Seduced by the Gladiator (25 page)

A chill washed over me as I realized that he was no longer there. Realization crashed over me in a wave, one of those gut feelings that had served me so well in the arena in the past.

I had no information on which to base it, but I knew that Gaius’ disappearance had something to do with me.

“Christus!” I stood straight, my fatigue disappearing in a rush of adrenaline. “Something is coming. Some sort of trick. Gaius will not allow the games to end so calmly.” Christus did not ask me how I knew this, simply nodded and pulled at my arm, pulling me in tightly toward him.

The screech of metal grinding against metal rent the air, and the crowd again fell silent. They, as we, were straining to see what the gate that was being lifted at the far end of the arena would reveal. They watched with glee, however, and Christus and I with dread.

The games had gone by so fast that Gaius needed something large to end them. And for the first time since proposing that we simply be the last two to live, and to refuse to kill each other, I wondered if it was even possible to live through something that had come from the twisted mind of Gaius.

“What is that?” A great roar sounded through the air, and people in the crowd squealed in fright. Ice filled my veins as I saw a great orange beast stalk out from the holding area.

My mouth fell open in shock. It was a great cat, but one far larger and more exotic than any I had ever seen. Its fur was the color of the sun, striped through with inky black. It was larger than a man, and tension and agitation were clear in its coiled muscles.

The beast had clearly been provoked, likely at Gaius’ instruction. The noises from the crowd were upsetting it all the more. I cast a quick look at Christus to find that he, too, was in shock.

It was one thing to fight another human, for even with differences in size and strength, there was hope. How were we to survive against a strange beast who had been angered and was now on the hunt?

I had encountered beasts in the arena before—lions and bears. They were usually tethered by long chains, however, and that this angry, abused creature was allowed to roam free showed another extent of Gaius’ madness.

“Lilia.” I saw Christus try to size up the situation, just as I was, and saw the same finality on his features. There was no way out of this, none at all.

The beast turned at that moment, as if it had suddenly sensed that it was being watched. Its intelligent eyes fixed on us, and it cocked its head to one side before slowly beginning the long march across the sand.

It was heading straight toward us.

“Be still.” Christus’ words were an order, and I could not have moved if I’d wanted to. Possibly the smart move would have been to strike, to try to kill the beast before it killed me, but I could not bring myself to lay a hand on the beautiful, fierce creature.

It had been brought into the arena just as we had, through no choice of its own. Its apparent anger was not its fault either, and I could not imagine killing a beast that was so magnificent and innocent.

A low growl whispered through the air, just loud enough for us to hear. Turning, I saw that the other gladiator who still lived had emerged from the depths of the shipwreck, and was stalking toward us. Murder was in his eyes, and I could not blame him. He was so close to winning the games, to winning his life, and he did not care about saving the life of another.

He intended to strike at us while we were distracted by the great cat, then to hope that he survived the beast himself.

I did not know what to do, and the instincts that had led me to so many successes in the arena had fled.

I prayed to the gods for guidance.

“End this now!” the gladiator shouted as he broke into a run, and I saw the trembling in his muscles, which were sheened with sweat. He was as fatigued as we were. I tensed, ready to counter, and heard an unearthly roar echoing from behind us.

A quick glance over my shoulder told me that the cat was on the move, running with an inhuman grace. The sudden movement of the gladiator had spooked it, and it thought it was being attacked.

“Lilia!” Christus shoved at me, and I tried to hold my ground, knowing what he was trying to do. “Run!”

The gladiator moved past me and swung his sword in a wide arc at Christus. I cried out, then saw the flash of orange, muscles bunched tense, flying straight for me.

I listened. I ran.

The shipwreck was near, and I darted inside, hoping that the closed off-interior would deter the beast. It paused for a moment, then leapt onto the railing, the wood splintering beneath its great weight.

