Seduced by the Gladiator (6 page)

Though he had appeared in my chamber the night before in a light traveling tunic, he now followed custom and wore the same brief leather garment of the other men. The subligaculum sat low on his hips, showcasing a flat stomach and the edges of hipbones that suddenly caused my mouth to go dry.

I had never before thought twice about the garment that we all wore—clothing was simply something that hindered movement in the arena. But on Christus, there was a lot of skin visible to glisten in the honeyed sun of late afternoon, and after his comment on my beauty, I was suddenly aware of the man in a manner in which I did not want to be.

I wasn’t beautiful, this I knew, and my looks were not something that should have even been a thought in my head. But it seemed that I was not above having my head turned, even if just a bit, by such a compliment.

It had been so long since I had had one that did not pertain to my prowess in the arena.

“Finally, you have found your place. Watching the men, rather than trying to be one.” Bavarius walked past me toward the same water urn that Christus had just drunk deeply from. He had managed to approach me unannounced while I was preoccupied with Christus, and I cursed myself for the foolishness.

The sight of his smile brought chilly fear washing over my skin in a manner that it did not when I was with Christus. This time I did turn, the better to keep my watchful eyes on him as the man drank deeply, more than his fair share in weather that could easily lead to drought, then splashed yet more water over his round face.

I did not like the way that he eyed me now, so familiarly. I had been forced to teach him a lesson before, but did not relish doing so again—he was not the strongest of gladiators, but he did not fight fairly, something that always tilted the odds in his favor.

Added to the matter was that fact that he had once tasted me. I was sorely afraid that, combined with a need to retaliate, he found my body to his taste.

His smile took me back to my earliest days in the ludus, when I had tried to fight his advances, and those of the other men. I shuddered as those thoughts led to ones of the days when I hadn’t had the strength left to fight.

Those days were in the past, I thought as I snapped a strong rod in place in my spine. No matter what impression he was currently under, I was no longer weak, nor was I one of the whores who were brought into the ludus on occasion to satisfy urges that could no longer be postponed.

I had never understood his fascination with me, not when the dominus turned such a blind eye to the whores.

It was well known that spilling his seed weakened a man. A gladiator needed all of his strength for the arena, and was expected to remain chaste. Not that that knowledge had ever been a protection to me.

I felt certain that other ludi were much the same, allowing their men to have women and wine from time to time to calm thoughts of revolt. I wondered if Christus had ever indulged in one of these women, if he had ever tasted their perfumed flesh, had ever sunk deep between the thighs of a woman who was there only because of the coin that she would earn.

I did not doubt this with Bavarius. I knew that, though Darius found his own ways the night before, Bavarius was usually the man responsible for arranging the visits from the prostitutes . . . and also that he would arrange for himself the women who would cater to his own strange perversions. The fact that I had intimate knowledge of these perversions did not endear the man to me, nor did the slow, leisurely manner in which the gladiator raked his gaze from my tightly braided, flaxen hair over my breasts, into the valley between my thighs, and down over the length of my legs.

I always made certain to cover my breasts and behind fully with the leather costume provided to us in the ludus—I did not wish to display any part of my body that I considered private. But there were still great swathes of my skin visible to the naked eye—my shoulders, my abdomen, my legs. It had to be so, for layers of clothing hindered my ability to fight in the arena.

I was not sure that more clothing would have mattered, regardless. The man made me feel naked anyway, and in a manner that made me feel ill.

Though the glint in Bavarius’ eyes caused nerves to skitter frantically through my belly, I raised my chin with an air of contempt that I did not feel and painted the smallest of sneers on my lips.

“I know where my place is.” I wanted to say more, but did not want to provoke the man, though I was strangely reassured of my safety after a night with Christus in my chambers. “I train to win. To win honor, to win coin, for this house.”

Bavarius’ eyes narrowed in irritation when he realized that I would not be offput, and he took a step toward me, arm outstretched. Though I did not admire it in the way that I did Christus’, I knew that that arm was roped with cords of muscle, and was capable of inflicting real harm.

