A Gladiator's Oath

by Tanya Bird

  Prisca showed up six days out to watch, quietly taking a seat in the cavea without creating her usual scene. Her gaze rested briefly on Nero, but she did not mention the fact that he was there. Sabina had sat at her side, eyes on the boy she still missed, her face etched with worry, as though it were her who would soon be fighting for her life. Her domina did not speak or applaud, her expression serious as she observed Mila’s technique, watching her feet, seemingly transfixed. Mila was surprised she had not come by more often. Perhaps she trusted Remus more than she let on.

  Five, four, three. Three days to go.

  Mila said no more than what was necessary to Remus in those sessions. She noticed a change in him also. He grew tenser with every passing day, his body more rigid, his stares more fierce. He watched her carefully, analysing every detail, like the angle of her knee or the position of her elbow. He was obsessed with precision, and she could barely do a thing right.

  All too soon it was Mila’s last day of training. Remus circled her like a hungry beast, shouting instructions from all directions.

  ‘Shield up! Step into it! Right, left. Down!’ His hands went into his hair. ‘Harder! Harder!’

  Despite proving herself a little more each day, it was not enough for him. Anger and resentment were beginning to boil over in Mila, fuelling her, pushing her past her limits. On that final day, she was determined to exceed his expectations, to prove him wrong.

  When Fausta collapsed at her feet during their last session, unable to get up, Mila could hardly believe it. She had done it, beaten Rome’s best female gladiator.

  She turned to Remus, expecting to see satisfaction or pride. Instead, she saw the same indifferent expression he had worn every day for the past few weeks. Her body threatened to betray her, to fall down next to Fausta. To just stop. But she remained upright beneath Remus’s cool gaze, breathless and nauseous.

  What was the matter with him? That was what they had been working towards.

  Do not fall down.

  Remus walked over to her. ‘Nero, fetch Felix. He can step in for Fausta.’ He said it in the same tone he had used for weeks.

  Mila blinked away the sweat pouring down her face. ‘What?’

  He glanced at her. ‘You keep going until you are done. Same as any other day.’

  She blinked again, not sure whether to cry or claw his face off.

  He tilted his head in question. ‘Are you done?’

  He was waiting for her response, but not one of her thoughts was coherent.

  ‘Am I done?’ She repeated the question as though she did not understand it. Her insides heated. ‘What more are you expecting?’ A laugh escaped her, one she did not recognise. ‘My opponent, the best female gladiator in Rome, is lying in the sand. I put her there!’ New energy came from somewhere. ‘When will it be enough for you?’ His blank face pushed her closer to crazy.

  ‘You done?’ he said again. ‘Yes or no?’

  She lunged at him with closed fists.

  At first he just stood there, arms by his side, while she pounded against his chest. Seeing that she was having no effect on him, she shoved him as hard as she could. Then he took hold of her arms and gently pushed her back, and it was like someone took a torch to her in that moment. She ran at him, her shoulder slamming into chest, desperate to knock him down, but his chest was like a stone wall and he barely stumbled, let alone fell.

  ‘Enough,’ he said, his voice still calm.

  She pushed up onto her toes, trying to match him in height. ‘Are you done?’ she screamed at him, mimicking his voice. ‘Is that all you have?’

  He stared at her. ‘What are you doing?’

  She looked around for the training poles, finding them in the sand a few feet away. She marched over to them, picked them up and threw one at him. He caught it inches from his face.

  ‘You want to finish me off, gladiator?’ she screamed. ‘Now’s your chance!’

  Everyone in the arena had stopped to watch.

  ‘Stop it,’ he said, now struggling to stay calm.

  ‘Fausta is beat, but I have something left just for you.’ She had come completely unhinged, and she did not care one bit. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Albaus take a step towards her and she held up a hand. ‘Don’t you dare!’ she warned the bodyguard.

  Remus tossed the pole onto the sand between them and crossed his arms.

  ‘Pick it up,’ she demanded.

