I wasn’t sure if it was worse to remain at the villa and wait until the Gethas returned from the arena, or to accompany them and watch the horror myself. On the day of the games, I was forced to stay behind, waiting for hours, praying and pacing, worrying that my lover had met his end at the tip of a trident or the broadside of a dagger. When the sounds of voices reached the house that evening, laughter and shouts rang out, which made my heart thump wildly. Alba was the first through the door.
“We were victorious!” she announced gaily. “All of our gladiators triumphed!”
I collapsed on the landing, tears falling down my face, and later, in the garden, I caught sight of Marcus, healthy and unscathed. He grinned broadly and drew me into his arms.
“You needn’t have worried, my love.”
“Oh, thank the gods.” He led me to our private viridarium, a seating area enclosed within the garden. The frescoed walls depicted scenes of birds and plants. “Are you injured?”
“I’ve a nick on my thigh and arm. It’ll heal in time for the next match.”
Our lips met in a lingering kiss, filled with all the promise of what was yet to come. “What was it like?”
He grinned. “Imagine liquid excitement running through your veins. The noise of the crowd and the roar of applause…it was extraordinary.”
“You’re not supposed to like this, Marcus.”
“I was caught up in the moment.”
“What happened?”
“We entered in an enormous procession. There were tubicines playing, and lictors bearing fasces, with the scribes and the editor. The gladiators marched last, and we received the loudest cheers. It began with the beast exhibit.” He noted my expression. “None of them were killed…but there were the executions of noxii.” His features clouded. “That was my least favorite event. They were murdered outright. I prefer an even contest, but the condemned never die honorably.”
“How did you fight?”
“We fought in pairs; there were twenty of us. The winners of the first round fought the winners of second and so on. I was the last one standing.”
I snaked my arms around his neck. “I’m so glad. I would’ve been terrified to see it.”
“I was quite popular with the ladies.”
“What?”
“They screamed for me the loudest.”
“You jest?” Was he trying to make me jealous?
“They were taken with my form.” Humor shone in his eyes.
“Oh, stop that.” I pushed against the wall of his chest. “Now you’re teasing.”
“They did love me. One might’ve even swooned. Someone in the audience caught her.”
“Let them faint all they want. You’re here, and you’re mine. They can’t have you.”
His lips were near my ear. “I’ll do my best to stay alive, Floriana.” His hand rested on my belly. “For you and my child.”
“Oh, Marcus.” He knew I was pregnant. My breasts had swelled along with my belly. “If only we weren’t doomed. If only—”
“Shush. That is why the gods are jealous of us.”
“How so?”
“We’re mortal and every second is precious, every touch, every kiss. They have eternity to play their silly games, but all we have is now.”
“We mustn’t waste it then.”
“No.” His hands held my face. “For those about to love, we salute you.”
“That’s not the saying,” I giggled.
“Kiss me.”
Our lips met, provoking a deep, sensuous kiss. Our tongues battled silkily, while we clutched at our clothing, divesting ourselves of every last stitch we wore. We lay on cushions, with the moon and stars, sparkling brilliantly in the night sky, while crickets serenaded us from the hedges of yew. The warmth of the air caressed my skin, along with the fingertips of my lover, as he felt his way to my hips, sliding between my thighs. From there he separated the distended lips of my labia, fingering me intimately.
“Oh, Marcus…”
I wrapped my hand around his cock, keeping the pulsing wand from jerking. My thumb ran over the tip, smearing fluid over the head. Soft lips were on my neck, nibbling and sucking; his face scratched me with the beginnings of a beard. He descended to my breasts, pressing the mounds together and laving both nipples simultaneously. I moaned, feeling the bite of desire too strong to deny. I grasped his hips, thrusting my pelvis from the cushions in a show of need as old as time. His finger slid from my pussy, leaving me dripping with my own arousal, and, with one thrust, he was buried deep. I wrapped my legs around his buttocks and held on, while he pounded me, driving all the way to my cervix.
