Roma Victrix

by Russell Whitfield

  They debated the lies of Thucydides, the great works of Homer and discussed, at some length, the absurd Athenian notion of democ-racy. Why the Atticans clung to the belief that the demos was bred or qualified to make decisions of national import was beyond Lysandra.

  Diarchy – a wholly Spartan concept – was the only way a subject-body should be ruled: two kings, after all, were better than one. But not all peoples were as advanced as her own, as the Romans had discovered when they tried to copy this model with their consul-led government. Naturally, this had failed – consuls were elected and then only for a single year. But even the Romans had come to realise that at least a single hereditary ruler was necessary. Of course, this led to the power-madness and corruption so endemic of Romans, a situation avoided by the Spartan diarchy. But still, in the final analysis, powerful states could not be run by committee.

  Whilst the discussions were entertaining, Lysandra found herself lapsing into silence as they drew nearer to the Deiopolis, contemplating the gravity of what she must do. Seeing the walls again for the first time since her ignominious display sent a shock through her for which she was not prepared. Despite all she had done for the women, she still feared they would despise her for her weakness and then deride her more when they learned she was leaving.

  Even though her intention was to fight in Rome, she knew they would think she was fleeing in shame. She had always been Achillia – Gladiatrix Prima, the model of Spartan perfection: now, she had revealed a part of herself that was all too flawed.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Telemachus broke the long silence between them.

  Lysandra grimaced. ‘That this will not be easy. Despite my intention to fight in Rome, I know that there are those within the walls that will judge me harshly – they will say that I am fleeing in shame.’

  ‘Who cares?’ Telemachus shrugged. ‘You know you’re not, and when you return, wrapped in glory, they’ll eat their words. If,’ he added, ‘any are thinking at all. As far as they’re concerned, you went over the top with the wine jug and made a fool of yourself.

  It’s not as though you’re the first or will be the last to do that, Lysandra.’

  Lysandra did not respond. It was easy enough for Telemachus to say – he was not the one who had acted so appallingly. But, she realised, there was little enough that she could do about what the women thought. In the back of her mind, that treacherous part of her whispered that she was indeed running away, rather than facing the situation that she had created.

  ‘You have certainly created a magnificent sanctuary,’ Telemachus commented, pulling her from the path of self-reproach. ‘It is much changed from the place I once knew.’

  ‘Things are different now,’ she agreed.

  As it was, none of the guards had stared nor even looked side-ways at her as she and Telemachus had entered the Deiopolis. The compound was busy with worshippers, tourists and priestesses, yet the women she encountered greeted her warmly and seemed only full of concern.

  ‘You see,’ Telemachus told her as they entered Lysandra’s apartments. ‘You have been worried for nothing.’

  It was good to be out of the harsh sunlight. Inside, it was cool and easier on the eyes, but the pair had little time to enjoy the change in surroundings.

  ‘Mistress!’ The dishevelled looking Nikos seemed to have sensed her presence and came rushing down the stairs to the megaron. ‘We were worried about you. Your note said you’d be gone only a few days. Let me see,’ he eyed her critically. ‘You need a bath, something cool to drink and some food too. Something light, it’s very hot…’ he trailed off, seeming to notice Telemachus for the first time. ‘And your guest?’

  ‘Yes, please, Nikos. This is Telemachus, a priest. He will be working here with us from now on. Indeed, I would like Titus, Thebe and Varia to join me for dinner.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Nikos bowed.

  ‘Now, as you say, I need a bath.’ Being back in her domain was not the trauma that Lysandra had anticipated. Rather, it was a balm for her soul and she felt more at ease and in control than she had in months. The combination of familiar surroundings and a clear head gave her a strength and confidence that she had been lacking.

  Bathed and much-refreshed, Lysandra and Telemachus sat in the main chamber of her apartment. It was beautifully arranged: Nikos, as usual, had seen to it that the dinner spread was austere enough for her tastes, yet not overtly Spartan as to put off her guests. Well pleased, Lysandra allowed herself a cup of wine and was relieved to find that the sudden urge to down the entire krater was not upon her. Telemachus said nothing, but she could tell that he had disapproved of her decision, so it pleased her that she could prove his assumptions incorrect.

