GladiatorsAtonement by Amy Ruttan

Chapter One
    “Destiny waits alike for the free man
as well as for him enslaved by another’s might.”
    The Libation Bearers—Aeschylus c. 525–456 B.C.
     
    The city of Antioch bustled around Eratos and no one paid
him any heed. Why would they? He was almost as bronzed as a Roman now, his long
hair shorn away. The only thing which put him apart from the others were his
eyes, it was why he wore a hooded cloak. He did not need to attract any
attention.
    It was his eyes that attracted Thelonius to him in the first
place.
    Just thinking of his former master made his blood boil. He
clenched his fist, focusing his gaze on the rich residential district nestled
against the base of Mount Silpious. It rose like steps created by the hands of
the gods, seated high above the poorer districts.
    Taking a deep, calming breath, he pressed his back against
the marble statue of the city’s patron goddess Tyche. The sun was setting, and
he had to move quickly to get a feel of Thelonius’ villa before night fell.
Antioch was dangerous at night, but then any city was.
    He hated cities—the closed-in feeling of them, all the
strangers. Eratos longed for the open heaths of Britannia, the small villages
where it was safe to walk at night because everyone was family. Of course, it
was all gone now.
    It had been gone for some time, since Caratacus of the
Catellavani had lost his lands along the river. The Romans had built a city
there, on the blood of its people.
    Focus, Eratos.
    He had come here for one reason and one reason only.
    Kill Thelonius. Eratos moved along the wall of the city.
Keeping to the shadows, he headed to one of the walled-off sections that
divided Antioch. It was where the upper class was separated from those beneath
them, and where Thelonius lived.
    He knew where Thelonius hid. He had been to the villa once
when Thelonius first bought him. He would never forget that place. Shaking his
head, he tried to pry the nightmares of what he endured there from his mind,
but to no avail. It constantly haunted him.
    Just like the thought of the woman Thelonius hid there,
Thelonius’ wife. Though his former master never touched her, all he did was
force her to watch as he took men either with their consent or not. Her
sympathy, their shared pain in that moment so long ago still calmed him. She
was beautiful, and hurt just as much as he.
    In that moment, which lasted eternity, he found solace in
her grief and her face got him through many a night when the nightmares came
again and again.
    Focus.
    Keeping his profile low, Eratos strode with purpose toward
Thelonius’ villa. It sat overlooking the city, an ominous beacon of pain and
torture. Ignoring the beads of sweat that broke across his brow from
anticipating his revenge, he opened the gate that was used by the servants and
sneaked into the garden.
    Crouching down in palm fronds and a small grove of olive
trees, he peered through the branches and surveyed the villa. He could see a
couple of hired guards pacing on the roof.
    So the fool is scared, and well he should be.
    Eratos tried not to chuckle, but he was pleased Thelonius
was frightened. The guards would be not hard to take down, he could probably
bribe them to leave their post—such was the nature of hired men. It was just
the opportunity he needed to figure out when to strike.
    Shifting his weight so he balanced on the balls of feet, he
made mental note of the easiest access points, until a cry of pain echoed
across the garden. A shudder went down his spine when he recognized that voice.
    Helena.
    It took all of his might not to run for her, but he did not
have long to wait for she came fleeing from the villa, her hands covering her
face as she ran quickly through the garden before coming to stop at the stone
wall and slumping against the stone gate at the edge before the drop-off. A
steep cliff he often thought of throwing himself off in the earlier days.
    Eratos crept closer. He wanted to comfort her, the way she
had