Heart of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 1) (20 page)

“I was sick before you left, you know,” said Rufus.

“Yes, Dominus.”

“The smoke...” he paused. His words had not failed him—his lungs did. If he spoke more, then he risked coughing for minutes at a time, and possibly coughing up blood. Frustration filled his face. “The smoke made it worse.”

His voice was little more than a whisper, harsh and hard to hear through the breeze of the day.

“Yes, Dominus.”

“I wanted to apologize to you. Strange, I know.” He smiled. “A master apologizing to a slave. But that was a poor fight to put you in. I am glad you survived. How is the arm?”

Caius lifted it slightly, straining the sling. “It will heal.”

“Good. That is good. And the crowd? Did you give us reason for pride?”

“They were quite happy, Dominus.”

“Good. Then...” Frustration again. He paused, taking a small sip of wine. Caius could smell the honey and lavender in it from where he stood several feet away. Good for calming a throat. “Then, perhaps there is hope for this place yet. I am told the purses were quite neat. With the crowd happy, we can increase our fees. And perhaps rebuild...”

He drifted, and Caius thought that the sickness had taken his mind for a moment. But, Rufus had simply changed the direction of his attention. At the doorway was Quintus Pompilius Buteo and Felix.

Quintus rushed toward the side of the bed, hands outstretched. “My dear Rufus, look at the state of you.”

Rufus waved off his touch. “I am sick as well as injured. Better for you to stay away.”

As if seeing a snake, Quintus withdrew. A myriad number of rings adorned his fingers, some two to a hand. “I see. That’s terrible. A terrible run of luck. Fortune gives and it receives, does it not? Your fighters win, and yet they are injured beyond repair. Your house gains fame, and yet...” he gestured toward the wreckage.

Felix had no weapon, but it hardly mattered. He was a large man, clearly made for fighting. His face, young, looked like it had seen the conflicts from a hundred wars—and in each one earned a victory more dire than the last.

Over the past several weeks in the ludus, Caius had heard ever more about Felix. The man was a prodigy, undefeated since the day of his brother's death in the arena. Fighting as murmillo, he had the crowd completely on his side with every new victory. His star was rising and—with Lucius now so grievously injured—perhaps set to shoot across the cosmos.

Quintus wanted to feel protected. Little better protection could be found than that of a gladiator. Caius suspected that Felix had a knife hidden somewhere on his person, probably somewhere in his tunic.

“Fortune is mysterious, it’s true,” said Rufus.

“And I have heard that due to the success of the Capuan games, our own games here have already sold every last ticket. Did you know they are even doubling our fees? We’re set to make a fortune.”

“Lucky for me all of the gladiators and their supplies were out of the ludus. Why, if Fortune truly wanted to throw me a hand...” Rufus coughed slightly. It was an ugly, garbled sound. “Bandits would have set upon them on their return when they were most vulnerable. That would have been a blow...irrevocable. Buildings, homes can be rebuilt.”

A slight red glow had appeared in Quintus’s cheeks. “Y-yes. Yes, oh my. Oh my, Rufus, you
do
look on the bright side, don’t you? That is what I love about you, my dear friend.”

“And I do love your attentions, Quintus. You are kind to visit so soon. It was sad to hear you were pushed out of the Capuan games. What was the reason? You displeased the governor there?”

“It's nothing to mind. A gentle dispute over payments. We'll be back there soon enough.”

“I see. I suppose the rumors I heard about flung insults were overblown. You have such a temper, my friend. Sometimes I forget whether you are in control of it or not when I hear news of you.”

“Yes. Well.” Quintus smiled, the air gone out from him. “We must be going. I am sure you have much to attend to.” He stopped at Felix’s side, just before exiting. “I forgot—there
was
another reason I came here today. I wanted to share a bit of good news. I’ve been assured by the arena agent that Felix here, our Hector, has landed the primus. We’re still rounding up an opponent worthy of him.”

Felix just glared at Caius. Unimpressed, Caius winked at him.

In short order, the two had left, and Caius was alone with Rufus again.

“It’s funny, you know,” said Rufus. “One of my men was sure he saw a man with a bald head and thick scars upon it yesterday around the time of the fire.”

