Seduced by the Gladiator (10 page)

He would not touch me again. When he had tried, he had found not the young girl who was uncertain of her strength, of her worth, but a champion who refused to be used any longer.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. As I ruminated, I gingerly stepped down on the ankle that had been injured the night before. It was sore, but seemed all right to bear weight, which was a relief. Stretching quickly, I tied my hair back in one long tail.

Though my sleep had been deep, it had also been filled with sweaty dreams about Christus, his body twined around me. Shuddering at the memory, I did my best to push it down.

The dominus fetching me to accompany him to the market showed that I had not yet fallen from his favor, even with Christus’ new displays of strength. It would not do for me to keep him waiting.

I was nearly to the gate when the skin at the back of my neck began to prickle. The dominus was tapping his foot impatiently on the sand, yet I still turned quickly to see where the sensation had come from.

Bavarius stood little more than an arm’s length from me, watching me with an intent stare that emanated from his starless eyes.

“Oh!” Startled, I clutched a hand to my mouth, hurrying my steps forward. The man did not move, did not speak, did not attempt to apologize for frightening me.

With my heart hammering in my chest, I deliberately quashed the fright. Bavarius was clearly unhappy about the events of the previous evening, and had resorted to childish methods to undermine me. The manner in which the man looked at me sent a chill down my spine, an icy finger trailing over the bone.

Movement from across the sand caught my eye, and Bavarius’ as well. Shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand, I saw that Christus was standing by the entrance to the dining area, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his subligaculum looped loosely around his hips.

I shivered as I remembered what his body looked like naked, and at the memory of him inside of me. The shiver was calmed by the warmth that his presence wrought.

Somehow, in the brief time that we had known each other, and though I had fought it as hard as I could, he had come to represent safety to me.

“Lilia!” Though the dominus smiled at me, his tone was fraught with impatience. Gritting my teeth together at his tone, I wiped hands that were suddenly slick with sweat on the hips of my leathers and deliberately straightened my spine before striding the last few steps toward the dominus.

“Apologies, Dominus.” I assumed the quiet, expressionless posture of a humble slave, though in my head I was anything but. But if the dominus forgot that I was there, then I would not be required to answer questions. This was good, because at the moment my head was full.

It took great will and a whispered prayer to Providentia, goddess of forethought, not to pepper the man with questions about his newest acquisition to the ludus.

As we closed the gates to the ludus, I forced my fingers to relax, to fall back to my sides.

“To which god do I owe the pleasure of this journey, Dominus?” I inhaled deeply of the fresh air—air that did not hold the stink of sweat, flesh, or blood. Most times, being outside the gates of the ludus was an enormous pleasure in itself.

Today, however, I could not find the enjoyment in it. There was too much confusion swirling through me, worries about my place in the ludus, about the renewed threat of Bavarius, about the forbidden feelings that I had for Christus.

“The gods have naught to do with it. I wished to show you something, Lilia. Something very important.” The dominus strode ahead of me, and I had no choice but to follow. I did, and felt my palms begin to dampen against the dryness of my subligaculum. As always, it irritated some small part of me that, no matter how it was phrased, I did not have any choice but to follow along with my dominus’ wishes. No matter how many times I reminded myself that this was my life, that nothing about it would change, there would always be a fraction of my soul that did not enjoy the lack of freedom.

Since this was indeed my life, and because I could have had it much worse, I tamped down the feeling, as I was always forced to.

Even through my irritation, I noticed that the dominus cast a look back my way, one to check on my well-being. This gave me pause, for no matter that I was a pet to him, I was still a slave, and my well-being not generally at the top of his thoughts.

What did he need to show me? The weight in my belly was a warning that whatever it was, it would not bode well for my future.

My heart skittered in my chest, my blood fizzing hot and fast.

Did he somehow know about my tryst with Christus the night before? Did he not approve? It occurred to me that I did not know my dominus’ thoughts on the matter of relations between his slaves—relations not ordered by his hand, for the pleasures of others.

I did not know how it was with the slaves in the house above the ludus, but I was the only woman among the gladiators, and while I had heard of men in ludi becoming involved with one another, never in my years there had I witnessed such a relationship, myself.

Casting an uneasy glance back down the path toward the house, I swallowed around a thick mouthful of anxiety.

I could plead ignorance, I supposed. But that would not be honest, and I had always tried to live my life by the virtue, even when it might have been easier for me to do otherwise.

The walk to the large market near the ludus was short and silent, the tension as thick as honey but not nearly as sweet. I stayed close behind my dominus, doing my very best to appear an obedient, docile slave.

The dominus seemed troubled as he bought a jug of cheap wine from the first vendor that he saw without checking for quality or attempting to bargain. Though he had no particular talent for bartering, it was a very strange thing in the Roman marketplace, to pay the price asked without question. Vendors always first named a price that was much higher than an item was worth, with the expectation of an argument.

My nerves unable to take more, I took the jug from my dominus’ hands before he could give it to me to carry. I clutched it tightly in my sweaty hands. The man had never before offered to carry anything for me, for that was why he owned slaves, after all, and incessant training meant that I was far stronger than him, at any rate. I saw him watching me struggle to get a grip on the jar that was too large around for my arms, and uttered an exclamation of surprise when he tried to take it from me.

Without thinking, I clutched tighter. “I will carry it for you, Dominus.” Though the jug was too large for me to carry comfortably, I could do it.

I wondered, not for the first time, how much attention the man paid to the goings-on in the ludus beneath his feet. Did he know that Bavarius was again challenging me? Did he think me weak, a woman who could not hold her place among men?

I was rewarded for my comment with a glare that had me loosening my grip on the wine instantly. My master did not look pleased.

