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quarters where I can watch over him and answer his needs as they arise.”
    He hesitated. “As you wish,” he said grimly. “Satisfied?”
    She looked at his hard face and knew his pride was hurt. Swallowing her own, she made a simple request that made her feel a beggar. “May I have something to eat and drink?”
    His brows rose slightly in realization. “Tell Lagos what you want and he’ll see it’s prepared for you.” His mouth curved sardonically. “Goose livers, oak-fed beef, ostrich, wine from Northern Italy? Whatever is your taste. I’m sure whatever you crave can be obtained.”
    Rizpah pressed her lips together, holding back an angry retort. Any harsh reply would only serve to stir his anger further, and she had already done damage enough with her wayward tongue. “Seven-grain bread, lentils, fruit, and watered wine will more than satisfy me, my lord. Other than that, I ask for nothing.”
    “You will receive a denarius each day for as long as you remain in my household,” he said, starting down the corridor toward the kitchen.
    “I will not be paid for—”
    She broke off when Atretes stopped and came back toward her. Bending down, he brought his face close to hers. “A denarius a day,” he said through his teeth, his blue eyes blazing. “Just so you understand you are here by hire. When my son is weaned, you go!”
    She refused to be intimidated. A year, at least, with Caleb, she thought, thanking God again. She was done with crying. She would cling to the knowledge that many things could change in a year, not the least of which was a man’s heart.
    Atretes’ eyes narrowed. When the woman made no further comment, he straightened slowly. He had cowed men with less anger than he had shown her, and yet she stood quiet, clear-eyed, gazing up at him without the least concern. “You know the way,” he said, wary.
    Rizpah stepped past him and walked down the hall.
    Struck by her grace and dignity, Atretes stared after her until she entered the kitchen.
    A moment later, the baby stopped crying.

4
    Sertes leaned against a door in the east wall of the villa, smiling as he watched Atretes in the distance. “He’s staying in condition,” he said, watching the German run down a rocky slope.
    Gallus gave a brittle laugh. “Don’t assume too much, Sertes. Atretes labors to drive demons from his head.”
    “May the gods prevent him from succeeding,” Sertes said with a slight smile. “The mob misses him. No man has excited them as he did.”
    “You can forget what you’re thinking. He won’t go back.”
    The Ionian laughed softly. “He misses it. Perhaps he won’t yet admit it, even to himself, but one day he will.” Soon, Sertes hoped. Otherwise, he’d have to devise a way of making him want to return, which was always easier when the man was so conditioned as a gladiator that he couldn’t function in any other realm. And a gladiator with Atretes’ passion and charisma was worth a fortune.
    Sertes watched Atretes run up the last hill before the villa. The German’s face darkened when he saw him, but Sertes was not offended. Rather, he smiled.
    Slowing to a fast walk, Atretes shrugged off the weights, tossing them aside as he strode past Sertes into the villa’s barren yard. “What are you doing here, Sertes?” he said without stopping.
    Sertes followed at a more leisurely pace. “I came to see how you fare with your freedom,” he said in good humor. He had been dealing in gladiators for twenty years and could see the quiet life was already chafing. Once a man had experienced the excitement and bloodlust of the arena, he couldn’t leave the life without denying an essential part of his nature. He saw that very nature was goading the German, driving him, though Atretes himself didn’t yet know it. Sertes had watched a tiger pace in its cage once. Atretes had the same air about him now.
    Entering the baths, Atretes stripped off his tunic and dove into the frigidarium. Sertes strolled in