The Protector Read Free Page A

his eyes, irritated by the beauty’s hold onhim. Two months of near starvation in a disease-infested prison, a fortnight trekking through half of Italy in a slave caravan, and months of training in a gladiator ludus hadn’t felled him. Yet one unexpected glimpse of Adiona’s haunting visage in the stands of the arena had been enough to break his concentration and see him almost killed by arrows.
    Dear God, what is wrong with me?
    The question made him laugh, which made him groan as pain shot through his chest and bruised ribs. What wasn’t wrong with him? In the last seven months he’d become infamia— disgraced, the lowest of the low. He’d lost his family, wealth, freedom, citizenship and reputation. Everything but his faith in Christ and that, he acknowledged, was hanging by a thread.
    Whether he was being punished or tested like some other believers suggested, he knew he didn’t need or want to be tempted by a vixen with an ability to sneak past his defenses and shred his self-control. No woman had ever done that, not even his wife.
    He slammed the door on thoughts of Faustina. She was dead and memories of her filled him with guilt and eternal regret.
    A solid blow jarred his wounded shoulder. “ There’s the mob’s newest darling.”
    Quintus cracked open one eye. Alexius, the manager of the gladiator school, stood over him, a grin parting the Greek’s swarthy face.
    Rubbing the spot where he’d torn the arrow from his shoulder, Quintus pressed on the piece of cloth he’d used to cover the ragged flesh. “Was that necessary?” he asked, his tone as dry as dust.
    “Of course. You don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re famous now, do you?”
    “One lost battle isn’t enough to make anyone remember my name.”
    “On the contrary.” The tall Greek moved deeper into the small alcove. Pleased by the afternoon’s events, he pulled up a stool and sat down. “Romans appreciate bravery above all else. The way you leaped on that elephant and protected your troupe… The whole city will know who you are by sundown.”
    Quintus grunted, unimpressed. “A lot of good it will do me if I bleed to death.”
    Alexius glanced at the arrow and growing ring of blood around the wound. “From that scratch? I doubt it.”
    A man’s scream echoed down the corridor. A moment later, two of the hospital’s attendants ran past.
    “Where’s the physician?” Quintus asked, weary of waiting when the deeply embedded arrow in his leg was making him light-headed from loss of blood.
    “He’ll be here soon. By the sound of it, the day’s amputations are almost finished.”
    Quintus grimaced. He was thankful to God his injuries were relatively minor, but a part of him wished God had taken him and spared the other wounded in his troupe.
    “You’d better get used to injury,” Alexius warned. “You’re not a coddled merchant anymore. You’re a gladiator.”
    Quintus curled his lip at the veiled insult. He may have been a merchant, but he’d never been an idle man. “I’ll try to remember that.” To punctuate his disinterest in the lecture, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.
    A stab of pain sliced through his thigh. His eyes flew open. Alexius had taken hold of the arrow and was slowly twisting the shaft. “Listen to me, Quintus. I know you’reangry at the world and probably your God, though you deny it. But if you plan to live long enough in the arena to earn your freedom, understand these paltry wounds are only the first of many.”
    He threw off Alexius’s hand. Let the Greek think what he liked. He wasn’t concerned about his injuries. In truth, he didn’t care if he lived or died. It was his reaction to the widow that had soured his mood. “You do want your freedom, don’t you?”
    “You know I do.” His freedom was the prize he longed for above all else. The goal he’d set for himself to return home and make certain the precious son he’d lost had received a proper