Gods and Gladiators

by Jaye Shields

  Gods and Gladiators

  By Jaye Shields

  Gods and Gladiators

  Copywrite 2014, Jaye Shields

  Electronic Publication: May, 2014

  Editor: Amy Valentini

  Cover Design: Phatpuppy Art Creations Photograph: nejron Cover Model: Jason Aaron Baca

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Also By Jaye Shields

  Confessions of a Sex Demon

  Claiming of a Sex Demon

  Addictions of a Sex Demon

  Secrets of the Fog

  Secrets of the Sky

  Secrets of the Jaguar

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my family. Never wavering in their support and love, my family has taught me to reach for the stars. Whenever such star seems out of reach, I know I have shoulders to stand on. Thank you to my mom, my dad, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, the endless line of love that you give me. You are my constant inspiration.

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you to two of my favorite ladies, Amy Valentini and Lisa Posillico-Filipe, for their constant support. The publishing world is wrought with ups and downs and I thank my lucky stars I have these two talented friends in my corner.

  Chapter One

  52 BC

  The Village of Merdogne smelled of burning flesh as flames reached toward the midnight sky. The ground of the Gaul city shook as bodies continued to fall. The screams of children echoed over the clash of swords. Tonight, the Roman soldiers were taking their revenge after suffering a humiliating defeat earlier in the year.

  Eirana should have left when she had the chance but her mother had been too ill to travel, and so she stayed behind. “Come, mother,” Eirana spoke softly in Gaulish, pulling her mother’s weight off the cot. They had to escape before the fire swallowed their home as well.

  Her mother screamed as Roman soldiers barreled through their home. Strong arms grabbed Eirana, yanking her forward so that her mother fell to the ground. The metallic scent of blood and burning flesh filled her nose and reminded Eirana of the grim image that awaited her outside the home.

  Eirana flailed in the soldier’s firm grip. “Mother!”

  A meaty fist connected with the side of her head and the world went sideways. Her last blurry image was of her mother lying on the floor as soldiers set flame to their home.

  Awakening a moment later with her face in the dirt, she struck out in every direction but to no avail, as one of the soldiers grabbed a rope to bind her with several other female villagers destined to be slaves.

  “Eirana!” Her brother’s tormented voice penetrated the thunder of battle. He ran toward her with his broadsword. A soldier heard him approach and swung out with a long, blood-soaked sword.

  Eirana gasped but her brother evaded the lethal maneuver, and met metal with metal. With the soldier distracted, Eirana threw herself on his back hoping her brother could drive the sword into the Roman’s gut. Instead, hindered by the chain of slaves tied to her she was unable to go far. She received an elbow to the face and fell to the ground only to hear her brother’s pained scream. Her head exploded in pain, but no agony compared to seeing her brother fall to the ground beside her.

  She sobbed, her tears soaking the bloodied ground. She couldn’t give up without a fight for these men had killed her friends and neighbors. She could only pray that her younger brother would survive. She wanted to scream for him to run, not fight. Instead, she defied her own advice, shakily got up, and lunged at the soldier.

  Heat exploded from her shoulder as something sharp tore into her flesh. She looked into the eyes of her captor and saw volcanic fury. Eirana placed her hand around the hilt of the short blade. As she pulled it from the wound, blood seeped into the fabric of her battle-ruined dress. Before the soldier could react, she thrust the blade into his neck. He sank to his knees, the dagger still firmly lodged in his throat.

  The clamor of battle faded away as Eirana knelt beside her fallen brother. At twenty-five, he’d only been a few years older than her. He’d had a wife and child, who had luckily escaped before the slaughter began. Eirana could only hope that her village could hold the Romans down long enough for the other Gaul villages to flee.

  But Eirana knew her people. The Gauls would not give up. And neither would she.

  ****

  The scent of wisteria wrapped around Ares, the God of War, as he tried to extricate himself from the soft porcelain grip of one of the minor goddesses filling his bed. A whimper escaped one of the pairs of full pink lips hiding beneath covers. “Where are you going, Ares?”

  “Don’t go yet,” another soft voice beseeched him. The curvaceous nymph twisted in the silk sheets and reached out, but he swiftly evaded her fingertips and wrapped himself in cloth. The sumptuous fabric hung low on his hips, while he threw the remainder over his shoulder. The night had been long with pleasure and yet, the monotony of his life of late left him unfulfilled. The days of Olympian glory were all but over. The Roman civilization below him was bursting at the seams, the empire too busy to remember the Gods that helped them achieve their greatness.

  They would fall soon enough.

  The mountain of Olympus shook with laughter as the Gods watched the Roman games filling the coliseum. “They think themselves so mighty,” Apollo scoffed. “They worship none but my half-brother Bacchus these days.”

  Ares approached the opening in the clouds and looked down upon Rome with his famous and infamous counterparts.

  “The Romans are constantly drunk. They are worse than the Greeks.” Aphrodite sounded slightly jealous as if left out of the Roman’s fun, replaced by wine and slave girls.

