Heart of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 1) (24 page)

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.”

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T
he traditions of the arena remained all the same, whether they be in Capua or Puteoli. In the morning were the beast fights and the hunts. In the late morning to the afternoon, executions. And in the afternoon proper came the reason for the games—the gladiator fights.

Caius was let out of his cell in the early afternoon to be appraised by the crowd, and after that he was allowed in the common area with the rest of the gladiators.

The main ludi hosted by the arena that day were House Varinius and House Buteo. Some other, smaller or more distant ludi featured their best men, but the main rivalry of the day was between the warring houses. Whoever won more matches would have bragging rights for ages.

It started low for House Varinius, with the new retarius Ajax losing in a two-on-one bout. But after that, Conall won his match with the same abandon he’d fought with before, wowing the crowd. They had begun to like the young gladiator despite his small, unlikely stature.

The wins continued, with the heavy-built Perseus winning his match, but after that, two hoplomachus from House Varinius lost in a row.  One loss came from Cammedius, who died instantly from a sword thrust to the throat. He was the ill-looking dimwit who followed Flamma around with such fervor—and the man who had stabbed Caius so long ago with the shard from a pot. That seemed like ages ago now.

Flamma tied up the score, beating a man on top of a beautifully constructed marble-topped platform by tossing him below to a bed of spikes.

The crowd appreciated the shows, but there was something missing. Even though victories abounded for House Varinius, in the air hung a great tension with the score tied three matches to three.

Caius knew what the problem was. It was a one-match show, and his match was at the very end. The crowd held their energies in reserve for the main event.

He donned his armor one piece at a time, just as always. Light greaves to protect his legs. A heavy leather belt just over the loin cloth. The long scaled manica to protect his arm—now long healed from the burn. Men and women came in and out of the arena's underbelly, carrying supplies and readying for fight after fight. He paid little attention to all their busyness, doing everything he could to focus his attention.

All thoughts of Aeliana had to be cleared. All thoughts of vengeance on Porcia. All thoughts of caring for his daughter. There was no room for any mindfulness in the arena, except for that which centered on Felix.

His shield was steady in his hand. The weight of his sword felt right. Ready. He was ready to meet his fate. He could hear Senator Otho, the editor, announcing that the fight was set to begin—his voice broadcasting the stories history between himself and Felix—or as Otho stated it, between Ursus and Hector.

“Fortune,” he bowed his head, bringing his sword's hilt to his nose, “I ask you to do right by me today, as I have tried to do right by you.”

A simple prayer, and all he had time to say. The gates opened, sunlight pouring in.

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A
eliana watched from the gate in the underbelly, Lucius at her side, as the fight began.

Felix and Caius met in the middle of the arena. Felix more heavily armored, a great red plume emitting from his helmet. A dozen small holes had been punched into the thick metal over his face to give him a complete field of vision. Wings of metal swept down so as to deflect any incoming blow.

Caius’s own helmet had a short white plume, the figure of a griffin on top. It had wings of metal as well, though they swept upward, like an insane smile.

As soon as the editor gave the signal, Felix was on the offensive. He powered forward with his shield, bashing Caius back. The move seemed to surprise Caius, and he was retreating with his sword parrying hard. Every step backward was met with a thrust, and every thrust meant a new step backward.

First blood went to Felix when Caius blocked with his shield at an angle slightly too awkward. The blade of the murmillo sang as it slid up over Caius’s shield and slashed across his chest.

The cut did not look deep, but that did not mean it was not painful.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and boos, as Caius took several more steps back. Felix was tireless, never stopping his attack even as the blood ran down his opponent’s chest. Many gladiators would halt for a time and showboat, appeal to the crowd.

Felix only wanted Caius dead. There was a great terror to be had at his single-mindedness, and Aeliana felt all of it.

The crowd throbbed as one living mass with anticipation of Felix's kill. Caius might have been a former champion, but Felix was a clear star of the arena. They wanted to see him win.

If Caius did not counter somehow soon, he would be pushed back into the thick, sharp metal stakes sticking out from the walls.

The counter came when Felix, smelling blood, lunged just an inch too far. Caius swept in with his sword, raking the side of Felix’s knee. Blood spilled on the sands. Aeliana exhaled sharply in relief.

“Don’t hold your breath, little Faun” said Lucius. “It won’t help. And you might faint.”

“Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I’ll
faint
.”

“No. You’ll faint because you keep holding your breath. Stop it.”

With that momentary advantage, Caius rolled back into center of the arena and started his own attack. He struck high and then low, one side to the other. It was a pattern made to keep his opponent guessing. Aeliana had seen him practicing the same series with Flamma dozens of times.

It paid off now, and Caius was able to land a solid blow with his sword's pommel against Felix’s helmet. But Felix pummeled Caius right back, bashing him over the helmet with the side of his shield and driving him back once again. Caius lost his footing and then his shield. Aeliana’s heart caught.

Did the damned fool plan to die anyway? What was wrong with him?

Was he simply being beaten this soundly?

Lucius and Iunius seemed unperturbed by the state of affairs. Perhaps she should take notes from them. Perhaps Caius had gotten out of worse states in the past.

“I certainly hope he shapes up soon,” said Iunius, stroking his chin. “And the Domina should too.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lucius.

“I am of the firm opinion that a Domina should share in the fate of her prize gladiator, no matter what. It was a simple thing to rearrange her bet. She’s put everything down on Caius winning, whether she knows it or not. House Varinius will rise or fall according to Caius's fate.”

