Hello everyone! 
Here I am, posting the next chapter. Now, this chapter has a lot going on so just bare with me.
Harsh critiques are needed, as usual, so go ahead and review away! 
Enjoy!
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CHAPTER SIX
The week seems to mock me with its speed, and the games approach at an alarming rate. I try to slow down the days by purposely making myself bored but it does nothing to cease time and before long, I awaken on the day of the games. I still know nothing of these so-called games. I’ve heard of them in Greece. They talk of gladiators and battles but I think of nothing more than a harmless exchange of swords. They also talked of lions and dogs but I never thought of it including bloodshed, as I heard others refer to it as.
Lyra helps me dress, as usual. Today, I wear more finery. An embroidered tunic of a pale violet with flower designs garnishing the hem. My sandals are bejeweled and painted silver. My belt is heavy and made of silver. Lyra pulls it tight; I feel my breath leave me. I plea for her to loosen the garment but she brushes my complaint away with a flick of her fingers before starting on my hair. “You must be excited, Miss Isadora,” she says, brushing my hair with gentle strokes. No longer does she need to use force where my hair is concerned.
“Not really,” I answer truthfully and I fear I have said the wrong thing by her expression.
“But you are to meet the most handsome bachelor in all of Rome as his special guest!” she exclaims, pulling my hair high on top of my head and curling wayward strands so they frame around my face.
“Are you talking of Caradoc?” I ask as she weaves silver wire into my hair, and colorful glass beads.
“Who else?”
“Well, I have never seen him, so how would I know?” I excuse.
“Oh, he is lovely,” she says boldly, breathless.
“He’s a senator,” I point out. “From what my father has told me, senators are nothing but ruthless and selfish drones of the emperor himself.”
“Your father knows nothing of power,” Lyra observes and I can’t help but agree.
“True, but do they have to be so smug about their power?”
“Caradoc is nothing like that.”
“And you know this personally or from the gossip you hear?” I wonder with a twisted smile. Lyra doesn’t bother to answer me and I smile. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make my own opinion of him when I meet him tonight.” Lyra gazes at me longingly as I twirl a stand of hair around my finger and then un-twirling it, leaving a perfect ringlet. “I’ll try not to have too much fun.” I wink at her.
“Do tell all of what happens when you return!” she calls after me.
“Don’t worry. I will.” I promise before joining the Chandrenos family in their most magnificent litter.
It is adorned with golden walls and pillows. Evander and my father are knocking glasses filled with champagne in celebration to their good fortune. Delicia watches them fondly and then smiles upon my entrance. I see that I am appointed to sit beside Nicandro once again. I sit stiffly and he smirks at my cautious behavior. But he does nothing rash or audacious. I know his mind is on Celia, and as we exit the litter when we reach the entrance to the Colosseum, I fear he will unravel his tunic as he tugs anxiously at it. “Relax,” I hiss quietly at him. He scowls but shakes his shoulders as if to shake away his nerves.
I pay him no more mind as I gape at the immense building before us. It is a masterpiece in the architectural world. It’s a giant bowl in the pool of Rome with its stone seats and thousands of screaming fans. Nicandro smirks at my astonished expression but I ignore this as we make our way to the box Caradoc owns, along with all the other government members. I see that Octavio has already arrived as we weave our way amongst the crowded rows. People shout, hurting my eardrums until tears prick at my eyes at the clarity of noise.
Nicandro quickly spots Celia and greets her warmly, escaping from my side. He sits between her and Octavio, leaving me to sit at the end of the row with my father with an empty seat to my left. But, too much is happening to care of Nicandro’s abandonment.
I peer down from where I sit, into the giant bowl filled with sand. It glistens and sparkles in the sunlight like thousands of stars. I look to my right and gasp. The emperor’s box is only meters away. He is the highest up with guards on all sides. From far away, he appears grim and withdrawn from the excitement bubbling like lava around him. I peer out at the sand again and feel my own anxiety mount with each passing moment.
Then cheers ring in the arena as chariots enter with prancing stallions. The first, my father explains, is the sponsor of the day. The ones following are the gladiators. I see girls throw themselves at the walls and toss tokens of love out to these battle-scared men. I frown at their vulgar behavior and Father laughs. “You would understand if you were a Roman.” I shrug and he clips me affectionately under the chin as the sponsor begins his speech.
I loose interest quickly, and take to staring closely at the men ready to go into battle. The nearest to me seems to be the favorite, for his mass of fans seems to be the largest. And I can see why, for he is beyond anything human. His hair is a bright blonde like the sand below his sandal-covered feet and his body seems to be sculpted by Zeus himself. He wears hardly any armor, and a short sword is his only choice of weaponry. “I see Marino has caught your eye.” A deep, sultry voice floats to me on an invisible wind and I start. The voice chuckles throatily and I turn to see that the seat beside me has been filled with a man.
