Desire of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 3) (12 page)

Furthermore, there was this outfit she wore. Every time the ludus held some sort of affair, everyone was expected to dress their very best. This included the slaves, and for a slave, especially the women, this meant showing quite a lot of skin.

It was, in a word, awful.

All of her body was exposed. The slightest of breezes could slide through the opening in the ceiling and push it directly off her body, exposing her breasts to everyone present. The stola slid high up on her thighs, and all Leda could think was that at any moment she was going to turn too quickly or at too awkward an angle, revealing her crotch.

But, summoning all her court training from childhood, she somehow remained composed.

It helped that Conall kept looking at her with such wide eyes. This was not an outfit for public consumption, but perhaps she could find a way to wear it to his cell one night. That would certainly have an effect on him. Indeed, it certainly seemed as though he was already having trouble hiding the stiff effects the outfit had on him
now
. Her neck flushed slightly with the thought.

If she came to his cell dressed like this, their affair would not end at kissing as it so often did. She doubted he would be able to control himself, and his lack of control would spur her own. Her tongue crossed her lips slowly. It was not such a bad fantasy, that.

“Holding a man’s passions in check is akin to slicing off a limb, Governor.” She smiled. “And a great many limbs seems useful in a world where more and more needs doing.”

“This one!” Trio raised his cup in admiration. “A clever tongue, her! Where do you find these delightfully intelligent slaves, Publius? Mine all whine about wages and food.”

“There is much to be said for living in an institution of obedience and discipline, sat upon the razor’s edge of death at all times. One bad day at the games could ruin this house for years. I impress that upon everyone here when it is appropriate to do so.”

The governor hummed, taking a sip. “A dismal thought. You’ve more fortitude than I. A city seems easier to run than a ludus. Many moving parts, none of them quite essential. You need, oh...at least five or six things to go wrong at once for anyone to really take notice and start trouble. Though,” he chuckled, “at least two or three parts are always broken anyway.”

Outside, a great roar of laughter went up. One of the guests had told a funny joke or story. The governor eyed it with some envy.

“I dislike this talking in secret,” said the governor. “I am a social creature. Why may we not speak in public?”

“We may speak wherever you wish, Governor. My hope was that we would finish our talks as soon as we could, so that you return to the party. Out there...” another round of laughter echoed through the atrium. “...there are a great deal more distractions.”

“Let me be earnest with you, then, in what I am seeking for this show. I like your ludus, Publius, and I like this place. I want to give you full respect in the games.”

“You mean the primus?”

“I do.”

“That’s very good to hear, Governor.”

“However,” the governor hiccuped slightly. “It’s not quite so simple. You see, my wife’s brother-in-law—from her first marriage, you see, operates a ludus in Capua. House Vibius, I expect you know them.”

Publius gave a nod to indicate that he did.

“Good. Well, she insists that he be honored. The man is having some trouble in his own city finding proper matches. There was some debacle a year or two ago where a fighter of his managed to climb all the way into the crowd.”

“I remember. Three men died putting him down.”

“Actually, it was five. Took the hand of another. Vicious fellow. There was much celebration for his execution, I’m told. But we can’t let the stain of one incident ruin an entire ludus with a three hundred year history, can we?”

Publius nodded. “Tradition is important, Governor.”

“Yes!” Trio nodded. “Now. I know what you’re thinking. Your ludus is too well-respected to be found in a one-on-one match in the
primus
of all things with the Vibius ludus.”

Publius made no sign of thinking that, or anything. He waited.

“For this show, I wanted something memorable. Something that the crowd never sees. I want them to come in droves. I want them to be sitting in the stairs. And so I’ve contacted House Malleola.”

This was the other ludus in the Puteoli area. For a long time, it had been a ludus known only for the poor quality of its fighters. But a recent surge of interest by its paterfamilias had resulted, in recent years, an upswing of its fortunes. With its newfound wealth, it absorbed the fighters and supplies of other ludi down on their luck.