  She had little time to enjoy this small victory, however, as her friends arrived for their appointment. Lysandra rose smoothly as they entered.

  ‘It is good to see you all,’ she said, offering them in turn the warrior’s grip. ‘You know Telemachus, of course.’ The priest raised his cup in greeting.

  The formalities over, they sat and, after offering a libation to the gods, Lysandra decided to waste no time in explaining her plans. ‘I owe you all an apology,’ she began. Thebe opened her mouth to protest but Lysandra waved this away. Thebe was now her oldest friend, the last of their original famillia of the old ludus – she would always leap to defend her, even if she was in the wrong. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I do. I have not been… at my best these past years. I know it. I have shamed myself in front of those women out there. I am supposed to be an inspiration to them, yet somehow… I drifted from the Spartan way and behaved in a manner neither befitting myself or my kin. I am ashamed of what I became, but there is nothing I can do about it now. It is past.’

  Lysandra had not expected congratulations, but even so the long silence that greeted her admission embarrassed her somewhat.

  Eventually, it was Thebe who came to her rescue. ‘You often expect too much of yourself, Lysandra,’ she said. ‘You are only human.’

  Lysandra acknowledged that with a tilt of her head. The admission of her failings she knew was the easy part: what she had to tell them now would come as shock. She tried to think of an eloquent way to put matters, but in the end, the laconic style was always the best. ‘I am leaving the Deiopolis,’ she stated.

  It took a few moments for it to sink in.

  ‘ Leaving,’ Titus was incredulous. ‘You can’t leave here…’ he began to flounder.

  ‘It is your home now,’ Thebe said, evidently as shocked as Titus.

  ‘This place was paid for with your blood.’

  ‘And yours, Thebe,’ Lysandra acknowledged. There was a part of her that was gratified at their reaction. In her heart, she knew that she had let them believe – for a brief moment – that her absence was to be permanent. ‘Let me explain,’ she pushed on. ‘I recently received a letter from Domitian himself inviting to me to fight in the great Roman arena – the Flavian – against their champion.’

  ‘But you haven’t fought in years!’ Thebe exclaimed. ‘Lysandra, this is madness!’

  Titus grunted his agreement. ‘She’s right,’ he adopted his world-weary-voice-of-experience. ‘You’re too long away from the sands to even consider this. Every fighter – no matter who they are – always thinks they have one more fight in them. That fight is usually their last.’

  Lysandra felt her neck and face grow hot. Typical of Titus to always look at the negatives. ‘You speak as though I am a crone,’ she snapped. ‘I am ten years younger than Sorina was when I fought her and I recall you had no complaints about her fitness for action.’

  ‘She trained all the time,’ Titus reminded her. ‘You’re not exactly… that is to say that you’ve had other concerns. Running this place and so on.’ His expression told her that he had nearly insulted her and recovered himself.

  ‘This isn’t really her choice,’ Telemachus put in. Surprisingly, he had been silent all the way through the exchange, which Lysandra thought unusual for an Ath
enian. ‘She has had a vision…’

  ‘Not meaning to be rude, Telemachus,’ Titus interrupted, which was of course rude in itself and indicative of more rudeness to come, ‘but visions from the gods are often unclear.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were an augur,’ the priest said mildly, causing Titus to clamp his jaw shut in irritation. ‘Lysandra has strayed from the path ordained by Athene herself. This you have seen yourselves.

  It is no wonder that she is at odds with herself and everything around her. That the goddess has sent her a vision is proof that she must undertake this challenge.’

  ‘Maybe the goddess wants a sacrifice, Telemachus,’ Titus shot back. ‘Did you ever consider that?’

  ‘If that is her will, then that is her will,’ Lysandra decided it was time to interject before an argument ensued. She wanted priest and trainer to be on good terms – after all, they would be working together.

  ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ Varia added her small weight to the discussion. Lysandra gave her a nod to show that she appreciated the support. ‘Lysandra needs to sort herself out – this is the best way for her to do it.’

  ‘My mind is made up.’ There would be no more debate. They knew her well enough to realise that once she had reached a decision, she would not be moved.

  Even Titus looked resigned. ‘What are your plans, then?’ he asked.

  ‘I cannot train here at the Deiopolis. There are too many people that know me, too many who will want to prove themselves against me. I will go to Italia and sign on at a small ludus as a contract fighter – after I have regained my physical fitness. A few bouts and then I will be ready for the Roman champion.’

  ‘You’re not going to Italia by yourself,’ Varia stated. ‘I was born there, I will accompany you.’

  Lysandra smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm. ‘I don’t think so, Varia.

  This is something I must do alone.’

  ‘I understand,’ Varia’s voice was ice. She got up. ‘I too am leaving the Deiopolis,’ she announced. ‘Tonight.’ Without another word, she stalked off, fury emanating from her like fire.

  As she left, Lysandra shrugged and winked at the others. ‘She will calm down. I will speak to her later.’ Varia was always having these tantrums which Lysandra put it down to youthful pique. But she had to learn that she could not continue to act like a child: as she herself had pointed out, she was twenty years old.

  ‘So when are you to leave?’ Thebe asked, bringing Lysandra’s attention back to the table.

  ‘As soon as I have settled affairs here. This is why I have brought Telemachus. I have asked him to assist us in the running of the Deiopolis in my absence.’

  ‘I’m sure we don’t need any help in running the Deiopolis, ’ said Titus – somewhat predictably.

  ‘Not with the day-to-day business, of course.’ Lysandra smoothed his easily pricked ego. ‘Telemachus is a priest of Athene. I am sure that her hand will guide his decisions as he oversees things. But we are relying on you, Titus, to make sure that the Deiopolis functions.

  As you have said – this is a huge job but it is one in which you are extremely skilled. Just think of Telemachus as my stand-in till I return.’

  That seemed to mollify the Roman somewhat. ‘Paperwork and things like that?’ Titus wanted assurance.

  ‘Precisely.’

  There was little more to be said on the matter. Titus decided that now was the time to explain the intricate running of the Deiopolis which bored both Lysandra and Thebe who were used to hearing Titus’s problems. They excused themselves, leaving the Roman to mentor his new associate.

  ‘I could come with you,’ Thebe said as they made their way to Lysandra’s private room.

  ‘No, Thebe. My mind is made up on this. It is not that I think you could not help me. You could. But it is not about that. It is about me helping myself, my own way. Finding who I am again, not what I became here. This is Athene’s will.’

  ‘You put a lot of faith in her, Lysandra,’ Thebe observed dryly.

  She made her way out onto Lysandra’s balcony, looking out over the Deiopolis. ‘Do you ever think about Danae?’ she asked. ‘And Penelope?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lysandra responded, thinking this was an odd question at this time. Hearing their names brought the faces of their dead friends to mind. Danae – caring Danae, who had been there for all of Balbus’s girls when times were hard. Penelope, the bawdy island girl who loved life with a fierce passion: ribald and fun, she had kept everyone’s spirits up with her antics. They were both dead – killed on the sands of the Halicarnassus arena.

  ‘I don’t want you to end up the same way,’ Thebe turned back and Lysandra saw that there were tears in her eyes. That was her Corinthian weakness showing, but she considered it would be truculent to upbraid her for it as she understood why her friend wept.

  They were the last of Balbus’s troupe and they shared a special bond that was stronger even than ties of blood. They were sisters of the sword.

  ‘I will not end up the same way,’ Lysandra assured her. ‘I am still Achillia in here,’ she tapped her breast. ‘I am still Gladiatrix Prima.

  No one has ever beaten me, Thebe. And no one ever will.’