If Caius’s suspicions were not already raised from their conversation, they would have been then. The description matched Felix in exactitude.

“I asked for the guard this morning. But he disappeared last night. Isn’t that strange?”

But Rufus’s look communicated he knew it was anything but strange. Likely the man, if found at all, would be found dead.

––––––––

I
n the late afternoon of the day after their return from Capua, Aeliana walked with Caius through the cell blocks. There was no training for the day and for perhaps another after as the entire household tried to create some semblance of structure in the heavy disarray after the fire.

It took some doing, but Aeliana convinced Caius to come and speak with Lucius. At the sight of her—and with the threat of Porcia far away—all he wanted to do was sneak into some dark corner of the ludus and kiss her madly. Truth be told, that was all she wanted as well.

But this had to take precedence. Porcia would not return for some time yet, and they could kiss—and more—later. Lucius needed reinforcement of what Aeliana had said right away.

She stepped outside the room as they spoke, listening in. She felt a little dirty for eavesdropping, but she had to know that Lucius apologized. The admission of his guilt for what had happened was important—and Caius would want to hear it.

“It appears we both have bum arms,” said Caius.

“Aye. Brothers in arms, if naught else.”

They both chuckled. 

Lucius’s voice was tired when he spoke again. “I should like to speak with you, brother.”

“So Aeliana told me.”

“I am...my drinking. It has put me in a state. And I do not understand it. I do not know why I acted like I did. I do not know why getting drunk was more important than fighting at your side.”

“It’s all right.”

“Thank you. But no. It’s not. It is...not all right. It hasn’t been all right for some time. I am sorry, Caius, for the spot I put you in. Truly, I am.”

There was no speaking, but Aeliana heard them shift—and she supposed—hug. Caius then began to laugh about the fight—the sorry state Lucius had been in, and Aeliana could listen to none of that. She wanted as few reminders of that awful time as possible. How Caius could stand recalling it, and laughing about it, was rather beyond her understanding.

For now, she would let them talk. In an hour she would return and fall into Caius’s arms, assured in his strength and in the fact of Porcia being long gone for some time. Outside the cell blocks and up the stairs, slaves were busy clearing wreckage from the burnt mass. A pile of discarded wood and stone formed near the gates beneath the watch tower on the wall.

Many of the walls, while damaged, still stood. They could be repaired so long as adequate masons were employed.

In her office, Porcia waited for her. She wore a thin ivory gown, a long yellow sash cinched tight around her thin waist.

Aeliana could not hide the surprise in her voice. “Domina!”

“Yes.” Porcia stood. “Domina. You do remember the meaning of that word, don’t you?”

“I...yes, Domina?”

“Oh, good. I suppose you had forgotten. When Caius survived the fight—and when Lucius was
harmed
during it—I supposed that you had forgotten. Or did we not agree that Caius was not to receive treatment?”

“I delivered no treatment to Caius, Domina.”

“Then how was he able to use his arm in the fight? It was burned.” Her smile was macabre. “Viciously. I suppose you want to tell me it was a miracle?”

“The gods act in many ways, Domina. It is not for me to—”

“And
Lucius
is hurt.” She knocked over a bowl of water, spraying the wall. “How could you have let that happen?”

“Does Domina require that I take up arms in the arena?”

Porcia licked her teeth slowly. She stalked around Aeliana, jaw throbbing with anger.

“He was stumbling. I saw him. I was in the stands. He was not himself. Why not?”

There was deep, real concern in Porcia’s voice. It surprised Aeliana enough to begin to tell the truth.

“Because...”

Lies tried to take hold on her tongue, to create some lie, but she could not give any purchase in time to hide the look on her face.

“You know, don’t you?” Porcia stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You know. You
will
tell me, slave.”

“He was drunk,” said Aeliana. “Horribly drunk.”

Porcia's eyes widened. “Then he shouldn’t have been fighting. Why didn’t you stop him from entering the ring? Isn’t it your responsibility to attend to the gladiators before fighting? Or did you wish to see him fall?”

“I...”

