The Gladiator's Honor

by Michelle Styles

  He gave his head a shake as a tendril of Julia's hair caught his attention.

  The cock crowed and Valens knew he needed to leave.

  He'd stayed too long as it was. For once, the other gladiators would be there before him, practising, dedicating their lives to the games and forgetting they had ever had another life.

  'I'm sure he has been a good patron to your father,' he said quietly, 'but he will be less than pleased with me if I arrive late to this training session.'

  At Valens's words, Julia started, and looked at her hands. She had swayed towards him, her lips parted, convinced he was about to take her into his arms. Confusion swept over her.

  'Absolutely, you must go.' She brushed her hair back with her hand. The simple act seemed to restore some normality to her thoughts. She drew a deep calming breath, taking in the damp earth smell of morning. 'How foolish of me! Keeping you here asking questions and prattling on about the Republic and its future when you are needed elsewhere.'

  She turned to go, keeping a firm grip on Bato's collar. She would get over this attraction, this silly crush. She was a grown woman, not a girl in her early teens with her hair falling about her shoulders and dolls lining her bedroom shelves. She had dedicated her dolls to Venus the day she had married Lucius and left her childhood behind.

  Her reaction was a normal one to kindness—that was all. Nothing more serious. In a day's time, she'd wonder what she ever saw in him. A gladiator, one of the infamis. A man outside polite society. A man whose profession was death. Someone who more than likely could not read or write. Even as she thought the words, she knew they were a lie fit for Sabina.

  'Julia,' he said thickly and put his hand on her elbow. She felt the sparks sizzle up her arm as the attraction started to ignite in her. 'I… I've enjoyed speaking with you. Thank you.'

  She halted, felt her grip loosen on Bato's collar, but kept her eyes straight ahead, focused on the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, refusing to look at the planes of his face. The warmth in the pit of her stomach grew with each thud of her heartbeat.

  'It was my pleasure. Thank you for taking care of Bato,' she said, managing to keep her voice steady, ignoring the way his fingers ran down the bare skin of her arm, drew small circles on the inside of her wrist.

  Then she met his gaze, and her look tumbled into his, captured, unable to do anything but stare back. She tried to form a witty sentence, but the words died on her lips at the sight of his intent expression. His face was so close, she could feel his warm breath fanning her cheek. This time he had to kiss her.

  He leant forward and his lips brushed hers, lingered. A whisper of a kiss like the finest wool caressing her body. She wanted more. Her body demanded she have more. She swayed towards him, allowed him to gather her body in his arms and his lips claimed possession. Her breasts brushed against his hard muscular chest, as she arched closer. Her lips opened and she tasted the sweetness of his mouth.

  Chapter Four

  The kiss sent shivers down Julia's spine. Valens's tongue glided over her lower lip and then touched the parting of her mouth before retreating. In her ears, she heard the thump of a heart—hers or his. Her body moulded itself into his hardness. It felt as if nothing had existed before and nothing would exist after.

  There was only his mouth against hers.

  His head lifted and he rubbed his thumb along her kiss-swollen lips, sending a fresh wave of sensation through her.

  For a heartbeat, neither said anything. Gradually she noticed small things—the damp ground against her feet, the way his breath fanned her cheek, the touch of his hand against her back holding her, the slam of a door far away, but she found it impossible to tear her gaze from Valens's. Every fibre of her being wanted to taste his lips again. She lifted her face towards his.

  The cockerel crowed a second time and broke the spell.

  He stepped back from her, smoothing a lock of hair off her forehead as he did so. The cold morning air rushed between them, cooling her body. Julia swallowed hard and tried to gather her thoughts. Modesty demanded she object, but the words refused to come.

  'Why did you kiss me?' she whispered into the silence and ran her tongue experimentally over her lips. They felt full and thoroughly kissed. Kissed in a way she had never been kissed before. The way she dreamt kisses felt like.

  Before she had suspected something was wrong with her for detesting Lucius's invasions of her mouth, but now she knew—with the right person, kissing was another matter entirely.

