My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  “And if I become with child? Your child? His child? What then?” I knew the answer before he spoke, knew that I was being irrational.

  “That child will be raised as yours, yours with your husband. You know this.” Again, his words were gentle, but I felt as if each was a blow raining down on my head.

  Tears welled in my eyes, though I tried to hold them back. I would not cry. I had no reason to cry. None of this was anything that I had not already known. It was my own fault that I had let myself hope, let myself dream. I thought fleetingly, frantically, of the chest of jewels that lay beneath my bed, but dismissed it just as easily. Things were not so simple as all that. Devastated, I turned on my heel and pushed through the curtain. I did not look at Caius as I left.

  I found that I could not. I was not sure that I ever could again.

  Many days later found me seated under the striped silk awning of the games, a munus to honor the passing of one of our so-called friends. Hilaria was thankfully not present that day, though I could not imagine what had kept her.

  Baldurus had accompanied us on this outing. This was rare, a potential patron spending time publicly with his client. The class difference was simply too great for it to be a common occurrence.

  Yet here he was, seated between my husband and me. Lucius had told me in no uncertain terms before we had left the house that I was to impress the man, that I was to assure him of the immense chance that I was with child even then.

  I was feeling ill, had been for days. What I wanted was to lay abed, a cool cup of water at hand, while Drusilla fanned me with a large palm leaf, to sink into a cool bath that might rinse away the sickly clamminess from my skin, and to have herbal oils rubbed into my temples with firm fingers. I had been under the weather for several days after my talk with Caius, but that had been due to nothing but my low spirits—my crushed, pulverized spirits. This was something else entirely, and I hoped that I had not caught a sickness.

  So though I strove to keep a smile on my face, to be witty and entertaining, the truth was that the heat had made me wilt. Sweat ran down the sticky skin of my back in rivulets, and I worried that the charcoal-and-chalk powder ringing my eyes would melt and stripe my pale face. The mound of yellow hair upon my head was suffocating, even more so than usual, and my close-toed shoes seemed to have become too small.

  I slipped my feet out of them and hid them under my skirts.

  Baldurus had commented on my heat-flushed face and had fetched me a cup of wine, a rare act from a man who could have ordered it from any slave. The sweet liquid, when sipped into my mouth, made my tongue pucker despite the thread of melted honey that swirled through it. And the scent of roasting pig from a vendor that hovered outside our balcony made me nauseated.

  “Are you feeling quite well, my dear?” Baldurus placed a hand on my shoulder, and I had to fight the urge to shrug off his touch. It was not a particularly offensive gesture—Baldurus was a kindly older man the same age that Lucius’ father would be had he lived—but touch of any kind, right at that moment, did nothing but make my skin crawl.

  I brightened my expression and sat up straight, wiping at my forehead surreptitiously with clenched fingers to remove the dripping sweat. “I am having a lovely time.” I fanned my face with my hand and made a show of laughing gaily. “It is just so very hot.”

  From behind Baldurus I caught Lucius’ eye, and he nodded with approval. I bit my tongue so that I did not snap at him.

  The whole reason I had started to feel bad was the crushing reality that had descended after my talk with Caius. And the entire mess with both gladiators could be laid squarely at my husband’s door. Well, that was not entirely true. I had seduced Marcus entirely of my own accord. But I was not feeling particularly rational at the moment. I was happy when the questioning and chatter ceased, and the games began.

  I had been to too many games in my life as the domina of a ludus. I had seen many gruesome things there, injuries, death, blood. Atrocities that had given me nightmares. But none had affected me quite as they did that day. The sight of the viscous red blood, fountaining from veins that only moments earlier had been full of life, had bile rising in my throat. It coated my mouth, bitter and metallic. I fisted my hands in my tunic, fighting it back.

  Lucius would never forgive me if I was to be ill in front of Baldurus.

  This thought was followed by a realization that both Marcus and Caius would be taking their turns in the arena later that day. The thought of their blood spilling, their life force seeping out to soak into the dirty sand, was more than I could handle. I was upset with the pair of them, but that did not erase my feelings toward them.

  A wave of incredible nausea passed through me from yellow-haired head to bare toes. I stood abruptly, pressed a clammy hand to my forehead. Despite the unrelenting heat, I was chilled, and my stomach turned, threatening to empty itself, though there was not much that could be emptied.

  Lucius cast me a look of annoyance and anger, Baldurus one of concern.

  “My lady?” Baldurus was the one who stood, not my husband. But when I stumbled, it was Drusilla who caught me.

  Once righted, through blurred vision I looked toward the arena sands. I saw a large man with golden hair looking back at me, but I could not see who it was. That vision mixed with scarlet, and then everything faded to black.

  I woke with my head cushioned in my slave girl’s lap. I could hear Lucius apologizing, his voice wheedling and needy, to my ears at least. When I could focus, a cool cup with refreshing wet was pressed to my lips.

  It brought me back enough to realize that I had fainted. Mortification washed over me even as my gullet tried to force the tiny sip of water back up. Looking up, I saw that Lucius looked thunderous, his hand on the shoulder of our potential patron.

