Love of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 2) (24 page)

Wounded. Without a weapon. Whatever Gwenn could do, their lives depended on it.

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G
wenn, seeing Lucius bleed, felt her vision turn red. She turned her attack heavy on Perseus, fiercely hacking away at his shield. If she hit it enough times, hard enough, the thing would break. Perseus, sensing her frustration, thrust outward with his own short blade.

It would have been a good blow, straight to her heart, if she had stayed there to let it hit her. But she rolled out to one side and sliced his exposed arm from underneath his heavy manica. Her sword returned bloody. Perseus screamed with pain, his sword tumbling out of his hands. He charged at Gwenn, and she dodged easily, this time slicing open his shoulder as he passed her by.

Ajax, sensing his partner’s trouble, rushed after Gwenn now. There was little threat from the injured Lucius attacking him from behind.

The nimble retarius jumped off Perseus’s back, gaining enormous height with a leap down straight onto Gwenn. His trident clanged, blocked on her shield. She caught him on the way down, right under his elbow—leaving a nasty, wide gash that started to gush out onto the sand.

Her sword caught on the net, and she swirled it and tossed it away. Lucius was on one knee behind her, struggling to his feet.

Ajax and Perseus regrouped, both bleeding heavily. They formed up behind Perseus’s shield. Perseus held the broken half of Lucius’s spear, thrusting its tip forward. Behind him, Ajax had his trident probing forward, hand heavy on Perseus’s back.

They advanced on her heavy. She blocked one spear thrust, and was caught on her arm with the trident. The release of blood from her body felt almost natural now.

She blocked another trident thrust, and was caught on her side with the spear. The slashes were minor, but enough of them would start to wear quickly. She did not know how to break their defense or start her own offense.

Lucius roared, charging with speed not befitting a man with one leg. He held the retarius net in one hand, leaping forward and dragging it down over Ajax. Then he spun, sweeping the man through the sand and knocking him clean off his feet.

Perseus, surprised, turned away from his defense against Gwenn to look after his partner—and she ended him with a heavy thrust straight to the neck. He died instantly.

Ajax had regained his footing already, advancing on the fallen Lucius with the trident in one hand. He held it high, ready to strike—and Gwenn was there with her shield, turning the blow aside. She matched with a thrust of her own, landing clean in the middle of Ajax’s chest.

He fell, a stunned look on his face, examining the sword hilt sprouting from his bloody torso.

The crowd roared its thunderous approval.

Artemis may have been a woman, and Orion a murderer, but the crowd had come for a show and they had received one. It was a terrific fight, won with courage and fortitude, and every Roman respected that.

Gwenn dropped her weapons and fell to Lucius, taking him up in her arms. The gash on his leg was bloody and messy, and she did not know if he would live for long.

As she scanned the cheering faces in the stands, Gwenn saw Otho—furious—storming away from his box seats.

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T
here was no time to enjoy the victory. The second that Otho stormed away from the editor’s seat, slave attendants of the arena rushed out and picked up the injured Lucius, carrying him away in a cot.

Gwenn followed after—injured herself but not as grievously. She waved to the crowd, trying to appear as though she was unconcerned and not terrified for the life of her love.

Please Gods, all who are listening, all who lend me favor—do not let me lose them both in the arena. Please.

When the crowd began to dissipate and exit, she exited as well. Due diligence done, she rushed down to the medicae’s corner where Nyx hovered over Lucius. The heavy woman moved rapidly, snapping at her assistant Chloe with direct precision.

Gwenn pushed past the crowd of gladiators that had surrounded the medicae. But, seeing Nyx and Chloe at work, see kept her distance. They needed room, which meant Lucius needed room.

He was so very pale. Gods. Gods, oh, Gods. Please. He did not look completely conscious. Chloe slapped his face frequently, keeping him awake.

Hands wrapped around Gwenn’s arms and fingers. Ros, Kav, and Sabiana stood there, flanked in turn by the other gladiatrices.

“They know what they’re doing,” said Sabiana. “Let them work.”

Gwenn nodded. She felt gratitude for their presence there.

“Stop at once!”

