I was reminded of a serpent then, a serpent from the underworld channeling itself through this woman. She spoke, and she relished every word like a delicious bite.
“Lucius really ought to confide in you more.” She raised her eyebrows, and I was no longer at all certain that she was drunk, for she looked me right in the eye and, with a malicious upward curve of the lips, spoke the words I most did not want to hear.
“Christus was just a sample, just a taste. I paid well, and have proved myself discreet. I will have your champion, and your next strongest warrior. I would have them both together.”
I could not respond. What was there to say? Somewhere along the line Hilaria had suspected my feelings for the men, and that, I was certain, was why she had proceeded on this path, despite Lucius’ protests. She had paid a pretty sum, indeed, and now I knew why.
I would not reinforce her notions any further, no, I would not, even though I had never been so devastated.
I simply nodded, my face frozen, and turned to leave. As my feet carried me away from the party, toward my own room, my haven, I felt numb, and would look at nothing but my feet. This, this was worse than when Caius had confirmed what I had already known, that there was no future for us, no future for me and Marcus. Now, though I had a child in my belly, and though it was the child of a man whom I cared about deeply, I felt nothing but sorrow.
My belly was full, full with another life.
But I was alone.
Now that there was a babe growing in my belly, Lucius had transformed back into the husband that he had once been. Baldurus believed that a woman was indeed often ill when with child, and so Lucius changed his position on the matter. He was caring, he was attentive.
He made certain that any food, any drink that I desired was fetched immediately, no matter the cost. Any smell, sound, or touch that irritated me was eliminated promptly, and I received a gift almost every day. As my belly began to swell, just the slightest bit, and my breasts grew heavy, their tips darkening, I wanted for nothing. Regardless, my feelings for Lucius did not return, not even under his careful ministrations.
No, I wanted for nothing, nothing but the touch of the two men whom I could not, even to myself, admit I had come to . . . love?
I would not watch the training in the ludus, and my excuse was that the smell of the men’s sweat made me ill. What I would have given to smell the sweat, the musk of either Marcus or Caius.
But I could not. It was too painful. I did not summon them, and I avoided any place where they would be. I ceased attending the games, and, to my astonishment, Lucius changed his attitude even about my public appearances by his side. He permitted my whimsies, even found them amusing.
I was again his cherished wife.
For me, it was entirely too late. I had seen the monster of greed that lurked inside, and the monster could not be erased from my memory now, could not be forced back into hiding. Truth be told, I would have found it much more pleasant to be ignored again. Then my time would have been my own.
Instead, my swollen belly and the rest of me were seated primly in my husband’s office, entertaining Baldurus as he discussed yet more terms of his patronage with my husband. Though much of the nausea had passed, I was still tired, and my appetite was still off. I grew uncomfortable easily, and sitting on one of the hard-backed chairs in this dim room did not help.
At least Justinus was not present. I had noted that the better Lucius treated me, the angrier Justinus seemed to grow. I was still in awe that my husband permitted his attitude, which in my opinion was entirely inappropriate for a slave. Then again, I knew very well that I held a double standard for slaves. In my mind, all slaves save Justinus were entitled to respect, to a say in their lives. Justinus, on the other hand . . . well, I knew that my thoughts of him were not fair. Again, I reminded myself that I could not judge him.
I was freeborn.
He was a slave.
It did not make me like the man any more, and so it was refreshing that he was not present here.
“Things are well with you, my lady?” I found it a charming quirk of Baldurus’ that he would address me as his lady, though I was lower in social standing than he. He was, in actuality, a delightful man, a rare find in Roman society.
I wished that I could find a tactful way to tell him that my husband, in comparison, was not.
I placed a hand on the expanse of my belly, finding it softer than it usually was. As always, touching my stomach, knowing that a life was growing beneath my very fingers, sent a thrill through me.
“I see that it is well.” Baldurus smiled, then lifted his cup in toast. Lucius followed suit.
Though I was happy to be with child, I still found it difficult to share in their joy. The heart wanted what it wanted, this I knew. Unfortunately, what I wanted was not available to me.
Involved in my own thoughts as I was, I did not pay Justinus much heed when he made an abrupt, excitable appearance in the small room. Instead, I sipped at my cup of wine—slowly sipped, for I still found that the smell of the spices and honey turned my stomach. It was not until Baldurus’ exclamation erupted loudly in my ear that I turned back to the conversation.
“This cannot be. Batiatus? His wife? Their children? All dead?” There was sorrow under the disbelief of our patron, a deep blue streak of it.
“I beg your pardon?” I was certain that I had missed something. Baldurus turned to me, opened his mouth to begin speaking, but Lucius interjected, setting his cup down with a decisive click.
“I am not worried. It is a lesson to others to keep a tighter rein on their slaves.” His voice was disapproving, suggesting almost that these people had deserved what had happened. I looked at my husband with eyes wide in disbelief. Could he really be so dismissive of the death of another man, his wife and children? One of our colleagues, someone with whom we had shared food and drink? I knew that there was much competition between owners of the different ludi in and around Rome, but this seemed extreme to me.
