Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) (36 page)

That, thought Aeliana, was exactly why they
would not
kiss.

What was it with men in her office telling her to kiss Caius? Was he running a campaign? First Lucius and then this one.

It would have been altogether ludicrous if she did not want to comply so badly.

“Thank you for your input,” she said, voice slightly rough. “I think you mentioned you wanted to return to training?”

––––––––

T
he rest of the day passed without incident. When Conall returned to training, Caius took him under his wing and sparred with him. He went easy on him, but not so easy as to keep him green. Just hard enough to keep Murus and the other doctores from suspecting any light treatment, but not so hard to hurt Conall further.

When they broke for dinner, he sat in the mess hall with Conall, Septus and Lucius. The barley gruel, dried fruit, and bread they had for meals was not the most appetizing of food, but after a day of training, it tasted as good as any feast.

Caius had eaten it nearly every day for so many years that it surprised him now, after his absence, that he had forgotten how much he missed the singularly belly-filling sensation from the gruel. The only times he would have eaten other sorts of food was—like most of a gladiator’s niceties—when the Dominus felt especially nice or when he had won a fight.

Lucius was in a talking mood at the table, which was normal for him. At the end of the day, he always got excited. It was closer to a drink then.

“Do you think,” Lucius asked Caius, “that you could win a match against the Titan?”

“Now, or three years ago?”

Lucius smiled. “Three years ago, let’s say. In your prime.”

“Is that how it is? I'm past my prime?” Caius punched Lucius in the shoulder. “Very well. Against the Titan, in my 'prime,' let’s say.”

“Who’s the Titan?” asked Conall.

“Who’s...” Lucius’s jaw dropped. “Come now. I know you’re a savage barbarian and all of that, but no one is
that
savage.”

“Oh yes,” said Conall, mouth half full. “My people are quite savage. We went out of our way to live directly next to the empire that runs on slave labor and kills people for entertainment, and never once did we try to move away. Except for, of course, when we
did
, and the Romans held us at the tips of their swords and told us we couldn’t move, unless
more
savage folks moved in to our region.”

“He’s got a mouth,” said Septus. “He ought to watch it.”

Septus was born a slave, like many gladiators. But he had been granted his freedom at a young age by a beneficent Dominus, and joined up with the army shortly after. When, starving in the North African desert on a doomed patrol, he was caught stealing provisions, his legate sold him to the nearest slaver as punishment. Even today, he still did not like talk against the Roman Legion.

“I’m right here if you want to watch it for me, old man.”

Caius put a hand on Septus, setting him back down on the bench.

“What say we not talk of soldiering?” said Lucius. “I asked Caius here a question. And to clarify, Conall—the Titan is the worst being on the planet. He’s probably more god than man. That’s the story anyway. He’s undefeated in the arena. As in, ever. Not just on a hot streak like Caius was for...what, five years?”

“Six.”

“Anyway, who's counting? The Titan fights in whichever style he chooses, unlike the rest of us. You come at him as a retarius, he fights as a murmillo. You come at him as a hoplomachus, he fights cestus, with his fists, just to show how good he is.”

“I thought,” said Conall, “that someone who won that much had earned his freedom?”

“He’s earned it six or seven times. He keeps throwing his rudis back at the crowd. He just wants to fight. And kill. I don't think I've ever heard of a match of his that didn't end in death.”

“Is he still fighting beasts?” asked Caius. “I don’t keep up.”

“Three bears last games. With a club. And a hand tied behind his back.”

“Come on,” said Septus. “Now you’re just making it up.”

“It’s all true,” Lucius insisted. “Ask Murus.”

Conall spoke up now. “I bet I could beat him.”

They all laughed heartily.

“Come on, Conall. You’re not even trained.”

“But when I am. I could beat him. I bet you I could.”

“You won’t even get in the
arena
with him, little man.” Lucius shook his head. “I don’t stand much of a chance of it, and I haven’t been beaten for more than three years.”

“Then I will go five years without a loss. And he’ll have to fight me.”

Caius was not listening. The mess hall was one of the longer buildings made for the gladiators, but it still was not very large. The several dozen gladiators were packed inside, often sitting shoulder to shoulder.

