Heart of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 1) (22 page)

But now...now Caius was
back
, and he had won
again.
And with that win—which she had been
convinced
would
never
happen—she had been set back almost as far as she was before.

Well, no longer. She would make him pay—literally. He would bring her riches, or else.

“It has come to my attention that Caius has a child,” said Porcia. “Tell me, Cammedius. Do you have any moral qualms when it comes to abductions?”

––––––––

M
any days passed. Rufus’s health faded; Caius’s health improved; training continued in the ludus.

His bad arm was almost his good arm again. He could not swing his sword as hard, yet, nor for as long as he wanted, but his approach was on target to be one hundred percent at the games in two weeks.

Felix fought as a murmillo—and so that was who Caius trained against. Their best murmillo was a younger man named Euclidites, a Greek who had distinguished himself well in the Capuan arena and many before it.

Felix was a terrific opponent. The more Caius heard of him, the more he came to respect the man. Felix had survived and beaten numerous top fighters in other cities, and had slaughtered more than seven fighters from House Varinius alone. There was no shortage of men at the ludus who feared him, and no shortage of men who wished him dead.

One story in particular struck Caius. Felix fought in a melee once against seven other men. Around them had been a ring of fire, and inside the small pit of their melee was a tall spiked post. The smallest misstep could leave a man with a spike through his heart.

Felix survived without a scratch. He took credit for killing four of the seven, though some said it was as many as six.

This was not a man to be taken lightly.

The day was hot and long, but Caius trained with his all. He pushed thoughts of Aeliana and her incumbent freedom from his head. Thinking so often of the future was no way to enjoy a woman.

At the end of his sparring session with Euclidites, he walked to the water trough to refresh himself. On the way, he thought of strategies, old tactics, that perhaps he could use to surprise the younger, more athletic fighter. But as he walked, his eyes fell upon the strangest sight.

Porcia stood at the end of the training sands, flanked on either side by tall armed guards. She held hands with his daughter Fabia.

Panic and confusion powered through his bones. He abandoned training, rushing forward. All he understood that if Porcia was near Fabia, then she was in danger. Caius dropped to a knee, taking Fabia in his arms.

“You’re stinky, Papa.” She laughed gleefully. Her arms were small around his neck.

“Yes, little one.” He nodded. “Papa is sorry about that.”

But just as soon as the embrace began, one of Porcia’s guards took Fabia by the arm and tugged her away. Caius stood, blood heated. The yank had been hard on Fabia’s arm, and he was ready to strike the man. A thick spear tip pressed to his chest from the other guard, stopping him.

Fabia started to cry. The guard holding her took her up the stone steps and toward the house. He carried her like a loaf of bread.

“Don’t worry, daughter,” he called after. “Don’t cry. Papa is here. It will be all right.”

Of course, she cried anyway. Caius’s heart felt like breaking. He turned to Porcia. She looked thrilled.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“It was my understanding that your daughter was in need of some quality education. I see no better place for such education than this very place.”

“This ludus is no place for a child.”

She tsked. “Caius, you surprise me. Violence is a natural part of life. I thought you would understand the importance a child being kept close to death.”

His eyes narrowed. The woman had lost her mind. Her vendetta against him was spiraling now, and he wished for all the gold in the world that he knew some way to stop it.

“You threaten my child?”

“Only if you make me. There is something I want from you.”

“Rufus won't stand for this, Domina.”

“I assure you that Rufus doesn't even stand to eliminate anymore. I care little about his vertical position. And if you think to influence his opinion on this matter, then I would be careful about how much you truly want your daughter to know of death. Word travels very fast in this ludus, slave, and it all travels to me.”

His eyes shifted up back to Fabia. She was almost gone from view now. “Name your price.”

She gestured for him to follow her away from the training grounds. Soon they were in front of the remaining wreckage of the stables. No prying eyes or overhearing ears there. The guards kept a healthy distance, not too far off. If Caius rushed at Porcia and tried to snap her neck, he might have finished before they stabbed him to death. But maybe not. It wasn't the risk he wanted to take.

