by Nhys Glover
“Yes, much safer here. But we must never let our guard down again. I would have left one of those men with you had I not felt it would have been seen as a punishment. Those four were born for the arena.”
“Yes, they were,” I replied sadly. “Yes, they were.”
Chapter Two
TALOS
Seeing her again was like a shot of excruciating pleasure. Everything inside me came alive the instant I saw her being led up into the viewing stands. I barely even noticed her father was with her. My eyes couldn’t seem to leave her face.
“Focus,” Orion barked at me as we took our positions for our next sparring session. We’d been fighting hard for over an hour without a break, and I was drained. But the sight of Accalia sent fresh energy surging through me. Now I could really fight!
Without a word, we decided to do our changing places routine. We’d perfected it in the barracks with the use of subtle hand signals no one but us understood. Even if opponents had fought us before and knew what to expect, the pattern was never the same. And just like few ever saw how we did our sleight-of-hand tricks with coins, our rivals never saw how we signalled each other to change the play.
So we put on a show for Accalia, each of us vying to outshine the rest. Which was absurd, because we had learned years ago that there was none who was better than the others. We were as equal as four fighters could ever be. Yes, we had different strengths and weaknesses, but ultimately they balanced out to leave us equals.
Back in the day, we used to challenge each other to see who was the best. On one day I might win, on another Orion might take the honours. Or Typhon or Asterius. It depended on what gods were with us on that occasion who the ultimate winner would be.
But when we fought as we were doing now we were first and foremost a pack. Vying to be best came second to making sure the pack won and put on the best possible show it could.
And we did put on our best show, leaving our poor opponents dizzy, furious and befuddled by all our antics. Enemies were easily made in places like this, just as they had been in the barracks. We were used to dealing with other’s jealousy, and the paybacks some fighters felt they should mete out after we made fools of them. They never succeeded.
I couldn’t wait for the session to be over. From watching others, I knew that when owners came to inspect their gladiators they often called them over afterwards for a quick word. Having a chance to talk to Accalia after all these months was like a dream come true.
When I came back home after my initiation, I was over the moon to see Accalia safe and well. I tried to hide the envy I felt when I was told the story of how Asterius had spent three weeks on the run alone with our girl, and then the months since, as her bodyguard. Though they never spoke of it, we all knew they’d become a lot closer over that time, as Typhon and Accalia had become close when he was injured and she spent many hours caring for him.
Not that I’d ever deny my pack-mates their time with her. They deserved it. But I couldn’t help feeling deprived—left out—as their bond with her developed and mine stayed frozen in the superficial realm of friendship.
Which was crazy, because even friendship was more than I should ever have with someone like our she-wolf. She was so far above us that none of us was worthy of her. Not really. And it had nothing to do with her being a patrician and our master’s daughter. Her superiority came from her spirit, open-heart and strength of character. She was every bit the fighter, in her own way, as we were. We’d known it the moment she told us she wanted to be a physician, and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way. And she hadn’t. Though she was a patrician and a girl, she had cut her hair, passed herself off as a slave boy, and become the assistant to the estate’s physician, Ariaratus. Accalia had made sure her father knew about the mad doctores, Lucullus, and she’d raced across the mountains with a retired slave—both day and night—to get to us in time to help Typhon.
I remembered how badly he’d been beaten by that madman. And from what Typhon told us later, he was ten times better than he’d been before Accalia found him. His previous dagger wound had opened up again, and he likely would have died if she hadn’t done whatever it was she did. It hadn’t been the needle-and-thread kind of healing she’d learned from Ariaratus but something else completely. And we’d seen her work her magic in similar ways many times over the years.
Most slaves on the estate knew who Cassius really was, although they all kept up the charade because a noblewoman wasn’t supposed to do what she did. And if they admitted to knowing who she was they might lose access to her amazing skills. For half the year they had her. But that was more than they should have. So, like us, they took what they could get and were grateful for it.
The midwives had taken to calling her in when there was a particularly difficult birth. That said a lot, because they would never let Ariaratus help them. But Cassius would lay her hands on a struggling woman and she would stop pushing and relax, all pain evaporating. Sometimes she would use her hands to shift a babe into the right position, other times she would coax out the afterbirth when it remained stuck inside. The stories that had reached us in the barracks left us in awe of her.
That this amazingly brave and capable woman loved us left us all humbled. And because we knew we could never have her, not in the way we wanted, that knowledge formed yet another bond between us. So, aye, I envied my brothers their time with her, but I was also happy for them. Just as I knew they would’ve been happy for me if I’d been in their place.
So we went to talk to our girl, taking turns sharing a few words with her. And, if it was over too soon, we at least had those few brief minutes to relive in quiet moments between the exhausting, painful drill of sparring day-in and day-out from dawn to dusk.
If we had thought our training gruelling in the barracks, it was nothing compared to the daily grind we were subjected to in the ludus. No time now for lessons. Every spare moment was set aside for honing our bodies and skills. It was easy to see how the madman, Lucullus, a doctores in just such a place as this for many years, would have found the program in the barracks overly indulgent. What he forgot, or was too mad to see, was that boys were not men. They needed to have their souls and minds tended, as well as their bodies.
