Last Gladiatrix, The (10 page)

Titus lay for a second, surprised and slightly winded. Then he smiled. Coming to his feet in one fluid movement, the centurion hefted his sword in one hand and assumed a fighting position.

Xanthe retrieved her shield from the dusty floor of the Colosseum. She would have need of it now. Carefully they circled each other.

The crowd were whipping themselves into frenzy. Some shouted for Xanthe, others for Titus. The thought of these two lovers—the Scythian Warrior Queen and the Disgraced Centurion—fighting to the death ignited the people’s excitement to fever pitch.

Xanthe listened to them with half an ear. If Titus’s plan held truth, then the roar of the crowd was as good a measure as any of their success.

The louder the cheers, the better their chance of survival.

Titus came at her again and again. His iron sword beat at her shield with ferocity, yet Xanthe knew he held back to spare her the full force of his might. The shield chafed at her arm. Sweat ran in rivulets down her ribs. She longed to wipe the dust from her face but did not dare to let her guard down, not for an instant. Titus gave her no quarter. Remembering their practice sessions all those days ago in the wild woods of the north, she met him, blow for blow.

Rome, however, was not the cool north, and the sun beat down relentlessly on the top of her head, fatigue invading her limbs. She would’ve sold her soul for water. Yet there was no water to be had, only blood.

Her sword had nicked Titus’s arm, sending a wave of hysterical screaming through the crowd. How they had cheered at the sight of his blood! In truth, there was little blood, just enough to look convincing. Xanthe doubted Titus had even noticed the nick.

A fine coating of dust covered her body as their feet kicked up sand, sending it whirling in eddies across the floor of the arena. Spinning quickly to parry a thrust, Xanthe stumbled. Her arms were growing heavy now, her legs tired. How long could she keep up with Titus? How did he mean for this bout to end?

Struggling to stay upright, Xanthe put some distance between herself and her lover. Please, Gods of the Plains, send an intervention. Yet, it was a long way from her beloved grasslands to Rome, and she doubted her gods could hear her. She was at the mercy of the Roman gods, and they bore no love for her nor she for them.

How long had they been fighting? It seemed like an eternity. Xanthe no longer saw the crowd as individuals, more like a living mass draped over the stone walls of the Colosseum. All that was real and true stood before her in the form of Titus. He did not seem to tire, yet her legs had begun to drag like lead, her mouth as dry as the sand they danced on.

Titus came at her once more, sword swinging high. She spun, shield up, shuddering under the mighty blow. Xanthe’s legs failed her, twisting beneath her and making her roll, exposing her belly to the sky. Titus’s sword came for her then. She watched in horror as it bit into her arm, slicing her flesh. Why did she feel nothing at all?

Blood flowed freely; she wondered if the end had finally come.

Titus could clearly see Xanthe was growing more weary with each blow he rained upon her. She returned his thrusts with vigour, but was no match for his well-trained strength and the burning southern sun. He waited; his plan had no proper form, no beginning and no end, born as it was of the moment. Titus kept her dancing at the point of his sword, willing the spectators to love her fierceness, hoping an opportunity would present itself to end this charade.

Finally, she fell. It was then Titus struck, with professional coldness and tucking away the pain hurting Xanthe caused him at the back of his heart. He cut her then, not too deeply, but enough to draw a good amount of blood. He heard the crowd gasp, rising to their feet as one, fists raised and voices howling.

Good; they believed. It was exactly as Titus had hoped.

Xanthe dropped her sword and shucked the shield. Grasping her wounded arm, she looked up at Titus with puzzlement. He winked once. The perplexity left her eyes, to be briefly replaced by relief, before her face screwed up in pain. Rolling this way and that, she did a passable impression of someone in extreme pain. For a moment, even Titus believed her.

The crowd howled around them. The cacophony was deafening, until eventually the Senator found his feet and raised a hand for silence. After a moment the noise had quietened enough to hear the Senator speak.

‘As the
munerarius
, the giver of these Games, I halt this fight.’ The Senator Decimus Aurelius’s sonorous voice filled the arena. Titus imagined the man would have given an impressive account of himself in the Senate.

The crowd yelled, some cheering, some throwing insults. The Senator merely held his hand up once more and waited for silence.