“Ooohhh…”
“Floriana!” he rasped. “My beautiful girl.”
“My…ooohhh…Marcus…”
I matched his movements; our bodies worked in perfect unison, while the tingling edges of bliss toyed with me, teasing me with the promise of paradise. I dug my fingertips into his muscular gluteus.
“Marcus! Fuck me!” I drew in a sharp breath and shuddered, my body exploding with the convulsions of climax. “Ooohhh…”
“That’s my beautiful girl.”
He kissed me, his tongue sliding into my mouth. I clung to him, greedy and desperate for more. As the orgasm dwindled, he pulled free, rubbing his cock over the protrusion of my belly. His face was a mask of lust, with eyes heavy lidded and a slack mouth. Perspiration lined his forehead. He straddled me, working his way to my chest, where he pointed the bloated tip of his cock at my throat.
I reached for it. “It’s so hard.”
“You made me this way. Just looking at you does this to me.”
“You’re wet.”
“That’s you.”
I kissed the tip. “Do you like that?”
“Must you ask?” He sounded hoarse.
I licked him. “And that?”
“You know I do.”
I pressed my breasts together. “Fuck me, Marcus.”
He wet himself with saliva and drove in through the deep valley of my flesh, massaging his length in the process. “Floriana!” After only a few strokes, he groaned and shot a globule of semen into the indentation of my neck. Several additional streams joined the first, forming a milky pool. “Aaaahhh…” He held himself, rubbing, producing several more fat droplets. “My angel.”
“Now I’m all wet.”
“Here’s my loincloth.”
“Thank you.” I dabbed myself dry.
He drew me into his arms. “Rest a while, and I’ll take you back to the house.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“I really don’t want to take you.”
I sighed. “Then let’s linger a while longer.”
“You’ve talked me into it.”
“That wasn’t hard,” I giggled.
He pressed his cock to my belly. “This might be again soon.”
“Oh, Marcus.”
His lips descended to my forehead. “My love.”
We continued to meet in secret, and, as the weeks wore on, my belly grew even larger. With the senator’s return, I had once again been called upon to perform in his sex shows, where his friends would watch while I copulated with Marcus and other gladiators. As my pregnancy progressed, Decima and Alba took my place, because Master Getha preferred to watch slender bodies.
I wasn’t as terrified of Marcus’s second call to the arena, where he fared well, although we had lost three gladiators and the fourth clung to life. His wounds eventually healed. Decima had been allowed to attend, and I would accompany Mistress Getha to the final round of games. As the day drew nearer, a sense of foreboding hung over me like a pall. Because of Marcus’s success and popularity, money and sponsorships poured in. The strong boxes were once again filled with gold coins, and my mistress’s inheritance was secure, but I had never been more worried in my life.
Chapter Sixteen
“Today you’ll see your lover bask in the glory of victory,” enthused Octavia, as she was hande
d up into the carpentum. “You’ll ride with me. You’re far too fat to walk any distance.”
Her concern for my welfare was a surprise. “Thank you, mistress.” I sat across from her, marveling at the fact that I had never traveled in such luxury before. I had fully expected to walk the entire way into Rome.
“Now pour me wine.”
“Yes, mistress.”
The senator was at the amphitheater already, having left early in the morning to secure the best seats. He enjoyed watching the venatores fighting the tigers, although the contests were skewed to favor the men. None of the animals ever survived. Octavia hated to watch the noxii, as the beasts ripped into unarmed slaves. It was a horribly, bloody death.
The streets were embedded with stones, which made the wheels of the conveyance heave and jerk, sometimes violently. A mass of humanity gathered; their faces were bright with excitement. Soldiers, slaves, and plebeians, crowded the gates, holding their tickets and waiting for entrance. The promise of entertainment, food, and drink was irresistible. It was an escape and a distraction from the very real problems facing Rome.