When we had arrived that first day and strode proudly in through the entrance to be examined, we had been so excited we could have jumped out of our skins. And the inspectors had only to take one look at us and where we’d come from, to pass us for entry into the ludus.
As I told Accalia, we had sized up the barracks fairly quickly and begun negotiating, bribing and threatening to get what we wanted: one of the cells big enough to accommodate us all. Our beds were a slight improvement on what we’d slept on all our lives, which had been straw pallets on the floor. Now we had soldiers’ camp beds that kept us off the cold, damp, stone floor and meant the rats had less chance to nibble on us as we slept.
There were almost two thousand gladiators in this, the largest of the emperor’s schools, and finding our place among that many men had taken a little time. It helped that our master’s reputation preceded us. We immediately gained respect from that alone. Also, the men who had previously trained in the barracks—some part of the Master’s troupe and some who now belonged to others—had formed a familia in the ludus over the years, and we were embraced as brothers by these men. It helped to have that connection, as we tried to adjust to all the changes that had occurred in so short a space of time.
In so many ways we were innocents. Our lives had been cloistered in the country, every moment structured and assured. Except for the short periods of our initiations, of course. But the men we now associated with had come from vastly different lives, and had seen so much more than we would likely ever see. It was humbling.
But after we fought the first time, during the Saturnalia, the attention we attracted brought us even more respect, along with the requisite jealousy. Though we were still on the bottom of the five grades, or posts, we wer
e treated as if we were higher. The doctores took extra time with us, the lanista watched us with more interest than the others, and we’d been told there was a plan to incorporate our pack fighting style into a special performance for the emperor.
There were always a variety of events at a spectaculum. Ours would just become one of them.
In the morning, with much fanfare and showmanship, we were paraded before the citizens of Rome on our way from the ludus to the wooden theatre in Campus Martius that Nero had built shortly after becoming emperor. It was an impressive structure, which catered well to the kind of events the people loved most. There were places for keeping the wild animals, the condemned prisoners, and for us, which was more than could be said for the old Statilius Taurus amphitheatre. Or so we were informed that first time.
The four ludii of Rome occupied compounds not far from the two amphitheatres. Ours was the largest and closest to the old amphitheatre, which meant a longer parade for us.
Once inside the amphitheatre, and after a circuit of the arena to the cheers of the crowd, we were led away to await the afternoon. The morning was devoted to animal events and shows that featured the condemned prisoners. These could be bloody and disgusting, from what we’d gathered. Luckily, we’d never have to witness them firsthand.
At the midday meal break more condemned criminals met their deaths by bloodthirsty means, including being burned alive or torn to pieces by animals.
Many people, particularly those of the higher classes, didn’t arrive until the afternoon when the performances became more about skill and less about bloodletting. There might be a re-enactment of a famous battle the Romans had won. The gladiators would don the appropriate armour and weapons for the battle, while the presenter beguiled the audience with the story and the band set the mood and accompanied the action.
There would also be single combat, the most common event of all, where a dozen or so gladiators would take on individual opponents and fight them until the editor determined a victor in each instance.
Another kind of performance, a Catervarius, would be a mass battle where everyone was considered the enemy and the winners were the last men or man standing. This was usually where the least skilled fighters would do battle. It was a slaughterhouse and most of those who died on any day did so during such an event.
Finally, to end the day, there were the special events where only two combatants would take to the arena. Usually these were the most skilled gladiators of the highest grade, the primus palus, or veterans who had retired and were brought back for a special occasion. These were the events the crowd had come for.
It would be a long time before we would be ready to walk into the stadium alone, although it was our greatest dream to reach those heights one day. And to win.
Our special performance would likely be an opening event with some kind of story attached to it. The lanista had probably scoured the historical records for some strategic skirmish that involved a handful of Roman legionaries taking on a handful of barbarians. The story would bear little relationship to the actual event, but no one would care.
As we shared our midday meal, we spoke quietly about Accalia’s visit, making sure not to be overheard. Even if what we said was innocent, to the wrong ears it might become fodder endangering Accalia’s reputation and our lives.
“She looks as if she’s lost weight,” Typhon worried as he dug in to his bean stew with less relish than usual.
“You know her, she forgets to eat when she’s busy,” Orion pointed out.
“But she hasn’t been Cassius since we left, so there shouldn’t be any reason for her to be so busy,” Asterius said, far too seriously for him.
Except for that one flirty moment when he’d spoken to Accalia, he had been oddly reserved since coming to Rome. And there were times when I caught him staring off into space with a sad expression on his face that was so out of character it discomforted me. Typhon, who knew him best, said he was missing Accalia. I understood, only too well. I’d felt like that the whole time I was on my trial.