I scuttled back, but I did not move fast enough. Bavarius caught my elbow and pinched, hard, before yanking me against his body.

I knew that he liked it when I fought, so I forced myself to stay still, though every fiber of my being wanted to beat him to a pulpy mess.

“This house needs a real champion.” His breath stank of stale mulberry wine and even staler barley grains, and the odor emanating from his body told me that he had not recently made use of the heated salt baths that were available to us. “You might fool some—might even fool the dominus—but you’re still just a woman. Just a set of tits and a cunt, here for a man’s pleasure.”

Fury surged through me, and I raised a knee, kicking my foot back to slam it into his groin, the only thing that I could think of, since I was now wrapped tightly in arms that were slick with sweat. Blocking the movement, the man squeezed me even more tightly, my back to his chest, and pulled me farther into the shadows behind one of the arched pillars that supported the upstairs balcony.

Fear suddenly coated my tongue with its metallic taste. He was stronger than I remembered.

Bavarius raised a hand, covered my full breast, and squeezed. Revulsion roiled in my stomach, and unable to hold still any longer, I began to struggle fiercely, trying to escape the iron bands that held me tightly.

“You will soon be put in your place.” The odor of rotting food from the man’s mouth was overwhelming, and he pinched my nipple through my
strophium
, the thin leather that banded over my breasts as he spoke, the edges of his overly long nails drawing blood. “A woman is not meant for greatness, and you overreach. Don’t you remember how it was, Lilia? You were my favorite whore. And you had best be careful, because the men love a good whore. Especially men who have never lived with a cunt before, like your new friend. And I’ve heard rumors about him, about how much he loves a good fuck.” With these words hanging pregnant in the air, Bavarius released me, and I stumbled forward, nearly falling. Catching myself, I all but leapt out of the bruised shadows behind the pillar, sour bile rising in my throat.

Bavarius followed me into the light calmly. I stared at him in horror for a moment, before reminding myself where I was and schooling my face into a blank mask.

The man moved toward me again, though this time he extended a hand, as if to help me up. The otherworldly flicker in his eyes was wicked, and I was repulsed. I recoiled from his touch, scrabbling backward, righting myself as I did.

I heard the hiss of the snakelike whip before I saw it, snapping between me and Bavarius so fiercely we both jumped.

“Bavarius! Back to your training!” Though our doctore stood on the other side of the sand, his voice boomed out clearly, impossible to ignore. Behind him was Christus, who, while seemingly focused on his training, had clearly been the one to alert the trainer to my situation.

I wanted to smile as if I had had too much mulsum, so great was my relief. I had been ill prepared for such an attack from Bavarius—in the bright hours of day, nonetheless! I watched through narrowed eyes as the man strode back to his training partner, his gait cocky, and with every step that he took from me, my anger grew.

I wanted him punished. I eyed the whip, the handle of which was swallowed by the doctore’s hand, and wanted more than anything to lash it across Bavarius’ back myself, to draw blood. I could still feel his fingers, pawing at my breast, branding me with his unctuousness. Looking down, I saw the smear of crimson that had stained the leather of my top, the result of Bavarius’ touch.

He had left his mark on me. Though I had never considered myself to be a calm or docile individual, the knowledge made a rage unlike anything I’d ever felt grow inside of me.

If I were to tell the doctore of what had transpired, I would be granted my revenge. But it would also show the rest of the men that I was weak, weak enough to be trapped by Bavarius.

This, I could not allow.

“Are you well, Lilia?” The voice of the doctore sounded out across the yard. Though how I could have been certain, I did not know, but I would have bet the ludus that Bavarius had arranged his attack at a moment when the doctore had been distracted elsewhere. Certainly the trainer seemed to have no idea of what had just transpired, though his features were clouded with suspicion, his head cocked slightly to one side as he studied me.

Under the watchful eye of the doctore, who was flanked by Darius and Christus, I felt inexplicably safe, and with that feeling came relief.

It irked me that I enjoyed being protected.