The first thing that I notice is that he is the most well groomed man I have ever seen. He is probably nearing twenty-five with lush, dark brown hair that is straight, short, and naturally ruffled to give it an air as though he had just ran his fingers through it. His eyes are the deepest and most shocking cerulean blue, so that I feel as though I have plunged into the very depths of an ocean and are fringed by chocolate-dipped lashes that flutter as he blinks. He is dressed in a gold-gilded toga, displaying his obvious wealth and success. His nose is straight and slightly pointed at the tip. His lips are curved over flagrant white teeth. I blush crimson when see that he is smiling pointedly at me and know I have been caught staring. I try to remember what he previously asked me but my mind is as clean as a slate and this makes my cheeks shine an even brighter red. I prepare myself for the insults and obvious disdain at my flaming face. At least, that is what experience has told me by Nicandro’s similar behavior. But he surprises me when he kindly repeats the question. “Marino, the gladiator?”
I look again to the muscled man flexing his muscles and my nerves spark at his actions before shaking my head. “No. Not me.”
“No?” He tilts his head curiously.
“No. He’s handsome, I suppose. But look how he flexes so flagrantly for those women, who swoon over him as though he is a god. So disgraceful.” Color rises in my cheeks when I realize how bold I have been. “Oh, I mean – “
“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts before I can excuse my manners. “It’s refreshing to listen to a young lady with opinions of her own.”
“It is?” I ask softly and he nods, his blue eyes blazing.
“And for one, many who are bold would never admit something so unreasonable,” he adds.
“Unreasonable?”
“Yes. Most women are proud to admit they have a gladiator to swoon over.”
“I guess I’m not most women, then?” I say with a coy smile.
“I guess not,” he murmurs, his eyes studying my face cursorily. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“You wouldn’t. I am here with my father on business from Greece.”
“You are Greek?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that explains your ivory skin.” There is a complement imbedded in his words and I smile bashfully. “So, I’m guessing this would be your first activity involving blood-shed at the arena?”
I gasp when I hear the mockery in his voice. “What ever do you mean?”
“You do not know of what the arena’s purpose is?” He raises his eyebrows. I shake my head, dumb-founded. “Ah, well…I guess I shouldn’t be the one to ruin it for you then.”
“You wouldn’t ruin it, sir,” I promise him, eager to know the truth of the arena.
“Please, call me Caradoc,” he says and I feel my eyes widen in disbelief.
“Caradoc?” I stutter weakly.
His eyes flutter close briefly and he says. “Please, don’t go all flustering over me.”
My cheeks flame, but this time in anger. “Don’t worry, sir. I wasn’t going to.” And I turn away from him, fuming with the nerve of him.
He touches my elbow lightly. “I hadn’t meant to offend.”
“Well, you did,” I snap.
“It’s just that normally girls recognize me immediately, but…”
“So you’re saying you enjoyed my conversation because I was too naive to realize that you were the famous senator?” I scorn.
“Yes.” He nods honestly and I shake my head.
“All you Romans are alike.”
“Care to elaborate?” he presses with a heart-melting grin, which only makes me angrier.
“No,” I say icily.
“Not even a little?” he pleads.
I sigh and the corners of his mouth twitches at my expense. “You Roman men I should say.”
“So you are saying us Roman men are more suave than those of Greek gentlemen?” Caradoc says smoothly and I gape at him.
“Ah, actually, my opinion is the opposite of yours.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes! You Romans think you can be so audacious around woman, thinking they will swoon at your wit and charm.”
“And Greek men don’t do the same thing?” he challenges, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“No. Greek men are sincere and win the heart of a girl through kindness and love.” I stress the word, throwing it into his face.
“I see. Well, how do you know all Roman men act as you say they do?”
“The proof is sitting beside me,” I say coolly and Caradoc laughs for the first time. It is husky and deep and I feel my blood rush at such a manly sound. I struggle to keep my emotions in check as he answers.
“You are definitely not like other girls…” He trails off, waiting for me to fill in the space with my name. At first, I wish to stay silent and leave him disappointed. But my heart pounds and I feel my defenses crack.
“Isadora,” I finally utter, feeling unbearable weak. Will I always be so softhearted when a handsome man is involved? I silently ask myself.
“Isadora. That’s beautiful,” he says and I look him straight in the eye. My limbs turn to jelly and I thank the gods that I’m not standing when he looks at me like that. It feels as though he’s gazing right into my soul. I stutter and look to my lap where I pick at my fingernails. I feel an awkward silence settling and wish to stop it when Father comes to my rescue. “Hello! Who are you?” My father points to Caradoc, his eyes noticing the closeness of his arm to mine.