  “At least the Greeks honored our power.” Ares folded his arms across his wide, well-muscled chest. He was violence personified. “Look at them playing their games. Since when did war become nothing more than entertainment?” Below them, the Roman coliseum roared with the cheers of the audience. A one-armed gladiator had slaughtered a lion. “That is not courage.”

  Eris, the Goddess of Chaos, strolled up to the group. Ares sneered at her arrival. Her presence was one to note with care, for Chaos personified strife and discord, and she was good at it. The fingernails of the goddess were sharp points painted with gold. The same gold graced the top of her ratted mane of long, dark dreadlocks. The Goddess’ crown dripped perpetually with blood, flowing from the many bodies she had brought death and chaos upon. Her eyes were deep amber, and the bloody crown framed her wild eyes so that they looked akin to flame. Thick golden ropes held back layers of sheer black and crimson fabric. She trailed a long, pointed fingernail down his back.

  “When are you going to take a real goddess into your bed, War?”

  “You know me, Chaos. I’m insatiable.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “The only chaos I want in my bed is five females fighting for my attention.” He turned back to the show unfolding in the human realm beneath them.

  “Wouldn’t it be interesting to venture down there and show them real power? Like yours?” Eris’ body leaned into Ares and her hands squeezed his muscles before he pushed her off. Eris frowned from the rejection, but a wicked smile wasn’t far behind. “What if we played a game?”

  “I love games!” Aphrodite’s thick black lashes fluttered, her lips parting seductively at the newfound excitement.

  Ares remained silent, while the other Gods crowded around Eris.

  “We could each spend a month among the humans. Whichever
of us receives the most praise and glory in human form, wins. I, of course, will remain behind as mediator.”

  “Chaos as a mediator? I think not. Count me out.” Hermes walked away.

  Ares on the other hand, was interested. Very interested. The Romans needed reminding of what true power looked like and that “mock” battles, and savage city slaughtering, would never earn them eternal glory. No, the God of War would return to their realm to show them. Perhaps Chaos’ idea would be more fun than he first thought.

  “I’m in.” Ares stepped forward.

  “Perfect.” Eris grinned wickedly and offered him a little wave. “After all, who better to live amongst the Romans than Violence incarnate? Have fun, Ares.”

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter Two

  The shuffling of feet through the tunnel led more and more Romans into the stands. Eirana could hear the masses crowding through the long halls, a haunting echo that served to remind her of the popularity of death in Rome. The first battle was about to begin.

  Eirana watched the nightmare unfold through blood-smeared bars of the holding cell. Other slaves crowded around her trying to get a peek at what was to come. They don’t want to see. Eirana swallowed back vomit. Through the bars, she watched another head cut from a man’s body. She knew a similar fate awaited the women next to her.

  They were all crammed into the small cell, some young, some old, but all slaves taken from their homes just like her. The soldiers had forced them into the chamber, yelling in a language Eirana couldn’t understand but she’d long heard rumors of the Roman coliseums, places of blood and gore—never mercy.

  A voice whimpered, barely heard above the clashing of swords just outside the walls. “They’re going to reenact the taking of the Sabinae people.”

  Finally, someone had spoken in her own language but the words weren’t anything she wanted to hear. The Sabinae massacre, celebrated by the Romans, had been a complete slaughter of the woman and children waiting at home while their men were away at war. The Romans came in the night, took their revenge, and left not a soul to speak of the tragedy.

  Eirana continued staring through the bars into the sunlight. The image before her was bittersweet, for although the sky was clear blue and the sun bright, it shined down on a ground littered with severed limbs and unidentifiable gore. Her stomach dropped at the thought. Why were these men fighting? Had they volunteered for slaughter or forced into slavery like her?

  Lions roared and sprinted forward into the grim scene unfolding before her eyes. One of the only surviving gladiators turned, sword in hand, but was too late. The giant cat covered the man’s body, ripping him into shreds, using sharp canines to tear the man apart. Eirana looked away.

  The sight before her was almost worse. Young girls not even on their first bleeding sat crouched against the cold floor. The women old enough to fend for themselves were gaunt and sickly from days without eating. It was true Eirana hadn’t eaten in days, but the sights she’d seen hadn’t made her hungry. She only wished she had strength enough to fight.

  The roar of the crowd was so loud that Eirana didn’t even hear the approach of three large, overly muscled henchmen, dressed only in loincloths with chains strapped across their broad chests. Shrill screams echoed off the cell walls as meaty hands started pulling random women from the cell. An unforgiving grip dragged Eirana through the dark hallway. Just ahead, she could see daylight. Could they be letting her go? Could this be her one chance to escape?

  Suddenly thrust out into the light, she blinked a few times adjusting her eyes to the brightness. She took a step forward and held back a scream when her foot encountered thick, warm liquid on the ground. A lone tear slid down Eirana’s cheek. This couldn’t be it for her. She was supposed to marry and have children. This couldn’t be all that was fated for her.

  A doorway opened across the coliseum and gigantic men stepped out, greeted by a thunderous applause from the crowd. The ground shook as the sky-high walls full of people roared with enthusiasm. She might have been in awe if the people hadn’t been cheering for her death.