“Doctore.” My mouth snapped shut, almost of its own accord.

Though it seemed unjust, I bit back my words, nodding in as calm a manner as I was able to at the doctore, Christus, and Darius.

I would not let any of the men, not even these three, know how much Bavarius’ words had disturbed me.
Especially
not Christus.

The beastly man’s words echoed in my ears, and I hated that they were lodged so deeply inside of me.

I’ve heard rumors about him, about how much he loves a good fuck.

Perhaps I was not as safe with the man as I believed; perhaps he was just like the rest. I cast a quick glance at him, from where he stood behind the doctore. I was startled to see the ferocity etched in every line of his being.

If Bavarius had timed his attack so that the doctore did not see, his actions had not been nearly so secretive to the rest of the men. Christus looked ready to kill, his lips peeled back over bared teeth. There it was again, that protectiveness, emanating from his very core.

Hearing him talk the night before, I knew that he had suffered some abuse of his own. This was likely why he felt such a need to be my champion, but I suspected that he would act this way for anyone.

It was the intensity that I could not quite understand. It seemed that he felt it, too, that visceral connection that had snapped tight between us the moment that we had first laid eyes upon each other.

That he felt so much rage over a wrong done to me made me want him all the more.

No. I could not.

“I am fine.” My words were calm, if my insides were not. “Carry on.” From the corner of my eye I saw Bavarius grin widely, but I raised my chin and ignored it.

Vengeance sliced through my veins as I thirsted for punishment, but for once my head was cooler.

I would not forget this—would not forget the actions of the man who would never be happy until I was dead—but I knew that it was not in my best interest to act rashly.

Still, my head swam . . . I was shaken. I could still feel the pressure of Bavarius’ hand on my skin. His touch brought many memories flooding to the surface, memories that belonged to a much weaker woman, but that haunted the stronger one regardless.

Inhaling deeply, I willed myself to calm. The best thing for me to do now was to rejoin training as if nothing had ever happened—to be vicious, more ruthless than ever. I and I alone would look out for my welfare.

Lifting my head high, I stepped back onto the rough sand that was our training ground. My stare was drawn to the man who had begun to fill my thoughts. As I met his eyes over the heads of the men, many of whom had stopped to watch, I saw his eyes flicker over the sanguine stain on my clothing. The small wound had bled more than the pain warranted, but then, I was used to pain, having suffered my share of blows in the arena.

I did not think that Christus would care that I did not consider the wound to be major. His lips pressed together until the skin around them grew white. He gestured ever so slightly with his head to our quarters, the chamber where I could rest and have a private meal and wine, if I so chose.

But if I did not take a stand now, I risked losing the position that granted me those very privileges.

After the encounter with Bavarius I wanted nothing more than to run as fast as I could, back behind the door that separated me from these fierce men. I brushed a hand over my breast, trying to wipe away the unwanted touch.

I would not fail. So, with my eyes still on Christus, and his ever more frustrated ones on me, I set my chin and stayed still for a moment longer, staring defiantly out at the men, just long enough that I felt I had made my point.

The men could bully me, could push me down and threaten me, could beat me and even rape me. But they would not break me.

As I strode out onto the sand, I kept my eyes on Christus’, hoping to see a smidgen of respect on his face, respect for my strength.

Instead he looked ready to pick me up and haul me from the entire city of Rome.

It hurt, though I could not imagine why it should, to not see pride in the face of the one whom I inexplicably wanted to impress. I felt as though a blow had been landed in my stomach.

Inhaling deeply, I crossed to where Darius stood, steps beyond Christus, ignoring the other man entirely. Though my good friend shook his head at me, he joined me in the drill, allowing me to attack him loudly and with as much rage and strength as I possessed.

It was as if Christus no longer stood there.

That was the way that it would have to be.

T
he scene with Bavarius had worked its way under my skin like the prickles of a million tiny needles, and everything—the insufferable heat, the deafening silence, the cloying feel of my long wheatish hair sticking to my damp shoulders—was an annoyance.