  'For luck,' he said with a lopsided smile. 'We'll be training later at Caesar's compound, if your father wants to watch.'

  He lifted the latch of the heavy door and was gone before she could answer him.

  She leant her cheek against the cool stone wall of the villa, waiting for the pounding of her heart to subside, reliving each movement, each word. The faint scent of his bath oil lingered—sandalwood mixed with something indefinably masculine. She knew hardly anything about this man, but her whole being cried out for his touch. She shivered as she ran her hand along her arm where his fingers had rested, reliving the experience.

  The cockerel crowed a third time.

  Julia put her hands to her cheeks. What was the matter with her? Standing here in the courtyard, half-naked. Had she taken leave of her senses? Despite the early hour, she could have been spotted. She could hear Sabina's squawks for hot water, and knew if someone had seen her, the betrothal to Mettalius would have happened before a toga had time to dry.

  The next time they met, she'd have to make sure that Valens knew and understood that she was not one of those bored women of Baiae, the notorious beach resort near Naples where the wealthy went to play and party, ripe for the picking. Her reputation was of paramount importance. She was a sober, well-adjusted Roman divorcee, not some sex-crazed gladiator supporter. She tried saying the words aloud, but, somehow, her mind kept returning to the kiss as her tongue traced the imprint of his mouth on her lips.

  When Valens reached the Julian compound in the centre of Subura, the Roman sky was filled with streaks from the rose-gold dawn. Already, the narrow maze of streets teemed with men making their morning rounds to their patrons. The suffocating atmosphere of waiting men and high-rise tenements gave way to space as he entered the Julian compound with its tinkling fountains, gardens and range of ancestral statues.

  The sound of wood clashing and bodies hitting the ground resounded in Valens's ears as he bent down to untie his sandals in the main courtyard.

  Practice had already started.

  He swore under his breath. He should have made the journey quicker, but had wanted to savour the feeling Julia's lips against his and the way her body had moulded to him and the honey-scented taste of her mouth—sweet and clear like a cool drink of spring water as her tongue teased his. A breath more and he'd have found an excuse to miss the practice. The thought shook him and he concentrated on untying the knot in his sandal.

  'You're late.' The gravelly tones of his usual sparring partner were unmistakable. 'We've been at this for a full hour already.'

  The other gladiator wiped the sweat from his battered face with a linen towel as he approached where Valens knelt. His fair hair was plastered against his head. Valens moved his sandals to prevent them from being dripped on by Tigris's dark blue tunic.

  'Nobody informed me of the change of time.'

  'I find that hard to believe.' Tigris gave Valens's shoulder a playful swat with his towel. 'You always know everything in this school, before it happens!'

  'Enough of that! I am not a god.'

  'You should try telling that to your legion of supporters. Would that I had as many people sighing for me! Everywhere I go in this city, that disreputable figure of yours is on sale. I have the sales of my own figure to consider.'

  Valens reached out and grabbed the towel before Tigris could swat him a second time.

  Tigris and he had entered Strabo's school together. Ever since they had fought each other to a stands
till on the second day, Tigris had become the closest thing Valens had to a true friend. Thankfully, although Tigris wore a slightly different style of armour, it was only a friendly rivalry. They would never meet in the ring, would never be locked in mortal combat with each other.

  'Tell me—what is the reason you are late?'

  'As far as I knew when I left yesterday afternoon, everything was set to begin on the first hour,' Valens explained.

  'Strabo sent one of the second halls with a message for me.' Tigris's face looked puzzled and he scratched a scab on his arm. 'Perhaps Strabo felt he didn't have to tell you. You are always the first one to practice.'

  'But not today,' Valens said without elaborating, hoping that Tigris would drop it.

  'And why not?' Tigris asked and raised an eyebrow. 'Have you found some Roman bird to feather your nest?'

  Valens looked at Tigris, wondering if he should respond to the jibe. His friend's grin widened under his gaze and Tigris held up his hands before he continued.