  He watched her for a moment. ‘Don’t embarrass yourself any more than you have.’

  She stepped up to the pole and kicked it so it landed by his foot.

  Fausta pulled herself into a seated position. She looked between them, her eyes confused but also full of amusement.

  Remus shook his head and bent to pick up the pole. Without warning, Mila went for him, striking as hard as she could. He raised his own pole just in time, the force of the blow making him stumble. She saw his face change, glimpsed anger for the first time. He stepped forwards and, with three swift moves, knocked the stick from her hands. It flew some distance through the air, landing a short distance from Albaus. She stared after it, her anger evaporating. All right, now she was done. She collapsed onto the sand, certain she would never get up again. Her hands went over her face and she cried into them.

  Yes, she was definitely done. Utter humiliation had finished her.

  Remus’s familiar arms went around her. He scooped her up, his scent suffocating her. ‘Back to work!’ he called to the men who were still watching them.

  ‘Put me down,’ Mila said feebly. But she was like a sleeping child in those strong arms. Her limbs dangled uselessly as he carried her into the shade. The others had the good sense to stay back.

  ‘Nero, help Fausta,’ he called to the boy. When Nero hesitated, he added, ‘I’ll take care of Mila. Go on.’

  The boy ran to help Fausta to her feet, walking slowly at her side across the sand. Albaus stayed where he was, ready if needed. Remus sat on the ground with Mila in his lap. Her eyes sank shut. Exhaustion had won.

  ‘Mila, open your eyes,’ he said.

  The effort seemed too enormous. She felt him brush hair and sand off her face, then his warm lips pressed against the top of her head. Heat spread through her. She wanted to tip her head back, to offer her mouth to him. Her eyes remained closed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I need you to win.’

  That made her eyes open. She stared up at him, and a few tears escaped. ‘Why?’

  He did not reply right away. ‘I want you to live.’

  It was not enough. ‘Why?’ she pushed. She thought she knew the answer, thought she felt it, but she needed to hear it. When he did not reply, she realised she was asking too much of a gladiator. Her eyes moved over his face, studying every small scar, the ones only visible close up. ‘How many men did you have to kill for your freedom?’

  His eyes were as bright as the sky behind them. ‘Too many.’

  She blinked. ‘I only have to do it once.’

  His arms shifted beneath her. ‘Can you do it?’

  She smiled, feeling returning to her body. ‘My sister will never forgive me if I lose.’

  He propped her up against his knee and traced the curve of her throat with his free hand. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation, praying she would feel the warmth of his lips on her again.

  ‘Can you stand?’ he asked.

  She opened her eyes, disappointed. She did not want to stand. ‘Do you want me to stand?’

  His eyes went to her lips. He leaned closer, and she could feel his heart beating against her side. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he stopped himself. More disappointment.

  ‘Go home. Rest.’

  She stared up at him, not wanting to move, but he signalled to Albaus with his free hand and a few moments later she was lifted to her feet. She felt cold suddenly.

  ‘I already told Prisca you need rest, plenty of food, some meat. And no work.’

  She nodded. ‘You w
ill take me through the tunnel?’ He was still close enough to smell.

  ‘I’ll take you through. Nice and early.’

  She waited, just long enough in case he wanted to kiss her. She hoped she was not imagining the desire.

  ‘See you at the tunnel,’ he said, stepping back.

  ‘How are you meant to fight in two days when you wince at my touch?’ Sabina said, rubbing oil into Mila’s skin.

  The sun hung low in the sky, painting it pink and orange. Mila sat on a stool in a private part of the garden, watching the colours change, appreciating its beauty more than ever.

  ‘It is amazing what one can do when the alternative is death.’ She looked up at Sabina, expecting to see a smile. No smile. Another one who had grown more and more serious over the passing weeks, despite reassurances that Nero was happy and settled at Ludus Magnus. ‘It was a joke. Remember when you used to laugh at things?’ Still no reaction. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  Sabina gave a strained smile as she picked up the strigil, running it over Mila’s skin to remove the oil. ‘Nothing. How’s Nero?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  Mila faced forwards again. ‘He will be lanista of Ludus Magnus in no time.’

