Love of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 2) (11 page)

As days with Gwenn pressed onward, it was harder and harder to justify his great, gleaming lie to her. And yet he could not stop himself from continuing with it.

It wasn't
entirely
a lie, he told himself. Just an omission. That wasn't so bad, was it?

And she clearly had adjusted to the death of her father already. Why bring it up again and mix around all those horrible feelings?

He had never met another woman like her, not in all his life. Not in a lifetime of being around women who adored the arena and the men inside. None of them had understood, truly. They only saw the men—masculine and ripped, hungry for battle—and the women would feel their hearts race and their thighs wet from watching their displays of skill and strength.

But Gwenn knew the arena for what it was, or she seemed to. She loved the arena for the sake of the arena, for the freedom it represented. That slick thrill of being within the crowd and yet outside of it, the subject of their adoration.

Sometimes, he spoke to her of the places he had been that were not the ludus of House Varinius. Other times, he spoke of fights he had lost. They discussed strategy in the arena, and what she might do to keep herself alive. He told her of how an opponent hunching over was likely to run out of breath quicker. An opponent showboating often was open to many counterattacks. An opponent not showboating at all was so focused as to become tunnel-visioned, and so an intelligent fighter could run circles around their strategy.

They did not talk about their kiss. The heat of it, the passion on both sides. They both seemed afraid of the subject—like it would ruin what good had begun to develop for them.

Other than that, it didn’t matter what he said to her. All he wanted to do was look at her lovely countenance and speak. She made him live in the moment. All uncertainty about his past and his future melted away, and the desire to drink left him.

The desire came back, of course. But just knowing there was some outlet he could look forward to—that was enough. For now. In all honesty, he had not been tested that much.

Until this night, now, where he stood in front of Porcia dressed in a sheer gown and holding an amphora of her finest wine.

This tactic had been employed many times since they had “ended” their affair. Always, Lucius would see through her offers to share wine for what they were—she was lonely, and any male callers she had been relying on to relieve her sexual tension either hadn’t shown or had disappointed her.

Porcia was a woman who was rather used to having a gladiator for a lover; that left rather a lot to live up to for any normal Roman citizen who made his trade in softer pursuits.

But Lucius also always would be convinced to her cause after a few cups of wine had loosened his morals. He could not turn down that good wine. It was leagues better than the Egyptian swill he was used to in the cell blocks.

And always, the morning after, she would shove his hungover form out of her bed and condemn him to the cell blocks for the day. No training, completely locked up for daring to drink so much and for not having left by the time she woke up.

She always regretted sleeping with him. Her feelings were not entirely resolved over the fact of his existence in her ludus and his presence back in her bed; it had been he who had asked that they not be involved anymore.

It must have been hard, he thought with a sudden flash of empathy, for her to see him all the time in the ludus. Broken hearts had trouble healing when the wound was always fresh.

And besides that, there was the mystery of her relationship with her son, kept far away in Neapolis. Did that weigh on her conscience? It must have. Something must have kept her from keeping him close, and yet that same pull probably pushed her toward all her excesses of sensation—in drink, in gambling, in sex.

Strange that he had never considered that before. There was a whole texture to her side of the story that he’d never truly stopped to consider.

“Don’t be so formal, Lucius. Come here,” she beckoned to the seat beside her. If he sat there, her breasts would be on top of his shoulder. “I would like to catch up. We haven’t talked in an amiable manner for a very long time.”

“No, thank you, Domina. I appreciate the invitation, but I require my rest.”

Porcia smiled, eyes glimmering like a lion’s. This was all part of the game for her. He had made that excuse several times.

“Have some wine before you go, at least.”

That was all it usually took to crumble him. She thrust a cup at him.

“Thank you, Domina. But no. I would prefer not to.”

She poured him a cup, unperturbed. “Won’t you smell it and decide? It’s very good. I’ve spared nothing with my latest winnings from the races. Oh, don't look so surprised. I
do
win from time to time. More than I lose, in fact.”

