The Arena of Torment

by Geoffrey Allen

  “Had a rough night?”

  She ignored him and repeated her question, averting her eyes from his searching face. He seemed to be looking right through her, his mind in anguished turmoil when he spoke.

  “The emperor has brought forward the date of his inaugural games and the gladiators have to be dispatched immediately. Drucus is making the necessary arrangements, and I’m leaving for Cantiacorum tomorrow. When you see Nydia tell her to report to me at once, and if I were you I’d take a bath, you smell.”

  “Fuck,” Octavia swore, sitting up and summoning her personal slaves.

  Her husband was setting out two days earlier than his original plan and all because that confounded emperor had brought forward the games.

  She got out of bed where she had pretended to have been all night and ordered the slaves to fetch her carriage. There was no time to take a bath and she contented herself with a liberal sprinkling of perfume and paint, hoping that Glaucus wouldn’t ask too many embarrassing questions when she arrived at his villa asking for a private loan of a thousand sestertii, but she knew instinctively that when she sucked his cock she would get what she wanted, then she would have to rush back to find Plutarc and pay his fee and tell him of all the changes.

  She was stiff and sore when she arrived at Glaucus’ villa. Her cunt still throbbed and her legs ached where Plutarc had bent them over her head and fucked her almost into a coma. Glaucus too was in a frantic state of urgency, making last minute preparations, signing contracts and putting the finishing touches to the sponsorship, buying up the necessary slaves and criminals from the prisons. Her timing was perfect. She managed to get there only minutes before the emperor’s envoys arrived demanding his presence at the imperial palace.

  “A thousand sestertii!” he balked. “Why on earth should you want all that?”

  She had her answer at once, that Quintus was making off to Cantiacorum, hadn’t left her a single sestertius, and how was she going to pay for her lodgings in Rome and all the other expenses that she was bound to incur, and if he lent her the money he could take it out of her share of the profits at the end of the games, plus interest if he chose.

  There was no time to even think about it except go to his treasury and hand over a bag of silver because the envoys were marching into his villa and he must come at once to Rome and meet the emperor.

  Octavia didn’t wait for nightfall but went to the House of Olives in broad daylight, and what did it matter anyway, her husband would be gone the next day in more than one meaning of the word.

  Plutarc was there as she thought he would be, sitting quietly in the ground floor room drinking and generally taking things easy. He took her news with outward calm and put the money in a leather satchel.

  “It’ll all be taken care of,” he assured her. “Now go home and get some sleep. You look like shit.”

  And he smiled and walked off to the docks.

  Chapter Twelve

  “The emperor has commanded you to fight naked,” the games’ master informed them, as Africanus and Fortuna made their way through the labyrinth of passages and tunnels under the Colosseum.

  It was something out of a nightmare. Dim figures moved in the gloom hauling on ropes raising platforms to the arena above. Wild beasts prowled angrily inside their cages, baring their fearsome teeth and roaring their hunger and discontent. Gladiators were buckling on their armour and selecting their various weapons, and inside their cells, dozens of naked slaves huddled together in sheer terror wondering what fresh horrors awaited them.

  The two women had arrived the previous night and had gone straightaway to the gladiators’ barracks. Too late to join the customary festivities the night before the games, they went to their respective cells and slept. In the morning they made their devotions to Nemesis, praying for victory. Slaves oiled their skin and a guard escorted them below.

  They had no idea whom they were matched against or what the sponsor had arranged in the way of entertainment. But one thing they had learned was that later, one of them would be fighting in full armour against a gladiator, which just might result in death, depending on the emperor’s whim.

  But there was no time to think about that now. Each was given a thong, a mere strip of leather that covered their sex, for all the good it did, they may as well have not troubled themselves to put it on. Africanus’ armour consisted of a short handled trident and net and a stout leather whip, well oiled and supple. Fortuna also carried a three tailed whip and a gladius, sharp and deadly.

  “You know the drill,” the games master said to Fortuna, whom he recognized from previous bouts.

  Fortuna nodded and selected a trident from a pile of gleaming weapons. She handed it to Africanus and they made their way to the platform.

  “Just do as I do,” Fortuna advised. “And may the Gods be with us.”

  The slaves hauled on the ropes and the platform creaked upwards and into the arena.

