Talos_An Ancient Roman Reverse Harem Romance

by Nhys Glover

  “I surprised myself and stayed strong, which was probably the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do in my life. But we did stuff to make it easier on both of us. I taught her what the whores told us. And even though I never ... Well, what we did was better than any sex I’ve ever had. Will likely ever have. Because it was her and she’s just so... I don’t know. Her?”

  “Whole hearted about everything she does?” I suggested.

  Asterius sighed with relief. “Exactly. It’s like she holds nothing back. And that’s better than anything else, even having the crowds chant our name. But because she doesn’t hold back, I had to be the one to stop. It was odd, but it actually felt good to take care of her like that. To put her future needs ahead of my needs and her own in the moment. It made me a man. As weird as that sounds, not claiming her made me a man.”

  “Not weird at all,” I said thoughtfully. “Men claim fucking makes you a man. But it doesn’t. I think taking care of those you love makes you a man.”

  “Aye, I agree. And I’m glad you taught her, but also that you protected her,” Orion said, adding his approval.

  “I knew there was something different about you when you came back. I thought it was because you’d taken her. But that wouldn’t have changed you. You’ve had enough women that it wouldn’t have made any real difference. Even if it was Accalia. But this... this is a first for you. I’m glad for you, brother. I’m glad you got your chance to be a man for her,” Typhon admitted, his voice a little hoarse.

  After that there was nothing more to be said. I doubt I was the only one imagining it had been me who taught her some of what we’d learned. And if I got myself off in the darkness, I knew I wasn’t the only one.

  The next day followed much the same plan as the previous games. The novelty of going to the arena had worn off quickly, I discovered. The days were excruciatingly long and, for the most part, boring. We had to sit around for endless hours in a locked cell with no room even to pace. Excitement and fear had us wanting to move to work it off, but there was nowhere to move to, so we had to push down the tension by napping or thinking of other things.

  So I thought about Accalia. I relived every moment I could remember spending with her. In my mind, I saw her smile, heard her laugh, felt the soft kiss of her lips on my cheek, the soft sleekness of her hair between my fingertips. I remembered how her eyes sparked with anger or amusement or indignation. And how those same eyes could soften with love and caring. I had all the memories I needed to occupy those endless, boring hours as we waited our turn in the arena.

  We knew this time would be harder than the last. Somehow, we had to be even more novel than we had been yesterday. Though each munus we fought as a pack was a different experience for us, it might not seem that way to the emperor or the crowd. So we had to work to make it look different. And find a way to win while we did so.

  When the guards unlocked our cell, we filed out, flexing our muscles to push much needed blood into them. We pumped ourselves up with thoughts of winning, of the blood we’d shed, and the glory of battle. These were all techniques our trainers had instilled in us over many years. If you went into a contest cold you’d lose, even if you were the better fighter. And though we’d warmed up for a while just before midday, when we were fed just enough to give us the energy we needed for our contest, we weren’t warmed up in our heads. That we couldn’t do until these last few moments before we charged out into the arena.

  Our blood had to be up from the very first. No more thoughts of Accalia. No more thoughts of a peaceful life. We had to fill our minds with whatever made our blood boil. Some called on Mars, the god of war, or Hades, the god of the underworld. It didn’t matter how you did it, as long as your muscles were primed, and you were overflowing with pent energy when you ran out into the arena.

  We heard the presenter explaining the tale for today. In the early days of the Republic when Rome fought the Etruscans to the north, a small force of Romans had to get a message through to the general on the other side of the river. But to do that they had to cross a bridge controlled by the enemy. Under the cover of darkness, the Romans crept in on foot through the camped soldiers and managed to reach the bridge before the alarm went up. They fought like fiends and finally escaped to reach their army.

  Like the last time, we made a stealthy entry into the arena. For several minutes the crowd roared its pleasure at the sight of us, but then fell silent as the band began to build the tension with its music. The masterful choice of instruments created just the right atmosphere. It had amazed me the first time it happened. Then, it had really felt like we were making our way through a primordial forest. This time, it felt like we were creeping through an enemy encampment, trying not to awaken them.

  Even though I was expecting it, when the music changed and became clashing and jarring, I jumped. We had just reached the bridge set up in the middle of the stadium. The Etruscans poured into the arena and there seemed to be hundreds of them. For one or two panicky moments, I thought we’d been betrayed. But then my mind cleared, and I saw that the approaching, yelling men were not as many as I’d thought. No more than yesterday. Possibly, no more than yesterday.

  The men raced to reach us before we got to the other side of the bridge. Half came at us from one side, half the other.

  A railing ran on both sides of the ramps and small platform. This was unusual. It trapped us all in. The usual Pontarius had no railings. But then, when a retarius was fighting, railings would make swinging a net impossible. For us, it just made it more difficult. As it did for our opponents.

  Or maybe it made it even more difficult for our enemy, because there were so many of them. Yesterday had shown just how disadvantaging superior numbers could be in certain circumstances.