“I don’t know that I understand, Governor.”

“Three men enter the arena. One man leaves the winner. Simple enough?” He burped loudly, chortling. “Your best man against the best man from the other two ludi.”

Even Leda felt herself balking at this news. A three-man fight?

“That’s...highly nontraditional, Governor.”

“Yes, that’s the point. And the point for you, Publius, is that if you want the primus, and let’s say five other matches that day, then you’d do well to learn to break a little from tradition.”

Publius stiffened. “I see.” He gestured at Leda. “My slave here will write something up. We’ll call you back in when the paperwork is complete.”

“Wonderful!” The governor slapped his leg and stood up, draining half his enormous cup. “There was some wine I was hoping to try. I’m only on my first cup of the night, and I’d like at least two more.”

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D
eep into the night, most every guest had left. Those that had not were too drunk to move or even to be moved by their guards. They were given cushions and beds to recline on in the atrium.

As such, it was time for the gladiators to be done with their standing duty and to return to their cells. If Conall rushed and fell asleep immediately, he might get three hours before he wanted to wake up in the morning to start training.

But instead, he waited for Publius and Leda to finish their paperwork. Next to him, an equestrian snored loudly. Conall was content to wait from his perch. Leda was lovely as she worked. He imagined his fingers sliding through the thick mass of her hair, trailing down her back, untying the cords that held her outfit together...

All he wanted was her.

Publius occasionally barked an order her way, and she would barely look up. Her hands—cleaned for the party—were stained once again with heavy ink. He liked that. It was how her hands had looked when she had treated him. Occasionally she had to wipe her brow or scratch her cheek, and small smudges of ink stayed behind on her face. It only highlighted for him the natural beauty of her lovely brown skin.

Finally, Publius noticed him.

“Do you want something, gladiator? Why are you not in your cell?”

“There was not an order to go, Dominus. Merely the invitation. I wanted to speak with you if I could.”

The lanista seemed too tired to tell him no. “Very well. You seem determined.”

“I overheard the governor speak of his desire to put a fighter of ours in the primus.”

Indeed, the moment the governor left the meeting he had starting telling everyone in the party he could about what an amazing day at the arena it would be.

“Three men in one fight! What a spectacle!” and so on.

Conall didn’t know how much of a spectacle it would be, but he did know it provided him with an opportunity for certain.

“I already know what you want to suggest, in that case.” Publius straightened. “The answer is no. Go to your cell and get some sleep. You must train. I have arranged for your placement in the games. You will be posted honorably, I assure you.”

“But not with
most
honors. And that is what I have earned.”

“What you have earned is a conversation between myself and the Gods, who have a much higher authority on your life than you do. Should you care to continue this conversation, gladiator, I assure you that you will not enjoy where it goes. We were lucky in that the governor did not mind your scuffle in the streets the other week. I shall not press that luck and have him see me dishonor him by putting a low fighter such as yourself in the primus.”

“And who will you put in my place? Diocles?” Conall shook his head. “Yes, I can see that’s who you want. He shall be the one to embarrass you, mark my words.”

Leda rose. “I should leave. Dominus, all these need is your signature. And the names you wish to place.” She pointed on the document. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Waving a hand, Publius nodded. “Leave us. Get some rest.”

She left, stopping only to glare briefly at Conall.

He was thoroughly puzzled at her look. Why was she mad at him? There was no time to wonder. Moments after she left, there was a knock at the doorway requesting entrance.

––––––––

A
t the outset, Conall knew he was fighting an uphill battle. He knew that he would have to strike swift and sure to knock away Publius’s well-constructed defenses against the thought of ever putting Conall in a place of honor.

And entering the room now was Septus—Septus, stubborn Septus, just as concerned with placement as Publius. Septus who would make Conall’s job twice as hard.

“Why is every gladiator I own still up at this late hour?”

