate Maius's ally for his own ends.

He reached the southern edge of the city, his feet having taken him toward the arena of their own accord. The circular stone wall loomed gray and black against the night sky, its series of arches like hooded eyes, scowling down on him.

He would lose the election. Of this he was certain. He had made inroads into Maius's corruption, but it was not enough. The failure of it nagged at his pride, but it was pain over the fate of his sister that crushed him.

And Ariella.

Ariella.

Her face was before him in an instant. The way her eyes had rested on him as Valerius hauled her into the street with her newly found brother. Her lips parted, as though she would say farewell. But she did not.

He crossed the gra.s.sy field that led to the arena, ignoring his vineyard on the left. The amphitheater was silent, like a ma.s.sive tomb awaiting its occupants. He walked down the darkened ramp that led to the arena floor and stepped into the soft sand.

The memory of ten thousand cheers seemed to echo from the hollow seats, as though a spectral audience wavered, ghostly and unreal, in the empty marble tiers. Cato moved on soundless feet to the center of the arena.

He turned a slow circle, remembering the day he had sworn that Ariella would not face another opponent. Self-reproach washed over him. What good had he done her? Taken her from one slavery to another, then brought an adversary more dangerous than any her net and trident had seen.

He saw her again, pleading with him not to summon Valerius. Why had he not understood?

Suddenly weary, Cato lowered himself to the sand, spreading out with his face to the cold sky and his back to the cold sand. It still smelled of blood and death here. Of the thousands of men and animals that had died to entertain.

What would happen to Portia? To Ariella?

He faced the truth that he had brought harm to both of these women whom he loved, and he was helpless to change anything.

Helpless.

A failure.

All the pain of Rome. He had been so c.o.c.ky, so sure of his fight against the corrupt praetor, Maximus. Outspoken and arrogant and immature. In the end, he had failed to convince the consuls, and been trounced, even ridiculed for his position.

He had come to Pompeii to forget and had only caused more harm.

He tried to pray. Reached out to the G.o.d who had saved him from his sin, but not from himself. But there was only the black sky above, and the stars seemed to accuse with their brightness. Cato threw his arm over his eyes and lay there in the sand, defeat as sharp as if he had fallen by a gladiator's sword.

The despair swelled in his chest and overflowed, spilling tears from his eyes, down over his temples. The sand that had soaked up so much blood over the years drank in his tears as though they were nothing, and the sobs that wracked his chest bounced back at him from the stone surround.

Hours later, he lay on a bench in his courtyard, half-frozen but uncaring. The family and household had all gone to their beds, but sleep came only in fragments of uneasy dreams for Cato.

His mother found him nearly senseless in the morning, unwashed and cold. She roused him enough to swallow some cold porridge. Lucius arrived soon after, his face as white as marble.