Love of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 2)

by Lydia Pax

  “Time is up, fighters. Time to part.”

  With great reluctance, Gwenn slid off his perfect body. Her center was moist, and she knew she would have to attend to herself before sleeping tonight. She noticed, with some satisfaction, that a heavy bulge had risen in his loin cloth.

  No doubt Lucius would have a similar task after she left. Thoughts of somehow arranging a way to time themselves struck her—if they could somehow manage to release at exactly the same time, even in separate cells…

  “If you pay us another few sestertii,” said the guard, “you can keep going. But we’ll be watching.”

  Ugh.

  Gwenn shook her head and gave Lucius a final quick kiss on his forehead.

  “I will see you soon, Orion.”

  “Until then, little flame.”

  Chapter 48

  During the next few days, when Gwenn was not training, she was thinking. And all her thinking led her to one simple plan, one which required speaking with Publius to enact.

  She found Publius in the garden of the domus, attending a tall fig tree. The morning was not yet over, and technically, Gwenn should have been training. Murus had re-assumed command over the gladiatrices, with three of them having fights at the end of the week.

  With great care, she convinced him that speaking with Publius was not only acceptable, but important.

  In return, Gwenn would have to take ten laps around the grounds with the log when she returned. It was not her favorite method of exchange—trading suffering in order to possibly receive more suffering from Publius—but it was all she had as an option.

  But of course, despite all his apparent indifference, nothing was lost on Publius.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in training?” He held a small shearing knife in one hand. “The games are in only a couple of days.”

  “Yes, Dominus. But I had a petition to make to you.”

  “I think you ought to punish a slave that disobeys something as simple and direct as a schedule.”

  Gwenn turned and saw Otho for the first time, lounging beneath a nearby tree with a small cup of wine in his hand. He seemed to be enjoying the sun.

  Marius—Porcia’s son, and Publius’s nephew—played with him. The boy had arrived the day before to little fanfare. His eyes were very wide at the enormous fighters the ludus boasted, but so far fear had won out over interest.

  Otho would throw a ball out in the garden somewhere, and Marius ran to pick it up and return it. This happened in perpetuity as Otho, Gwenn, and Publius conversed.

  “I know how to discipline slaves, Senator,” said Publius, “those who are disobedient, and those who simply need reminders of how obedient they actually are.” He turned his gaze to Gwenn. “You are a nuisance, gladiatrix. It smells on you. Everywhere you go, a new nuisance. I have heard several reports to this effect. Every time someone wants you to do something, you go out of your way to do the opposite.”

  “I train with great obedience,” said Gwenn. “And skill.”

  Publius plucked a fig from his tree, examined it, and tossed it away with some disdain. It did not seem to be growing well.

  “And yet when you are put in a fight specifically to die,” he said, “you not only survive, but do so with enough grace and poise to survive to fight a mere five weeks later.”

  “Should the gladiators of House Varinius not be expected to win, Dominus, let me know, and I shall be the first to inform them of your decision.”

  “As a lanista, I am sure Publius is very proud of your accomplishments,” said Otho. “But as a man who knows his place in the world, he has cause to doubt your continued wrap around this mortal coil.”

  “Good. Then you’ll like what I have to say.” Gwenn breathed. Her fingers felt clammy. “Put me in the fight with Lucius.”

  “What?” Publius asked. “No. That’s a horrible idea.”

  At the same time, Otho said, “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  Publius turned to him. “You can’t be serious. A man and a woman fighting together in the arena against two other men? It’s never been done before.”

  But Otho was excited now. He approached Publius with clear vigor in his dead eyes. “That’s exactly why it shall be spectacular! ‘The Amazing Artemis in her second fight, ever, alongside the returning Orion—condemned to death by the Gods. Will his condemnation stretch out to her fate?’”

  Publius eyed Otho and then Gwenn. “Probably. She’s not going to be fighting dwarfs, is she? These are real fighting men we’re talking about.”

