My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  From the corner of my eye I saw Lucius cast me another look, which I did not return. We both knew what the other was thinking—Hilaria was not an honorable Roman in any sense. She was a spoiled, petty, possibly half-mad widow with enough wealth to indulge herself.

  She would not be happy that her meeting with Caius and Marcus was postponed.

  Of course, this could all be solved if I amended my decision, if I chose different men to accompany me to the coast. This, I was sure, was what Lucius was trying to will me to say when he glared at me as he did, as subtly as he could.

  “Well, my dear?” Baldurus turned toward me, his face kind and open. “What do you think?”

  I was not accustomed to being asked what I thought. Though it was not what my husband wanted, I decided to speak the truth.

  “I want Marcus and Caius.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Visions of a loving reunion, of a communal excitement now that we were all to have time together, were shattered like the pottery cup that Baldurus had smashed on my husband’s desk.

  Perhaps I had had romantic thoughts of the three of us by the sea. Certainly I had. I cared for them both, after all. But for them both to withhold any smile, any touch, any look for the past days that we had been in nearly constant company seemed cruel.

  Caius and Marcus were nothing if not honorable men. Lucius had ordered them to ride in a procession, one on horseback in front of my carpentum—my wagon—and one with another horse behind. Neither man so much as looked my way during the entire long ride to our house by the sea . . . and it was a long, nearly interminable ride.

  I supposed that I should have been grateful that they were following directions so clearly, that they truly did consider my safety their priority. But to be so close to men with whom I had shared so much, and to not receive so much as a sweet smile, was infuriating.

  But to both me and Drusilla, who rode with me, the end of the three-day journey could not come fast enough.

  Normally I could have passed the time quite well with my slave girl. We had spent countless hours alone together, just like this, since our girlhoods. I feared, however, that the carpentum ride was not agreeing with her. She was nauseated and weak most of the way, regardless of whether we rode over hills or flat earth, and had a dreadful cough that would not desist, no matter how many times she tried to clear her lungs.

  I had given her my palla to wrap around herself, to cover her face, in hopes of keeping the dust out of her breath, but it did not seem to help overmuch.

  I noticed that she was very careful about storing away the cloths that she coughed into, and I could only assume that it was for my benefit. When I asked her why she tried so very hard to keep me from seeing, she told me that what she emptied out of her insides was not pleasant, and that she was worried that the sight might make me ill, in my condition.

  I frowned at her words—I was made of sterner stuff than that, and she very well knew it. But she would not change her mind, and as such I felt guilty about the extra troubles that she went to whilst already ill.

  It was with no end of relief that, by the end of the third day, I thought I detected the faintest hint of salt on the air. Sitting up straight, I wiped sweaty palms on the lap of my travel-sodden tunic and inhaled deeply.

  Yes. Yes! There was salt, and the faintest hint of what I remembered being told was seaweed. I had not been to our house by the sea for many years, not since I was a girl, but I remembered asking my father once about that nearly herbal smell, tinged with brine. He had shown me a clump of the slimy green the next day. I had squealed and run away, then come back hesitantly and held it in my hand.

  I was not sure why, exactly, that memory chose to surface. Yes, this house had once belonged to my family, but I had not thought of them for a very long time, not since shortly after I had married Lucius. There was no point in doing so. I was no longer part of that familia, no longer had any alliance with my mother, my father, my four brothers or two sisters. Lucius was my pater familias, and though I intended to not think of him any more than I had do on this trip away, the fact remained that I was bonded to him for life.

  Or until he decided to divorce me, and now that I carried a baby in my belly, I did not think that likely.

  Shaking my head, I kept it deliberately empty as we turned onto the road that I knew led to the small house. I had not thought about seeing the house again—my focus had been strictly on the two men who would accompany me, and what would happen with our relationship. I was unprepared for the surge of joy that threaded its way through my being as we rolled farther and farther down that rutted road.

  The sight of grass had my lips curving into a smile. The pale green spears waved in the salty wind, and I was amazed that it had been so long since I had seen such a simple thing. And the trees were different, too—dark twisted branches that would have borne olive fruit if they were not so close to the sea.

  And the house itself, when it finally came into view. It was no bigger than perhaps a quarter of my home with Lucius in Rome, but it had stood up well over time. The stones that made up the walls were perhaps a bit more worn from the stinging spray, but otherwise it looked exactly as it had, standing on the small crest of a hill that overlooked a beach with sand, sand not tainted with the blood of the arena.

  I was in fine spirits when we stopped in the yard. Drusilla and I both stood in the front of the carpentum before our horse had completely stopped, anxious for both a better look, and to remove ourselves from the damnable rolling cart that we had spent entirely too much time in over the past three days.

  I jumped from the carpentum before either Marcus or Caius could dismount and offer me an arm. My weariness from the trip faded considerably as soon as my feet touched the ground. I turned back to watch Drusilla also clamber down, certain that she was as excited as I to return to this place, but a fit of coughing overtook her as she stepped down.