Yet.

“You,” she said, putting her hands across her midsection, “will train harder than you ever have in your life. You will put yourself into the most perfect shape possible. There will be no doubt as to whether you are prepared to fight Felix. You will look as a beast, ready to maul his prey. You will be the favorite of the crowds.” She raised an eyebrow. “And of the betting field.”

“And then?” Though Caius did not need to ask. He already knew the answer.

“And then, dear Ursus. You will lose. And die. In the arena.”

He nodded. “If I do that, my child lives?”

“Yes. Senator Otho is quite sympathetic to my plight when it comes to you. Should you think to outplay me somehow, he will order your death regardless. I would grow accustomed to the thought of a glorious end in the arena if I were you.”

“And my loser’s purse. It goes to her?”

“Whatever you wish.” Porcia shrugged. “She is a charming girl. So young, too. If you’d like, I could take her under my wing. Give her a proper life. Why, given time, she could learn to love me as her mother. Wouldn’t that be nice—for her to actually have a mother?”

He stepped forward, his every thought aflame. The guards shifted and moved forward with him, spears at the ready.

Caius flexed every muscle in his body, trying not to move.“You go too far, Domina.”

She leaned in, her breath hissing against his face. “I shall go as far as I want if you do not give me what I require, slave. Do you understand?”

Caius turned back to the stairs, where the guard had taken Fabia. Gone now. Kept no doubt in some small room. She was still crying. Not understanding. She was so young.

“Do you
understand
, slave?”

Porcia glared, clearly waiting for his capitulation.

“Yes, Domina. I understand perfectly.”

Fortune gave, Fortune took. Fortune cared not a whit for him.

* * * * *

S
ounds muted. He saw a bird singing its heart out on the wall of the ludus, but could not make out a single note it made. He sat down in the mess hall.

The wooden seat there normally creaked heavily; but now there was nothing. Some part of him recognized that Murus must have been yelling at him to return to training, but he did not hear it. The vibrations of the sound hit his head and passed straight through without recognition or return.

Losing the fight was not a problem for him. Dying wasn’t. He’d had a taste of victory in the arena with Lucius, and it had been sweet, certainly. But it was a sweetness he’d had many times, one that he could manage without. And dying had been his plan all along when he came to this ludus.

But circumstances had changed, hadn’t they?

His fingers dug into the table, nails sliding under long patches of splintered wood. He tugged upward, cracking the pieces slow.

For one thing, he had never expected to fall in love with Aeliana. And he had. He realized that unequivocally now. The only reason he hadn’t said it was because he did not want to put such a burden on her.

She wanted him, that seemed certain. And she felt great affection for him, too. But love? A woman like her? She could have her pick of the litter anywhere she went. Falling in love with him was a fool’s errand—and even more so now, that he knew he would have to die in his next fight.

It had been smart of him, he rationalized, to tell her that he didn’t love her.

Another part of him circled like a fly, refusing to go away and demanding to be noticed. That if he was to die soon anyway, better to tell her the full amount of his feelings for her. Better to live every moment he could.

Hadn’t he, after all, made that same mistake with Fabiana?

But this time was different. This time, his daughter was alive. Her life was at stake. And even if he did what Porcia said, what guarantee did he have that she would give Fabia back to his sister?

None. None at all.

I win the fight, she kills Fabia. I lose the fight, Fabia lives, but I don’t know to what end. And either way, if I’m not in shape for the fight, she’ll kill Fabia regardless
.

“That’s monstrous,” said Septus.

Caius looked up. A crowd of gladiators had filed into the mess hall with him. Septus, Conall, Ajax, Perseus. All of the thraex gladiators and many more besides. Lucius was next to the doorway, leaning against it with his arm bandaged from end to end. Iunius stood in the corner, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Had Caius been speaking aloud? He must have been. They all looked at him with sympathy in their eyes.

“We’ll help you train,” said Conall. “Whatever you need.”

