Desire of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 3) (20 page)

Technically speaking, the official wasn’t even supposed to work today. The days of games were always holidays. He had returned to his office to retrieve his ticket for the arena, and raised strenuous protest when Leda began making her case.

A healthy bribe had set the official straight to work—and Leda had plenty to bribe him with.

As she traveled in the wagon, she had uncovered an enormous chest. It opened with the key from Vahram’s body. Inside was a fortune—an honest fortune. Gold and silver bars took up one whole side of the chest. The rest was filled in with expensive jewelry and coins of every kind—from every region of the world.

It was more than enough to pay for two large men she found on the street to watch her wagon. She told the first she was an apothecary, and that in the wagon (it was covered over with a heavy cloth) was a collection of volatile poisons for the emperor's perusal. The second she also told she was an apothecary, but told him the many potions and mixtures she held inside were for womanly menstruation.

Between the two lies, she gave them plenty to avoid. The only thing a man wanted to imagine less in her experience than being poisoned was having to have anything to do with a woman’s monthly obligations. Probably, they would eventually figure out the lie, but by that time she expected to hire someone better.

“Wonderful,” she said to the official. “In that case, I should like for you to point me toward the nearest, finest inn. Some place with a quality bath nearby. And I should also like an armed escort so long as I am in this town.” She paused, thinking. “I have reason to believe that members of the Starred Hunters are in town. I should like for you to contact them for me.”

“Is that a mercenary company?”

“Of a sort. They’re bodyguards run by a friend of a friend.” She slipped another denarius across the table. She was making the man rich by the minute. “When you find them, tell them that I am a friend of Lucius’s. They’ll know what you mean.”

She said this with all the stately confidence that being raised as a princess could muster. But she actually had little idea if they would know what she meant. Perhaps they would laugh her off entirely. She slipped another denarius across the table to the official. “Give this to them to indicate my seriousness, will you?”

Most likely he would give up some of his own sestertii and try to keep the profits. That was fine by her. The Starred Hunters kept their word in every job. She would pay whatever they wanted to feel protected. When word got back to Armenia that Vahram had failed—or when he took too long before reporting success—she expected more assassins to begin arriving.

It was still early in the morning, not much past dawn. Outside, a great parade was happening. The gladiators passed by on their way to the Colosseum, displayed before the heavy crowds. A great part of her wanted to go watch, but she had too much to attend to first.

Rome, in many parts, was thoroughly impressive. Great white towers spiraled upward and temples to ancient gods appeared on every corner. Never in her life had she seen so much splendor attending the public buildings of the populace.

And yet, in other parts, it was as awful as anything she’d ever seen. Apartments leaned on each other like poorly stacked cards, built with so much wood and straw that the slightest spark would set them ablaze. The limbless, the sick, the deranged, and the poor wandered the streets, aimless and waiting for food.

Her tutors had regularly mocked Rome when she was young. Its ancient history was the stuff mostly of legend, but what remained was hardly complimentary. Founded by brigands, vagabonds, and exiles, the city was mostly men. Its first wars began because it invaded the territories of other city-states to forcibly take their women as wives.

The way other countries now invaded Rome to take its wealth and property, Rome had taken women as its first executive action.

From this inauspicious beginning, an empire had formed. It was a foundation which Rome held today, and what Rome practiced, other countries mirrored.

“Princess,” the agent said, brimming youthful confidence. “I can do these things for you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Splendid. Now,” she said, drawing out another denarius. The agent’s eyes were wide as flower petals. “The last thing I want is a tailor. Can you handle that?”

Soon, Conall would be in front of her again. And she would greet him as a princess.

––––––––

T
he arena was filled with the thick stench of death, and the crowd ate it up. Slaves tried to cover the smell over by layering over the viscera and blood with fresh sand, but that only helped for so long.

Conall did not mind the smell. By this time in his life, he had already experienced it for more minutes, more hours, possibly more days than he could count.

