Pompeii: City on Fire by T. L. Higley

Author:T. L. Higley [Higley, T. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781433668579
Amazon: B006Z3113G
Publisher: B&H Books
Published: 2011-06-01T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

Cato watched Ariella swagger into the arena, her trident lofted above her head, from the box reserved for the editores, the sponsor of the games, and his stomach churned over what was to come. Whether it was betraying Ariella or seeing her fight, he could not say.

Isabella tugged on his arm and offered him salted fish. She had wrapped the fish in fabric before leaving home, and the odor of it further aggravated his stomach. He pushed it away and kept his eyes on the sand.

The crowd loved her. Of course they did. This was her plan, the plan he was about to ruin. But even as the thought accused, he knew he would not do it. The gods help him, he could not betray her. So his first public appearance since declaring himself Maius's rival would end in ridicule, and his chances of defeating the monster slaughtered before he had begun.

Octavia was clucking her tongue beside him. "These fighters these days. They believe it's all about them, and not the fight. We are subjected to more personality than performance."

Cato barely heard his mother. Down below, in the section reserved for the elite, Nigidius Maius had turned in his seat to look at Cato, as if he could read Cato's dilemma from twenty rows away, and was even now glorying in his victory. Cato saw each detail of the arena in sharp relief, senses heightened. Maius's bushy eyebrows, the heads of his sycophants in a pack around him, even the details of sand and sword, of the next two fighters waiting in the wings for their own moment of glory.

But the fight was beginning, and all thoughts of campaign promises and rival candidates fled as Cato focused on Ariella, on her dark hair and muscled arms, on every thrust of her trident and swish of her nets. He stood and gripped the low stone wall. Isabella was pulling on his arm again, but he shrugged her off, and his vision narrowed until he saw nothing but the battle in the center of the yellow sand, and felt nothing but the stone ledge cut into his hands.

She was quick, that was certain. But Floronius had the advantage of size and strength. Wide in the chest, powerful arms. Cato felt each blow to her as though it were his own body, and his muscles jerked and twitched as if he were in the sand himself.

His earlier thoughts of the dance returned, and Ariella indeed could have been a dancer, so fluid and graceful were her movements as she leaped and twirled around Floronius, nets flying about her head.

The shouts of the crowd rose and fell with each blow, with each strike of trident and sword. When they were silent, the heavy grunts of the fighters pushed through the weighted air, reaching Cato and reminding him that it was not a dance, but a fight to the death.

His arms grew fatigued by the tight grip on the stone wall. How could Ariella still push on with her trident and nets?

But it could not last.

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