A long gulp followed, perhaps drowning her impulse to continue with the explanation that while
that
may have been true, her losses out-valued her wins by quite a bit.

She circled the cup. “I would so very much like to share this with someone. It arrived only today. I bought it with part of the proceeds from the sale of Ajax and Perseus to House Malleola.”

And
there
was an odd decision on her part. From what Murus had told Lucius, she collected their fees for the upcoming games on top of the principle for their sale. It was quite the sum, probably, but he still did not know what she was thinking. Ajax and Perseus were both skilled enough to live a long time yet in the arena, and win a great many matches for House Varinius.

It was like she didn’t care anything for the glory of the house at all—like the fact that she was a lanista managing gladiators had somehow taken a backseat to something else. Pleasing Otho somehow, or gambling away more good money.

Lucius had not had a chance to give a proper goodbye to Ajax nor Perseus. Such was the life of a slave, he supposed. Besides that, he doubted very much they would have sought him out to bid him farewell if the circumstances had been reversed.

“A very interesting decision on your part, Domina.”

“
Wasn’t
it? Senator Otho put it together. I trust his judgment in these matters. He is an
intelligent
man. I've no doubt Marius will adore him once they finally meet.”

“Your son?”

“Of course!” Porcia stood brightly. “They must get along. I imagine Marius has quite a lot to learn from someone like Otho. You could imagine me as the mother of a Senator, couldn't you?”

Ah. There it was.

While Porcia may have been attracted to Otho one way or another,
marrying
him meant Marius would be eligible for a position in Roman high society. The son of a lanista had little chance in being respected. But the son of a Senator—and related then to the Emperor? A very good chance for that child indeed.

Whether Otho wanted marriage with Porcia was something else entirely. Lucius had the impression he thought of her as a pleasant, wild plaything.

“You're the image of elegance, Domina.”

“
Thank
you,” she tittered. “But you’re stalling, Lucius. Come here.” She patted once again on the cushion before her. “I’m expecting guests on the morrow. If I don’t have another taste this wine, I won’t know if it’s actually any good. And you have such an
educated
tongue for my uses, Lucius.”

Even Lucius had to smile at that. She could weave together a decent double meaning whenever she really tried.

“I do beg your forgiveness, Domina. But I am not drinking anymore.”

At this, she laughed. “Now, I
know
you are jesting. Come here. I demand it. I want you to drink this.”

He held his hands behind his back, resting on his sacrum. His chest was held broad. “I would come closer, Domina, but I know you wish me to drink. And I know the reason for it. I do not want to drink, and I do not want the reason for it. I apologize, Domina.”

She was a beautiful woman—that was true. And she offered herself to him as openly as she ever had.

But she was not Gwenn.

Porcia took a long drink from his cup, draining it entirely. Her eyes, though, focused entirely on him. Lucius raised an eyebrow. Porcia was many things, but she was not a lightweight. Even so, that was a lot of quality wine all at once.

“You’re a pig, Lucius. A filthy, horrible pig.” She shook her head. “Otho is right about you. Better to put a cripple like you out to slaughter rather than look at you every day. Do you think I wished you in my
bed
, you cripple pig? Do you think that is what was offered? You disgust me. I try to be nice to you, to extend peace. And this is what I get in return.”

“I apologize, Domina,” Lucius repeated.

Lucius knew better than to take that bait—and there was a lot of it there. Guilt trips. Insults. Insisting she didn’t want to sleep with him—because if she never had, then he couldn’t have turned her down.

“Yes. Apologize. Like the coward you are.” She flung her cup at him. He absorbed the blow stoically. “I want you out of here. Now. Leave me.”

––––––––

T
raining ended early the next day, a few hours before sundown. A great many tradesmen, officials, and nobles from the city were on their way from Puteoli for Porcia's grand party, and it wouldn’t do to offend their sensibilities by watching gladiators training right out there in the open. The sands were decorated with tall stands and hanging lights. Showers of plucked red and white flowers were poured on the stone borders between the main path and the sands themselves.