“Look at them all,” commented Octavia. “The little people.” She sipped her wine, whilst staring at the crowd. An enormous smile lit her face, as she pointed. “They’re holding signs for Marcus! He’s become a favorite. How wonderful.” A mask of haughty satisfaction creased the lines in her forehead.
My reply was not necessary, and my gut churned with the bile of disgust. I stared at my mistress, truly seeing her in that moment. She was breathing easy again, now that the money had returned. Her fingers flashed with gold and gems, while the headdress she wore towered with ringlets and curls, threaded through with ropes of gold. The sumptuousness of her stola was only outmatched by the beaded perfection of her palla, the shawl draped around her shoulders. I’d spent all morning applying her makeup; her face was as pale as possible with chalk powder and white lead. I took pride in my efforts, because she looked exquisite, but the rottenness of her soul ruined the effect for me.
This woman had been given everything from birth: freedom, money, and position. Her father had been a senator. If I had been born to a different family, I would have had a chance at happiness, even in an arranged marriage. If I had been unhappy with my husband, I could have taken lovers and found emotional fulfillment through them. The thought that a person could own someone, body and soul, and treat them as property was truly the worst of humanity. I possessed skills, therefore my life wasn’t as harsh as those forced into the fields or the mines, but none of us had freedom.
“Good heavens,” said Octavia. “It’s a disaster today. Maybe we should’ve come earlier.”
There were eighty entrances, twenty-six for the general public, one for the Vestal Virgins, and a separate entry for the emperor. We were handed down from the carriage and nearly crushed by the sea of humanity that swarmed like disorganized ants. The shows had gone on for most of the day, with the gladiators due to perform in the evening. It was the main attraction. We weaved our way through the congestion, arriving at a marbled arch, which we entered, escorted by a slave who would see us safely to our seats.
The oval shaped amphitheater held tiered seating which surrounded the arena below, filled with sand from Egypt. People shouted their displeasure with the senate, railing bitterly against the corruption, while others shouted in its defense. Every possible opinion or grievance seemed to be yelled above the din, as the populace made their feelings known. The senators occupied the first rows; the seats were reserved for them. Octavia and I wound our way around and up several flights of stairs, behind Senator Getha, who I glimpsed below, dressed in a toga. The emperor sat in his own box with the Empress Domitia Longina, who had just returned from exile. She’d had a falling out of sorts with her husband, but the separation had been short-lived, and she was once again in the palace.
From where I sat, I saw the emperor, but he was hidden under a wig, which all but obscured his face from my vantage point. The crowd roared with laughter at that moment. There were gladiators warming up, using blunted weapons, while the editor, who was the official magistrate, checked the weapons. A trio of musicians dressed in costumes delighted and amused the crowd. One resembled a bear, another a chicken, and a man was outfitted as a woman. I searched for Marcus, but the field was crowded with too many men. Finding one person in particular was nearly impossible.
A slave brought Octavia a glass of wine. “This will take the edge off,” she said, eyeing me. “Who are you looking for?”
“No one. Well…our men, mistress. I wish to cheer our gladiators.”
“Of course you do. Our helmets have orange plumes.”
“Thank you, mistress.”
She sipped her wine, while nodding to a woman who wandered by. “Hello, Octavia,” the woman said enthusiastically. “How are you, my dear?”
“I’m very well, Renita. It’s good to see you.”
“I’m having a party in a week. I’ll send you the invitation.”
“Wonderful.” She forced a smile. “I can’t wait.” When the woman was out of earshot, Octavia mumbled, “I’d rather sit in a pile of horse shit than set foot in her house.”
The senator approached. “Ah! I thought I saw you arrive. You’re so late. You missed the first match. Milo was mortally wounded. I’d expected greater things from him. It was a clumsy error. All our hopes now rest on Marcus.”
