Gladiatrix (26 page)

Having found what he believed to be the solution, Philemon smiled at us both sweetly.

Great. Emotional exercises. That was going to be fun.

Alexander had just missed being raped. Or executed for resisting the rape. And I … well, I just wanted to kill Lurco and be done with him.

And I still didn't know how to comfort Alexander. He'd withdrawn into himself, and was refusing even eye contact.

Philemon insisted we all have another cup of wine, and began to explain his ideas to us as though we were gifted, but recalcitrant children.

‘Now the first rule is this. Remember this is just a play,' he said slowly. ‘That means it is not REAL. You are PRETENDING to be someone else. It's not that difficult. You just have to think your way into another person's mind. It's all technique, and I'm going to walk you through it.'

It occurred to me that this rehearsal would finish so much sooner if Philemon felt some confidence in our performances. I had to get us both out of here as soon as I could.

‘Fine, Philemon,' I said, trying to sound engaged. ‘We're in your hands, just give us the exercises.'

Alexander groaned.

‘Good, Bellona, good,' Philemon said, rubbing his hands. ‘Now the play comes down to a few basic emotions, anger, lust and love. Yesterday you both seemed to be very good at displaying the anger side of the play. So today we need to practise the other ones.'

God! Lust and love?

He continued. ‘And you need to be able to open up to each other. Play with each other.'

We both flinched at that thought.

Philemon picked up on the movement, and gave us a paternal look. ‘Yes. I know you two can fight well together. And with a great deal of passion. But the story of Cupid and Psyche is about love, desire. The audience will never believe you're lovers if you can't even touch each other with tenderness.'

He waved us to our feet. ‘Go over and get into your positions for the first scene.'

The couch we'd used last night was in the same place. I stretched back on it, as Alexander sat down next to me. He was holding the golden arrow, looking down at it. Remembering the jab he had given me yesterday, I eyed him warily, but he was far too sombre to try that trick again.

Philemon leant back in his chair ready to direct. ‘Now, both of you, shut your eyes, and I'll set the scene. Help you think about what you need to do, to get into character.

‘Cupid,' he said, addressing Alexander. ‘You're the son of Venus, the Goddess of Love, and so handsome that mortal women fall at your feet. But you're also a wicked young god, who has all the freedom and self-will that divinity allows. You've been sent by your
mother to destroy the life of her mortal rival, Psyche. You are heartless. You have played havoc with the lives of the other gods, but have never fallen into your own trap. Today when you see Psyche, for the first time you will experience things you've never felt before. Tenderness. Weakness. Desire. You will go to any lengths to have her.

‘Psyche. Your very beauty has called down the jealousy of a goddess. You will create a fire in the heart of the most perfect of beings: your nemesis, Cupid. And you will love him at first sight.'

Philemon then said, curtly, ‘Scene one. Cupid. You start by finding Psyche and you end by falling in love. Imagine it. Experience it. Express it. Open your eyes and go.' He clapped his hands.

When I opened my eyes, Alexander was already looking down at me. He had his usual belligerent mask smoothed over his face, but around the edges I could catch his wariness.

He didn't know how to treat me now. How to see me.

He went through his speech smoothly enough, he'd learnt the words correctly, but without showing much sign of emotion. Except for looks, he was certainly not the fiery teenage divinity Philemon had described.

Alexander was a sad young god. He had Cupid's perfect face and form, but had suffered for those qualities, not delighted in them.

As I watched him go through the motions I felt a deep sorrow for him. This was not the first time someone like Lurco had tried to have him, and it hurt just to even think of it. I swore to myself, I would protect him. I would not let him be hurt like that again.

When Alexander said, ‘Oh, fair Psyche, receive your fate,' he gently tapped the arrow tip once just above my
heart. After a pause I sat up, stretched, pushing the arrow gently against his own chest.

Philemon whispered directions, ‘Now you have fallen in love, Cupid. For the very first time. Show it.'

We both looked to Philemon, as if in appeal. He merely waved us on, smiling his sweet smile.

Alexander turned back to me. He held my cheek with one strong hand, and then slowly bent forward to rest his lips against my lips. They were full and smooth, and softer than I expected. His breath stirred the fine hairs on my skin and I shivered.

He immediately pulled back. I kept still.

Philemon clapped his hands together. ‘Better. Better. You're working together now. That's good. Now put some emotion into the next scene.'

We switched positions. I stood up, and Alexander lay across the couch, with his arm over his eyes.

As I looked down at him Philemon set the scene. ‘Psyche. Your parents, afraid of Venus' wrath, have offered you to the mountain demon to die. But Cupid sends a great wind to carry you up to his home. Afraid that Venus will find out and choose another way to destroy you, he hides his identity from you. He visits you only in the dark of night. He tells you he can never show you his face, but that he will never hurt you. You're afraid, but he woos you. Slowly. Insistently.