Lucius felt bad about what had happened with Porcia—the ferocity of her mood. But, it was better than how he would have felt if he had drank and slept with her, which was unquestionably the only other option presented to him.

After dinner, as he often did, he found himself in Gwenn’s cell. He sat across from her, both of them on the floor, their legs sliding against one another's. It was as intimate as he dared allow himself to be with her.

He would have liked to think that he was simply working up the courage to tell her the truth about her father. But in all honesty, that was the furthest thing from his mind. She was helping him too much to sabotage the first real feelings of wellness and goodness he'd felt in years.

This dishonesty plagued him, but he did not know what to do about it yet. He suspected, sooner or later, it would sort itself out.

“I want to address something,” she said.

This was a surprise. Usually he entered and she just let him talk, responding in kind when she had something to say. But it wasn’t as if there were any rules about it. That was one nice thing about almost all of their relationship—there weren’t any rules to second-guess at all.

“I think we should establish a guideline from here on out,” she continued. “A sort of rule.”

Lucius smiled and laughed softly. “All right. What did you have in mind?”

Her foot trailed down his calf in a manner that suggested much more was available, if he had the courage to go after it.

“I find you very attractive, Lucius. I don’t think it’s any mystery that’s half of why I let you in here.”

“Only half?”

She smiled wickedly. “We can talk percentage points later. You come in here with all your muscles just...
there
...and you sit very near to me. You were in good shape before. Since you’ve stopped drinking, your shape has only gotten better. And you look healthier too.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d desperately like to sleep with you. You’re handsome and we could have quite a lot of fun. But I think it’s a terrible idea. What do you think?”

Some gladiators had tried, in the night, to sleep with the retinue of gladiatrices. On one occasion, they had managed to slip past the guards entirely and open the cells of Kav and Ros. These gladiators suffered severe head blows for their troubles.

It wasn’t any mystery to the fighting men and women that having them so close together was going to result in sparks flying. But Murus’s word on the matter was that it should not happen. If anyone did it anyway, then Murus would have to speak to Porcia about it, and her solutions were often inelegant and unpleasant—but effective.

That Gwenn found him attractive was unsurprising in one way, but immensely gratifying in virtually all others he could imagine.

He wanted her.

Gods, he wanted her. It was sometimes difficult to
hide
the hardening totem of his want for her, sitting so damnably close to her with her foot sliding up his leg.

The outfits of the gladiatrices showed quite a lot of skin. Not as much as those for the gladiators, with their simple loin cloths and belts, but a loin cloth, belt and a tight midriff-baring tunic was not very much either. By the end of the day, Gwenn’s cloths were often stuck to her body from sweat and exertion. They molded against her wide hips and full breasts, and he wanted everything he saw.

“I think you’re right,” he said, smiling. “I am terribly handsome, and you do desperately want to sleep with me.”

Her lips pursed. “Lucius...”

“No.” He nodded gently. “You’re right. I do find you attractive. Almost to the point of distraction. You’re gorgeous, and your body is gorgeous, and I want to have it. But,” he shrugged gently. “You’re helping me in this other way. It’s worked so far. I don’t wish to complicate the...wellness, that I’ve been feeling. Nor your training”

It was difficult to ignore the effect his words, his compliments, had on her. But at the same time, he had to appreciate that she had given him exactly the out he needed for not pursuing his attraction—she didn't want it either, even though she wanted it “terribly.”

Now, there was doubly no need for any explanations about an arena fight five years before between himself and her father. 

“My thoughts exactly.”

“And if we did do that—and it would be quite glorious, the two of us going at it, and very loud—we’d be caught,” said Lucius. “Almost immediately, I imagine.”

“We would be loud, I agree, and Sabiana has a loose tongue.”