And so Caius was not so very far away from where Flamma sat, miming the duel against the red-haired lad earlier that afternoon. Flamma ate quite a lot of food, usually receiving a double portion for his status in the collegium.

He used the gruel now like fake blood, pasting the face of one of his friends. The gruel was spread out in the same pattern as the lad’s wound from earlier. It was one thing to beat a man. But to mock him when he wasn’t around was too much. His blood began to rise, and he found he could not stop his voice.

“Maybe you ought to brag of something more worthy than you, Flamma.”

“What?” Flamma stood up immediately, closing the distance quickly to Caius’s table. “You mean like beating you, is that it?”

“What I mean is that if all you have to brag of is victories in the training sands, you’re as much of a champion as I am of a kitchen.”

Laughs and heavy “oohs” filled the air.

“Why don’t you stand up and say that to my face, you bear shit?”

Caius stood. “You are bad for this ludus. And you ought to know it. And if I have to beat you to a pulp to drive that point home, I will.”

Guards approached now. Flamma began to back off, but as he did, he shoved one of his friends into Caius.

The man’s name was Cammedius. He was large and thick of body, like Flamma, but had deeply olive colored skin. Cammedius swung wildly at Caius, and Caius dodged and swung back. His aim was true; Cammedius reeled, knocking his head on a pillar. Now Lucius and Septus tugged at Caius, who still shouted obscenities at the retreating, smiling Flamma.

Within moments, the brawl was reduced to little more than a din. Guards began to guide Caius away and push Flamma back to his table.

But in the dispersal, Cammedius rose and smashed a bowl against a table, giving himself a makeshift blade. Caius felt him attack more than he saw it. The pottery shard slid deep into the meat of Caius’s thigh and he roared in pain.

He gave Cammedius a kick to his head for his trouble, knocking the man cold. The din in the mess hall only increased. More guards were called in, and the smarter gladiators hit the floor. The less smart ones were put on the floor by the guards, who had the advantage in weapons and armor.

After that, the meal was over, and everyone was locked into their cells.

––––––––

N
o matter the occasion or time of day, it always surprised Aeliana when Porcia decided to drop in to her office. Aeliana had just finished a small dinner of cabbage and pears. Drifting sunlight peeked over the walls of the ludus and into her dim office, where she only had one brazier lit.  Her appetite had never been very large—another reason her father supposed her so very weak.

“Domina,” she said, standing and bowing her head. “How can I assist you?”

Porcia did not answer at first, drifting through her office. She glided around the table in the center of the room, examining the many boxes and jars of tinctures, herbs, and powders. Taking a moment, she bent deeply at the hips, sniffing at the table.

“It smells like blood in here, Medicae.”

“Yes, Domina. That is standard for an office such as in a place such as this.”

“Do you like the smell of blood? It’s so...metallic. Coppery. You can tell with just one whiff why sacrifices were thought to bring riches, long ago. The ancient peoples had many such notions I am told.”

“I would not know of such things, Domina.”

She actually had some extensive knowledge of ancient peoples, and would have gleefully expounded on them with someone who actually shared an interest with her. Claudius's histories of the Etruscan people fascinated her thoroughly. But she suspected that, as in most things, Porcia was divulging her information just to assert her superiority.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“About the smell of blood, Domina? I do not like it very much.”

“And yet you are here.”

“A slave works where she must.”

“And
as
she must, yes? As you have. For me. Which I do appreciate.” She smiled. Most likely she thought the expression a gift to Aeliana. It was a mask of warmth and pleasantness. Aeliana expected it worked beautifully on men. Perhaps looks like that were the reason Rufus was so very much in love with her. “You have done much for me as of late.”

“Thank you, Domina. It is my pleasure to serve.”

It wasn’t, but words had a habit of taking on several shades of duplicity when Porcia was concerned. It was a pleasure not to be beaten for disobeying an order, at the least.

“Your contract of service expires in about a year. Is that right?”

“Yes, Domina. A little less than that.”

Nervousness struck Aeliana. Where was this going? Had Porcia heard of her father’s offer already?