She kissed his cheek in a show of domestic unity. “I’m sorry, my darling. How tragic.” Now that the coffers were once again filled with coin, Octavia could have cared less if her investments lived or died. They had served their purpose. “When does the next match start?”
“Soon.”
“Fabulous.”
Senator Getha eyed me, which made my skin crawl. I sat with a shawl around my arms; my tunic bulged with the evidence of my pregnancy. “Your man’s about to fight. Have you the stomach to watch this?”
It was shocking that he had addressed me openly. I got to my feet, bowing my head deferentially. “Yes, Senator Getha. I wish all of our gladiators victory.”
He smirked. “Especially Marcus Ahala.”
Octavia glanced at us with hawkish eyes. “Am I missing something?”
“She’s in love with Marcus. She’s carrying his child. We’ll have a gladiator brat on our hands soon. Might be worth a pretty penny.”
“Oh, I knew that already.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyone can see they’re besotted. Slaves in love. How quaint.”
He nodded without speaking, and I suspected he knew more, but he wasn’t going to say another word on this subject. “I must get back. Give me a kiss, for good luck.” He pointed to his cheek.
Octavia dutifully obliged. “May we win even more favor and become even richer.”
“Indeed. Enjoy the show, my dear.” He left us then.
“I’m out of wine. Be a good slave, and get more.” She thrust her glass in my hand.
“Yes, mistress.” I left to find the appropriate vendor, and when I returned, Titus and Caelia had joined their mother, the three of them waving furiously to someone in the arena.
“Look! It’s Marcus!” gushed Caelia. “We’re so lucky to own him. All my friends are jealous. He’s by far the most handsome of the fighters. No one cares if the ugly ones die.”
“Certainly,” agreed Octavia. “They’re of no value at all.”
“I haven’t seen this much excitement since Publius Orosius,” enthused Titus.
If Marcus stayed alive, he would live to fight another munera. If he survived several seasons, he could buy back his freedom. He was far luckier than I, because I would never be free. I wished for his victory, knowing that, when he left the house of Getha, he would be at liberty to pursue any vocation he desired. I would tell my child what a hero he was. I would pass along the stories of his triumph, and the rest, my secret memories, would reside in the confines of my heart and mind.
The sudden roar of the crowd signified the beginning of the
games. Those around us shouted and screamed with excitement, even Octavia howled at the top of her lungs. There were dozens of pairs of gladiators, and in-between matches, music played, and the wine flowed freely. The editor, who oversaw the proceedings, held the power of life and death in his hands, although the spectators had the final say. If they shouted for death, then it was given, as the defeated gladiator knelt waiting for his moment of reckoning.
From this distance, the fights weren’t as gruesome as I had thought, but the sight of blood flowing from a downed competitor bothered me immensely. The bodies would be placed on a couch and taken from the arena. This was the final dignity afforded to the slaves who had fought so bravely for their masters. One match that had gone on for the better part of an hour, ended when both gladiators declared defeat at the same moment. The crowd roared with approval as the editor awarded victory to each by giving them a symbolic wooden sword. I watched with tears in my eyes, as hope flared eternal. I prayed the same fate would befall Marcus, but I knew the chances were slim. Both of those gladiators had been around for years, and Marcus was a novice. They would never grant a novicii freedom.
“There they are!” cried Caelia. The rumblings of the crowd began to swell into a roaring crescendo, as several pairs of gladiators stood facing one another. “Our men are about to fight!”
“Where’s Marcus?” I asked, craning my neck.
“He’s on the end,” said Titus.
From this distance, the fighters were unrecognizable, and the helmets obscured their faces with only two small eyeholes to ward off the tips of tridents. Marcus, who was a secutor, wore flanges to protect his neck and chest, and he carried a solid metal shield. His weapon was a short sword. As the music died down and the screams diminished to a dull roar, the match began. Marcus was paired with a retiarius, whose weapon was a trident. He employed the use of nets as well.
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