  Africanus’ jaw dropped open in shock. She had not had the opportunity to see the Colosseum in daylight, now she stared in disbelief. She knew it was vast, but this exceeded her wildest dreams. Fifty thousand Romans were on their feet and cheering madly. The noise was deafening. The arena in Marcellum was nothing larger than a village market compared to this multitude. In the front seats sat the senators and beside them the Vestal Virgins resplendent in their white robes. Behind them sat the freemen and wealthy citizens. Slaves and women were relegated to the poorest seats high up at the back. At the centre the emperor was seated on a marble throne surrounded by his slaves and attendants, looking magnificent in his purple robe and crown of golden laurel leaves. She also glimpsed the lady Octavia and Glaucus sitting side by side in seats reserved for the sponsor, but was disappointed that Quintus was noticeable only by his absence. Looking all around the perimeter she saw wooden crucifixes and huge wooden wheels mounted on triangular frames. Great clouds of incense burned and a sweet fragrance of pine cones wafted across the arena.For a fleeting moment she had the impression that she was the most important woman in the whole empire. Glorious in her nakedness, her black skin shining, and her hair in woven braids she knew just how beautiful she looked and felt that her whole life had been but a preparation for this moment of glory.

  “Remember what I told you,” Fortuna whispered. “Play up to the emperor. You’ve got a great body, make full use of it. He’ll be watching your every move.”

  Africanus nodded and turned at the sound of blasting trumpets. The audience fell silent and the master of ceremonies took the stand.

  “This is it,” Fortuna breathed. “Now we’ll hear what the sponsor has arranged.”

  “Today we re-enact the conquest of Britannia,” he announced. “There, on the wild Northern hills stood the Fourteenth Legion commanded by Suetonius, standing alone against the barbaric and savage horde of the barbarian queen, Boudicca, bent on slaughter and revenge. All hail the Legion of Suetonius!”

  The audience rose and cheered the two gladiatrices who bowed in return. They had broken into a sweat and their skin glistened magnificently. Already, Africanus felt her nipples harden and a cold chill stirred her belly. She was sure the emperor raised his hand in salute.

  “The brutal savages were painted blue and red as was their custom,” the master of ceremonies continued. “Their numbers so great the earth shook beneath their feet. But they were defeated and crucified by the victorious legionaries and peace reigned throughout the land. Mighty Caesar is pleased to present the barbarian queen and her savage horde!”

  One of the gates in the perimeter walls opened and a crowd of terrified female slaves entered the arena, their bodies naked and painted with Celtic scrolls and circles. The tallest was got up to look like Boudicca and was wearing a long flowing wig of red hair. All the slaves carried whips, lances or bows and arrows.

  “Raise your trident,” Fortuna whispered. �
�And salute the emperor.”

  “Mighty Caesar, those about to die salute you!” they both chanted, and bowed low, baring their naked rumps to the crowd.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Africanus muttered. “Kill them all, or what?”

  “Catch them in your net and drag them to the wheels and the crucifixes. The slaves will bind them. I will fight off the rest. Remember to concentrate. Ignore the mob and let the emperor enjoy seeing your body. Good luck.”

  “Good luck,” Africanus echoed.

  And they moved slowly towards the barbarian horde.

  “They look splendid in their nakedness,” Octavia said triumphantly. “I see the emperor has already taken an interest in our gladiatrix.”

  Domitian was sitting upright on his marble throne watching intently as the barbarian horde went into a huddle. The tallest with the long red wig seemed to be giving orders to the rest. It was a similar situation to the combat at Marcellum, except there were a lot more of them, they were better armed and a lot more organized now that a leader had emerged. The horde split into two groups; the archers at the front and those with lances and whips flanking them.

  “Where is Quintus?” Glaucus asked. “He should’ve been back from Cantiacorum by now.”

  “Oh, I expect he’s been delayed,” Octavia tittered, and plopped her hand on his thigh.

  She couldn’t wait for nightfall, by then her husband’s body would have been found, or the one that Plutarc substituted, Fortuna and Africanus would have beaten all their opponents, and the ludus would be legally hers. She slipped her hand into Glaucus’ groin, gave his cock an affectionate squeeze, and fixed her eyes on the advancing horde.