  Baldurus, though . . . I expected him to be angry as well, or at least annoyed. I had ruined the day’s entertainment, after all, and munera were enjoyable to all Roman citizens, not just those who could not afford any other entertainment. But the man looked overjoyed, and he knelt beside me, taking my hands in his own.

  I exchanged a shocked glance with my husband. It was not common for someone of his class to kneel down to someone of mine.

  “Don’t you understand yet, darling girl?” The man seemed as exuberant as if he and I were very close, as if he were my pater familias and I had done something to benefit our house. “You are with child.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  That evening I still wanted nothing more than to stay in my room, alone. Lucius, however, insisted on holding yet another huge, impromptu celebration.

  Marcus had sustained a painful gash to his midsection that day, but had still triumphed over his opponent. That was to be celebrated as well as my pregnancy, and, though it was not announced, I knew this was also a victory celebration of sorts for my husband.

  We were now one step closer to securing Baldurus’ patronage. He had asked Lucius to visit him the next week to discuss the details, which was all but a declaration of intent.

  Though there was no guarantee that this child would live, this was at least confirmation that I could conceive, and that was what Baldurus had wanted. It would take years to build a family as large as his, and he was nothing if not a reasonable man.

  Stretching out the stiffness in my neck, I marveled at the noise. I could not believe the din that our guests made. There did not seem to be that many of them, but the ceaseless talking, laughing, toasting had made my head throb.

  I had asked to retreat to my room. Lucius had responded with scorn. He did not believe that pregnancy made a woman ill, believing instead that it was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  I resisted the urge to tell him that he should get pregnant and see if he still thought the same.

  He had insisted that I join the party, and, moreover, that I be gay and as obviously happy as he.

  I was happy, even as I
cowered on a cushioned seat in a corner with Drusilla ceaselessly fanning me with a huge, waxy green leaf. My slave girl had been delighted at the news of a baby, though because of our position in society my time with the child would be limited, and the care of the infant would fall to her. She saw it as a blessing from Juno, and in my heart of hearts, I agreed.

  The biggest desire I had ever carried, even more than my feelings for my gladiators, was my wish for a child. Now I would have one.

  I was not barren.

  My joy was double-edged, though. I was happy to be with child, yes, and even happier that that child had grown from the seed of one of two men whom I cared about, rather than from the warped seed of my husband. But that same husband would be the man to raise this child with me.

  I also knew that my visits with Caius, my legitimate ones, were at an end. Though I could perhaps sneak some time with him illicitly, as I had with Marcus, things had changed.

  I cringed when I saw Justinus leading the gladiators into the room. Of course, no party at a ludus would be complete without them—they were entertainment, decoration. I would not normally have objected. Tonight, there were two men whom I very much did not want to see.

  I cast my eyes to the floor. I wanted to fade away, to be invisible.

  “To my wife!” Oh, it was not to be. I looked up, too sick to be startled at the words, and saw my husband toasting me, his cup of wine held high. “To my wife, and to our child!” He smiled at me then, the first kind look he had cast my way in months.

  I returned the smile weakly, aware that the eyes of all of our guests were on me. I raised my cup, which contained lukewarm water, not wine, and forced a smile to my lips.

  “To our child!” As Lucius spoke, I should have risen to my feet. I did not.

  I could not.

  Lucius appeared to be too deep in his cups to notice. He turned away with a shout of raucousness, and I raised my hands to my temples, rubbing them there.

  “Let me do that, Domina.” Drusilla set down the palm leaf and pressed her fingers on either side of my forehead. She had to take them away momentarily as a long, racking cough shook her slight body, and I twisted my body around to look at her with concern, though my tender abdomen protested.

  “I am fine.” She turned away to finish the bout, then wiped her hands on the back of her tunic and straightened her hair before turning back to me. “Close your eyes.”

  I meant to protest, to press and ask what was wrong. But the pressure on my temples made me sigh, and I felt myself relax, just the slightest bit, for the first time all day. I would endure this for perhaps another hour, maybe slightly more if I had to. And then I would retire to my room.

  “Pardon me, Domina, but I do believe that your attention is wanted.” Drusilla’s words were quiet, her voice still raspy from her coughing fit. I cracked open my eyes with reluctance, and saw that her finger pointed straight ahead.

  To where the gladiators stood in a line.

  I opened my eyes fully, sitting up straighter. Marcus and Caius were standing at the head of the line, in their position as champion and potential champion.

  Both were looking right at me, and it sent a jolt through me. I stared back, unsure of what to do. I certainly could not go speak to them, though it looked very much like they wanted to speak to me. Tears threatened, and it was not the first time that day. What was wrong with me? It was just that . . . the child growing inside of me belonged to one of those two men. It was half of one of them, and half of me.

  And I could not even go speak to them.

  Before the tears could begin to trickle down my throat, Marcus smiled at me, just the smallest curve of his lips. Stunned that he had broken his rigidity, I blinked, and while I did, Caius, too, allowed his lips to curl briefly. His joy was more readily apparent, though I knew Marcus’ would be no less deeply felt.

