The opponent staggered. In trying to catch himself, he lost his grip on his shield, which thumped to the sand. Achilles’s sword flashed out, its tip at the opponent’s throat.
The other fighter dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender. The crowd thundered with cheers and applause.
“Yes!” Velia screeched, jumping up and down. She threw herself into Ferox’s arms, hugging him with rib-crushing force. “You did it!”
He allowed himself to return the embrace, lifting her off her feet. Her joy seemed to diffuse into him, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to give her a thousand victories.
But their time was limited, he reminded himself as he set her back down. The games were nearly half over. Ferox would fight his second match the week after next, and then there would only be a month remaining.
One more month with Velia. Far too little.
He wondered if Hector’s ghost was getting irritated at being unable to haunt him when he spent each night with Velia. Ferox still wasn’t sure what sort of power she had, but it hadn’t waned. Maybe the ghost would lose interest and move on. Or maybe Hector was getting angrier and angrier at being deprived of a mind to torment. Maybe he’d be so angry he’d follow Ferox wherever he went after this.
The thought made dread creep down his spine, but Ferox forced himself to return his attention to the arena. Achilles was now strutting around the sand, sword raised, as he soaked up thecheers of the spectators. He pulled off his helmet, exposing his flame-red hair, which somehow drove the cheers even higher.
Ferox rolled his eyes. “He wins one match and thinks he’s Mars himself. He’s going to be insufferable after this.”
“Oh, let him enjoy it,” Velia said. “He deserves it. Some gladiators actually enjoy their fame, you know.”
Ferox grunted. He didn’t want to admit it, but witnessing Achilles’s first victory gave him a strange gratification. The emperor was entertained, the crowd was cheering, Velia was thrilled—all because of the days and weeks Ferox had devoted to training the novice.
His mind turned again to what would happen after the games were over, the quiet life he’d seek in Hispania, far from the ghosts of the ludus.
Would anything in that life give him this feeling of proud satisfaction?
And what about Velia? Would he spend the rest of his days missing her touch, her laugh, even her constantly disintegrating braid?
It doesn’t matter. Velia might make his present circumstances bearable, enjoyable even, but that was as far as it went. When the time came, he would leave her behind.
No matter how much it hurt.
17
Thenextday,Veliacarried two pouches of coin over to where Ferox and Achilles were taking a break in the shade of the colonnaded portico. She tossed one to each of them. “Your winnings,” she said to Achilles. “And your share of the fee,” she said to Ferox.
Achilles eagerly dumped a handful of the shining silver coins into his palm. “How much?”
“Five hundred.”
He made a noise of appreciation. “Not bad.”
Velia glanced at Ferox. “Better not tell him how much you got after your win.”
Achilles slid the coins back into the pouch. “How much?”
“Five thousand,” Ferox said.
Achilles swore.
“That’s what you have to look forward to,” Velia informed him. “Keep winning.”
He cast Ferox a dark, jealous look, then tightened the tie on the bag and stalked off, likely to deposit the winnings safely in his room.
“What are you going to spend yours on?” Velia asked, nodding to the money in Ferox’s hand. “You could do with some nicepillows. Maybe a wall hanging? Or some new lamps? We could go shopping!” She grinned.
“Waste of money,” he said curtly. “I won’t be here long enough to enjoy such trifles.”
Velia flinched, both at his tone and at the reminder he’d be gone as soon as the games finished. “You can take things with you, you know.”