  Orion and I had been the first on the bridge and so fought the Etruscans on the far side, while the foster brothers fought the rearguard. Only two Etruscans at a time could approach us, and it was the fastest men who got there first who had the distinction of falling first. While I used my shield to barge at our opponents, pushing them backwards, Orion nipped out from behind my protection to cut and poke at our opponents’ vulnerable places.

  The truth was, a sword had a better chance of entering the body if it was driven in point first. Swiping only cut into the woollen wraps and often barely made contact with flesh. The only exception was if you succeeded in severing an artery. But as these fights were not meant to result in death, we tried to avoid outright killing blows.

  The editors would keep count of the successful strikes and, if neither opponent fell, eventually they’d declare a winner based on the superior number of strikes. But we couldn’t afford to win that way. We needed to incapacitate all our opponents if we were to have the glorious victory required of us.

  So I lunged and pushed the Etruscans backward down the ramp, while Orion cut them to pieces. There was no swapping of places with the other two because there was no benefit to it in this situation. This was just hard, repetitive strike and defend. But, bit by bit, we started to reduce the number of our opponents until there were only two in front of us. Orion gave me the signal for the new move we’d practised that morning. I knew Typhon would be giving the signal to Asterius at the same time.

  With a loud battle cry, I backed up and then ran forward, diving onto my upturned shield and the two men below me. They automatically ducked, which allowed me the perfect platform for my shield. I rolled with it across the backs of the two Etruscans and came to my feet again at the bottom of the bridge.

  Our opponents had staggered under my weight and the force of my movement, and one had buckled, going down onto a knee. Orion took the opportunity to kick him in the head so he fell into the bodies already piled on the ramp, clogging the way.

  Realising he was surrounded, the one remaining Etruscan on our side of the bridge tried to barge past me to get off the bridge. I held him in place while Orion finished him off.

  When I looked up, after placing my foot on the neck of
the closest fallen man, I saw that Typhon and Asterius were on the other side of the bridge with bodies scattered around them. They too had won.

  Only then did I register the cheering crowd. It was as raucous and deafening as it had been the previous day. And already the chanting had begun. ‘Wolf Pack! Wolf Pack! Wolf Pack!’

  We looked to the emperor who signalled the win, and the thunderous clamour got even louder. Dropping shields and helmets, we raised our arms over our heads and began parading around the arena in triumph until we reached the emperor. This was becoming all too familiar.

  The day before I’d tried to locate Accalia in the audience but failed. I didn’t even try this time. When there were more people than I could possibly count in the stands, the faces blurring, it was an impossible task to make out just one small woman.

  When we reached Nero, we clapped one arm to our chest and awaited the emperor’s pleasure. The delighted young man stood and took the one step to the edge of the imperial box.

  The crowd quietened more slowly today. Nero had to raise his arms to command silence before he began his oration.

  “Wolf Pack, you have won the love of the citizens of Rome with your bravery and spectacular fighting style. No one knows what you will come up with next to defeat your foe, most especially not your opponents. I ask that you return for the final day of the festival to entertain us again. I know Rome will not have tired of seeing you. Certainly, my wife and I will not. I say again, well done and congratulations on such a fine victory.” His hands flew up in a dramatic posture of triumph before he did the most surprising thing.

  “Orion!” he cried out as he tossed a gold aureus to our leader.

  “Talos!” He tossed another coin down to me.

  “Typhon!” A coin was directed at my pack-mate.

  “And Asterius. All fine warriors named after legendary giants of the past.”

  The final coin flew through the air and Asterius caught it deftly.

  It was a shock to know the emperor had gone to the trouble of identifying each of us and calling us by name. Of course, we were distinctively different. All someone would have to have done was tell Nero that Orion was the blonde; Talos the black-skinned man; Typhon, the oriental; and Asterius, the Greek god. Not hard to differentiate. But still... it meant something to us. We were now not just the Wolf Pack. We had identities of our own. At least as far as Nero was concerned.

  By the time we made our way out of the arena, the energy and elation were wearing off and exhaustion replaced them. We were dragging our feet as we handed over our swords and headed for the hospital area where the physicians would check us for injuries and deal with those they found.

  Had I any? I felt no pain. But that meant nothing. A man could fight on with a mortal wound and only realise it when his strength gave out.

  I looked at Orion, checking him for injuries. Though he was covered in blood, I couldn’t see any wounds that showed the blood was his.

  “You seem unscathed,” I said to him.

  He checked me over. “You too. Are we just lucky or are we that good?” he made it sound like a joke, but I wondered if we were all thinking exactly that. Three contests under our belts and barely a scratch on any of us. Surely that kind of luck couldn’t last.

  Chapter Five

  19 July 64 CE, Rome ITALIA

  ACCALIA

  The smell of smoke had been in the air from the moment I rose and entered the atrium. It didn’t seem like the normal odour of burning wood from the hundreds of thousands of cook fires across Rome. Their smoke usually hung like a pall over the city on still days, providing only a slight acrid taint to the air. But the hot winds had been blowing for the last few days now, dispersing the cloud, and the smell along with it.

  This was a different kind of burning. More pungent and cloying. It clung to the lungs when you breathed it in and made the throat itchy. I found I wanted to cough to rid myself of the itch.