Maybe that was why it was easier on the rest of us being separated from her now than it was for Asterius. We had had time to get used to it. I doubted any of us truly stopped missing her. It was just that we’d become accustomed to the hole she’d left in our hearts. Even Typhon.
But for Asterius, who had had her continuously in his life for all those months, that wrenching break must have been excruciating. And still was.
“She’s missing us. She doesn’t eat when she’s unhappy,” Typhon said with authority.
“I doubt that’s true. Not enough to stop eating,” Orion said, unwilling to accept the important part we played in her life.
He constantly tried to underplay his own connection with her, as well as ours. It was his way. If he didn’t care, then no one could use Accalia against him. A strong man shows no vulnerabilities. A strong man shows no weaknesses. And Accalia was both his vulnerability and his weakness, even if he refused to admit it.
As she was ours.
“Shut up, Orion. You don’t have a clue how important we are to her,” Asterius snarled, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the whole damn thing shook as if the gods were at play.
“And you do? After spending all that one-on-one time with her you’ve become the expert on her, have you?” Orion growled sarcastically.
“Aye, I have. There was plenty of time for sharing our deepest secrets sitting on the deck of a ship for seven days. And she told me that she loved each of us with all her heart. Not that she gave us each a piece of her heart, but that each of us got all of it. She said it didn’t make sense because a person couldn’t have five hearts—she included her father with us—but that that was how it felt to her. Each of us has all her heart. She loves us. Too much. I knew it would be hard for her when we left, but seeing her... seeing how she’s lost weight... I want to break something!” He looked as if he was about to smash a hole in the table this time. Only the eyes turning our way seemed to give him pause.
Silence fell as we contemplated this new insight into our little she-wolf.
Finally, Orion spoke again, this time with pain in his voice. “She’ll get over us, just as we’ll get over her. It’ll just take time, that’s all. People don’t really die of broken hearts.”
“More’s the pity,” Typhon said intensely “Because sometimes I’m in so much pain I wish I was dead. The only thing that stops me going down that path is knowing Accalia would still be here, and there’d be an even wider gulf separating us. But it hurts. Maybe it’s not the same for the rest of you, but I’m man enough to admit that it hurts. I’d rather have a dagger in my side than this ache.”
“That’s how it feels for me too,” Asterius admitted quickly, rubbing at his chest. “Like someone’s stuck a dagger into my chest and keeps turning it when I least expect it. And I’m empty all the time. I don’t want sex, I don’t want food, I’m just... empty. I eat and fight because I have to. And sometimes I can get lost in a contest and forget for a while. But then the fight ends and I’m back to being empty again.”
“It hurts me too,” I admitted more slowly. “I try not to think about it. That makes it easier to handle.”
Orion let out a loud sigh and rubbed at his curling, overlong locks of blonde hair. “All right, if we have to do this womanish sharing thing. I hurt too. More than I expected to. More than I want to. There were a couple of times there, when I was away, that I felt like there was a physical string stretched between her heart and mine. The further away I got from her the more it tightened like a noose around my heart. I kept expecting it to break; or tear free, taking a piece of my heart with it. But it never did.”
“I’d suggest we need a whore, but I doubt any of us would enjoy it much,” I said thoughtfully, trying to come up with some answer that could ease our pain.
“I couldn’t get it up if my life depended on it,” Asterius admitted uncomfortably. “Except when I’m thinking about her... I can’t get it up
anymore.”
That shocked me. Asterius had the most voracious sexual appetite of us all. For him to admit that, it was truly bad. Not that my lust had been overly strong either, since coming to Rome. I’d made the most of a whore the night before our first fight, but could hardly remember it now. And I hadn’t wanted sex since. Sure, I had wet dreams, usually featuring Accalia, but otherwise I didn’t even feel like pleasuring myself.
“We need to get a grip on our emotions,” Orion scolded, just like one of our old tutors. “Nothing is going to change. Accalia’s out of our lives, and we were stupid to let her into them in the first place. It would’ve been kinder to her and ourselves if we’d kept her out. Stupid. We were just weak and stupid!”
Asterius growled. I never expected to hear that sound from his throat.
“I wouldn’t give up one moment of my time with her. Because it was the very opposite of weak and stupid. And it wasn’t us who invited her back, that was you. Because you couldn’t let her go then and you can’t do it now. So just shut the fuck up. Stop trying to manage us. This isn’t manageable. It just is. All we can do is live with it. And hopefully get over it one day. Some day.”
I had a bad feeling he was right. And that his hoped for ‘one day’ would be a long time in coming.
Chapter Three
ACCALIA
Pater had a special box at the spectaculum because he was an owner. And as he escorted me and my uncle’s family into it, I felt pride in him and his dream. He lifted the games from a mere bloodbath to something that exemplified all Rome stood for: its bravery, strength and glory. And because of his work, he was respected by men far superior to him in status. Men like the equestrian, Natalinus, who was willing to call Pater a friend.
And speaking of Natalinus, he and his sons were taking seats in a box next to ours. I smiled at Marcus and he grinned back cheekily, fluttering his eyelashes as he took in my gown.