Otho’s voice rang across the underbelly of the arena. The crowd parted in two. Otho and a regimen of five guards approached. Otho’s face was furious, the most emotion besides sadistic glee that Gwenn had ever seen on his face.

“You stop treating that man,” he pointed urgently. “You let him die. He is
condemned
to die in the arena, and if he dies from wounds suffered there, that is justice applying her blade. Stop that treatment at once.”

Nyx did not stop. “I have an obligation to this man, and any man, hurt who belongs to House Varinius. If you would like him to no longer be a member of House Varinius, I suggest—”

Otho grabbed a spear from a nearby soldier and hefted it upward. “You stop now, or I will run you through, and damn the witnesses. Do you hear me?”

Now, Nyx paused. She looked levelly at Otho. “I suppose you’ve got a taste for killing women now?”

Otho merely grinned at that. He shifted the weight of the spear, making ready to throw it. Gwenn, without thinking, stepped in front of his blow. Otho hesitated, and as he did, the other gladiatrices linked up besides Gwenn, forming a small semi-circle around Lucius and Nyx.

“Some in this place have called us less than men since the day we arrived,” said Gwenn, looking pointedly at the other gladiators. “What does that make all of you?”

This was all they needed to hear. Conall hopped up first—injured on a table behind Lucius. He had a long bandage wrapped over his head where a sword had raked over his ear earlier in the day. Others quickly followed, and soon a long, formidable wall of flesh surrounded both the gladiatrices and the medicae within.

Nyx, seemingly unperturbed, continued her quiet work on Lucius.

“You stop this—you stand aside!” Otho was apoplectic. He threw his spear against the wall. Splinters showered across the fighters. He shoved at his guards, trying to make them act, but there were a great many gladiators and only five of them. “You all stand aside! I am a Senator—a member of the
imperial family
—and you will do as I say!”

They did not. His fury filling the air, Otho rushed at Gwenn. Conall, seeing his intent, stepped forward. Otho slammed him in the face with his fist and knocked him to the ground. The blow was heavy, and Conall, after the day’s many injuries, struggled to return to his feet. Otho grabbed Gwenn and pulled a knife to her throat. She struggled and the blade skimmed into her flesh, stilling her. She felt her blood running down her chest slow.

“I’m going to make you scream, you stupid, stupid little cunt.” Otho’s sneer was cosmic in its scale. “I’m going to rip you open. It’s the one thing I regret with Porcia. With my hands around her throat, I couldn’t hear her scream before she died.”

A heavy throat began to clear from the other side of the underground tunnel.

“Don’t look now, Senator,” said Gwenn, “but you might have to eat those words.”

Otho’s face turned deathly pale. A clamor rose from the crowd of gladiators.

Publius stepped out from the shadows. Upon seeing him, Otho laughed.

“Publius!” He shook his head. “For a moment there, I thought it was someone I might have to worry about.” He pointed. “You think
he
is someone who concerns me? I could have him killed in less than a day. I could have his family stricken from the records of Rome in a week. And if you think he doesn’t know that...well.” He shrugged. “You’re a woman. You wouldn’t know such things anyway. I
own
him. Do you hear me?” He stepped away from Gwenn now, shouting at the other gladiators. “I own all of you! Every last one! I can buy you all with a smile.”

He heaved with the exertion of his screams. The many gladiators and gladiatrices exchanged glances

“You are right, Otho.” Publius nodded. “I am a man thoroughly doomed to be in your pocket, whether I want it or not. However...”

There was a shuffling in the corner. Three more senators stepped out from the shadows.

“...I don’t know,” Publius continued, “if these men owe you anything.”

“What...what are you all doing here?” said Otho. The blade dropped from his hands. His voice sounded hoarse. “What did...how...what did you...”

“What did we hear?” asked Publius. “Quite a lot. Some very revealing information, Otho. And all we had wanted to do was congratulate the men and women of the day on a job well done. These men,” he pointed to the senators, “wanted to discuss terms of sponsorship with a few of our finest fighters. I recall you recommending the idea to me as a terrific way to bring money back to the house.”

“I...I see,” said Otho.