There was that greed again, peering out of my husband’s eyes. I understood in that moment that greed, and the pressure to live up to his father, and his father before him—to make the ludus thrive—would always take precedence over me.
It would take precedence over our children as well, and the lack of a blood bond in the relationship was not likely to help matters.
I was still having trouble believing it, certain that I had misunderstood.
“Are you saying that the slaves of the House of Batiatus have escaped? That they slaughtered their owners?” There was a lurch in my stomach as I thought of the man, whom I did not know well, and of his family.
He had young children, though; that I remembered quite clearly. Two small boys, imps really, who had a bloodthirsty fascination with their father’s gladiators, and with the arena. And a small girl, barely more than a babe in arms, with a tiny tuft of black hair on the top of her small head.
I hugged my arms tightly to my stomach.
I did not care so much that the slaves had escaped. The man had not treated them well, and he was very wealthy—he could well have afforded to purchase more. But that he had been killed for their freedom—to me it spoke of a serious flaw in our so-called civilized Roman society.
“Where did they go? How many of them escaped?” This was from Baldurus, to Justinus. Lucius snorted and chugged at his wine, not seeming to think that the situation warranted as much importance as the rest of us were applying to it.
His desire for success had killed his compassion. It made me ill.
“They made their way out of the city, after stealing weapons from Roman soldiers whom they met in the street. About fifty of their two hundred, gladiators and house slaves both, escaped. They were led by Spartacus, the champion of their house. He that Marcus has not yet met. That is all I know. I knew that I should come straight here to report.” I saw that Just
inus stole a glance at Lucius, perhaps expecting praise, but my husband sat still with that look of disdain frozen on his face.
Batiatus and his family lived outside the city limits, in Capua. If the escaped slaves had made their way through Rome and beyond, then we were far out of harm’s way by now, since our home was situated on the side of the city closest to Capua.
“I do not like this.” Baldurus sat up straight in his chair—he was worthy of cushions, I noted, though a pregnant wife still was not—and ran shaking fingers through thinning hair the color of iron. I looked at him with concern, for he was old, and I was not sure how his constitution handled surprises.
“I am sure that your home will be fine.” I reached out a hand, placed it on the man’s forearm in an attempt to soothe.
Lucius again snorted air through his nose. “Yes, so long as your slaves are kept under tight control.” When Baldurus looked up, looked right at him, appalled, my husband jerked as if he was a marionette on strings. “I beg apology, Bal— my lord. Of course your household is well-run. I have never thought otherwise.”
Baldurus glowered at my husband, something that I noted with no small amusement. Despite the appearance of fragility wrought by his papery skin, his fine wrinkles, and his brittle bones, the man could still strike terror into one’s heart when he was of a mind.
I noticed that Justinus did not look happy either, and suspected that he had not appreciated the remarks about slaves being kept under tight control.
“I should think you would be concerned about the potential danger to your wife in her condition.” Baldurus mopped at a suddenly sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “If it were my wife, I would take precautions to ensure her safety, and the safety of the babe.”
Again, I found Lucius’ reaction very nearly comical. Having lived with him for as many years as I had, I could read the thoughts on his face, and knew that he needed to make amends for his verbal slip. I could also see that he, too, was noting Baldurus’ fragility for the first time—the man was sixty if he was a day.
It would be imperative, at least to my husband, to secure this patronage before the man died or became too sick to conduct his affairs.
“What would you suggest?” Lucius asked. Placing his cup down on his desk, he laced his fingers together and schooled his face into a mask of concern. I could see that it was not genuine, and felt disgusted.
This may not have been his child by blood or by seed, but he had had a hand in creating it all the same. And I was his wife, a part of his familia.
I would have thought that he might care, that he might be able to see past his own concerns.
Apparently that was too much to ask.
Baldurus seemed appeased by the appearance that Lucius presented, however, for he relaxed back into his chair. Gulping at his honeyed wine as if it was water, he seemed to be replenishing his strength. I turned to Justinus, intending to get him to fetch the man more, but my husband’s slave was paying attention to no one but Lucius, and with him he still did not look happy.
“You have a house by the sea, do you not? A small one?” Lucius nodded slowly at Baldurus’ words, not making the connection between the slaves’ revolt and our other home.
We had not visited the house on the coast in years. It had once belonged to my father, and had been gifted to our household when I had made my vows to Lucius.
My spirits rose unaccountably at the thought of the tiny villa by the sea. I thought again of Drusilla and our friendship rings, of the happy hours that we had spent there as girls.
“I would dispatch Alba there, with several of your gladiators, until the upheaval in the city has died down.” He nodded sharply, satisfied with the idea. “Yes, that is what I would do.”
Lucius did not like this idea, or, more, did not like what it would cost. “Surely that displays an overabundance of caution?” His protests sounded thin and weedy. “This man, this Spartacus, was clearly a rebel. I do not think that this will be a recurring problem.”
“Perhaps not.” Baldurus inclined his head. “But perhaps it will give other slaves the idea that they had not thought of themselves. I would say to send her alone, but obviously a woman cannot travel by herself, especially not a woman who is with child. Surely there are men that you trust amongst your slaves.”