“And when this is over, do you expect you will stay behind? Will you continue to serve this House?”

“I...”

“You can tell me if you don’t like it here, dear. I’m no big fan of it myself.”

“Yes. Well.” Aeliana smiled. People, no matter their background, tended to respond well to honesty. Or at least, this was what she was raised to believe. So, she tried some now. “Were I to leave, I would seek out a loan of some sort on top of my own wages. With that, I would like to rent—or even purchase—a taberna. A small one at first.”

“You hope to open a shop? As an apothecary?”

“As a medicae. There are not many offices that serve the freedmen or the slaves in the city. Or rather, if there are any, I don’t know of them. I would like to change that.”

“Why, that’s wonderful!” A flutter of laughter escaped Porcia’s mouth. “That is a tall task for a woman, I expect. And a freed slave. But as you wouldn’t be seeking above your station, I don’t see you encountering
that
much trouble. You’d want to keep a guard, of course. Perhaps two. Night and day. People tend to steal the supplies of a medicae and sell them for their own purposes. A nasty business.”

Aeliana’s mouth shifted slightly. Was Porcia being self-aware or not? “Of course, Domina.”

“That is a nice dream. I should like to help you with it.”

“D-Domina?”

That winning smile returned again. “Don’t act so surprised. We may be separated by class and distinction. And beauty.” She paused. “And just, general poise and the like. But we are still women. I do not believe a woman should be in this sort of place unless she absolutely has to. So.” she grabbed Aeliana’s hands. Porcia’s were soft and perfumed. Never a hard day’s work in her life. “Here is what we shall do. You are going to do me a favor. And in return, I shall make sure that you don’t get sold off somewhere else at the end of your term. And I shall make sure that the loan you require shall be arranged. How about that?”

“That sounds...amazing, Domina. Thank you!” She swallowed. “What do you ask in return? How can I help?”

Porcia drew away. For all the world, Aeliana felt like a fly sliding deeper into a spider’s trap. “Ah, that. It’s a
nasty
bit of business, I suppose. In short order, someone will come in here telling you that one of the new gladiators, Caius, has been stabbed. Not lethally, don’t worry. In the leg, I’m told. I’m not asking you to let him
die
. I just want him not to
heal
. Not properly, anyway. Is that all right?”

The notion stabbed deep into her, a feeling that she couldn’t help but find ironic.

“Bu-but
why
, Domina? I don’t understand.”

“Nevermind the why.” Porcia’s face became a threatening cloud. “That is beyond your station. Suffice it to say I do not require him to be well.”

“But the Dominus, forgive me—but the Dominus has tasked me with looking after
all
his fighters. Were I to do this—”

Porcia waved a hand. “Do not trouble yourself with the Dominus. I shall make sure you are beyond blame. If anyone asks, tell them that Caius refused treatment.”

“And if Caius asks?”

“Tell him whatever you like. Tell him you don’t like the look of his face. Just don’t tell him the truth. He doesn’t deserve such things.”

Aeliana struggled not to yell. That very much wasn’t true.

“Domina, I cannot do this. If a man is hurt, it is my duty not just as a medicae, but as a
person
to help him. I cannot—”

Porcia held up a long, slender finger. “Ah. I see. No, I see very well. You want to stay here. You were lying before about your dreams. I see entirely. You want to help Caius, and you want to stay here for double your current term. Perhaps even triple? Perhaps call it an even twenty years. Yes. I like that. Why, given that length of time, you might even die here. But your family will receive a
tidy
sum for your efforts, don’t worry.” She paused, clearly enjoying the growing horror on Aeliana’s face. “Or, perhaps I’m mistaking your tone. Perhaps this is all a gentle misunderstanding.” She took Aeliana’s hands once again. “Do we understand one another, slave?”

Aeliana looked down. The ground was covered with dirt. It was all dirt in this place. All so dirty.

“Yes, Domina.”

––––––––

T
he wound in his leg burned like the fires of Tartarus. The cut was deep and jagged, but the shard had been lodged firmly in the meat of his thigh. One bit of luck there—it had not cut through any major arteries or veins.