The beast fights and the executions were done, and the rich spectators back from their midday lunches. So, Conall and the other gladiators stood in the sands, displayed before the crowd. All the members in the stands had their favorites chosen. As each was announced, they let out riotous cacophony.

There were thousands of people in the Colosseum—more than he had ever seen before in any one place. They were of every size and color, a frothing throng of faces eager to see the violent entertainment for the day. Two younger men in white togas clasped at each other's shoulders, shaking with excitement. A long row of older men shook and sang in time, trying to lead the crowd in a cheer. He felt a pang of nostalgia for Puteoli’s amphitheater. It was not much smaller, but it was familiar.

Each gladiator was arranged in one of two lines, paired off against their match. Each gladiator that was, however, except for Conall.

The Titan came out last. The editor of the games—some favored noble of the Emperor—had been introducing every gladiator along the line, making his way toward Conall. There were the usual matches—retiarii versus murmillos, secutores versus hoplamachus, and a doubles match to start the afternoon.

“People of Rome!” the editor raised his hands in dramatic fashion. “We have a special delight for you today. A marvel for you to witness. For today, in our primus, there will be a contest between champions of two great cities of our nation! From Puteoli, he is a wild, savage barbarian from the depths of Germania. As reckless as a whirlwind. As fierce as a dragon unleashed. He is Pertinax!”

The crowd booed hard. There was no surprise for them as to who he would face—and his opponent had been the favorite of Rome for more than ten years. Conall had expected they would boo him. He wondered if he would turn their minds around or not.

“And his opponent. He is the seed of terror. He is the essence of destruction. The beast of slaughter, the giant of Rome. People of Rome, the Emperor gives to you the Titan himself!”

The crowd roared with approval as the Titan entered onto the sands.

It was the first time Conall had laid eyes upon the man. And indeed, as often it was said, it was difficult to tell whether he was truly a man or not.

Roman mythology was a cornucopia of stories from every flavor of the peoples that had been absorbed into it. Many of these myths involved the gods taking the shape of men and animals to impregnate women with their divine seed. And Conall, upon looking at the Titan, could only think that was what had happened to create the Titan.

He was tall. Larger than any man Conall had seen, beyond seven feet in height. Many tall men were lanky, their limbs not able to support any sort of muscle volume with all the work their hearts would have to do to supply blood to so much tissue.

But the Titan was not lanky. He was built sturdy, as thick as a brick wall, and every muscle sharply defined. Scars criss-crossed his body along his shoulders and legs, but not enough of them to give Conall any hope of landing an easy blow. A tough man and tough to hit.

His skin was dark from the sun, hair descending in a long red-black whip down to his waist. His eyes were black and empty, and Conall knew fear when he stared into them.

The Titan made straight for him, his stride impossibly long. He pointed at Conall, looking with disdain at the crowd and the editor.

“This one?” said the Titan. His voice was thick and dense with vowels. “This little weakling? I’ll kill him right now!”

It was not some idle boast, and the other gladiators of Rome knew it. They had seen the man fight too many times. They stood in front of the Titan, keeping him at bay. Roaring at them, he snapped one to the side, breaking his arm like a branch in the snow. Another jumped on the Titan’s back, and he threw him deep across the sands, hurtling the grown gladiator more than ten feet through the air.

Conall did not back up. He showed no weakness, no fear. But nor did he attack. If they started now, the whole affair would be called off.

Roman legionaries entered the arena, holding heavy spears and shields. They surrounded the gladiators—and after the Titan saw there was no getting around them, he relented.

Before exiting through the gates, the Titan turned to Conall and spat in his direction. “Pathetic.”

But Conall just smiled. The Titan had not fought the guards. That would have been the sign of a man invincible. And he was not that. The Titan was just a man, and he would bleed from being stuck with a blade like any other.

––––––––

T
he crowd in the underbelly of the arena split easily for someone with a princess’s escort.

She had hired six of the Starred Hunters to accompany her. They were all able, dangerous-looking men and women, carrying heavy swords and scowls on their faces. Two of the men were left with her wagon, and now she was flanked by two men on either side, with two women at her rear.