“I did a tour of the cells,” said Septus, “and noticed that Conall was gone. I wanted to inform you, and now I see it was unnecessary. I will leave.”

Publius raised a hand. “No, stay. I want you to talk sense into this one.”

“Sense? Into Conall?”

“The governor has honored us. We are to place a fighter in the primus at the games.”

“That’s good news.” Septus’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. I see.”

“Yes. He is not satisfied with his purpose being ‘merely’ to raise the honor of this household. He wants the primus for himself.”

“Any fighter in this house that did not want the primus for himself,” said Conall, “is living a lie and hoping for a quick death. Ambition is how men stay alive in the arena, Dominus, by your own mouth and the mouth of your brother.”

Publius frowned. “Rufus
did
say that.”

They were silent for a time. Outside, there was a long jaunty song being sung by some drunken guest in the garden. Conall didn’t recognize the tune.

“What’s the match?” asked Septus. “Who would our gladiator fight, do we know?”

“No. I expect Felix from House Malleola. I don’t know who House Vibius might send. I’ll have a scout sent out to their school tomorrow.”

Scouting other ludi was a regular and expected part of the arena business. Most ludi simply gave a list of their fighters and who was best. Winning was important, but honor was paramount. There was little honor to be gained in deception.

“It’s a melee, Dominus?” asked Septus.

“Of a sort. Three men.”

Septus crossed his arms. He looked at Publius and then Conall, and his frown deepened.

“Neither of you are going to like what I have to say,” he said.

“I would prefer the truth from you, Septus,” said Publius. “You know that.”

The salty warrior sighed. “You should put him in the primus, Dominus. But not—” he wagged a finger at Conall’s elated face, “—not for the reasons
you
might want. The fight is a dangerous one. Three men at once . . . there is no reliable way to form a defense. Any man entering is very likely to die. A lucky man might only be severely injured. The referees will keep the fighters from taking a backseat and letting the other two fight. At every point, a man will have to fight two men at once.”

“As a dimachaerus, he’s already used to fighting with both hands, so that is one advantage,” said Publius.

“And we both know,” Septus said to Publius, “where the future lies. And it would be a shame to risk it in an endeavor such as this. A man killed in this fight is not blamed—it is the fight that is blamed. And a man that wins, well, he earns great honor for the ludus and himself. But the likelihood is that even in a win, the winner will be injured.”

Septus was right. Conall didn't like how he was being sold. But it didn't matter. A chance was a chance was a chance, and even one sold as an insult was more than what he'd had before.

“I’ll fight this fight,” said Conall. “You put me in there. I’ll come out unscathed. I’ll come out ready for the next primus at the very next games.”

Septus and Publius exchanged glances.

“I doubt that very much,” said Publius. “But Septus speaks sense. You are worthy enough of this ludus that you will not be a dishonorable addition to the fight, especially given the governor’s appreciation of your skills. And if you die...” he rolled his eyes heavenward. “...if you die, then the gods have given me a gift one way or the other. Very well, Conall. You shall have your primus.”

––––––––

D
ays were hard and stupid when Leda did not get enough sleep. Thoughts came slower, feelings acted too fast, and every action unfolded like a catastrophe because her body only knew how to send alarm signals on her frayed nerves.

And despite all that, she did all her work the day after the party with as much fastidiousness as she could muster. Holding no excuses, she cleaned and swept, picked up and placed all items discarded and tossed aside for the party.

There was a serious talk to be had with Conall. She had no intentions of being delayed for any reason by the time the evening rolled by.

Their custom had been to meet toward the back of the medicae’s office toward the end of the day. It was impossible to hide their relationship from Nyx—she seemed to know everything that happened in the ludus—so the two of them assumed they may as well embrace it.

Conall could make any excuse after training to see the medicae and, as a plus, Leda did not have to wander all the way down to the cell blocks of the gladiators and hear their cat calls.

When she met him today, he smiled like an idiot, arms held wide to embrace her.

“I’m in the primus!”