by Lydia Pax
“It’s a money-maker,” said Murus. “We made the change while you were here. You ought to remember.”
Lucius looked away. It was clear he didn’t remember. Drink had a way with memory.
Murus continued. “Crowds love a man with two swords. And he’s better at it, besides.”
There was a long moment, and Caius knew they were all waiting on his word. He didn’t know what to say. It had been one overwhelming moment after another. Place him in an arena full of men trying to kill him, and he was right at home. But in a room full of men wanting to help him, and he felt as lost as a dove in a snowstorm.
“Let him help,” said Conall.
Now everyone looked at him in disbelief.
“Are you serious, Conall?” Septus asked. “He tried to kill you the day you got here.”
Conall shrugged. “And he didn’t. And now, he can help. So let him help.”
Whether it was Conall’s insistence, Murus’s approving nod, or the complete lack of guile on Flamma’s face, something shifted in Caius. He could not turn down this many men at once all asking for the same thing.
“Okay,” said Caius. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
They had been a good five minutes in the mess hall. Murus swore he would dock it from their time off in the evenings and train them twice as hard to teach them not to abandon their work. The gladiators rushed outside and took up their positions once again.
Flamma stayed behind with Caius for a moment.
“I may be a bastard,” Flamma nodded. “But I’ve got a few bastards too. If their mothers would let me near them, I’d do anything for them.”
Caius clasped his shoulder. “Thank you, Flamma.”
“Don’t thank me.” He cracked a grin. “You’re a dead man, remember? Just put in a good word in Elysium for me. I could use the help.”
Chapter 45
Two days before the games in Puteoli, Rufus finally expired.
The custom for a Roman with money was cremation. Porcia commissioned the gladiators to build his funeral pyre just outside the walls. By the time they finished stacking wood, the structure was tall—coming up nearly to the height of the walls themselves—and burnt quickly when set ablaze in the night. Only the most loyal house slaves were allowed outside to watch. The gladiators stayed within the walls, watching the smoke go up.
A team of guards remained at the ready, watchful of the fire and its spread. Construction had only recently started on rebuilding the estate, and no one wanted to put out another long fire all through the night.
Porcia was outside the walls, along with her personal guards. As such, Aeliana could stand next to Caius, feeling the comforting strength he possessed, without fear of reprisal.
Why Porcia might care about Caius and Aeliana’s relationship at this point in the game was beyond her, but the woman was insane. She and Caius both operated with the silent, understood agreement that the less Porcia saw of the two of them together, the better. Better not to flood a mad woman with excuses.
They held hands, watching the smoke go up. Aeliana had felt no great affection for Rufus, and yet, like most Romans, she had a sincere respect for the dead.
It was that respect that would protect her and Caius in the reading of his will. If Porcia tried to alter his wishes or move against them in any way, then not only would she face legal repercussions from his lawyers in Puteoli, but also the threat of being haunted by his ghost.
Some logical folk insisted strongly there was no such thing as ghosts at all, but the majority of Romans held fast to the clear evidence of their supernatural existence in unexplained tragedies and mysterious ailments. Porcia, ever superstitious as a gambler, would take no chances.
Caius’s hand was as thickly calloused as it ever had been. For the past many weeks, she had watched him train as if his life depended on it. But she knew that wasn’t the case—it was his daughter’s life that depended on it.
Fabia was a remarkable little joy. Porcia mostly ignored the child, which was probably to Fabia’s benefit. A slave was assigned to looking after her; Aeliana could not help but wonder when even that small amount of supervision was deemed too much luxury for the child of a gladiator. Somewhere in Neapolis, Porcia’s own child, Marius, was sitting comfortably with family. She had not deigned to bring him to his father’s funeral. That boy had a tough lot ahead of him.
Aeliana’s own heart would have burned as the pyre burned if she knew that her own child was mere feet away from her, on the same property, but without the ability to ever see her. She helped Caius how she could, rounding up sweets from the kitchen and visiting Fabia every day. Even at three years old, her intelligence was evident and she soon knew that Aeliana was a woman to trust and expect.
This made her feel strangely gratified. In another world, another way, she might imagine herself as a mother. Certainly that was nothing that had occurred to her before meeting Caius.
She squeezed his hand and looked up at him. His face was distant. Thoughts about parenting melted away from the cold certainty he advertised—his death in just two days time.
When he first told her of the circumstances he was in, the deal he’d made with Porcia, her mind had raced with solutions, none of them coming to bear fruit. And so she had watched him, training day after day. Staying late in the sands with Flamma, the two of them sparring under the watchful eye of Murus long after their work was supposed to be done.
Her heart broke with every stroke of his sword, and she had no idea how to fix it. And yet it kept occurring to her that there was something she could do.
She felt useless. She felt weak. As weak as her father had always told her she was.
Even Lucius was helping. He had stopped drinking, at least for the time being. Still injured, he called out notes to Caius as he and Flamma sparred endlessly. Sometimes training sessions between Caius and Flamma passed with only Lucius coaching, and Murus attending other duties. If Lucius were to be a doctore, he would be good at it.