  'No, I forgot your creed: nothing is allowed to interfere with your work—not servants, animals and certainly not women.'

  'I see no reason to leave behind a grieving wife and two fatherless children.'

  Valens watched Tigris's face sober and knew he had hit a raw nerve—something they refused to agree about. Valens tightened his jaw. He would not apologise.

  Straightening, he handed his cloak and sandals to a waiting servant. He would practise as he always fought—barefoot When the time came, it was easier to stay upright. He'd seen too many meet their death wearing sandals as they slipped on the blood and dust in the arena.

  'There is more to life than death,' Tigris said quietly, his eyes accusing Valens.

  'Maia is already spoken for.' Valens gave Tigris a clap on the shoulder. 'Why should I settle for anyone but the best?'

  A bit of mild flattery should divert the conversation away from his private life and towards Tigris's favourite subject— his wife and twin boys.

  'Ah, now Maia is a grand woman.' Tigris gave a huge smile. 'I'm the lucky one. Only the Fates know what lies ahead for each of us, and when I die, I know my time on earth has been a little better because her and our children. You should try to find someone like her, Valens, someone who cares about you as a man.'

  Tigris had married Maia a year ago just after he became a gladiator of the first hall and took every opportunity he could to advocate the joys of sharing your life with someone. Normally, Valens let him prattle on, but today his words bothered him, revealed an emptiness in his life that he thought he'd dealt with. He found he envied Tigris his joy in Maia.

  What would it be like to wake every morning to a woman like Julia? To have her sleep-kissed eyes be the first thing to greet him each morning and the last thing he saw each night? To sleep with his limbs intertwined with hers? Valens shook his head and tried to get his thoughts away from the girl. There was something in the air in this city and his preoccupation with Julia was a symptom.

  His past was sending tenacious ropes as surely as his usual type of opponent, the rentarius who casts his net in the arena, seeking to ensnare him in its coils. He should never have come, avoided the promises of a large fortune and perhaps a wooden sword before one of the largest crowds the world had ever seen.

  Valens gave a wry smile and glanced at the lion tattoo on his forearm. The choice had been taken from him. Strabo had wanted him to go. He was a slave, a slave who had considerable property of his own, but he belonged to Strabo. He bore Strabo's mark.

  "That may be so, my friend, but why take the chance?' Valens gave a bitter laugh. 'I could end up with someone like Hylas's wife whose legs open on command to any man with a bit of sand on his feet and a sword in his hand.'

  His words came out more forcefully than he intended. Who was he trying to convince—Tigris or his own heart?

  "There is time enough for living after I have won back my wooden sword, my rudius.'

  'You sound positive you are going to win one,' Tigris replied. 'I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of gladiators who have won their rudius in the last seven years.

  The tight-fisted patrons have no desire to part with their cash for such things. Although they are quick enough to condemn a man to death and pay that fee if the crowd bays for it.'

  'I am a gladiator of the first hall. My record is beyond compare. If not me, who else?' Valens said with a wry smile that hid his inner determination. He had to win one. He'd go on fighting until he won. He wanted to leave the profession honourably—and that meant either the rudius or death. To retire or purchase his way out was not an option.

  Tigris gave a cough. 'Speaking of wooden swords, they are one of the reasons Strabo started early. He wants the testing ceremony for tiros over and done with by three hours, so that Caesar can inspect his troupe at four hours.'

  Valens stared at Tigris. He was joking, surely. Valens had been there when the contracts were drawn up. Strabo had been quite insistent on when inspections were to be allowed. He did not want the training interfered with by well-meaning amateurs. And Valens agreed whole-heartedly with the assessment. The morning was for training, the afternoon was for exhibitions, ceremonies and presentations.

  'But it was in the contract—no inspections before five hours,' he said, ignoring Tigris's jerk of his head.

  'Caesar wanted to make a special presentation to the troupe. I've made an exception,' a gravelly voice behind him rumbled. 'You are late, Valens.'