  Thebe smiled through her tears. She said nothing for a moment, simply stepping forward and embracing her tightly for a few moments. ‘ Ave, Achillia, Gladiatrix prima,’ she said in Latin. ‘That will be the chant in Rome.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lysandra was both gratified and embarrassed by this display of affection. ‘Thank you, Thebe,’ she said, disengaging herself from the embrace. ‘I must go now and speak with Varia.’

  ‘Go easy with her, Lysandra,’ Thebe pulled herself together, wiping her eyes. ‘She feels as though her wings are clipped.’

  Lysandra stiffened. ‘She is ungrateful and spoiled. I should have been harder with her.’

  ‘You’re not her mother, you’re her friend.’

  ‘I am more than that, Thebe. I have educated her, provided for her – I freed her from slavery when I was still a slave myself.’

  ‘Yes,’ Thebe agreed. ‘You freed her. Bear in mind that you do not own her.’ Lysandra was about to respond, but Thebe continued.

  ‘It can’t be easy for her,’ she said. ‘She trains hard, but to what end?

  She sees the other girls going out to fight, coming back with their tales. You protect her too much and the other girls mock her for it. You know how it can be in the ludus. And then there is you – Gladiatrix Prima. She lives in your shadow, doesn’t she? You said it yourself – no one has ever beaten you, and no one ever will. How does that make a young woman feel, living in this environment?

  She wants to compete – mostly against herself, but also against you.

  She needs to be her own woman, and you’re not letting her do it.’

  Lysandra felt a strong urge to drink a cup of wine and this time she did not fight it. She poured for them both, mixing her own heavily with water. It was insipid to drink and lacked the bite that she wanted. But then, she supposed, that was probably a good thing.

  ‘I do not want her to be hurt,’ she said at length. ‘Killed, even.

  You know what can happen on the sands, Thebe. If she were to die, the better part of me would die with her. The arena has taken so much from us already. Danae. Penelope. Hildreth… Eirianwen.

  Varia is like a daughter to all of us – should we now offer her up as a sacrifice as well?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. Lysandra, Varia has grown up in the ludus – she was Balbus’s slave even before we came here. She knows no other way of life. If you had wanted to protect her, then you should have sent her away. As it is…’ she trailed off. ‘What else did you expect?’

  Lysandra was about to reply, but there was no argument. She should have sent Varia away to protect her but, in her selfishness, she had allowed the girl to stay. Stay and watch others revel in their glory, whilst she – ‘daughter’ of Lysandra – was coddled an
d protected. As Thebe had pointed out, Varia would have endured much taunting and provocation from the other women, and even if Lysandra thought that to endure mockery was far preferable than enduring a sword in the guts, she wondered what she would do in Varia’s place. Would she have stood for it at twenty years old?

  Would she stand for it now?

  ‘You should go and find her now,’ was all Thebe said. And she was right.

  Lysandra nodded and set down her cup. Without another word she left her chambers and made her way into the balmy evening air.

  The Deiopolis was still busy with supplicants and priestesses tending their needs and this slowed her progress, frustrating her. She forced down her irritation, knowing that the conversation with Varia would be difficult enough without having do it on fraught nerves. She should, she considered, be grateful that at least she was not attempting it on a bellyful of unwatered wine.

  Like the rest of the temple, there was still activity on the palaestra – the training ground – but that was slowing now. She kept her head down, ignoring the women on the sands and walked quickly to Varia’s rooms.

  Which were empty. Lysandra bit her lip in irritation as she made her way inside; the Deiopolis was big and Varia could be anywhere.

  Though she would probably have gone for a drink: it was, Lysandra thought angrily, what she herself would have done up till recently.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  Lysandra started at the voice behind her. She turned to see one of the gladiatrices at the doorway. ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the woman inclined her head respectfully, recognising her. ‘Said she was going to the city for a few days.’

  Again, as she herself had just done. She thanked and dismissed the gladiatrix, following her out onto the training ground.

  Lysandra bit down a curse. It was not the first time Varia had stormed off to Halicarnassus in a sulk and she suspected it would not be the last. But she had wanted to speak to the girl and put matters between them right. As it was, that would have to wait.