  Sabina actually smiled at that, then signalled for Mila to stand so she could do her legs. ‘I’m pleased Remus treats him well. He deserves a father figure.’

  ‘I am certain he misses his mother figure.’

  Sabina sniffed. ‘It’s better this way.’

  Mila observed for a moment. ‘Remus will free the boy when he is old enough to care for himself. I do not doubt it for a moment.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sabina splashed on some more oil. ‘That’s kind of him.’

  Mila frowned. ‘Are you all right?’

  Sabina straightened. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  They stared at one another for a moment.

  ‘Perhaps you should take to the arena and earn your freedom. Then you could care for the boy yourself,’ Mila said. Then, seeing her friend’s expression, she added, ‘That too was a joke.’

  Sabina shook her head. ‘There’s no free life for me.’ Her hand went over her mouth to stifle a sob.

  Mila placed an oily hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Do not speak like that. You have as much right to freedom as I do. You probably deserve it more than I do given how much you have lost. It was no accident that you and Nero found one another.’

  Sabina brushed tears away and reached for the cloth floating in the pail by her feet. ‘I’m a body slave. My place is with my domina. In this life and the next.’ She began to wash Mila’s skin.

  Exhaling, Mila replied, ‘That is what they want you to believe. They can buy anything they want, except immortality. They are afraid of being alone in death. Rather than facing that fear, they expect their slaves to keep them company, even in death.’

  ‘I have served Lady Prisca most of my life. There’s an expectation—’

  ‘A ridiculous expectation.’

  Sabina stepped behind her, running the cloth down her back. ‘It’s too late for me.’

  Mila looked over your shoulder. ‘Too late? What are you talking about?’

  Before Sabina could reply, Prisca swanned into view, gaze sweeping down Mila’s naked body, pausing at each bruise. Mila fought the urge to cover herself with her hands.

  ‘You finally have some muscle on you.’

  ‘And bruising every colour of the rainbow,’ Sabina said.

  Prisca only smiled. ‘Every mark is something to be proud of. Do you not feel proud?’

  Mila thought that was taking the gladiator’s oath to an extreme, but nodded. ‘Yes, Era.’

  ‘As Remus is insisting you skip training tomorrow, I thought you might wish to see your sister and mother. I could try to arrange it if you like.’

  Mila was speechless for a moment. ‘I would very much appreciate that.’

  Prisca waved the gratitude off.

  Mila had come to know both sides of her domina—the side swept up in all the power and privilege, and the side that tried to rise above it all.

  ‘The day will be yours. Do with it as you please. Ensure you eat, and you might want to pray.’ Prisca glanced at Sabina. ‘I need to get ready for dinner. Mila can finish up here.’

  ‘Yes, Era,’ Sabina said, walking around and handing Mila the cloth. Their eyes met briefly, and Mila saw something unfamiliar in them before her friend turned away. A light breeze blew in, bringing with it an uneasy feeling that wrapped her bare skin. She shivered despite the warm air.

  Chapter 25

  Prisca sent word to Nerva that Mila wished to see her mother and sister before her fight. They all knew Aquila would never agree to such a thing. She received word back that Nerva was not at home—or even in Rome. His father had taken him south to their villa in Antium, where he would remain until winter. Mila heard the news from the other side of the wall, where she had been ready to leave for some time. Only once the opportunity was snatched from her did she realise there was a very real chance she might never see her family again, and that realisation sat like a stone inside her chest.

  ‘Oh’ was all she said in response to the news.

  ‘Maybe there’s someone else you’d like to visit?’ Sabina said. ‘A friend?’ She wrung her hands in front of her. ‘You could visit some temples. If there was ever a time to pray…’ She looked away.

  Mila left the house with Albaus in tow. Prisca did not want to risk anything happening to her the day before the fight.