As the fire died down, Caius pulled Aeliana in tighter, one hand on her hips. She wanted him again. She had wanted him every day, but threats from the Domina had kept them apart. At every turn, Porcia wished to spite the two.
Aeliana knew that it was all perfectly justifiable in Porcia’s mind. If the Domina of the House could not sleep with Lucius, why should the two of them be together?
The moment was now, she realized suddenly. While Porcia and her men were outside the walls. Stupid—stupid! She should have thought of it earlier. A flicker of excitement ran through her at the possibility.
But just as soon as the thought struck her, and she leaned up to whisper in Caius’s ear, the gates opened.
It was like Porcia had read her mind.
Right away, as Porcia entered, she sent her guards to Caius.
“The Domina says you’re to be escorted to the arena,” said one. He was younger than Aeliana, but built strong with a heavy torso.
“The games aren’t for another two days,” said Caius. “What are you talking about?”
“You think this is a discussion? You’re going to the arena.”
“Let me gather my things, then. I’ll only be a moment.”
“You’ll go now. Your items will be sent to you.”
The other guard took out a pair of manacles. The chains tinkled in the night air.
Caius turned to Aeliana. In his eyes was all the want in the world. Gods, but he made her feel so valuable. Worthy of him.
“Look to Fabia, if you can.”
She nodded. “Of course, Caius. I—”
I love you, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. He kissed her, instead, drawing her close into his naked strength with everything he had. Their lips locked only for a few brief, delightful seconds.
Then, the guards roughed him away and clanked the manacles down on his wrists.
Her mind raced with the effort to say something, anything. This could be the last time she saw him. Her lips froze and her heart wrenched, and he passed throug
h the gates. There were no more goodbyes than that.
Weak. Helpless. The fighting cries of her childhood. She could have put them on a banner. All her life she had fought against them, insistent that she would never need help. That she would always stand on her own.
But her life was bigger than herself now. Caius was the strongest man she knew, and even he relied totally on the other gladiators for his training, for his safety and wellbeing of mind.
It did not take long to reach her office. In a small basket underneath the far shelf there was a wealth of ink and paper. She lit a candle so that she could see; she took a breath.
And then she began to write, and did something she swore that she would never do.
I do not ask for much from you. Knowing your thoughts on charity, I understand that you find it a true sign of weakness. But let me tell you something about strength.
Emotions swelled up in her. She had to bite her tongue to distract herself from the pain. And then, with great deliberation, she continued writing the letter.
Chapter 46
Caius was given a “private” bedding area in the arena, which meant that he was locked in a cell overnight. He slept uneasily. There was no cot, only the cold stone ground and some hay in the corner.
No doubt Porcia knew he and Aeliana would have risked spending his last night alive with one another. Even having won—with his death as incumbent as the sun’s rising on the morrow—the Domina was as petty as ever. No spare happiness for others until her own was satisfied.
Maybe as an outside observer he would have viewed Porcia as a sad creature. But subject to her machinations, the best he could manage for her actions was a quiet, steady rage. When he was not at his best, he let out half-strangled screams and banged the walls.
In the morning, he had a visitor. Caius ran through a small physical routine on the floor, push-ups and squats and the like. Anything to keep his body limber and ready.
Felix leaned against the metal gate of the cell, wrapping his arms through the bars.
“They told me you would be here,” he said.
Caius looked past Felix for a moment. “You just walked away from your ludus?”
“There are guards down the hall. I’ll be training later. But they know I’m not going anywhere. Some of us like the glory of the arena. Some of us wouldn’t leave it for anything.”
“You’re young yet. Give it a few years.”
Felix’s frown deepened. “I don’t like you, Caius. I wouldn’t like you even if you hadn’t killed my brother.”
“You’ve fought in the arena. No doubt you’ve been asked to kill a man you didn’t want to kill. Would you have acted differently?”
He stiffened. “Yes.”
“They would have killed him anyway. Him and me.”
“ And I would have died for him, Caius. That’s what you don’t understand. You just don’t—”
“—I do understand that, Felix. I do. I never wanted your brother to die. I have fought for a gladiator for years. I know what it is to lose many kinds of brothers. But never one I knew from birth. And I am sorry you had to suffer for it.”
“I don’t care.” Felix shook the bars. “Do you hear me? I don’t care about that. Not one bit of it. I’m going to make you pay. That is the only justice I can find, and it’s the one I seek.”
“You cared enough to burn down the ludus.”
Felix stepped away from the bars then and shook his head. His tongue made a rotation around his cheeks and he clicked softly.
“I want you to know something, all right? Tomorrow, I’m going to beat the hell out of you. I’m going to kill you if I can.”
“I expect it,” said Caius.
“It’s got nothing to do with that fire. That fire was the idea of the Dominus. Not me.”
“So, you admit it.”
He shrugged. “You would have had to do the same if your Dominus asked you.”
“He never would have asked such a thing.”