‘I know the Scythian Warrior Queen speaks neither Latin nor the common Italian tongue. Centurion! Ask her if she acknowledges defeat at your hands.’

Titus nodded his understanding, the movement of his heavy helmet giving him a monstrous headache. Turning to Xanthe, he knelt in the sand next to her.

‘This is it. If you admit your defeat we may both have a chance to walk away, if the Senator deems we fought well and with honour. Do you acknowledge your defeat at my hands, Scythian?’

Xanthe’s breath came heavily. ‘Sarmatian!’ she spat. ‘Yes, I accept defeat, but I will make you pay for it later, Centurion. Of that you can be sure.’

Titus gave her his most dazzling smile. ‘Oh, I look forward to it, of that
you
can be sure.’ He stood and faced the Senator. ‘She yields!’ the centurion cried, raising his sword to the heavens. The crowd roared once more, whether in support of Xanthe or himself he could not tell.

The Senator nodded. ‘Good. What say you good people of Rome? Should these brave fighters walk free? Or should the Scythian woman pay with her life?’ A chant began, the word ‘Live!’ resonating through the Colosseum. Relief flooded through Titus like a sweet drug. They would live. They would both be permitted to live. The Senator listened, a benevolent smile upon his face. Aurelius loved these moments, when the crowd became impassioned. Granting these two their lives would elevate him in the people’s esteem; what other reason for spending a small fortune on the Games in the first place?

He sighed happily, letting the noise wash over him, enjoying his moment. The fight had been most satisfactory. For a while Aurelius had thought there would be no fight at all but the centurion had shown his superior military training and attacked the Scythian. He was true to his blood in the end, a true son of Rome. Titus Valens would make an excellent addition to the Senator’s personal guard.

‘Good people of Rome!’ The Senator cried. ‘I release the Scythian woman alive, and the centurion standing alive.’ The cheers of the crowd were most gratifying to the Senator’s ears. For once, the oafish General Sextus had been of some use, insufferable fool though he was. The Senator felt sure he could come to some amenable agreement to ensure the freedom of this centurion once the General had a whiff of social success. Aurelius would throw him a party; that ought to do the job.

‘Did you hear that?’ Titus turned to Xanthe.

‘You know I don’t speak your accursed language!’ She spat the words, through clenched teeth. Her arm was truly beginning to give her pain.

‘It’s over, my love. Finished!’ He knelt down and picked her up in his arms. Her wound appeared worse than he first thought and his exultation at the Senator’s pronouncement faded.

‘Stretcher bearers!’ Titus yelled. ‘Here! Now!’ Two men ran onto the arena floor carrying a stretcher between them. ‘Get her to the physician immediately.’

‘I know your new quarters seem humble. I hoped they would suit you.’ 

     Titus looked about the small room he would call his own from this point forward. The Senator was right; the room had little appeal, yet he was grateful. As a soldier, he’d suffered far less luxury. Titus now had a bed, a roof over his head and, most importantly, his freedom.

‘I thank you, Senator. It will suit me nicely.’ The centurion had been surprised when they had presented him with a dish of gold coins as his prize. He had won the match, but that victory dwindled to a mere detail when faced with Xanthe’s wounds—wounds he had inflicted. Titus had been doubly surprised to discover the win had given him enough money to free himself from the General’s trumped up debt.

There was barely time to register the notion that he was free again, when Titus had then received the offer of employment to be a member of the Senator’s own personal guard. The Senator, it transpired, had been well aware of exactly how much money Titus had ‘owed’ Sextus. The Senator liked the celebrity of hiring a former centurion turned slave; it added to his popularity, which in turn would add to his coffers.

Titus was no fool. The old toad had been outwitted by this wily fox of a politician. Yet none of this made him happy, not while his love lay wounded and enslaved. Working for the Senator would provide him the opportunity to earn money. Titus would save his wages until he had enough to buy Xanthe’s freedom. There was no other way.

‘All of Rome is talking about you, Titus Valens. I believe I am in safe hands.’ The Senator smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Aurelius was a lean man with an air of distinction, and he had a quiet power about him that leant itself well to Rome’s Senate.

‘I look forward to serving you, sir,’ Titus said, for want of anything better. He was unaccustomed to making small talk with members of the Roman elite.