I darted back out into the open, my one thought to get to Christus. I saw him reach for me as he swung his own blade at the massive gladiator with his free hand. I was nearly there—we could defeat the warrior together, I knew it.

A hole appeared in the sand directly before me—a trapdoor of some sort. I could not stop my momentum, and my feet moved from hot sand to air.

The last thing I saw was Christus’ face, his expression wide with horror as a shining blade sliced down toward his neck.

F
rom the sounds made by the crowd, I could tell they thought that I had been killed. I flailed my arms and legs wildly as I fell, my scream caught in my throat. It was not a long fall, but it felt like forever until my body slammed into wooden boards that had no give, no softness to cushion the blow.

Dust rained down around me, and I flinched, covering my face with my hands as a beast, one of the ones that must have been used in the arena earlier that day, roared loudly. I prepared for the creature to spring, heard the rattle of metal bars and the wounded howl as the animal slammed against the unyielding metal.

The noise was deafening, at least at first. Slowly, the ringing in my ears faded, but I still saw spots dancing before my eyes when I opened them, so I squeezed them shut again.

Gradually I took stock of my body. Everything hurt—I would be a rainbow of bruises come morning, if I lived that long.

That begged the question—where was I? I could still hear Christus’ cry, echoing in my ears. He had seen me disappear through the trapdoor. What was he thinking now? Did he think me dead?

The sounds of footsteps made their way into my consciousness. My heart beating a rapid tattoo in my chest, I scrabbled to my knees, willed myself to sit up straight.

Squinting through the dim light, I could see the figure of a man coming toward me, though I had fallen hard enough that if I tilted my head too far to one side, the one man appeared as two.

When the man walked into a thin beam of light that filtered through a crack from somewhere above, my breath caught in my throat. The trapdoor had closed above me. I knew then that though I was still alive, my torment was far from over.

“Hello, Lilia.”

Flinching at the words, I curled into a ball. I had not fought so hard in the games to succumb to Gaius now.

From above my constricted frame, however, I heard the sound of his laughter, filtering through the muted roar of the crowd from above. Still I tried to protect myself, expecting his fingers, his hands, his mouth to begin to paw at me.

The touch did not come. Slowly, I unfurled, lifting my head to look up into the face of the man who had so much power over me. His lips were curled into a cruel smile, and my stomach rolled.

“Relax, Lilia. I will not touch you now.” The words sounded too good to be true. “You stink of blood and dirt and animals. You are not fit for my hands. But tomorrow—tomorrow is another story.”

Holding out a hand to me, he seemed to expect me to take it, to let him help me rise. I scrambled to my feet alone, glowering at the soft palm of a man who had never had to work for a thing in his life.

He did not like this, this obvious repulsion that I felt toward him. Anger set over his features, so cold that I felt the chill seep down deep into my bones.

“Tomorrow, after you have been properly bathed, groomed, and made to look like a female again—that is when we shall be together.”

My heart sank, all the way down to my toes. I did not know if there would be a way out of this.

“Tomorrow evening, we will dine together. I will treat you to an experience the likes of which you have never had in your lifetime.”

He inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent of a rich wine, or a perfumed oil, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, they fixed on me unerringly, and I shuddered.

“Tomorrow night, you will be mine.”

I
screamed, the sound echoing off the walls of my room.

The light of the sun as it began to set in the twilight sky glinted off of the intricate mosaic on the wall, hauntingly beautiful and in harsh contrast to the sounds that I made. Still I continued to scream.

The mosaic was beautiful, yes, the kind of amazing art that could be afforded only by the wealthiest citizens of Rome. The rest of the room was the same, boasting of opulence and wealth.

It did not change the fact that, no matter how gilded the cage, it was my prison.

Though I shook instead, I swallowed back the tears that threatened, once again, to come. They were not tears of sadness, but ones of rage. Christus and I had been so close to the end of the games, so close to trying to prove to the citizens of Rome—to the wealthy patricians—that in the end they could not control us.