Caradoc removes his elbow and answers politely. “Caradoc Laskaris, sir.” My father’s face pales. “And you must be Isadora’s father?”
“Yes,” Father utters, swallowing hard. “Amycus Chatzi at your service.” He offers Caradoc his hand and Caradoc takes it, shaking firmly.
“Sweet daughter you have here, sir,” Caradoc commends, winking at him before standing. “Well, I must be off. Have to visit with all the guests you know, however, I would much rather talk to you.” And Caradoc looks at me with those piercing blue eyes like ice. “It’s a pleasure to have met you, Isadora Chatzi.” And with the tip of his head, he’s off, weaving off to join Octavio and his family at the other end.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Father hisses and I break the spell Caradoc has cast.
“I’m sorry, Father. I hadn’t known who he was either, until the very end,” I tell him swiftly and this pacifies him as the crowd erupts.
The gladiators are exiting the arena.
The first few shows are displays of valor and strength. Men are chased by dogs and destroyed by foes. I meet my first bloodshed with horrified eyes; I can feel the blood drain from my face as a man is sliced in half right before my eyes. This sight is much more impacting than the village, I believe. The poor are one thing but murder is another.
My father squeezes my hand sympathetically and I see that I am the only one horrified, because of the calls for more from the Romans around us.
Finally, intermission rolls around, and I excuse myself for some fresh air and a good strong drink of wine. I discover a vender and go to slip him a few coins for a glass of wine, when my fingers brush fabric. I smile apologetically and search frantically for my money.
When I come up empty handed, the vender isn’t happy and swipes the wine from my hands. “I’ll pay,” a deep voice offers and the vender and I fluster when we both see it is Caradoc Laskaris. The vender fusses over him and apologizes over and over again to me as Caradoc swings a friendly arm across my shoulders. I go to shake him off but the vendor’s next words catch me unprepared. “I’m so, so sorry Senator Laskaris. I did not know you had a courter with you.” My face pales and then steams right up to a crimson red. Caradoc seems to be unaffected by this, however, and squeezes my shoulders affectionately.
“It’s all right. Just because Annamaria and I are no longer doesn’t mean I don’t have others.” He winks coyly at the vendor and flashes me a dazzling smile. “Isn’t that right?” His eyes are smoldering as they look at me, and I nod weakly. The vendor then passes over a glass of wine and Caradoc leads me away.
When we are out of sight, I shake off his arm and glower. “Who do you think you are?”
“You wanted this wine, didn’t you?” He shoves it into my hands.
“Yes. But I could have done it without your help.” I glare and take a sip. “I had it all under control.”
“I could see that.” Caradoc smirks and I heave an agitated sigh. I take another tentative sip. “So, do I get a thanks or are you going to remain unsociable?”
I flash him a pained smile and say. “Thank you Senator Laskaris, for your kindness. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Caradoc frowns. “I suppose that will suffice.” Abruptly, he smiles again.
He accompanies me all the way to my seat before I sum up the courage to ask: “May I be so bold to ask you something?”
Caradoc studies me. “Why bother asking when I know you will question me anyway?”
I frown but press forward. “Who is Annamaria?” Caradoc face suddenly holds a very distressed expression, and I immediately regret asking. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. It’s all right,” I quickly say.
“No.” He waves his hand. “She was my courter until a few weeks ago.”
“What happened?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Instantly, I cover my hands with my mouth, my cheeks flaring. How stupid, stupid, STUPID! I think loudly, This man is obviously grieving. Look at his face… Compassion swims into my eyes as I look at his face, lips turned down in a frown and his cerulean orbs swimming with regret. I open my mouth to excuse my behavior but he surprises me.
Sighing deeply and running his fingers hastily through his lush hair, he answers me. “She left me,” he says simply but I see the anguish behind his clouded eyes, and know there is more to the story. But I don’t press further and just nod. “I’m sorry,” I say, and mean it.
He looks at me with surprise. “For what?”
I shrug. “No one should experience such a loss as you have.” And with that, I go to my seat, placing myself beside my father. I can feel Caradoc watching me and I wait until I see him out of the corner of my eye to peek over at him. He is seated on the other end of the row with Octavio and his eyes flicker over to me. I jolt but don’t look away. His mouth tips and I see the gracious thank you shinning from his lips. I nod my head politely before leaning back to finish watching the horrific games.
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*BE PROUD OF ME!! I worked really hard on my puncuation so hopefully it wasn't dreadful! *