“You would argue?” I shook my head to reply, abashed. The dominus took the jug from me and held it to his side, fingers looped through the handle. He leaned sharply to one side, and it would have been comical to see, had I not been wondering why he was insisting on carrying the jug himself.

As I looked at him, I saw a hint of . . . surely that could not be pity? Patricians did not pity slaves, no matter how favored they were.

“Let us walk this way.” I was startled yet again when the dominus grasped my arm. It was not common for a master to touch his slave, not unless it was to administer a beating, or for sex. He pulled me between the stalls of a man selling mottled quinces and another vendor with bolts of white wool. He nearly dropped the cumbersome jug of wine when jostled by one of a parade of slaves carrying an ornate
litter
.

The scarlet silk curtains of the litter parted with the movement, and I caught a quick glimpse of the man inside. I had never seen his face, but the number of slaves that accompanied him, and the ornate decoration of his litter and his clothing, told me that he was someone very important in the Roman Empire.

“Do you know who that is?” The words of my dominus were spoken low in my ear as my eyes met those of the man in the litter. His gaze was a very pale blue, the color of seawater captured in a jar, and were ringed with charcoal pencil. Those eyes widened slightly as the man saw me, and I thought that it must have been excitement at meeting a gladiator outside of the arena.

Many patricians, particularly those who found little excitement in their daily routines of wine, food, and fucking, found it terribly arousing to meet such a warrior. As the sole female gladiator in Rome, I was well known.

I had a brief impression of a man who looked to be not much more than a boy. Curls of hair the color of sunshine were cropped closely to his head. His face seemed attractive to me, but the curtain swung closed again before I could see more, hiding the man from view.

“Did you recognize him?” The dominus searched my face with much more intensity than I cared for, and the answer seemed to be of vital importance to him. I could not understand the reasoning behind the question, and pondered it momentarily.

The dominus raised the dark arches of his eyebrows in both irritation and surprise when, seeing him red in the face, jiggling the jug in his arms, I took it from his hands without him asking me to. The last thing that I wanted was for him to collapse from the effort, for then I would have to carry both him
and
the jug.

Though the man’s angular face showed displeasure that I had disobeyed his earlier order, I saw that he breathed more easily, and the ruddiness faded from his face. He said nothing, instead wiping the sweat from his palms on the lap of his tunic, so I knew that I had been spared punishment.

He waited, his tall figure casting a long shadow on the ground. I realized that he wished for me to answer his question.

“I do not.” The dominus nodded, his expression troubled. I wished that I knew what it mattered to him—that I knew why he had brought me here, to the market.

What did he so badly need to show me?

Tiring of the game, I lifted my face to stare directly into the eyes of the man who owned me. He might punish me for my impudence, pet or not, but I thought I brought enough coin to his house to be excused my forwardness. “My dominus, apologies for being abrupt, but enough. What is it that you wish to show me?”

He narrowed his eyes at my forwardness, but did not scold me. He did not answer immediately, instead gesturing with his hand for me to follow him, then snaking his way through the vendors of the market.

I followed as best I could, through the throngs of people, the jug of wine clasped tightly in my arms. At the end of the line of vendors was an alley, a slender corridor of rock between homes. Here the dominus turned, walking briskly to the end, where some activity was taking place.

He paused in the group of men, gesturing for me to move to stand beside him. Still puzzled by the trouble that I read on his face, I watched him for a long moment before realizing what he was looking at.

The dominus was staring thoughtfully at a line of slaves who stood against a wall of stone, hands and feet chained together and to one another to prevent escape. Ten men and two women, all were naked, what could be seen of their skin beneath the streaks of dirt the sickly hue of the malnourished. Businessmen strode back and forth in front of the line, looking in mouths, fondling genitals, pulling hair.

It had not been so many years ago that I had stood in their place, a ware to be hawked to the highest bidder. I shuddered when the thought came that, despite events that had occurred when I first came to the ludus, I had been lucky in the man who had purchased me—my dominus.

I could have been purchased by a brothel, where my tits and cunt would have fetched a price. I could have been sold to a master who beat me and fucked me when he felt like it. If no one had wanted me, I could have been taken to the
pits
, where I would have lived another year, perhaps two, before exhaustion and starvation combined to kill me.

Instead, I was famous in Rome and had plenty of coin to my name. I might have been locked inside the walls of the ludus—I may have been forced to kill in the arena in order to preserve my own life.

It could have been much, much worse.

I struggled to swallow these thoughts, returning my attention to the dominus and the line of slaves.

“Tell me, Lilia. Do you see potential in any of these slaves?” I could barely see over the jug of wine in my arms, but I felt that I must answer correctly, or disappoint my master. Stepping closer to the line of slaves, I squinted at each in turn, taking note of the manner in which the experienced businessmen treated them. All of the slaves looked sickly, and none seemed to be causing excitement or starting a bidding war.

“I do not.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Did the dominus intend to acquire yet more men for the ludus? Our cells were nearly full as it was.

The dominus chuckled, but it was a sound that was hollow and without mirth. I had not answered correctly.

“Do you see that man at the end, the tall one?” A strand of yellow came loose from my long tail and fell into my eyes, and I huffed at it with my breath. The man in question was larger than the others, and was pulling at his chains with murder and bloody vengeance in his eyes. The tattoo of a Roman soldier was on his arm.

The manner in which he outwardly struggled put me in mind of Christus, just the slightest bit. Though Christus was often calm on the outside, I often sensed a simmering rage that pressed against his skin from the inside, a rage just like this slave showed. Still, I thought that he looked unwell enough to be a poor purchase. While large and likely intimidating when fed properly, at the moment the skin of the slave stretched tightly over his bones, without any visible muscle or fat beneath it. He was filthy, and his skin was tinted a sickly yellow.

I noted my observations out loud, and the dominus laughed again, the sound grating like metal on stone.