  “What is that smell?” I asked Minerva as I looked around for the cause of it.

  She, too, looked around, shrugging as she did so, clearly as much at a loss as I was. The sweat was already running off her face in streams, and the underarms of her gown were drenched. Being overweight, my handmaiden struggled more than most from the sweltering heat.

  Summer in Rome was torturous. Anyone who was anyone left the city for the cooler, cleaner air of the country. But my uncle and his family had no such country retreat, and his business interests would not have allowed him to leave Rome anyway.

  As there were no upcoming games scheduled for some months yet, I had considered going home. If there was not going to be an opportunity to see my gladiators then I should be at home helping Ariaratus.

  But I held off leaving. The thought of putting more distance between me and my men was like a knife to the chest. Gods, I was such a fool!

  I had been in Rome for more than four months now, keeping an eye on my pack and trying to avoid the hungry wolves in sheep’s clothing called the matrons of Rome. So many of them with marriageable second sons had taken one look at me and decided Pater’s legacy would make a perfect income for their darling boys. My aunt was in collusion with them, and she made my life a living hell as I tried politely to avoid her matchmaking strategies. Some of those ploys had placed me in dangerous situations.

  One time my aunt arranged for me to be at home alone when one of those sons came calling. He had grabbed me, forced a sloppy kiss on me, and would have tried for more had I not used some of the skills my pack had taught me to escape him. I had fled to the back of the domus and hidden, waiting for him to leave. The guards of this house could not have done anything to stop him. A slave could not stand in the way of a man of high status, after all. Even to protect the niece of their mistress. And my own bodyguards, who would have stepped in regardless, were confined to the slaves’ quarters unless I needed to leave the house. I didn’t need them when I was home, I had been told. I was perfectly safe inside.

  When I told my aunt what had happened she had tut-tutted and told me I was exaggerating. No high-born man would think to take a noblewoman by force. He was just carried away by his love for me. I should see it as a compliment. The only thing that stopped her inviting the man back was my threat to leave.

  For the first time I felt an affinity with our breeders who had no say in what men were given to them to father their children. Up until now, I had only seen the comfortable situation such women lived in, their work consisting only of caring for and raising their children. Compared to the field-hands’ quarters, their compound was pleasant and luxurious, and their food was of the highest quality, so their children received the best possible start in life.

  Now I saw that a comfortable situation would not be enough to make up for having a man foisted upon you. And having shared the kind of intimacies I had with Asterius, I now understood just how sickening such intimacies might be if you were forced to share them with someone you did not want.

  Though I knew it was dangerous to allow myself to empathise, I did so without realising it. I imagined being in the breeders compound when a foreign warrior was brought to my hut. He might be wild like an animal and take me roughly before I was ready. As long as he did not beat me, what he did would be acceptable.

  Worse still were the unwanted moments when I imagined falling in love with the man who was given to me. One of my pack, for instance. He might be gentle and kind to me, and I might give myself to him willingly. But once I was with child he would be sent away. I would never see him again. And two years later another man would come to my door, and my heart would break anew.

  I understood what it was to love and have that love taken from me. I knew it too well.

  The only thing that kept me sane and here in Rome was hope. I lived from day to day on the hope that I might have a chance to see my pack, to speak to them, or even hear about them in passing. And hearing about them was a common enough occurrence. They had become the toast of the city, after all.

  Afte
r the three matches in March, all brilliantly successful, they had again been showcased at a special spectaculum funded by Senator in May. This had been my first real challenge since Pater left, as I had to oversee my pack’s part in the event and make sure they were not being overstretched.

  It had not been easy. The director, lanista, and Gracchus himself had tried to bully me, mere woman that I was. And my uncle, who had accompanied me, had tried to take over the negotiations. But I would not be cowed, nor would I allow my power to be wrested from my hands. And so the twenty mid-range gladiators they wanted pitted against my men were whittled down to a more manageable twelve low-grade fighters.

  Standing my ground had proven to be a good move. My men again acquitted themselves brilliantly, and the crowds were more than satisfied. Nero had not been present for that day because he was touring Greece. But it hadn’t seemed to matter to the citizens, who packed the amphitheatre.

  Nero was back now, though, staying at his villa just south of Rome. And he was expected to attend the next event scheduled for the beginning of autumn.

  Unfortunately, I had not had an excuse to visit the ludus for six long weeks and my craving for the sight of my men had only increased with the passage of time. Instead of revelling in those beautiful memories of being with Asterius, I now simply cried whenever I thought of what we had shared, trying hard to dismiss them and think of other things. Remembering only made the reality of my situation that much worse.

  I had been a fool to allow myself to get so emotionally involved with men I had no business thinking about, no less loving. This agony was my punishment. When I was young, the rules had not seemed to apply to me. I had done whatever I chose and was sure my life would turn out well in the end.

  Having Camellia use my healing work and my pack against me had shown me just how tenuous my hold over my fate truly was. And though I was one of the elite of our civilization, ultimately I was only a woman, and as powerless as any slave to have what I truly desired.