Now, I had no idea what had happened to my lover. Had he won the arena game? I wanted so badly to believe that he had, felt certain that he had had the strength to defeat the other man.

The truth was that I simply did not know.

If he had survived, then where was he? Had he been returned to the ludus? Did he think me dead?

Though my entire being wanted to dwell on the notion, I knew that I could not, or I would go mad. Instead, I elected to focus on getting through what lay ahead for me with Gaius.

With derision, I looked down at the clothing that Gaius had left for me to wear. A toga the color of the sky and a
palla
—a woolen shawl—that matched had been laid out on the bed. When I bent over to look closer, I saw that the toga had slits up each leg, nearly to the hip, and that the front draped so low that my breasts would be almost entirely exposed.

I would not have felt comfortable in such a garment ever. The fact that Gaius had likely chosen it specially, as a part of his sick fantasy, meant that I would rather wear my leathers until they rotted from my body.

Clenching my fingers in the bedspread, I opened my mouth to scream again. Perhaps if I caused enough of a fuss, if I was more of a pain than he could ever have imagined, he would let me go.

It was more likely that he’d kill me, but I could hope.

A knock sounded at my door. My scream froze in my throat, and I looked suspiciously at the entry to the room.

Gaius would not knock. Who could be there?

The door opened, and a face peered around tentatively. Wide violet eyes dominated a small, white face and were offset by clouds of pale red curls.

My visitor was the girl from the night before, the one who had showed us to the cave.

“Apologies, miss. The dominus has given us instructions.” The young girl did not look in my eyes as she gestured behind her. Her attitude had changed from the night before—she was now skittish, her every movement tense with nerves.

Two other women, who were also slaves but much sleeker and more self-assured, had followed the young girl into the room. One carried a vat of something that had steam rising from it, and another a tray filled with pots that I could smell even from where I stood across the room. They deposited their burdens by a wooden tub, turned some kind of knob that had water gushing from a lead pipe, and left.

Running water! What an extravagance!

The pregnant girl clutched a pile of linens in her hands, her fingers worrying the fabric until I thought that it might rip.

“What is happening?” Though I was still angry and highly suspicious of anything initiated by Gaius, I tried to soften my voice, so as not to further frighten the young girl.

She looked up at me from between her long golden eyelashes, then back down just as fast.

“We have been given instructions to . . . to groom you, lady.” The poor girl’s hands were trembling, and for a moment I could not think why.

I stepped closer, and she flinched. I understood then.

“Did Gaius tell you that I would hurt you?” The girl’s head snapped up, and a flush stained her cheeks.

She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again.

My rage against Gaius built all over again. For the sake of the girl who was no more than a child herself, I swallowed it down, and stepped toward her again.

“I will not hurt you, girl.” Something in this fragile creature reminded me of myself, but a very, very long time ago. Yes, I saw a shadow of the girl that I had been when my father had sold me into slavery, so many years before.

I had had that innocence, that fragility, torn away from me, and so had this girl, or at least I assumed so. Such a timid creature would surely not have made the choice to get with child, not in her situation.

I took an instant liking to her, felt a softness that I had not felt for anyone in years.

“If I had wanted to harm you, I would have done so last night.” I felt the urge to harm Gaius all over again, for the fear that I saw etched in this young girl’s face.

“You do not have to touch me, if you do not wish it.” I stood perfectly still, waiting for her to make the next move. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically, which was not what I had expected.

“I must, lady! You do not understand.” Her eyes grabbed at the mound of her belly—a protective gesture—and she dropped the towels. Rather than letting her stoop clumsily to pick them up, I knelt and slowly, calmly began to refold them.

“Why must you?” I stood and handed her the towels, then crossed to the wooden tub and examined the knob that the other slave girl had turned to obtain the gush of water. An experimental turn in the other direction made the stream cease, just before the contents of the tub were to flow out onto the floor.