  Silence fell as the two female fighters responded, getting closer but keeping tight together, their naked thighs almost touching. A volley of arrows whistled through the air but fell harmlessly all around them. The slaves were not trained archers and clumsily reloaded their bows.Those with lances fanned out and ran towards them. Unlike the lancers at Marcellum they waited until they were in reach before hurling the shafts. Fortuna deflected two lances with her gladius, but a third caught Africanus on her thigh.

  “It’s only a flesh wound,” she assured Fortuna, and advanced quickly on the nearest lancer.

  She swung her net in a wide arc and the Celt slipped and was hopeless entangled.

  “Drag her to the crucifix,” Fortuna bawled, rushing to attack the other three.

  She swung her razor sharp gladius and delivered a neat glancing blow across the buttocks of the terrified and disarmed slave. A thin red line appeared and grew wider and more livid. It was just what Fortuna planned. The sight of blood sent the rest into panic.

  Africanus ran across the arena, dragging the slave behind her like a sack of garbage. At the foot of the crucifix, male slaves disentangled the shrieking woman and speedily crucified her, stretching out her dust caked wrists and roping then tightly on the cross beam. Africanus was quickly back as Fortuna swiped her gladius into the thighs of another disarmed lancer. The slave leapt back but the gladiatrix kicked her hard in the groin and she heeled over clutching her sex and groaning from the pain.

  “Leave her and get the other one,” Fortuna yelled.

  Now Africanus saw what Fortuna had in mind. She rushed forward and aimed her trident at the slave’s belly and simultaneously swung her net into her legs. The painted slave didn’t know which to avoid and in her confusion she too tripped and fell. In a second Africanus threw the net over her head and hauled her screaming to one of the wheels. The slaves worked fast and soon had her spreadeagled on the wheel, her legs and arms forming a huge X on the spokes.

  Now the slaves armed with swords moved in headed by Queen Boudicca.

  “Leave her to me,” Fortuna hissed, delighting in a one to one combat.

  Boudicca was armed with a whip and wisely kept out of range of her opponent’s sword. She was tall and well built, her naked breasts and belly had been painted with blue scrolls and all down her long, shapely legs red and blue serpents entwined, their tongues lashing into her sex. Her pale skinned bottom had been left bare and Fortuna could see the buttocks clenching as she raised her whip. She let out a primitive war cry and brought the lash swiftly across Fortuna’s back. The gladiatrix howled and the fifty thousand Romans were on their feet cheering and yelling as she responded by whistling her deadly three tailed whip into the barbarian’s buttocks. The emperor applauded the delivery and watched closely as the gladiatrix swung into action. The whip lashed with savage fury into the barbarian queen’s back and thighs. She turned to avoid the blows and the whip wrapped around her calf and she tumbled into the dust. Fortuna was taking no chances with this one. She was obviously more used to fighting and had to be dispatched quickly. She kicked her in the ribs, and then hard into her buttocks and, as the barbarian rolled over, she aimed the point of her gladius at the woman’s throat. She surrendered at once and, to everyone’s surprise, walked dumbly to one of the wheels and held out her arms, knowing it was useless to resist.

  Africanus had sustained more lashes from the terrified slaves, but had overcome three of them by stabbing them with the points of her trident, or returning their lashes with her own whip. Now that Boudicca had been removed all semblance of resistance quickly crumbled. Time and time again Africanus dragged them in her net, rubbing the skin from their knees and buttocks as they tumbled and rolled over the gritty ground.

  Fortuna was swinging her flashing sword in all directions and one by one the slaves capitulated, but she too had sustained several welts from their whips, and a lance had pierced her left buttock which now throbbed painfully.

  Africanus moved in with her trident on one of the last remaining slaves, a pretty young girl whose pert breasts and nipples had been painted blue. Her slim legs were covered in twirling scrolls which artfully coiled under her torso and into her naked sex. Her eyes widened with terror when the tall, naked black woman advanced upon her. The black skin was running with sweat and gleaming like burnished ebony. Her huge breasts wobbled and swung on her sweating chest. Her powerful thighs flexed and hardened as she moved in for the kill.

  “Please spare me,” the young slave wailed, dropping to her knees.