‘Good. Settle in and be ready when I send for you. I must attend a meeting of the Senate this afternoon, and you will accompany me.’

Once alone, Titus inspected the room in closer detail. He did not have much by way of possessions, and what little he did have, he arranged neatly within the small, windowless room. The only source of light came from the atrium in the centre of the house, seeping in through the door. Its long silvery fingers barely reached the corners of the room.

The Senator’s house was unlike any other Titus had ever seen. Luxurious rooms on the lower floor were decorated with frescos in dazzling colours, ringing an atrium that contained the
impluvium
, which was an indoor pool reflecting the blue sky. Servants and slaves scurried about their household chores as he watched. Titus imagined the private family rooms to be richly appointed, yet doubted he’d ever see them. Nor did he want to.

Titus didn’t care how cramped and dark his new accommodations might be. His sole purpose now was to find a way to free Xanthe. At the first opportunity he would make enquiries at the Gladiator School. He wanted to propose a sale to the General, but without alerting him as to who was behind the proposal. The old toad would increase the price tenfold if he learnt Titus was the buyer.

Satisfied with his plan, the centurion spread out his bedroll and lay down. Tucking his hands behind his head, Titus closed his eyes and awaited the Senator's summons, daydreaming about Xanthe’s lithe body.

Xanthe struggled against the thick fog obscuring her vision. She could hear voices. Where was she? Where was Titus? A sharp pain ratcheted along her arm and across her shoulders as she tried to sit up. Then she remembered. The fight. Titus had wounded her and somehow they had both escaped with their lives. Relief flooded through her body, replacing the pain for an instant, and she relaxed.

‘Finally, you are awake!’ Xanthe turned her head at the sound of a husky, female voice. Klara sat on the next bed, watching her. ‘I thought you would never stir. One fight and you sleep for days. Who ever saw such a lazy gladiatrix?’ The Hun woman laughed her low, dirty laugh, and Xanthe smiled.

‘It’s good to see you,’ she said. ‘How are your wounds?’

Klara shrugged. ‘Healing well, but not fast enough.’ A linen bandage was wrapped tightly around her chest and over one shoulder. Xanthe could see a large stain from where blood had seeped through.

‘I thought by now you would be gone.’

‘I am in no fit state to travel yet. I have gold, so they are yet happy to let me stay here, for the time being at least. Where else would I go? I don’t have a Roman centurion to take care of me.’ Klara winked lasciviously.

‘Neither do I, it seems.’ Xanthe looked around the room. ‘Where is Titus?’ It was a large room with several narrow beds arranged along the walls. Some beds were empty while others cradled bodies, dark shapes in the dull light. ‘Where am I?’

‘This is the Gladiator School’s
valetudinarian
, their place of healing. There is a good physician here. As for Titus, I do not know where your centurion has gone. He brought you here after the fight. He yelled—a lot.’ Klara laughed at the memory. ‘I thought they were going to drag him out and arrest him, but I hear he is now a hero amongst the Romans. But that is all I hear.’

Titus safe and a hero? ‘Is he free?’ The thought he may still be forced to fight gripped her, squeezing her heart tight in a vice.

‘Of course. I wouldn’t worry about him, Scythian. You, however, are not free. What will become of you now the Emperor has banned women from fighting in the arena?’

‘What do you mean?’ Xanthe tried to sit up, forgetting her wounded arm. She gasped as a searing pain reminded her. The physician had bound her arm but it would be a long time before she would hold a sword again.

‘The fat General still owns you.’

‘No,’ Xanthe waved Klara’s explanation away, trying to disguise the disappointment in her voice. ‘Not that. I guessed I must still be his slave or why else would I be here? What did you mean about the Emperor?’

‘Banning women fighters?’ Klara finished Xanthe’s question for her. ‘The gossip in the Gladiator School is that the Emperor was so outraged to hear about your match with the centurion, he immediately banned all future fights involving women. The decree will be made known to all of Rome in the next few days.’

Xanthe did not know whether to be relieved or worried. At least she would not have to face battle in the arena again. She was sure the memories from her first and only Games would haunt her dreams forever. Yet what would the General want with a wounded gladiatrix prevented from fighting? No doubt she was costing him coin, something he wouldn’t like at all.