Clearly he saw much. Every action of his after that was urgent and desperate. He was gone from the arena with his guards after less than a minute.

But Publius and the Senators had a lot of influence in Puteoli. Otho did not make it past five city blocks before being captured by the local legionaries.

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L
ucius’s recovery went well. He regained consciousness in the ludus with Gwenn sitting above him. Later, Nyx told him that the flame-haired gladiatrix had barely left since he had been hurt.

Three days of semi-consciousness after the fight. A week before he was on his feet again, and another month before he was able to limp on his own without the assistance of Gwenn or a cane. He still used the cane, however—standing for too long on his weakened leg made it ache something fierce.

During his recovery, Lucius's name was officially cleared of all wrongdoing. Otho was tried and exiled for his crimes. Execution would have been better, in Lucius's mind—but an emperor’s nephew was not so simply killed. It was enough, for Lucius, that he was sent off to an island somewhere in the Aegean Sea.

If Severus was like other emperors, once he noticed how power-hungry and mad Otho was, most likely he would have the man killed quietly and call it natural causes. In Rome, there was very little as natural as an Emperor killing rivals.

In the time of his recovery, he and Gwenn had plenty of time to spend with one another. Gwenn—contracted again to the ludus of House Varinius—trained every day. But as she trained as freedwoman, she was granted more freedoms than others. One of those freedoms was to spend her nights in Lucius’s cell whensoever she chose.

They came to many conclusions in that time spent together, one more important than any other.

The day finally came when Lucius was well enough for them to make it official, and they made the long approach up the hillside to speak with Publius. When Lucius and Gwenn entered the office, Publius sat at his heavy wood table, reading a scroll. Marius dozed on the windowsill, one hand sliding across the wall.

Lucius and Gwenn held hands, waiting to unleash their announcement. They doubted he would be open to it, but they had to try.

Publius was a hard man, but he’d had two wives in the past. Both had died in childbirth, and he’d been left without any heirs to his name. Certainly he would understand—even distantly—the pull that love could have.

He looked up from the scroll and gestured for the two to sit. “This place is in dire need of proper inventory. I don’t know that Porcia ever did one.”

“I imagine she had many inventories,” said Lucius, “just not of the sort that matters to a ludus.”

Publius hummed slightly. “Yes, well, you are here to petition for marriage, are you not?”

Lucius and Gwenn exchanged a surprised look.

“You’ve been talking about it with Murus and some others. Sending out feelers. I’m not a fool. I will know what happens in my own house. Or, do you think I’m a fool?”

“No, Dominus,” they said in unison.

“Good. It is because I am not a fool that I will not grant your petition. But—”

Lucius felt his stomach twist. “Dominus, I must object. Marriage between slaves is—”

“
But,
” Publius said harshly, “there are extenuating circumstances that you will want to be aware of. Here is a pronouncement of a law recently drafted by our Emperor Severus.” He tapped another scroll with a ringed finger. “Can either of you read?”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, Dominus.”

He handed the scroll over to them and let them look it over. There was the usual preamble detailing the greatness and impeccable nature of every decision of the Emperor, but toward the middle, the meat was there.

Lucius frowned. “This is outlawing gladiatrices from fighting in the arena.”

“Yes. It appears Severus heard well of his nephew’s mishaps with our famous gladiatrix. He wanted to stop any such event occurring again. And so, as he cannot very well outlaw the games, he has outlawed a
portion
of the games—particularly, gladiatrices.”

“I see,” said Gwenn.

There was sadness—immense sadness—all over Gwenn’s face. Her body deflated.

“Now. I told you from the beginning that is my goal to return this ludus to greatness. That involves a great many tasks, but some of them are cutting costs. We have quite enough slaves here to feed as it is. I have no need of an uncouth house slave who would prefer fighting to scrubbing. And selling your contract after the service you have done to this house seems...” he sniffed. “...inappropriate. So, you are released from your contract henceforth.”

Gwenn was hard of speech. “I...see?”

“Furthermore,” said Publius, enjoying his momentum, “I have little use of a gladiator who is too injured to fight well.”

“I can fight still,” said Lucius. “I can. Or I can train them. Take me on as doctore. You just have to let me—”