There was no point in telling Porcia she was wrong. Aeliana knew very well the Domina was completely right. Her own guilt had, probably, spurred her to get Lucius to apologize to Caius. But she owed an apology to Caius too, in that case—and yes, probably to Lucius also. Her part in the affair could not be hidden behind the actions of others.

But to admit guilt to Porcia, with her so clearly angry, felt like a death sentence.

“I attended other gladiators, Domina.” That was true enough. “Fighters hurt in the competitions before Lucius’s and Caius’s. When I examined Lucius in the morning, his physical condition was impeccable.”

This answer did not seem to please Porcia.

“I am going to speak with my husband about the state of your contract. I suspect you need a longer term here to truly understand your place. And...” Porcia picked up a scalpel from off the table. She held it to Aeliana’s throat. The comparison between this and what Aeliana had done to Lucius was not beyond her understanding. “If he is mangled beyond repair, then you may rest assured that I will blame the
repairer
and not the
mangling
. Do you understand me, girl?”

There was little choice but to say she did.

––––––––

S
he walked in a daze from one place to the next.

The threat of her future’s destruction had been depressing in itself. The thought of never achieving her dreams, a terror that was hard to escape. But now Porcia was truly going to make it happen. There would be no stopping her.

Down the hilly steps of the ludus, into the training sands, across the mess hall, draping her fingers on the thick iron gate of the cell blocks.

“Open it,” a voice said.

She realized only moments later that the voice was hers. The guard—the same one from the column on the way to Capua—smiled and let her in.

“Don’t be too long,” he said.

He knew more than she did at that moment about what she intended. It wasn’t lights out yet, and some gladiators still socialized in the halls. She saw Conall and Flamma wrestling for money in one wide corner, their sestertii piled up before Iunius’s feet. The match seemed good-natured enough. Surprise would have flooded her if she had room for any more.

Finally she found herself in front of Caius’s cell. He stood, that beautiful smile on his face. She felt her robes dropping away, hands moving of their own accord. Someone might walk by and see, but she didn’t care anymore.

She didn’t care about any of it—nor anyone else.

And that was why this happened now, she realized suddenly. If Porcia was going to make her life a hell no matter what, then Aeliana would earn her spot there.

“Aeliana?” Caius said.

His voice was a confused whisper. But his body was not confused. She saw the way his thick muscles tensed—and more than that, she saw the bulge of his erection behind the thin cloth around his crotch. Such a thin, sparse little thing, she thought, to be a barrier between chastity and the perfect release she knew waited for her.

Her body slipped on top of his. Every feel of his skin was rough and hot. Her hands slipped against his length, feeling it twitch and grow beneath her touch.

She was not weak. She was not ineffectual. She had meaning and consequences, and here was one in her hands. Should her hand slide past the barrier of the cloth, she would have more effects yet.

An intriguing idea. She brought his head down to hers, arching her back and neck to meet his lips as they rushed down at her. And as their lips met again, for what felt like the thousandth time but was one of only a handful, her hand slipped down past that cloth.

He was big there already, and hard. Her fingers had trouble wrapping all the way around. Very soon her strokes were encouraged by his body, slickness sliding up and down her palm.

“Gods, Aeliana...”

She was in control of him, she realized. This massive fighter. This man who had seen and strove against so much. She pushed him down onto the cot where they barely fit, and sat just in front of the thick, hardened manhood waiting for her.

“You’ll have to guide me in.”

He nodded eagerly. Strong hands attached to her hips and led her up. A breeze ran through the cell, making her already-firm nipples harder. His cockhead pushed slightly against her untested, moist entrance, and then slowly she sank down on him. Her wetness made the joining easy. A low, long cry exited her lips, bottom lip trembling.

Several perfect moments passed. More than a minute. She was simply on top of him, and him in her. His hands ran over her breasts, squeezing with admiration.

“Beautiful,” he said. “So very beautiful. My beautiful lady.”

If she squeezed the muscles of her thighs and hips, she could slide upward on his length. The effect redoubled her pleasure—becoming just slightly less filled and then
much
more filled. Over and over again, she repeated the motion. Delight filled her as she saw the effect on Caius. Sweat poured across his brow, but his expression was one of abject affection and desire.