  She shook off my hand, insisting that she was all right. “I will help to unload our supplies.” Since the house was located nearly a half day’s journey from any town, we had several carts full of food, clothing, and the other things that we would need while we holed up by the sea. A handful of our other household slaves had journeyed with us, and they could unload before they turned around and retraced their steps. I had thought it ridiculous to have these slaves make the journey simply to help us set up house, but Baldurus had insisted. Lucius had reluctantly acquiesced.

  “You will do no such thing,” I said. A trickle of unease wound its way through my buoyant spirits. Drusilla had never been ill a day in her life to my recollection, not until recently. “You will go lie down. You may make up your own bed, and that is it.” With arched eyebrows, I tried to sound stern; otherwise, I knew that she would disobey me and try to work.

  With pinched lips, she nodded curtly. I was surprised that she did not argue the point further, and concluded that she really must not be feeling well.

  “May I take linens into the slave’s quarters?” Drusilla asked. I very nearly laughed. Though this house was small in comparison with the one that we inhabited in the city, it still had seven or eight sleeping chambers, and those were not counting the ones for the slaves. With only me, Drusilla, Marcus, and Caius, I thought it would be cruel to the extreme to force them all into the small, dreary area while I rattled about above, alone.

  “No,” I said firmly. Drusilla looked shocked that I would refuse her that, but smoothed her features over quickly, before I could continue. “No, but you may take them into any room that you like above. Then, you will make up your bed and go for a rest. I mean it.”

  She smiled then, and nodded before turning to walk away. I felt somewhat lost without her by my side. She had been my constant companion for the last few days, and had been a buffer, of sorts, between myself and the two men with whom I was to take up residence.

  Those men were currently helping the othe
r slaves haul supplies off the carts, and I tried not to look too intently at their muscles straining as they did so. Truth be told, I was still somewhat irritated with the pair of them, though I could not have said why, precisely. Probably it was that I was so close to them, closer than usual, and yet they did not seem as if they would welcome my touch.

  This reminder put me into a bit of a snit. With pursed lips I turned and stalked down the hill, toward the sea. The closer I got, the more brisk the wind became, whipping my loose hair every which way, but instead of annoying me, I found it freeing.

  Orcus take all the men, anyway. I did not need them. Stooping to remove my sandals before grains of sand could catch in them and rub the skin off my feet, I ran the last stretch to the water, inhaling a great lungful of the crisp air.

  Maybe I would just stay here, me and the baby and Drusilla. I could be Lucius’ wife in name, could return for public events, and otherwise just stay, raise my child by the sea.

  By the sea, and away from the blood and death that was the arena. Away from gladiators, and my feelings for them.

  Lucius would likely not even notice I was gone. That thought sent a thousand tiny needles into my heart, and my happy mood began to sink.

  I fell to my knees with it, kneeling in the sand, not caring that I was dirtying the knees of my already filthy tunic.

  I no longer had any delusions about my importance in my husband’s life. He cared about my place in his life as his wife, as mother to his “children,” yes, certainly. But I was no more than a placeholder, interchangeable with thousands of other Roman women.

  I could perhaps have dealt with the disillusionment that this revelation had brought, had it not been for Caius and Marcus. Now, because I knew them, I knew that more existed, knew how very happy I could be if only the situation presented itself.

  And yet, I knew, deep down I knew, that that happiness could not last forever. Caius’ words echoed in my head, telling me that a domina and her slaves could never find happiness together.

  But this seemed like a gift from the gods, this time together, unfettered by my restraints from my husband, from Caius and Marcus’ duties.

  And yet it seemed that they could not, would not accept that gift, though Caius had professed that they both cared for me, found something in me that they could not provide for each other.

  Though being with child gave me odd rushes of emotion at inappropriate times, I found that now I felt strangely empty. It was quite odd, actually, that I should be so full, full with a burgeoning life, and feel so little.

  Inhaling yet another deep breath, I lay back on the sand, stretched my legs out in front of me. I curled my toes into the mounds of tiny granules, ran my fingers through the piles and let it grind under my fingernails.

  This tiny bit of peace seemed to be a gift. Or perhaps it was lethargy. Either way, I felt my body begin to relax, limb by limb.

  Here, even though it seemed I would not have the special time with my two gladiators, I still would be happier than at home in the city. Here, no one would judge me, no one would watch me constantly. I would not be a pawn in my husband’s political games.

  Perhaps I could convince my husband, or more likely convince Baldurus who would in turn convince Lucius, that being at the sea did wonders for both my health and the health of my baby. Perhaps I could remain here until the baby was born, postponing the arrival home.

  Either way, I was grateful for the respite. I closed my eyes, lulled by the sound of the waves, cushioned by the sand that formed itself to my body. I was sad that Batiatus and his family had died, but was grateful that it had concerned Baldurus.

  As I had recently learned, sometimes the only way to get through life was to take what small comforts were offered.

  I was taking it, was taking this, even if it still was not exactly what my heart desired.

  “Domina.” I heard the title as if through water, waving and wet as it reached my ears. “Domina.”

  There was a touch on my shoulder, a transfer of heat.