“That’s right,” said Septus. “Let the gods decide the rest. We can make you into a better fighter than you’ve ever been. Felix is a hard match, but you'll be more than ready for him.”

“Caius.”

The crowd split apart at the sound of Murus’s voice. Tension filled the room suddenly—how would any of them help Caius train without his say-so?

“You have only excelled as a fighter. You have done us honor in the face of being given a terribly dishonorable match. You’ve carried your load with grace, and never once stained this house.” Caius felt as though he were building toward some grand contradiction about duty to the Domina and House Varinius, no matter what. But he pulled Caius up from his seat and took him close in an embrace. “Whatever you need doing, we will do.”

The gathered crowd all voiced their assent, patting Caius on the back and shaking his hand. He had never felt such assurance from a group before. It was gratifying to feel that he had not worked unnoticed.

“Aye, bear shit.” Flamma pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Count me in.”

All the assents and encouragement stopped. All the gladiators stared at Flamma in disbelief.

“What?” asked Lucius.

Septus shook his head. “You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah.” Flamma nodded. This was common knowledge, even to him. “So what?”

“So.” Septus looked at him in disbelief. “We don’t exactly trust you.”

“I fought murmillo for years,” said Flamma. “You want to put on a good show, you’ll need to train against someone who knows what they’re doing. Felix is a hell of a murmillo. I’ve seen him move. And I can fight better than anyone else here in that style, and that’s a fact.”

From the way he puffed out his chest and looked around, he dared the others to disagree. But no one did.

Murus had to agree. “That is a fact, Caius. If he’s half as good as he was before, he’s still the best one here.”

“If he’s so good,” asked Lucius, “why is he fighting as a dimachaerus?”

“It’s a money-maker,” said Murus. “We made the change while you were here. You ought to remember.”

Lucius looked away. It was clear he
didn’t
remember. Drink had a way with memory.

Murus continued. “Crowds love a man with two swords. And he’s better at it, besides.”

There was a long moment, and Caius knew they were all waiting on his word. He didn’t know what to say. It had been one overwhelming moment after another. Place him in an arena full of men trying to kill him, and he was right at home. But in a room full of men wanting to help him, and he felt as lost as a dove in a snowstorm.

“Let him help,” said Conall.

Now everyone looked at
him
in disbelief.

“Are you serious, Conall?” Septus asked. “He tried to kill you the day you got here.”

Conall shrugged. “And he didn’t. And now, he can help. So let him help.”

Whether it was Conall's insistence, Murus's approving nod, or the complete lack of guile on Flamma's face, something shifted in Caius. He could not turn down this many men at once all asking for the same thing.

“Okay,” said Caius. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They had been a good five minutes in the mess hall. Murus swore he would dock it from their time off in the evenings and train them twice as hard to teach them not to abandon their work. The gladiators rushed outside and took up their positions once again.

Flamma stayed behind with Caius for a moment.

“I may be a bastard,” Flamma nodded. “But I’ve got a few bastards too. If their mothers would let me near them, I’d do anything for them.”

Caius clasped his shoulder. “Thank you, Flamma.”

“Don’t thank me.” He cracked a grin. “You’re a dead man, remember? Just put in a good word in Elysium for me. I could use the help.”

––––––––

T
wo days before the games in Puteoli, Rufus finally expired.

The custom for a Roman with money was cremation. Porcia commissioned the gladiators to build his funeral pyre just outside the walls. By the time they finished stacking wood, the structure was tall—coming up nearly to the height of the walls themselves—and burnt quickly when set ablaze in the night. Only the most loyal house slaves were allowed outside to watch. The gladiators stayed within the walls, watching the smoke go up.

A team of guards remained at the ready, watchful of the fire and its spread. Construction had only recently started on rebuilding the estate, and no one wanted to put out another long fire all through the night.

Porcia was outside the walls, along with her personal guards. As such, Aeliana could stand next to Caius, feeling the comforting strength he possessed, without fear of reprisal.