  They returned to the stoic expression that they were ordered to keep almost immediately. But those tiny smiles told me what words could not, at least not in this situation, and I found myself warming all over, in a manner that had absolutely nothing to do with the heat in the room.

  “You minx!” I groaned internally when I realized the voice belonged to Hilaria. Drusilla took her fingers away from my temples and again took up the waxy leaf, which allowed me to sit up straight.

  “I’m stunned, Alba! Ogling the gladiators with a baby in your belly.” Hilaria was flushed, with the consumption of too much wine and who knew what else, but she still sat much closer to me than the heat in the room should have allowed for.

  I did not have a reply ready, so I said nothing. To deny too vehemently would set the patrician woman’s nose for gossip-sniffing, and I would die before allowing her to know that one of those gladiators was the father of this baby.

  She shoved a cup of wine into my hand. The aroma of the alcohol and spices turned my stomach, but she curled my fingers around the warm clay.

  “You cannot toast your child with water!” She was giddy, and I thought she might be fully drunk. She placed an arm sloppily around my shoulders, and I cringed at the touch.

  After my experience, alone in that room with her and Christus, I had no desire to have anything to do with this woman ever again. Perhaps she had reasons for why she was the way she was, but she had, ultimately, allowed herself to become the cruel, cunning woman I saw beside me.

  I did not like that woman.

  Perhaps this was my cue to excuse myself, even earlier than I had anticipated. Lucius looked to have consumed enough wine himself that he might not even notice.

  I rose to my feet, Drusilla setting down the fan and looping a supportive arm around my waist.

  “You will have to excuse me, Hilaria.” I forced myself to smile, though I wanted to snarl. This woman, I thought, this woman deserved the treatment that some slaves received. “I wish I could stay and partake of your company. But I still am not feeling completely myself.” Placing a hand flat on my belly, I rubbed it in a slow circle, indicating that my sickness was because of the baby.

  I saw her eyes follow my hand, and saw anger flicker through them, though at first I did not understand what I had done to upset her. When she next raised her cup to her mouth, I saw the twinkle of the beads of her friendship ring, the one that matched the band she had given me.

  The one that I was not wearing, that I never wanted to wear again.

  Still, I did not want her upset, not when she could wreak such havoc. So I laughed weakly and made a show of flexing my hands. “They are so swollen. I cannot wear any of my rings.”

  The other woman considered this, then nodded slowly, though I was not convinced that she was appeased. It seemed that I was right, for even as she smiled, she reclined on the couch deliberately, as if she was mistress of our home. It was done intentionally to upset me, but I was feeling too ill to rise to the insult.

  Her breast very nearly spilled out of the front of her nearly indecent tunic as she lay back on the cushions. She raised her own full cup of wine in my direction, and the red liquid slopped over the side onto her hand. With a giddy laugh, she brought the hand that had been spilled on to her lips, where a fast flickering tongue lapped at the sweetness.

  “I shall see you five days hence, then, Alba.” Wiping the rest of the stickiness sloppily on the side of her tunic, she narrowed her eyes and licked her lips lasciviously.

  I was taken aback, both by her comment and by the sloth that she was displaying. The Hilaria I knew would never behave in such a manner in public. Confused, I cocked my head, even as Drusilla tugged at me slightly, indicating that I should leave.

  “Have I been silly and forgotten an appointment?” I asked. Hilaria would be mad if I had, insulted that I would dare to not remember something as important as a meeting with her, but I truly could not recall agreeing to see her. Was she making this entire event up, to get back at me for not wearing the friendsh
ip ring?

  She laughed again, showing her teeth, and fell all the way back on the couch, so that she was completely reclined. This time her breast did fall out of her tunic, hanging unfettered with its small, rosy peak out for everyone to see.

  It would have been rude for me to point it out.

  I forgot all about her naked flesh when she spoke.

  “Did Lucius not tell you?” She made a clucking sound, her tongue slapping against her tongue and teeth. “I paid for two visits with your men. I reserved the right to take half my money back if I was not . . . satisfied . . . the first time.”

  She smiled then, that sly smile that made me wonder if she was as drunk as she appeared. “I was very satisfied.”

  My mind flashed to the image of her naked, bent over the chaise in the chamber where I met with Caius, ordering Christus to take her ass-wise. There had been something dark in her manner, in her words, something shadowed.

  I really did wonder if something in the woman’s mind was broken.

  I then thought of the deposit of money, neatly written in Lucius’ account book, and of the sum taken out immediately after. If he had needed to take it out so quickly, why had he not removed the entire sum?

  Because we had not earned the entire sum.

  I eyed Hilaria, unbelieving, and saw that she was watching me figure things out with glee apparent in her features. How had she discovered that I did not want her anywhere near our men? I had thought that I was discreet. But the woman had an uncanny talent for ferreting out information that others did not want her to have. Even so, I could not resist asking the question that was foremost in my mind.

  It played right into her hands, but I had to know.

  “Will you be meeting with Christus again, then?” I congratulated myself that my words were steady, though my voice was pitched slightly higher than usual.