‘Now he's asleep, and you decide you must finally see the face and form that you love. When you raise your lamp you see him for the first time. He is the god of all dreams and all fantasies. But your lamp awakens him, and he is angry at your betrayal. Tell him you love him. Persuade him to stay with you, not to leave in anger.'

As I gave my memorised speech, full of fear and longing, I reluctantly witnessed Alexander's reaction.
His anger had dropped almost completely. Now there was something else there.

A hunger.

Philemon was also watching, intently. ‘Good. Big improvement here. Last scene.' He clapped his hands again. Once again Alexander and I swapped positions.

‘Cupid,' instructed Philemon. ‘Your only love is now dead and it's your fault. When you left her, she tried to find you. She even asked your mother for her help. Venus tricked her, and now she sleeps in death's embrace. You have finally realised what you have lost. You are an immortal, doomed to live for eternity in a loveless universe. Only the power of your kiss can bring your love back. Call her back to you.'

I leant back and shut my eyes. Alexander sat next to me, and began his speech about hope and love. Then I felt his lips touch mine again. A different touch from the first. Firmer. Stronger. Meant.

He pulled back.

When I opened my eyes his face was still very close to mine. Just inches away. Our eyes locked, and when he moved backwards it felt as though he was moving in slow motion.

The hunger was gone, replaced by a very masculine determination.

When Philemon coughed, we both seemed to come back to real time. He prompted Alexander to go on, to finish his speech. Alexander said the rest of his lines, and then pressed a cup of wine to my lips. It was supposed to be ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, to make me immortal. I drank.

By the time I'd finished, Alexander had regained his social mask. But it was not as aggressive, or troubled as before. Now it was purposeful. Focused.

‘My dears.' Philemon was pleased. ‘You will have the
audience in the palms of your hands. Yesterday, it was a battle. Today, it's a tragedy. What will it be tomorrow night? I can't wait!'

He stood, getting ready to leave. ‘Work on it by yourselves, my children.' Waving a hand, he pronounced, ‘Interpret. Play with it. Make it your own. And by tomorrow night you'll be able to really put some oomph into it. Remember, Domitia wants you to be talked about. Be bold!'

Unfortunately that seemed likely whatever happened.

By now I was panting to get to the Iseum. Despite all Valerius' assertions about the quality of his men's intel, I still wanted to check the temple for myself.

I might find clues Victoria had left there that a man of this time would miss. Plus, and this was the real kicker, I might find a way to translate the text hidden in the handle of the Isis dagger. Find someone to bribe to tell me what it was, and what it said. I wasn't stupid enough to think it had someone's address and phone number in amongst it, but whoever had Victoria desperately wanted the dagger back.

My bet was they were actually after the papyrus. Knowing their motivation could be very useful indeed.

I had to take Alexander with me, as I couldn't trust Domitia to keep him safe from Lurco. I had the feeling he'd help me now, rather than hinder me, but might as well put that to the test when it didn't matter too much. So, as a scorching afternoon wind whirled around, covering us in a thin layer of dust and grit, we hiked back down the Palatine Hill.

The Iseum was in the same neighbourhood as the amphitheatre I'd fought in this morning, so we were retracing our steps. But we were in for a little surprise. The Palatine end of the city centre had gone through a major makeover in the past few hours. Fresh graffiti was scrawled over every piece of available wall space. On the sides of private houses. Across shop fronts. Even the pavement. Big letters and lots of them.

At a glance, they all seemed to be referring to some recent, divine apparition. Something about revenge and justice. I blocked it out, intent on getting to the Iseum as quickly as possible.

We rounded the corner of the cramped little shrine dedicated to Aesculapius, the God of Health. It hadn't been open when we passed this morning, but now, like the temple to Venus in the Forum of Julius, the doors were pinned back and hung with fresh offerings. But these weren't floral ones, they were ears, feet … human body parts?

I stepped closer, then relaxed. Not real ones, but pottery facsimiles.

A tap on my shoulder, and Alexander said, in a hollow voice, ‘You'd better take a look at this, Kannon.'

He was standing in front of a freshly painted picture fixed onto some kind of scaffolding immediately opposite the shrine doors. I jerked back in surprise and recognition. ‘What the …!'

Alexander stifled a grin.

It was a billboard. With a life-size depiction of me in my gladiatrix leathers, standing in the middle of the Ludi's amphitheatre.

Gaius' publicity machine must have lurched into motion.

It looked like a cross between a poster for athletics equipment and a religious painting. I still had white-
blonde hair, but now it was extremely long and elaborately plaited on the top of my head, with long loose tendrils snaking outwards as though swept up by a strong wind. They'd left my black eyes and brows, but replaced my straight nose with a more hooked Roman-style one, and given me a square forehead and jaw. My head essentially looked like it should be on the top of a marble statue in the temple of Juno. I was standing legs akimbo, on a cloud hovering above the sand of the arena. There was a sword strapped to my back, and golden light shooting downwards, out of my clenched fists.