  The gladiators walked forward and formed a line. One particularly massive man eyed her with a dark glint in his gaze, as if telling her this was going to be an easy slaughter. There were at least ten of them against thirty women and children. It would be an easy slaughter. As they neared, only one of the gladiators was without a helmet. Eirana made out his tall form. He was well over six feet with shining black hair and eyes like glowing coals. His mouth was set in a grim line and as he wielded a long sword, his muscles were taut. Her chest constricted at the power evident under his simple tunic for it was clear he was one of many strong men who would advance upon her and the slaves. He was a beautiful image of strength. And most likely, the last image she’d ever see.

  Don’t be afraid. Protect who you can, and then join your mother and brother in the next realm.

  ****

  A thunderous noise met Ares as he stepped into the light of the coliseum. All around him, Romans screamed. The walls of the arena were nearly high enough to reach Mount Olympus with every inch of space filled with the citizens of the eternal city. People would travel from afar to behold the gore and violence of the coliseum. Let them prepare, for the God of War was here to show them exactly where his strength lie. Even within the confines of his human body, Ares felt the raw power thrumming through his veins, waiting to release the aggression building. Not summoned to a battlefield in far too long, it was time to release the fury pent up in his body.

  Yet as he neared the crowd of his foes with gladiators flanking his sides, he realized the group before them was women and children. Some of the girls were not any higher than his waist. This was not honor. Ares looked to his sides at the gigantic men. Some of them were even taller than his towering frame. The beasts were practically foaming at the mouth ready to tear the women to shreds just to please the crowd. Staring ahead once more, Ares realized that some of their swords probably weighed more than a few of the women.

  Then his heart stopped. While the crowd of females huddled together in tears, one stood tall, her blue eyes blazing with determination. Her pale face showed hints of sunburn but he could tell she was from a far off land, probably a slave taken through roman conquest of the Gauls. Dried blood matted her dark blonde hair. Yet she was beautiful and fierce, and currently eyeing the sword at his side.

  Did she really think to take it from him?

  Ares realized he was smiling. Excitement coursed through his veins. Now he would not only fight for the people of the coliseum, he would fight for this woman to behold his power. The God of War would be unleashed but he would not be striking down defenseless females.

  No. Ares much preferred a true challenge.

  When the signal announced the battle to commence, Ares spun on his heel and slashed forward with his blade. The stomach of the gladiator on his right split open, spewing blood and organs like a crimson waterfall. The crowd gasped at the surprise maneuver but Ares wasted no time and cut through the gladiator on his left. Spinning, his sword met the skin of every man in the vicinity. Ares powered through the crowd, blocking blows and thrusting forward with his sword. Three of his fellow gladiators lay dead. As more advanced on him, Ares picked up another sword from a fallen brute and began using both blades to deal destruction to all who approached.

  That’s when he realized that his fury had caused some of the gladiators to flee and run toward the females instead. The blue-eyed beauty pushed some of the women back but without a weapon, she would be defenseless.

  It was a good thing they had the God of War on their side.

  ****

  Eirana watched the gladiator turn on his own men and cut them down like trees in a forest. He was merciless and determined in the manner in which he wielded his sword. Muscles flexed with deadly strength as his blade thrust deep into the gut of beast-sized man. The defeated gladiator sank to his knees and eyes like tempered steel looked Eirana’s way. The deadly glint
in his gaze caused her knees nearly to buckle under her.

  A small tug from one of the children brought her back to reality. Looking forward, she saw the nightmare causing the child’s fear. The battle had only begun and the remaining gladiators now ran toward them.

  “Go,” Eirana screamed at the children in Gaulish. In time of war, there was no language barrier and the children fled.

  Desperate hands caught Eirana off guard pushing her toward the onslaught of gladiators. The woman eyed her before she turned and ran in the opposite direction. The last glimpse sent Eirana’s way was a silent apology. The slave woman was desperate to live and if sacrificing Eirana meant she’d have another five seconds, then so be it. Eirana couldn’t blame her.

  A deadly gladiator advanced on her with a long sword in one hand and an axe in the other. Reaching back, his muscular shoulder launched the axe forward. Without time to react, Eirana heard the blade whiz past her cheek and lodge into flesh. Sparing a fleeting look, she saw the body of the frightened slave that had pushed her toward the fray fall to the ground.

  Eirana’s heart caught but she didn’t have time to be sad. The nearest gladiator was close enough that she could smell the stench of blood and sweat dripping from his body. He growled in his approach taking his time, eyeing her. Lust mixed with cruel anticipation lingered in his gaze.

  I don’t think so. Her courage swelled.

  Lunging toward the gladiator, she ducked under the arc of his sword and rolled on the ground, kicking the back of the brute’s leg. Her strength was not enough to bring the man down so he turned, sword in hand. In a sickening rush of speed, the blade swung toward her. Eirana rolled away but knew the blade wouldn’t miss again.

  A crash of lightening rang in her ears, but when she looked up there were no storm clouds and she wasn’t dead. The gladiator stood above her, a massive tower of strength locked in an epic battle of fury and will. The sharp blades of the swords ground against each other, the sound grating against the roar of screaming fans that filled the coliseum. A forceful thrust caused the opponent to stumble back.