  I shifted, stretched. I felt more relaxed than I had in a very long time.

  “Domina!” The voice grew more insistent. It was a male voice, one that sent shivers running down my spine.

  I was too comfortable to move, let alone to speak.

  “Alba!” The touch on my shoulder began to shake, jolting me out of the lovely web of relaxation that I had been floating in.

  I opened my eyes, found another set of eyes directly above me, looking down into mine.

  I started, not expecting a person to be right there. In a fast moment, what had happened to Batiatus and his family flashed through my mind, and I instinctively curled into a small ball, scared, with my arms wrapped tightly around my womb. It seemed that the fate of our peers had affected me more than I had realized.

  “Alba. It is Marcus.” A large hand rubbed over my back soothingly, and I realized that I knew that touch. Knew those eyes, those dark, nearly black eyes.

  Slowly, bit by bit, I uncurled myself. As I did, I began to remember where I was. The sound of the sea lapping at the sand intruded upon my consciousness, as did the smell of brine in the air.

  I was at our home by the sea, with Drusilla, Marcus, and Caius. I had fallen asleep on the sand, and given the fact that the frigid water was now threatening to lap at my toes, I had fallen asleep some hours ago.

  I sat up, turning my body away from Marcus. “Where are the others?”

  Undeterred by the chill I presented, Marcus sat next to me on the sand. Or perhaps he simply did not notice. Regardless, I found it disconcerting to feel the heat of his body, radiating toward me, warming my own flesh after the complete lack of attention from him the past few days.

  “Drusilla is ill.” He stared out to sea as he spoke. “I fear the house has not been prepared for you much in the past hours. She wanted to rise, to work, but has been unable to.”

  I frowned, then made to get to my feet. “I must check on her.”

  Fingers circled my ankle before I could move even a step. “She is sleeping.” He rose as well, and stood beside me as I stared out to the open water.

  Instead of feeling refreshed by my nap, I felt out of sorts, disoriented. Irritable. “And what have you been doing?” I noted that his skin was quite dry, rather than covered with the sheen of sweat that I was accustomed to seeing on it.

  I felt those luminous eyes upon me, but refused to return the stare. “I have been guarding you, as per my orders from your husband. Caius has been unpacking our supplies, since Drusilla has been unable to. We have fruit and boiled beans for supper, if you are hungry.”

  I felt particularly nasty, given the calm tone with which he explained things to me. With an exaggerated sigh, I raked fingers through the tangles of my hair and grimaced when I found granules of sand caked in it.

  “I should think that I am quite safe here. Go back inside. I wish to bathe in the sea.” Crossing my arms over my soft belly, I clasped the hem of my now-damp tunic in my hands and tugged it up an inch.

  Marcus did not move. Nor did he look at me.

  It was infuriating, and given my current disposition, I very nearly screamed in agitation.

  “I said, go inside.” I glared at him and very narrowly saved myself from stomping my foot. Such an action was suited to someone with a temperament like Hilaria’s. I would not stoop that low.

  Finally, finally, Marcus turned to look at me. I noticed then how very large of a man he was. The top of my head barely grazed his chest.

  He could do whatever he wanted with me, and I would not be able to do a thing about it.

  Rather than frightening me, I found it exciting.

  I stuck my chin out in stubbornness. I could not look down upon him, but I could be firm. “I am your domina. I have ordered you to go inside.”

  He nodded and cast his eyes to the ground. His words, ho
wever, were anything but amenable.

  “Apologies, Domina. I recognize your authority. However, your husband is my pater familias, as well as yours, and his orders were that you be guarded day and night. So that is what I must do.”

  I laughed then, and knew very well that my laugh was tinged with hysteria. So I could not have a break from my husband’s dictatorship even here, when he was miles away.

  “Fine.” My words were clipped, from anger and frustration. “Fine. Stay. But I will bathe in the ocean as I wish.” Without bothering to wait for his reaction, I pulled my tunic up and over my head. It caught on the long ropes of my mussed hair, but one hard rip and I was free.

  I dropped the cloth heedlessly on the sand, not caring how much filthier the thing got. I would burn it. I never wanted to see it again.

  Naked, I was unprepared for the chill of the air off the water. It struck like a slap, causing goose pimples to hump over my skin in rapidly cresting waves. My nipples, larger and darker with pregnancy than they had ever been before, contracted so fast that it was painful. I shivered, suddenly so cold that I was unsure if my bath was a wise idea. I would be damned if I would back down before Marcus. Head held high, I walked into the water. The cold of the water now, in the early hours of night, was numbing.

  It was just what I wanted.

  I continued to march forward, the water reaching my ankles, my knees, my cunt. Then my hips, my belly, and finally my shoulders. Curling into a ball, I ducked my head beneath the surface, and nearly screamed with the sensation. The water intruded in my ears, my eyes, up my nose, into my mouth. It was like a thousand knives, all slicing into my flesh. But I gritted my teeth, unwilling to run back out of the water. After a long moment, a ridiculously long one, the knives stopped their stabbing, and my flesh became blissfully numb.