Felix chuckled wryly. “That sounds very convenient for you.”
There was nothing more to say. Felix banged the cells with his fist one last time and walked away.
Caius could not help himself—bravado was all part of the contest tomorrow. He did not want to start off lacking.
“Felix!” he called after him. “Felix! You may win tomorrow. The arena has no favorites. But you’ll pay for every inch of ground you gain. Every inch! I’ll take each one out from you in pounds of flesh.”
There was no response, and Caius was left with his own words echoing against the stone walls of the arena.
Chapter 47
Under the cover of night, Iunius escorted Aeliana to the arena. She had paid him well with her savings from many years of working for House Varinius, and had told no one of her plan. Iunius was about as loyal as the money he was paid, and had little issue auctioning services for higher pay. As such, secrecy was essential. She couldn’t ensure he would keep his word, but she could at least keep others from knowing she had hired him.
But her secrecy had not been necessary—Iunius delivered her as promised, and with a smile on his face. The gate inside the arena was unlocked, and there were no guards about to speak of.
“I’ll see to the girl when I get back,” he said.
“Thank you, Iunius. You’re doing Caius a great service.”
“Well, him and me. Porcia’s not the only who likes putting a little money on the games. With as much as she’s going to bet, she’s going to hook the odds towards Felix. I stand to make a tidy sum.” He smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. And move quickly. I paid the guards to take ten minutes for themselves, but I didn’t bribe all of them. Avoid being seen, if you can.”
She could. Though she had only the spottiest idea of where Caius might be held, it was enough. Her gut had told her in the private cells along the outer edge of the wall, where there were locked gates to keep the most vicious of fighters sedate before the games.
So far, everything was going well. Her aunt had agreed to deliver Aeliana’s letter to her father, and—characteristically—did not ask questions. She also did not hug back when Aeliana embraced her for nearly a minute, though she didn’t really resist.
Improvement, inch by inch.
Caius slept in his cell. With a key from Iunius, she opened the gate with a long creak. It was enough to wake Caius, but not rouse any guards. So long as they were quiet, she did not think there would be any trouble.
Caius embraced her without words. Their kiss was long and sweet, an extended version of the desperate passion they shared the night of the funeral pyre. Her lips never wanted to leave his again, and they had hours to spare. His body, so hard and so perfectly there, was the subject of every motion of her hands.
At some point in their tangle, he gently pushed her back. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you. Is that acceptable?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Of course it is. It’s just…how did you get here?”
“I’ve been busy. I made some arrangements.”
“Arrangements? What do you mean?”
“I wrote to my father. I told him your story. He was…moved by it.”
Caius waited for her to continue.
“Tonight,” she said, “Iunius will retrieve Fabia from the ludus and deliver her to a wagon outside, where my father waits. Tomorrow morning, my father will speak with a lawyer and begin to drum up papers of protection. Possibly adoption, if the circumstances require it.”
“Why would he do that? I thought you said you and your father did not get along.”
“No.” Aeliana nodded. “We do not. But that does not mean he is a bad man. I had to remember that. And he helped me when he knew what I wanted.”
Caius dropped from her and sat down in the corner.
“I…I thank you, Aeliana.”
“You’re hesitating. Why are you hesitating? Isn’t this what you want?” She frowned deeply. “Caius. Do you want to die?”
<
br /> “I am…not sure.” He shrugged. “There is a simplicity in death. If you were to bet all that I have, all that your father offered on Felix, then that sum could take care of my daughter. I can make up for many wrongdoings that way. Your father, maybe, can pressure Porcia into giving up some of her winnings for Fabia as well.”
“Even that is uncertain.”
“It is no less uncertain than her father living as a slave. I never wanted that to happen. Never.”
“And the better option is her father dying as a slave?”
“I…” he shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. It was clear, a long time ago. It was all so clear, what I should do. Otho is the editor tomorrow, you heard Porcia. If he wanted to, he could have me killed regardless. And if I win, perhaps he forces my hand and makes me kill Felix.”
“That is how gladiator fights end very often, Caius.”
His face turned stony. “Otho has made me kill enough men.”
If he entered the sands tomorrow with a mind this muddled, then his fate was already sealed. No man could put his life on the line with his thoughts waffling and expect to survive. She knelt down in front of him. The feel of his thighs under her hands warmed her whole body. Couldn’t he feel how much strength was in him?
Somehow she had to save him. She could not face another man dead in her life—another man she might have saved if only he would listen. If only she could find the right words.
“You told me that your daughter was the only thing worth fighting for. Dying for.”
“Yes.”
“And what if you had another?” She clasped his hands tight to her chest. “What if you were alive and well, for me? I love you, Caius. I want to stay with you. I want you to stay with me. Slave or no. We can be together. So we should. That’s what I think.”
“You love me, truly?”
“Yes. Don’t you love me?”
“Of course I do, Aeliana. Of course I love you. I just—”
She closed the space between them, kissing him hotly.
“Then live,” she said finally. “Live for me. Fight for me.”