  “Yes.” Otho drew his fingers together. “Make the arrangements. Do whatever it takes. I’ll back the costs. This is happening.”

  Gwenn knew she had won—that she had gotten what she wanted. But when Otho smiled at her, she couldn’t help but feel that something terrible had shifted in the air. She had done more than play into his hands; she had given him the luxury of seeing all her moves.

  Chapter 49

  A surprise arrived for Lucius the night before his fight—the night before his death.

  If there was one constant in the Roman Empire, it was the susceptibility of men with swords to men with coins. More than a few emperors had risen and fallen simply because their guards wanted more pay, and were willing to pledge their loyalty to those who promised them more.

  Lucius, if he had the time or inclination, might have tried to figure out how to do something about that some day. It poked a lot of holes into an otherwise very workable system.

  At any rate, Caius, Aeliana, and Gwenn arrived, and with the passing of a few coins, managed to have Lucius’s cell unlocked. Gwenn clapped with glee and wrapped herself around Lucius for nearly two minutes before Caius finally cleared his throat—a gesture which Lucius understood, but had to quickly push away resentment for.

  The visitors also brought Conall with them, his beard longer than ever—and even better, a home cooked meal from Aeliana’s kitchen.

  After a round of teary greetings and hugs, they sat down to enjoy the meal while it was still warm. Caius and Aeliana knew well enough not to bring Lucius wine, and he was glad for their courtesy. They drank instead water spiked heavily with citrus. Aeliana must have finished cooking only a few minutes before. The meal was gnocchi and a lovely display of fish and heavy bread, complete with a thick buttery sauce.

  Lucius took a long bite of the bread. It was the single best portion of food he had tasted in a long time. It was the sort of food so rich that you had to sigh and sit back after taking a bite.

  “You spoil me, Aeliana.”

  “Well earned, and well deserved,” she said.

  “We’ve been talking with a lawyer,” said Caius. “He thinks he may be able to add your name on the Wall of Turmedites even despite all this foul business.”

  “Is that so?” Lucius took another bite. “That would be something, yes.”

  “That would be great and you know it.” Gwenn nudged against his knees, flirting her eyebrows at him. “He likes to talk things down, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

  Something was off with her today. Even despite her exuberance, there was something going on he didn’t know about. After spending so much time with her, he knew when she hid something—and when she was not being totally open.

  Better not to press, he decided. At least not now. Maybe if there was time later. And if not—well, oh well.

  A certain sort of fatalistic optimism had been birthed in Lucius’s thoughts. If he didn’t find out something, or didn’t get to do something, it was the same refrain—well, oh well. He was dead anyway. Best not to worry about it with the time he had left.

  “Will you fight retarius?” Conall asked.

  “Yes,” said Caius. “How’s the arm?”

  “Caius. Conall.” Aeliana had a basket of bread in her hands. She let it down to the ground roughly. “Do not ask him such things. We are not here to discuss death.”

  “I’m interested,” said Caius. “How are you not interested? He’s going to put his l
ife on the line. He should at least—”

  Aeliana powered the bread down on the table in front of her. “Caius.”

  While Lucius understood Aeliana’s distaste for such talk, all three gladiators had known for years now that any one of them could die at a moment’s notice. Speaking of a match where they were likely to die was like farmers speaking of a harvest.

  “It’s all right, Aeliana,” said Lucius. “No. My arm feels much better, but I’m not up for retarius. Maybe not even with months of healing. There’s not the mobility there.”

  “So you’ll fight as a thraex, like a real champion?”

  The burly ex-gladiator had made his name as a thraex.

  Conall laughed. “Yes, Caius. That’s what all the real champions fight as.”

  “Hoplamachus,” said Lucius. “The spear is not so different than the trident, and the shield is easy to move. Easier than a net, at any rate. I’ll be mobile and quick. Playing to my strengths.”