“I think I should be mad about that, given that I'm property of House Varinius,” said Lucius. “But I’m just impressed. That’s very sneaky, Iunius.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought you stood to make a tidy sum off of Porcia's skewing the results?” asked Aeliana, distracted.

Iunius shrugged. “Sometimes there are more important things than sums.”

“Watch out, Iunius,” Lucius chuckled. “You may have morals in you yet.”

The eunuch merely shrugged.

Felix advanced heartily now, but taking his time. He seemed somewhat winded by his long attack, finally. Caius, wary, kept him at bay with long slashes. He kept floating over toward his shield, trying to grab it once more.

The two fighters circled, bloody and battered. Aeliana tried not to hold her breath.

* * * * *

C
aius’s lack of success as of yet was not lost on him. His breaths came hard, and every new bout of air he tugged in burned at the long slash on his chest.

In most fights with a murmillo, it had always been the murmillo on the defensive, waiting for an opening. Felix had been expecting Caius to think so, apparently, and put everything he had into the initial bullrush.

Three times he’d nearly died, all due to small mistakes. A misplaced foot here, a turn too fast with his wrist there. Felix was as good a fighter as Caius had ever seen.

Maybe, yes, better than Caius still.

The crowd jeered at their circling, urging them to attack. Felix complied. A solid combination brought Caius to one knee, and he slashed wildly and rolled to get away, once again. He knew that he would have to turn the tide soon, but how? Without a shield, his defense was cut in half.

Felix followed him like a bad dream, sword at the ready. He seemed as strong as ever, but his chest was heaving. All the attacks were taking their toll.

There it was, then.

Caius sank into the zone of Felix’s attack. He parried every blow and then rolled back away again. Felix rushed after him, the crowd cheering him on. Once Felix had closed, Caius thrust again in the same combination, and again rolled—to the same side. Felix’s sword landed just behind him. He anticipated, now.

Caius smiled.

Felix ran at him in a full charge, not waiting for Caius to engage. Their swords sparked as they rang against one another. Every man threw in his all. Caius moved to roll again and Felix followed through, swiping his sword down hard to the sands—where Caius was not. Instead, Caius spun and slashed at Felix’s open side, slicing him from hip to nipple.

The crowd erupted with pleasure. Caius saw a woman tugging two men against her body in a strange kind of primal ecstasy. They all began to chant his name for the first time all day.

The wound was not fatal, and still Felix approached.

“Come on,” Felix growled at him. “Come on, come on!”

Caius did. Felix swung at him, but Caius dodged easily and kicked Felix’s shield with a heavy kick. It slammed to the ground, broken in half. Felix kept his sword up, and Caius attacked harder now, driving in from the injured side.

In another three combinations it was done. Felix did not have the strength anymore. Caius disarmed him and clocked him down to the sand, kicking his sword far away.

The crowd called for the end. They could feel it close.

But Felix roared upward and struck at Caius with his fists, surprising him. The blow knocked Caius’s helmet clean off, and Felix’s hands wrapped at his throat, trying to strangle him. Caius threw him away through the sands. Felix tore off his own helmet and threw it hard, hoping to stun.

Caius knocked the helmet out of the air with an almost easy stroke of his blade. Felix’s face was rage incarnate.

Felix, disarmed, stood before him with his hands ready.

“Hit me!” he screamed. “Come on, do it! Hit me and end it!”

It would have been a simple thing to kill him. A good thrust would have struck straight through any defense from his hands. One blow to send him straight to the afterlife.

Caius feinted to one side, drawing Felix’s attention for a half-moment. Then he struck him, hard, across the skull with the pommel of his sword.

“Not today,” said Caius. “Not again.”

No one could hear what he said. When the crowd roared its approval, they did it only for the sight of Felix defeated on the ground. 

Caius took Felix by the hair and dragged him up off the sands. They turned to Otho in the editor's box, awaiting his decision. But his mind was already made up. If he was ordered to kill, he wouldn’t do it. He would refuse. Even if it meant his own life, he could not execute a helpless man again. The guilt from before had been too much to bear. The breaking of his word had brought Fortune’s wrath down upon him. And if it was only by embracing death that Fortune smiled upon his kin again, then so be it.

Otho called for silence from the crowd. His grin was sickening. He would make a show of it, no doubt, as he had last time. And then he would order for death—Caius could feel it in his bones.

And then the crowd stopped cheering Caius's name—replacing it with something else entirely. Something that sent Caius's heart soaring.

Live. Live. Live. Live. Live.

Their cheers were overwhelming. They had been stunned at Felix’s display. No fighter in recent memory had acted with such ferocity. Otho, barely covering his sneer, turned to the crowd with great disdain. When he began the motion for Caius to end it, deafening boos followed.

Men and women in the entire arena screamed their displeasure with the possibility of Felix dying. It was soon apparent that Otho risked a riot if he continued on his course.

Live. Live. Live. Live. Live.

There was little choice for him now. If he went against the crowd in this, they would remember it—and they would make him pay.

With a grand smile, as if this was what he had planned all along, Otho waved the handkerchief. Mercy for Felix.

Caius, with relief, tossed his blade aside. He dropped to his knees and took Felix in an embrace, not caring if the man wanted none of it. This was a good day—a good day! Attendant slaves rushed into the arena and carted Felix off, carrying him to his ludus's medici.

And then, with Caius still in the sands, the crowd began to chant something else entirely.

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A
eliana’s heart thrummed with delight. Caius,
her
Caius, alive and well. The wounds he had picked up would trouble him, but they would be the last he suffered in the arena.