Alexander had moved over to read the commentary running down the left side of the billboard. Then laughed. ‘Battle frenzy?'

‘Ay?' I quickly joined him.

The text proclaimed the visitation of Bellona the Roman Goddess of War, wife of Mars and the personification of battle frenzy.

I'd received a Roman goddess makeover.

It seemed a bit sacrilegious, but then knowing Gaius, he'd have assessed the risks very carefully. Maybe they were used to public figures being marketed in this overblown way, and took it all with a sense of humour.

God knows that the picture made me want to laugh out loud.

I read out the lines of text running underneath, ‘Bellona has returned to give justice to Rome. Accompanied by a dark warrior, eternally bound to her service.'

Alexander and I traded looks.

‘I'll bet Domitia thought of that,' snorted Alexander.

‘There's more.' There was a description of the dark warrior, and his charms were outlined in surprising
detail. ‘His hair is black silk. His eyes, glinting blue jewels. His skin, honeyed cream …'

Looking over at the real version, standing next to me, I found he was watching me with a quietly intense interest.

I moved away to read the right side of the mural. ‘Bellona returned to punish the cowardice and disloyalty of a Roman gladiator.' Wow, ancient spin doctors at work.

Alexander read out the rest. ‘When Lucius broke his vows, Bellona appeared and destroyed his sword arm as punishment for disobeying the law of the Ludi and of society. As all good Romans know, the greatest villains of all are those who fail to perform their duty.'

‘Nice little moral lesson at the end of some heavy merchandising. Righteous, as well as snappy,' I said. ‘That combo should do well here. Don't you think?'

He grinned again. I don't know how, but it made his face look both younger, and more dangerous at the same time. ‘The problem is, now everyone will recognise you.'

‘What, from that?' I snorted. ‘What about you?' I didn't look at him while I spoke. ‘Hair like black silk, eyes glinting like …'

He cut in. ‘The alternative is to find some disguises. Do you have enough money with you to do that?'

‘Sure.' I had a small fortune in my bag, just in case I found someone to bribe at the Iseum.

‘If we double back to the foot of the hill and then head right towards the Tiber there's a costumer down there that supplies most of the theatres. For a little extra, they'll send back our clothes for us, too. It's not that far and,' he studied the poster, ‘I don't think going clothes shopping in the centre of the city is a good idea. Not if there are any more of these around.'

I looked up too. ‘Knowing Gaius, the place is probably covered in 'em.'

We made our way to the top of a long alley that ran all the way down to the Tiber. There were solidly built brick and wood warehouses opening onto it on either side, their tall shadows blocking the hot sun for a blessed moment.

But there was no-one in sight, which set off my alarm bells. Every city has its own ‘no go' places, and, while the buildings were well kept, something definitely wasn't right. It was now past siesta time, and people were flooding back into the city.

This place should've been chock-full of workers servicing the sea craft coming up the river. But instead it was completely deserted, except for a mangy dog, ribs sticking out and covered in sores. He was rooting around in a heap of rubbish at the entrance to the alley, and gave a whiny growl as we passed. I got an itchy feeling in the back of my neck like we were being watched.

The first warehouse door we passed had a red mark painted on it. A U-shape, with a stroke slashed diagonally through the top. I halted. The sign was flaking off in the heat. Was that paint, or blood?

I started scratching at the red. It was not paint.

‘Don't stop,' Alexander slurred out of the corner of his mouth, as he hooked his arm through mine pulling me on.

‘What's going on?' I scanned the alley and buildings front and back. But still no-one.

‘Don't worry, Kannon. The costumer's on the riverbank, they're neutral territory. It's fine. As long as we just pass through.'

‘What do you mean neutral territory?' What had he gotten us into! ‘Neutral to who?'

‘The Sewer Rats. They're the local gang. They own this part of the riverbank, and have a seriously heavy grudge going against one of the warehouse owners.'

Now he tells me? ‘Just one owner? But they're all closed.'

‘Things got a bit nasty last week, when the Rats delivered one of the owner's relatives to his warehouse door.'

‘Not alive, I'm guessing?' We were halfway down the alley.

‘Not really.'

‘Don't tell me.' I'd had enough gore since I arrived in this time. ‘Will they attack us?'

‘Not if you don't try and scratch off the gang sign they've put up on all the doors.' There was a glimmer of a laugh in that belated piece of wisdom.

‘Alexander.' I jabbed a sharp elbow in his side and elicited a gratifying grunt. ‘Make sure you tell me ahead of time when we're going to take on another gang. Instead of hustling me through like an idiot.'