  Africanus gathered her net but stopped in mid air.

  “You!” she said aghast. “What the fuck are you doing in the Colosseum?”

  Octavia leaned forward in her seat. She too had recognized Nydia and wondered what she was doing there.

  “A common prostitute caught thieving,” Glaucus told her.

  “My personal slave, thieving prostitute!” she said, stunned. “But where for heaven’s sake?”

  He shrugged. “One of the lupanars near the docks, I think. Caught red handed robbing a sailor in the House of Olives or Figs. I don’t know.”

  Octavia’s eyes narrowed and she looked swiftly around her at the reserved seats. Quintus was still nowhere to be seen, but she was convinced that conniving little bitch had been up to something. She looked down into the arena and saw Africanus dragging Nydia by the hair towards the nearest wheel and kicking her pretty little arse all the way there. All of the slaves were now either crucified or spread over the wheels waiting their next punishment.

  The slaves lifted Nydia facing the hub of the wheel and spread her arms and legs over the spokes. First they tied her wrists and ankles, spreading her arms and opening her legs as wide as they could. When she was secure they took leather straps and began buckling them around her calves, the backs of her knees and at mid thigh. A broader strap went around her waist and was pulled so tightly she gasped for air. The next strap circled half way up her back and the slave grunted audibly as he pulled the buckle into place. More straps were fixed to her fore and upper arms and as she was held fast. Some of the other slaves were crucified with the same attention to detail. Leather straps or ropes were first tied to their wrists and
ankles, then around their calves, knees and thighs, around the pits of their stomachs and under their breasts.

  “Let the punishment begin!” the master of ceremonies announced, and both gladiatrices loosed the whips and cracked them through the air.

  This was what the audience had really come to see, the prisoner slaves fastened to the crucifix and wheels and flogged mercilessly by the stalwart and magnificent naked gladiatrices.

  Africanus looked superb, playing to both audience and emperor. Her limbs, breasts and torso seemed to shimmer in the glare of the sun. She thrust out her buttocks and started snaking her hips. A roar of approval rippled through the assembly. Her whole arse rose and fell and it was as if her hips were acting of their own accord, revolving in great circles, each buttock half separating and clenching, having every man, including the emperor on the edge of his seat. She made a half turn so that her body was in profile. She took a deep breath and flexed both the whip and her stomach and it was possible to see how high and firm her breasts rose from her chest. Those closest the edge of the arena could see her nipples erect and throbbing.

  Suddenly the wheel to which Nydia was bound started to groan on its axel. A slave just visible behind the spokes was turning a handle and the wheel went slowly into motion. Nydia let out a gasp of horror as the thousands of people in front of her seemed to tip sideways. Then she realized why the slaves had bound her body and limbs so thoroughly. Her body was going to turn full circle as the whip descended on her back, buttocks and legs.

  Now, with their attention caught at the sight of Nydia’s slim body going into a spin, Africanus turned on her charm, making sure the emperor saw everything she had to offer, and she accidentally dropped her whip. Her legs opened wide and she bent over to pick it up. It was impossible not to see the thick mound of pubic curls and the dark, inviting, slit gaping and winking. Her buttocks gave a quick sensuous wiggle and she was back up again, standing tall and erect, raising her arm high in the air and then bringing it down with the speed of lightning. To Nydia it sounded like the crack of doom as it sailed at full strength into her back. The wheel had made a quarter turn and already the straps were straining at her arms and legs. The hub pushed harder into her stomach and she couldn’t avoid thrusting her hips and buttocks to the descending whip. Suddenly the world went upside down and Nydia was looking at the feet of the slave turning the handle. The straps cut into her flesh and she felt blood rushing to her head. Half in a daze, she screamed in agony as the whip sailed into her open sex. Now her body was inverted and her legs wide spread, Africanus couldn’t miss lashing her cunt. She gave her three strokes, then concentrated on her clenching buttocks, aiming the whip directly into her bottom crease, slicing it through the whole cleft. Nydia’s body broke into a myriad spasms as the wheel slowly brought her upright again. But there was no respite. Africanus, knowing she had the full attention of the emperor laid on the strokes thick and fast, even the people seated at the back of the arena could hear Nydia’s screams and urged the gladiatrix on to whip her senseless.