  Valens turned to see Strabo, his squint more pronounced than usual and his scarred face like thunder. Before starting his school ten years ago, Strabo had been a gladiator, and was rumoured to have defeated Spartacus, the rebel gladiator, in the arena, to win his wooden sword. Now instead of his shield and short sword, Strabo carried a scroll in one hand and a beaker of Flavian wine in the other.

  Valens clenched his jaw. He refused to apologise for being late. Had practice started when it was supposed to, he'd have been on time or at the very latest he'd have just missed the start of the warm-up session. Strabo should have sent word.

  They stared at each other, neither giving way. Strabo waved Tigris away.

  'You're late, Valens,' Strabo repeated. 'It will be a thirty denarü fine for you unless you have a reasonable excuse.'

  'I understood the starting time to be about now.'

  'Did you get the note I sent you last evening?'

  'No scroll arrived for me. Or none that I was given.' Valens looked at the leader of his gladiator school with a steady eye.

  Strabo frowned and clapped his hands. A servant appeared instantly at his side.

  'Did I or did I not send a scroll to Valens yesterday evening?'

  'You did, Master. Aquilia took it along with his.'

  'Is Aquilia here?'

  'Yes, Master Strabo. He is practising in the centre ring.'

  'There you see, Aquilia is here and you are late. You should have offered an excuse while I gave the chance. Next time you check the time and not merely assume. I was about to send guards to fetch you and bring you here, in chains if necessary.' Strabo shook his head. 'I hate to do this to you, Valens, but it will be a fine. First-Hall gladiators should set an example and be on time.'

  Without waiting for an answer, Strabo strode away. Valens picked up a blunt sword and started to fence with Tigris.

  'What's bothering him?' Valens asked, staring after the lanistra. 'My lateness was an innocent mistake, an inevitable consequence of the housing arrangements.'

  'Strabo probably had a thousand problems and you weren't here to solve them. You got off lightly with thirty denarü. He has already sentenced two second-hall gladiators to whippings and one tiro to the hole in the ground.'

  'Who was the tiro?" Valens asked, mentally running through the list of gladiators who were set to face their first real challenge in the arena.

  'Leoparda. Apparently he argued back to Aquilia, refusing to act as live bait for Aquilia's net practice. Aquilia demanded Strabo
take action.'

  Leoparda. Valens knew the name—a Nubian who moved with the grace of a cat. He had the potential, but being confined to a cell with barely enough room to move your legs did something to a man. Valens well remembered the rat-infested pit he'd been confined in during his captivity.

  'Strabo has never resorted to the pit for such a trivial offence before. Who is this Aquilia character who suddenly runs the show?'

  'He's on loan from another school. A rentarius of the first hall, one of the few.'

  Valens looked to where Tigris pointed and cold sweat formed on the back of his neck. He tightened his grip on his sword.

  The emblem of Alexander was emblazoned on Aquilia's right forearm and he strode around the practice yard as if he was striding on the deck of his ship. Valens's stomach clenched. There was no need to hear the oddly high-pitched voice that floated on the breeze or see the distinctive hooked nose. He knew instinctively who Aquilia had been in his previous existence—the pirate responsible for Valens's capture.

  'How the mighty have fallen,' Valens remarked, forcing his arm shield to meet Tigris's next blow.

  'Do you know him?'

  Tigris paused in his attack. Valens launched a counter-attack and sent Tigris's sword spinning to the sand. Valens reached down and retrieved it.

  'The last time I saw Aquilia,' he said, handing the sword back with a flourish, 'he sold me to the African slave trader who sold me to Strabo. He was a pirate then.'

  Tigris whistled. 'How the mighty have fallen indeed."

  Almost as if Aquilia could hear them talking, he turned and stared at them. Valens stared back. If it pleased the gods to match them in a bout, then he would take his revenge for the sixteen members of his patrol who had died in the pirate's pit.

  'We had best to get to practising,' Valens said, deliberately turning from Aquilia without acknowledging him.

  'So you are not going to tell me what happened this morning? And why there is a whiff of perfume about you?'