  He talked as if he planned to win. Perhaps he did. Even with his injury, Lucius had not technically lost in the arena for more than five years. Victory was not so easy a habit to forget.

  They continued the meal, talking of other things. The clinic that Caius and Aeliana ran was doing quite well. It catered exclusively to the freedmen and women and slaves in Puteoli. Clients were encouraged to pay only what they could.

  The effect of this was that, while a great many did not pay much (if they paid at all), other, more well-off clients ended up paying a great deal more because they understood the arrangement.

  The clinic had new clients every day, and even wealthy patrons from around the town had started to donate money to them. It seemed the equestrians and nobility had noticed that when the poor were not quite as sick and injured all the time, the city itself seemed a nicer place to live.

  There were less horrible sights in the streets, children behaved better when their parents were well enough to take care of them, and crimes of desperation to pay for excessive bills took a nosedive in frequency.

  Sometime after they had finished their meal, each of them enjoying their full stomachs, the eunuch Iunius appeared at the door. He knocked politely, even though it was a cell, and the door was a simple metal grid with plenty of empty space.

  “Ho, Caius. Medicae. It is nice to lay eyes on you once again.”

  Aeliana brightened immediately. “Hello, Iunius. Lovely to see you. We have some bread here.” She rolled back the cloth over the loaf. “Would you like a piece?”

  “I thank you, Aeliana. But I have business with our mighty Orion.”

  “What do you want, Iunius?” asked Lucius.

  “I have news for you, Lucius. I’ve had news for you for some time, you may recall.”

  Lucius gestured at his gathered friends. “I can’t speak to you now, Iunius.”

  “If you do not speak to me now, you may never.” Iunius’s voice was earnest. “And that would be very bad for you, in many ways. I am not trying to grift you, my friend. Please. Hear me out.”

  The eunuch held the bars fast, his hands gripping and re-gripping.

  “He looks serious, Lucius,” said Caius. “Maybe you ought to listen to the man.”

  And outside his cell, with the guards watching closely, Iunius began to tell Lucius his urgent news.

  Chapter 50

  Publius glanced up from his desk. It was buried in papers. Little Marius sat on the ground beneath him, pushing a ball against the edge of the desk.

  “’Ello, Orion,” Marius said absently.

  They must not have told the boy about who “killed” his mother, thought Lucius. He wondered how long Marius would have the same indifference to his presence.

  Straightaway, Lucius could see the desk Publius used was much different than Porcia’s. Hers had been marble and gilded in gold in many places. More ornate than functional. Tiny, about the length across of a lamb. Publius’s desk, though, was solid hard wood. It had a bottom that showed no legs, and stretched nearly all the way from wall to wall. It was positioned in the corner, ensuring that when a person sat there, all there was to see was a blank wall and whatever work was laid out on the desk. With as large as the desk was, that was a great many papers indeed.

  “Marius, go play in the garden.”

  “You said I could be in here today, Uncle.”

  “Yes, I did. Now I am saying something else. Go.”

  Marius gathered his ball and looked up at Lucius with a great many questions in his big, brown eyes. He knew better than to ask, however. His uncle wouldn’t have approved the questioning of his will. As the paterfamilias, Publius’s will was law in the house.

  “You are supposed to be locked away,” said Publius.

  “This whole place is a prison and you know it.” He shrugged. “One less man in a cell isn’t going to change the make-up of this place. You might just as well toss a few drops into a bucket.”

  “You,” Publius said again, “are supposed to be locked away until you fight tomorrow. Are you going to tell me which of my guards to fire, or shall I have to flog you until you do?”

  “I’ve come to discuss a different matter.”

  “I don’t much care what you want to discuss, slave. You are—”

  “The thing about being a condemned man, Dominus, is that you lose patience with all the people waiting to see you die. Hear me out, and I’ll tell you what you want to know about whatever guard you think you ought to punish because you’re being stupid.”