There were not as many women as men bodyguards, even in a cosmopolitan city liked Rome. It would have pleased her to have been guarded purely by women, but even as a princess, Leda had to roll with circumstance.

The tailor she found had done an admirable job in the short time she had given him. The stola she wore was made of cotton, a deep yellow color, with a red belt of silk cinched tight around her waist. A hood was drawn over her head—anything to obscure the view of any would-be assassins.

She found Conall grappling with Septus in a small chalk circle beneath an arch. His muscles throbbed and pulsed as he moved, and Leda felt a strong, sure pang of want for his body.

Outside, the arena shook with pleasure as the gladiators did something impressive. She had little doubt she would have found it distasteful.

Conall switched to one side of Septus, turning with the man’s arm locked, and finally saw Leda waiting for him. He let loose of Septus and approached, a look of wonder on his face.

“Princess.”

“Don’t call me that. I’ve only just started with it again.”

“You look the part, is all.”

“Thank you.” She flapped her arms slightly, unable to help her eagerness. “Come here, you insane man.”

He took her by the hips, being careful. “I don’t want to ruin your clothes, Prin—”

She grabbed him by the neck hungrily and pulled him against her. His body was sweat and dirt and hot, heavy muscle, and she cared nothing about the cost of her new stola. She wanted
him
. His lips against hers, his tongue sliding in her mouth, his hands pushing up her back and kneading in that perfect way at the space between her shoulder blades.

Here was the perfection she sought. Here was her love.

Septus coughed, clearly uncomfortable. With no little hesitation, she and Conall broke the embrace. His face was full of questions.

“You’ve returned, already?” He shook his head. “How is that possible?”

“The men who took me were hired knives. They belonged to an assassin named Vahram. He was going to kill me, and so I killed him.”

Conall nodded, clearly impressed. “Good.”

“I paid for the rest of this with the money he had. I suspect he was a thief of some sort as well as an assassin. His coins have been from several different lands, several different regions. I think that it is good he is dead.”

“It is.” He gripped her tight by the arms. “I promise you that it is.”

“And I return to you to find that you’ve gotten what you want. You’re fighting the Titan after all.”

“That is one of many things I want right now.”

“Well.” She smiled. “You’ll have to win first, won’t you?”

Conall nodded. He took her hands, staring deep into her eyes. She had never loved him more than in that moment.

“I thought I wanted to beat this man to find out who I was. I thought I had to beat him. But it’s not true. That’s not it at all. I wanted to beat him because I thought if I did, I could be worthy of you.”

His face felt good in her hands. She tugged at his beard gently, the back of her fingers sliding against his hairy cheek. “You are worthy, Conall. You always have been. I love you and I need you to live for me. Or I will be very displeased.”

He kissed her again, briefer this time, and yet somehow with more passion. Her teeth raked softly against his bottom lip, and she clung to the back of his head, pulling him in as close to her as she could.

“I love you, Leda.”

“I love you too.”

They stared into one another's eyes as if trying to freeze time. The arena shook again with the crowd’s reaction. Another fight had ended. An attendant near the gate called for Pertinax.

“I think that’s your cue.”

He embraced her again, and Leda did her very best to kiss him good luck and not goodbye.

––––––––

T
hey faced off in the sands, entering at the announcement of their names. As before, the crowd booed horribly when Conall entered and cheered with urgent fervor as the Titan stepped out.

The Titan had fought in many different styles over the years. Men did not survive against him when he fought as murmillo, so he began fighting as a thraex. Men did not survive him as a thraex, and so he began as a secutor, and so on.

Now he fought with one heavy long sword unlike any Conall had ever seen. Swords in Rome were short, often, emphasizing the closeness in combat that the legions used. This was nearly six feet long, taller than Conall himself, and as thick as his hand. The Titan's shoulders were armored heavily with steel, legs wrapped in leather and iron.