  She made her way to a number of the city’s temples, with nothing to offer the gods but her tearful pleas.

  If I must pay with my life for my desire to be free, please give strength to my mother and sister, and to Remus, who is not to blame. Please guide him to the free life he fought for.

  Exhausted from prayer, she sat on the steps of the temple of Hercules, trying to think past the fight, imagining her free life. What would it look like? Where would she go? She would be alone at first.

  ‘I will miss you, Albaus,’ she said, glancing at the bodyguard who was leaning against one of the pillars, arms crossed. ‘It will be like losing my own shadow.’

  He nodded, eyes on his feet.

  For some reason she had not allowed herself to think beyond the next day. Now the fight loomed in front of her, and she could not harness the thoughts racing in her head. She glanced at the sun, noting it was a little after noon. She did not want to return to the house.

  ‘Where shall we go now?’ she asked her bodyguard.

  He sniffed.

  ‘Not sure if that is a good idea.’

  A grunt.

  ‘All right, you talked me into it.’ She pushed off the step, manoeuvring around an old man, his live offering tucked under his arm as he made his way up the steps towards the temple.

  Albaus caught up to her, and the two of them walked side by side past the shopfronts where flowers, honey, and entire pig carcasses were on display. They turned the corner, passing the shoemaker, stonecutter, and silversmith.

  A few turns later and there it was, Ludus Magnus.

  Mila stopped across the street. ‘What am I supposed to say? I was in the area and thought I would pop in?’

  Albaus watched the street around them.

  ‘He will be working.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘I should leave him be. Give him space.’ She went to leave and Albaus reached out to stop her. Exhaling, she looked up at him. ‘I hope you are not getting soft on me.’

  He crossed the street and she ran to catch up with him. She had no idea how Remus would respond to her surprise visit, so she tried to come up with a reason, a message, a question. What would she say when he asked what she was doing there? Her mind came up blank. The man at the gate recognised her, but even if he did not, one look at Albaus had him opening the gate.

  She stepped through first and headed straight for the arena where he would likely be. Perhaps they could sit in the cavea and pretend they had come to watch the men train.
That was an entirely appropriate reason to be there.

  The space was alive with men and horses. She stood beneath the portico, searching for Remus among dozens of men with the same sunburned skin. Perhaps he was not there. He might have gone drinking, or was with a woman, maybe right at that moment.

  ‘He is not here,’ she said, turning away.

  Albaus grabbed her arm, spun her around and pointed. Her hand went to her brow. She spotted him then at the far end of the arena, a net in one hand and a trident in the other. He shouted something at one of the gladiators, then dropped the trident onto the sand so he could roll up the net. His form was so familiar to her now that her entire body reacted to the sight of him. She lowered her hand, unsure what to do. She felt ridiculous standing there. He glanced in her direction, and his eyes narrowed on her. Her heart beat faster.

  Too late to leave now.

  Remus walked over to one of the other trainers and said something. The man nodded. She had no choice but to stay where she was, trying one last time to come up with a clever story. But as Remus walked towards her, his toned arms swinging, his eyes fixed on her, her brain just gave up.

  After a few painful moments filled with something resembling nausea, Remus stepped up onto the firm ground and stopped in front of her. She swallowed.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ His gaze swept over her. ‘You all right?’

  She nodded, unable to hide her nerves. He waited for her to answer, and when she did not, he repeated himself.

  ‘What are doing here?’

  Where was her intelligent answer? Her wit?

  ‘Well, Prisca said the day was mine to do as I pleased. I wanted to see my family, but Nerva is away.’ She replayed the words in her head, wondering if they answered the question.

  He tucked his hands in his armpits. ‘You are supposed to be resting. Have you eaten?’

  She nodded. ‘I…’ She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I thought I might visit you.’ She winced. ‘To say thank you,’ she added, trying to bring some logic to her explanation. ‘And watch the men train.’ She looked past him. ‘And the horses… trot.’