  Publius frowned and set his papers aside. “Fine. I can see you don’t wish to be reasonable. What is it?”

  Around Lucius’s belt was a thick sack, heavy with coin. He tossed it onto Publius’s desk. Publius took a moment to examine the sack. He lifted it up, counted a few coins, and then lifted it again.

  “This is a lot of money,” he said.

  “Yes. Enough to buy a slave from your house.”

  Publius favored him with a small scoff and a smile. “You cannot buy your freedom. You are condemned to die in the arena.”

  “I know that, Publius.” He sat down and placed his hands on the table. “Let’s discuss the purchase of Gwenn from House Varinius.”

  Chapter 51

  Down the hill and back in the cell blocks, Conall waited for Lucius. Aeliana and Caius already left, and the hour was late enough that Gwenn had been partitioned off to her cell. It was not necessary for Conall to greet him, and yet all the same Lucius was glad he had done it. The younger man knew all about Lucius’s plan, having helped Lucius persuade the guards to let him up to the estate.

  “How did it go?” Conall asked.

  “Good. It’s all taken care of.”

  “You really care about that woman.” His tone carried admiration. “I will miss her. I care for her also.”

  Something occurred suddenly to Lucius. “I feel poorly. I told you to put your efforts into her training, didn’t I?”

  “You did. And now she’s going to be gone, and you will be dead. Flamma has said he won’t refuse the rudis again, if they offer it to him. He says his body is getting too creaky.” Conall shrugged. “Everyone leaves.”

  “You can…” Lucius stopped. He was about to say “you can leave,” but that was the wrong direction to take this particular conversation.

  Conall had been depressed. Helping to train the women—and training under Lucius—had improved his demeanor a great deal. Now it was all threatened again.

  “You had a terrible blackness not so long ago,” said Lucius.

  “I did.”

  “And you worry about its return, I imagine. That sounds frightening.”

  Conall said nothing, but even that was enough of an admission for Lucius.

  “Fight through it.”

  Conall laughed. “Yeah.”

  “No. I mean actually fight through it. Put everything into the fights. That’s what you have.”

  “How is that different than what I was doing before?”

  “Before, you were fight
ing and not caring whether you lived or died. I’m not suggesting that. I mean learn this craft. Learn it every way that you can. Watch every fight as if it’s your own. Learn from every loss and every win. Live, breath, eat, and drink fighting. That is the life you have. Fight long enough, and hard enough, and you can win your freedom. If you embrace it, if you accept it, your thoughts will never turn sour.”

  “And what if I can’t do that?”

  “I don’t know, friend.” Lucius patted him on the back. “Pray, perhaps?”

  From outside, the gates opened. A procession of misery entered through them. Men and women shackled in chains, led by rough-looking men with torches and long spears.

  More slaves. The last lot that Porcia had bought, Lucius intuited. Hadn’t she said something about a princess?

  “Who is that, I wonder?” asked Conall.

  He pointed with his bearded chin at a particularly lovely dark-haired, brown-skinned woman who held her nose and head quite high. She did not look like a slave.

  “How would I know?” said Lucius.

  “She’s lovely,” said Conall. “I’ve never seen anyone so lovely.”

  If Lucius didn’t know any better, he might have said Conall was smitten.

  Chapter 52

  Tomorrow, Lucius fought in the arena, and Gwenn fought with him. Perhaps he would die, but it eased her heart knowing that at the very least, she would fight with him.

  She did not know what had pulled Lucius away so suddenly from his last meal. She imagined Iunius had important information indeed if it had managed to take Lucius from Aeliana’s cooking, which was outstanding. She might have been upset that he did not say goodbye to her—but she would see him in the arena tomorrow no matter what.

  Gwenn had just been settling down for sleep when Lucius appeared at the gate of her cell. It was locked tight—security extra tight after Publius’s arrival and being on the night before the arena games, besides. Gladiators sometimes lost their nerve the night before a fight.