The implication was that if our house was run as his was run, there would absolutely be men that one would trust with their life. I saw Lucius glance at Justinus and open his mouth to speak.
“You might trust this man, but I do not,” I said. I could not keep silent, could not tolerate for even a moment the thought of being cooped up in a house alone with Justinus. Distracted from his disgruntled glares at my husband, the slave let me see the extent of his loathing for me. “He does not have the physical strength that the gladiators do. I would have a number of them accompany me, if I am to go.”
Lucius sputtered, spraying droplets of tart-smelling red wine into the air. “I cannot spare several of my men from their training to stay with you at the coast for an indeterminate length of time.” He very nearly laughed at the end of his words, as if the mere suggestion was ridiculous. “You will have to take Justinus, and be satisfied with that. Drusilla as well, of course.” It sounded as though he was offering me a great boon by offering me the latter, and I supposed that he thought he was.
This made the affable Baldurus finally snap, his face becoming thunderous like a cloud before a storm. Standing, perhaps not that quickly or gracefully but making an impression all the same, he smacked his pottery cup onto Lucius’ desk hard enough that it split into two. One of the shards sliced into the side of his thumb, and blood welled up in the cut, thick and red, but he did not seem to notice or care. With palms placed flat on the old wood, he leaned in toward Lucius, ensuring that my husband paid attention.
“We are about to enter into a very important contract, you and I.” Baldurus’ voice as he spoke was firm. “One of the conditions of that contract was children. The gods have blessed you with one in your wife’s belly, after many years, I might add. I would protect that life before anything else.”
Having gotten across that Lucius had best take his advice if he wanted to sign this contract, he took a step back, visibly attempting to control himself.
I wanted to applaud.
“Now. Alba says that she does not trust this man, I can see for myself that he does not have the strength to physically protect her. It is a legitimate concern.” With difficulty, the man sat back down in his chair. Justinus looked outraged at the comments on his physique, but at least knew enough to hold his tongue. “If the woman wants gladiators to protect her, what is the harm? You have scores, and besides, the games will not run until the fervor over this incident dies down, I assure you. Your men missing some training is a small price to pay for the safety of your wife and child.”
Lucius’ face looked pinched, but eventually he nodded. What other choice did he have? “Very well. I will send two gladiators. We cannot afford to send more. Theocles . . . and Animus, I think.” These were not men whom I knew, and if I knew my husband, they would be two of his weakest, the two whom he would not so much miss in their absence.
For all I knew, they might be fresh purchases from the market, men who had not yet been through training or taken the vow to our house.
“Two is better than nothing.” Baldurus conceded this point, having won the match.
Sensing an ally in the elderly man, I decided to press my own point. Nerves fluttered through my veins as I spoke, but I was nearly certain that I could get Baldurus to agree, that Lucius would not, could not, do anything to me.
Neither could Justinus. I eyed the man with dislike. He might have had a tale to tell on me, but I had one on him, as well.
“No.” I raised my chin and tried to settle my nerves. “No. I want two of the strongest, two of the best. I will not feel safe otherwise.”
I knew, of course, exactly who I would feel safest with, though I did not try to deny, even to myself, that my safety was not the concern at the forefront of my mind.
Lucius looked as if he could spit. Baldurus, however, nodded approvingly.
I did not look at Justinus. I did not care what he thought.
“I will take Drusilla, of course. But I will also take the two gladiators that I feel are most loyal to you, and that are the strongest. Would you really send me with two whose behavior toward me cannot be anticipated?”
I took a deep breath.
Did I dare to say it?
I found that I did.
“I will have Marcus, the champion. And I will have Caius. And then this baby, this baby and I both, will certainly be safe.”
Lucius looked as if he had tasted a fig that had been plucked from its branch before fully ripening.
“Alba, you know that you cannot have those two. Any other gladiators—any of them, and I will find a way to work around it. But Hilaria—”
He intercepted the raised eyebrow that Baldurus had sent his way, and instantly quieted.
“Surely the peace of mind of the mother of your child is not too much to ask?” Baldurus asked.
I looked to Lucius as he looked to me, words passing between us without needing to be spoken. We both knew that this was not his child, not his seed. He could hardly use that as an excuse, not when he intended to pass this child off as his own. Lucius responded slowly, as if choosing his next words carefully.
“We have a . . . meeting . . . between those two gladiators and . . . and a noble.” I noticed that he did not specify that it was a noblewoman. Money exchanged for sex was not something that Baldurus would approve it—it went against the virtues of a true Roman. It showed a measure of respect for our household that he did not question further. “It has been paid for. I cannot go back on my word.”
“You do not need to go back on your word.” Baldurus spoke to Lucius as he might to a child, and I saw my husband’s back stiffen as he interpreted the tone. I wondered if perhaps the man was reconsidering his deal with Lucius. “You need only postpone it, until danger has passed. Any honorable Roman will understand that the safety of your wife and child comes first.”
My Wicked Gladiators Page 20