By now we'd made it down to the river, and onto a wide concrete path running along the bank. To the right was the painted wooden sign for Thespian Supplies: Finest Costumes, Cosmetics & Stage Materials. It hung above a surprisingly up-market store just a few feet further along the path. A smaller sign at the side of the shop door — ‘Best goose grease in Rome' — was not so inviting.

‘Oh, and don't mention the Rats,' warned Alexander.

‘What, to anyone?'

He gave me an exasperated glare. ‘No. To Persephone. The woman who runs the store.'

‘Why?' If only he'd just spit it all out instead of issuing mysterious commands. Do this, don't do that.

‘Because her little boy, Amalfus, runs the gang.'

‘Oh.' Then a pause. ‘How do you know all this?'

‘Everyone in Rome knows “all this”,' he shot back.

I couldn't leave it alone. ‘Why is she running a shop, if her son's so …'

He fired off, ‘Because he likes wearing women's clothing and playing dress-up.' Glaring again, he said, ‘Now, any more questions or shall we go in?'

‘Bloody hell! When you open up, you really don't hold back.' But I was complaining to his back, as he stalked through the door. ‘Bossy too.'

He pretended not to hear.

Inside, exotic feathers hung in bunches from the ceiling beams, piles of bright materials sat next to bowls of ribbons and beads, and there was a corner devoted entirely to wigs of every colour and style. A middle-aged woman wearing technicolour make-up bustled towards us from behind a curtain at the back of the shop. She introduced herself as Persephone, and asked how she could serve us.

Persephone's expression didn't even flicker when I asked her for male clothing and a suitable wig for me, and something in the same style for Alexander. I said we wanted to remain anonymous while we were staying in Rome. Her eyes gleamed at that, but she didn't ask. Just measured us both for size, and then we all headed out the back to the costume section. Guess with a son like hers, she was inured to unusual requests.

The shop looked small from the front, but it was long. Out the back there were national costumes from every corner of the Empire. Plus, the standard Roman gear, but in glaring colours and patterns that'd loom out on a stage.

She was heartily disappointed when I told her we
wanted to blend in as much as possible. Fortunately the challenge of turning me into a convincing man seemed to raise her spirits. I could see where sonny boy got his taste for the dramatic.

‘Well, lovey,' mused Persephone. ‘Your height works for you, but that's about it. If you want to blend in as a man you'll have to cover up. You won't be able to show those legs, so you certainly won't get away with wearing that short men's tunic again.' She frowned down at the offending appendages.

Alexander was considering them too, but with a less critical expression. ‘She's right. I don't know any men with legs like that.'

‘Fine,' I replied curtly, wanting to cut the banter short. ‘What about a long tunic? One down to my ankles.'

‘No, not for a man. Not a Roman one anyway,' Persephone tutted, like the professional she was. ‘Not in summer, lovey, you'd just stick out. It's hard enough to get them to cover up their arses, let alone their knees when it's so steamy.' She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘What about dressing as a foreign tourist? Something African perhaps? Then you could wrap up your head as well.'

‘Good idea,' drawled Alexander. ‘And if she's a foreigner they'll expect her to mess up.'

‘Thanks, Alexander. Feel free at any time to correct me.'

He shot me an unreadable glance. ‘Whatever you say, Boss.'

I muttered, ‘I'll believe that when I see it.'

Persephone ignored our bickering to slide her eyes down to my chest. ‘The extra material could be draped to hide other features as well. Yes, I know what you need. Do you want to try some pieces on?'

‘Yep. The sooner the better.' I was getting impatient with all this, the Iseum was waiting.

She quickly put together two piles of clothes on a table at the back of the room, and then left us to try them on. My pile was made up of different hues of an olivey-green, Alexander's was mainly milk chocolate browns and biscuit tans.

We considered each other over the piles for a short moment, and then simultaneously turned our backs to pull off our tunics.

Sorting through I found a long-sleeved, ankle-length caftan in olive cotton, over that went a long sleeveless vest in the same green, embroidered with a dark green diamond pattern.

There was a long bronze mirror hanging on the wall next to my side of the table. Yep, Persephone knew her stuff. The caftan hid everything from neck to feet and the vest flattened out the bits that needed flattening. There was a matching cloth square, which served as the headdress. I folded back a corner of the square, sat it on my head à la Lawrence of Arabia, then fixed it in place with a black plaited rope circlet on the crown of my head. I left enough of a brim at the front to cast a shadow over my eyes.

Hmm?

My black eyes suited the part, but the face and skin just made me look like the largest twelve-year-old boy in Rome. I pulled one corner of the headdress across the bottom half of my face. That was much better. Rome was dusty, a lot of it stunk, and I was a foreigner anyway, so who was going to call the fashion police?

When I swung around Alexander was just finishing wrapping a long black scarf around his head and tying it into a turban.