GladiatorsAtonement by Amy Ruttan Page A

comforted him after Thelonius was done with him. He could still recall the
softness of her skin, the gentle touch as she cleansed his wounds and the scent
of myrrh enveloped him in a warm embrace. Eratos could not let her know he was
there, even as his heart beat faster at the thought of being so close to her
again. Thelonius’ warning about what he would do to Helena if Eratos did not
comply still rang in his ears. He was thankful Helena had not been sold to the
slave traders upon his escape from Thelonius.
    Helena wiped her tears on the back of her hands and let out
a frustrated growl, obviously angered by Thelonius’ return. It had been many
years since Thelonius had been in Antioch. Eratos knew, because he was forced
to remain close to his hated former master.
    It was why he fought so hard. He struggled to survive in the
gladiatorial arena for this moment, this glimmer of freedom to seek revenge on
Thelonius. Taranis and his little Roman had granted him this gift, and for that
he would be eternally grateful.
    He would kill Thelonius, freeing Helena, and then it did not
matter what happened to him. Eratos would be content to die, for his task would
be complete and the pain would be over.
    Helena sobbed again and he shifted, a branch cracking under
his feet. Her spine stiffened and she turned around.
    Merda.
    As quickly and as quietly as he could he backed toward the
alleyway he had used to sneak in, hoping Helena wouldn’t follow him.
    * * * * *
    Helena ran from the villa, tears of hatred streaming down
her face. Only when she came to the edge of her garden did she stop, leaning
against the stone gate to catch her breath.
    Why did he have to return?
    She had just gotten used to Thelonius being gone. He left
five summers ago, and it was the most peaceful time of her life.
    Yet her solitude had been won over a terrific pain and just
the memory of Thelonius’ departure brought back memories of the brave warrior
who had endured the very depths of Hades. She had been enthralled by him in
that moment, captured by his brilliant blue eyes as her husband cut his skin
with a blade, marring him, taking pleasure in the pain he caused the warrior.
    Helena had gone to him and repaired some of the damage. They
did not have the same words and did not understand each other but she knew he
understood she meant him no harm. They both shared the same burning hatred for
Thelonius. She often wondered why he did not strike back at Thelonius during
his stay in Antioch, but she could not ask him.
    During her five years alone she fantasized about the
warrior. Though she did not know a man’s touch, her body yearned to be
possessed by his. She longed to know the caress of his hands. If Thelonius
dared to touch her she would strangle him with her bare hands.
    Even thinking about draining the life essence from Thelonius
made her fists clench, her blood boil. She would kill him herself, but
Thelonius held something over her, and like the Celt, she was just as much as a
slave to Thelonius as he was.
    Why could he not have stayed away?
    Something had caused Thelonius to run back to Antioch with
his tail between his legs, for on his arrival he had shut himself away for days,
speaking to no one, seeing no one.
    Wiping her tears on the back of her hand, she looked out
over the city, down to the river and island where the Imperial Palace gleamed
in the waning daylight. Still, the city of Antioch would be full of life, even
in the darkness. Antioch was an outpost, a gateway to the vast wild stretches
of desert. It was oasis for weary travelers as much as it was a place to hide.
    And Thelonius was definitely hiding from something, the
question was what?
    The rustling of olive branches caught her attention. Craning
her neck, she looked toward the shaded part of her garden and saw a shadow
flicker through the bushes and duck behind the alleyway that led from her villa
to the city. It was the back entrance her servants used.
    “Are you well,