Free As Sure as the Dawn by Francine Rivers

We can only hope his talents extend to administration as well.”
    Atretes set his empty goblet aside and took another towel from the shelf. He dried his hair and upper body, his blue eyes glitter-ing.
    Sertes studied him with veiled satisfaction. “Rumors abound that you were in the city a few nights ago,” he said, as though remarking on some casual occurrence. He didn’t add that Gallus had confirmed the rumors, though he had not known the reason for Atretes’ clandestine visit. Something important must have been transacted, and Sertes wanted to know what it was. It might prove useful in getting Atretes back into the arena.
    “I went to pay my respects to the goddess and found myself mobbed instead,” Atretes said, the lie coming easily.
    Seeing an opportunity, Sertes grasped it. “I know the proconsul very well. I’m sure, with a word, he’ll put a company of legionnaires at your disposal. You can enter the city anytime you want and pay proper homage to our goddess whenever you choose without worrying about whether you’ll live through it.”
    Sertes smiled inwardly. Such measures as he was suggesting would draw attention. Once Atretes was recognized, the excitement would spread like a fever, and such a fever could heat Atretes’ cold blood. Let him hear the masses screaming his name. Let him see how they still worshiped him.
    “I’d like the mob to forget I ever existed,” Atretes said. He wasn’t fooled by Sertes’ machinations. “And your measures would merely serve to whet their appetite, wouldn’t they?” he said, raising one brow sardonically.
    Sertes smiled drolly and shook his head. “Atretes, dear friend, I’m dismayed to find you don’t trust me. Have I not always had your best interests in mind?”
    Atretes gave a cold laugh. “As long as they coincided with yours.”
    Sertes hid his annoyance. Atretes’ perceptiveness had always been a problem. His success in the arena hadn’t hinged merely on physical prowess and courage. Atretes was surprisingly intelligent for a German barbarian. The combination of hatred and sagacity was dangerous, but made him that much more exciting.
    “Perhaps we can make arrangements more suitable to your desires,” Sertes said.
    “My desire is to be left alone.”
    Sertes was undaunted. He knew Atretes better than the gladiator knew himself. He had observed him in captivity and out. “You have been left alone,” he said, watching Atretes drop the towel from around his waist and pull on a fresh, richly woven tunic. He was the most magnificently built man Sertes had ever seen. “For several months. You seem little satisfied by your solitude.”
    Putting on a thick leather belt with brass studs, Atretes looked at him with eyes so cold Sertes knew he had pressed him far enough for today. He wasn’t distressed by his failure to gain Atretes’ agreement to reenter the arena. There would be other opportunities. He would make use of them as they came. He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Very well,” he said with a smile. “We’ll talk of other things.” And he proceeded to do so. Sertes left an hour later, but not before inviting Atretes to one of the banquets before the games. He said the proconsul of Rome was eager to pay his respects. Atretes sensed the undercurrent of warning. One didn’t slight a high official of Rome without consequences. Still, he declined.
    Sertes became more direct. “One should be very careful about insulting the wrong Roman.”
    “I’ve learned many things during my captivity, Sertes. Even Caesar himself is afraid of the mob. And as you well know, the mob still loves me.”
    “You are also wise enough to know that the mob is like a fickle woman. Stay away from her long enough and she’ll forget. Besides, what the mob wants most is to see you fight again.”
    Atretes said nothing, but Sertes saw that the words had struck a raw nerve. Good. As he went down the steps with Atretes at his side, he saw a young woman