Gladiator Heart (18 page)

Valeria curled her hands in the folds of her cape to keep from attacking the woman. “Don’t ever insult my mother again.”

“Why?” Septima taunted her in a patronizing voice. “She’s not here to worry about it because she’s dead.”

Valeria pushed Septima out of her way with a hard shove that knocked her back and headed for her rooms before she lost control and killed the spiteful woman. Septima caught her by the arm and spun her around to face her. The look she wore was pure poison, and she dug her sharp nails into Valeria’s skin until it hurt enough to make her wince and try to pull away.

“I can get rid of you easier than you think,” she hissed, cranking down on Valeria’s arm. “It’s been brought to my attention that Gaius Cato returned with you to the city and has been given leave to return home. Crispus said he asked for your hand, but that you’re not in a hurry to marry him. I could change all of that.” Her vicious smile sent shivers of fear down Valeria’s spine.

“I think you overestimate the power of your position,” Valeria came back at her, trying to maintain her calm. “You’re nothing but a whore for a little boy who wants to rule Rome.”

Septima yanked Valeria closer and brought her up against her ample bosom to hiss at her ear. “I know Gaius Cato, quite intimately in fact, and between his avid determination to get what he wants and your cousin’s indecisive nature, I could have you wed tomorrow.”

Valeria tore away from her. That was a threat with teeth. Septima had many connections in Rome, some of them very influential. If she conspired with Gaius Cato, Valeria wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Stay out of my way,” Valeria told her, “and I’ll stay out of yours.”

This time she was successful in brushing past Septima and making it to her rooms. She wanted to slam the doors closed behind her, but figured throwing a fit and waking up the entire household wasn’t the smartest thing for her to do.

She was going to have to be more careful around the palace with Septima trying to plant herself in a permanent position. How much hold did the woman have over Crispus? Would she really use all her resources to help Gaius Cato?

Valeria didn’t want to tempt the fates to find out.

“A gladiator never accepts defeat. A gladiator gives the best he is able to give. A gladiator constantly prepares through training and keeps himself in prime physical shape.” The head lanista of the ludus walked amongst Tristan and the other men where they’d gathered outside under the bright Roman sun to begin their training.

The lanista was a hard, unforgiving man with no sense of humor. He stood seven feet tall. His body was a wall of hardened muscle. His brown hair was cropped short and a long, uneven scar ran along his face from his ear to the bottom of his chin. The man was fearsome and powerful.

“A gladiator does not fear death, for he walks beside it. The only thing a gladiator should fear is the loss of his honor. A gladiator would rather die fighting than have it said he is without courage.” The lanista stopped in front of Angus. “Where does courage come from?”

It was obvious Angus didn’t know how to answer, but he gave it his best try. “It comes from within.”

Tristan was proud of his answer, but the lanista moved around their group, sizing up all his new students like he wasn’t yet satisfied. He came to a stop in front of Tristan. “Where does courage come from?”

Tristan didn’t waste time thinking about what kind of answer the man might be looking for and gave his own. “It’s the power of the mind to overcome any and all obstacles standing in the way of what you want.”

The lanista gave him a shrewd, approving look. “You might have potential. Your first win gets you out of those chains.” He glanced down at the iron shackles secured around Tristan’s wrists.

The lanista turned and addressed the rest of the men. “Half of you will not have a first win. The arena is full of distractions. I’m here to teach you how to deal with those distractions, and how to fight to win.”

He turned back to Tristan. “How do you win in the arena?”

Tristan held his steady gaze. “Fight to the death.”

The lanista fought off a pleased smile, then started grouping the men into pairs of two. Tristan was paired with a Thracian from the East who possessed a rather crude fighting style. They sparred with wooden swords, wearing their shackles the whole time, and learned different moves to both defend, and attack with. These were things Tristan already knew. What good would it do them to fight with fake weapons when they’d be using real ones in the arena?

As the days passed, Tristan’s body healed and his strength quickly returned, thanks to the hearty meals and long days of physical exercise. The lanista worked them hard, and when he thought they were ready, he brought in seasoned gladiators from the other side of the ludus. Many of the less experienced men fell under their ferocious, dynamic fighting style. These gladiators moved fast. They swung hard and their aim was true. Only Tristan and Angus held their own that first day.

Covered in sweat, mouth bleeding, pain once again a familiar feeling in his body, Tristan fell onto the dirt floor in his empty cell and waited for sleep to take him. Seeing Valeria’s beautiful, smiling face in his mind was the last thing he remembered.

At last the games were announced. Flyers were put up all around the city and excitement filled the streets. It was to be a weekend of feasting, celebrating, and blood.

On the second day of the games, Tristan waited under the arena wearing a coarse, raggedy tunic and his heavy shackles. He scrubbed a hand over the rough stubble of beard on his face and guessed he looked every bit the barbarian they wanted to portray him as.

Fine grains of sand rained down on him from the ceiling above. He heard the dull roar of the crowd as the action in the arena continued to thunder overhead. He and Angus would be thrown in last, and if they had to die, at least they would be together.

When the guards came to lead them out, Angus gripped his arm in a firm handshake. “Brothers in arms.”

Tristan locked arms with him. “Brothers in arms.”

Angus was all he had left in the world. The one person who meant something to him. He would do anything to avoid losing him to the arena.

The long, dark hallways twisted and turned as they were led up to the arena. Through the massive iron gate covering the entrance, Tristan saw a portion of the sandy ground and the people sitting high up in the stands cheering and shouting and stomping their feet.

This was it. The time had come. He thought he’d feel fear in his final moments, but battle was the one thing he was accustomed to. In a way, the Romans had been training him to fight for years. He only wanted it to end, and prayed it would be quick and clean.

A man at the gate turned a crank to raise it up, and slaves from the ludus dragged in the lifeless bodies of the fallen by hooks and piled them in a corner off to the side. Tristan didn’t look at Angus, for surely the fear he now felt showed in his eyes. How long before both of them were lying in that pile?

The guards pushed him and Angus forward out into the arena and the heavy gate lowered behind them. He was assaulted on all sides by the shouting noise of the crowd. The scent of death hung in the air. The arena was bigger than anything he’d ever seen, with high walls and rows upon rows of seats that circled around the giant pit of sand in the middle. The one he now stood in. The sand was stained with blood and littered with a variety of weapons.

The lanista had spoken to them of distractions, but nothing could have prepared Tristan for the awe he felt upon seeing the arena for the first time. It was amazing, and terrifying.

“Tristan!” Angus shouted out to him over the noise.

His friend already had a sword in his hand and pointed at three gargantuan giants covered in armor who were heading straight for them. They held round shields in one hand, and heavy swords in the other.

Tristan scanned the ground for a weapon and ran to pick up a bloodied sword. He came back to stand at Angus’s side. “Are you ready?”

“Gods, no!” There was real fear in his friend’s voice. “But let’s kill them all.”

He and Angus didn’t wait for their opponents to fall on them. They charged forward and struck into the fray with fierce, bold strokes, cutting down everything in their path with loud battle cries. Tristan and Angus would not go down quietly.

Valeria couldn’t sit still as she watched Tristan and Angus tear into the monsters Claudius Gallus had brought from his ludus in Capua. Claudius and her cousin shared the same passion for these violent, bloody games, and liked to pit their warriors against each other.

She squeezed Lucia’s hand tightly and moved her head around to see over the other people’s heads in front of them. They sat in the citizen section, not too far back, but she wished they’d gotten better seats.

Watching Tristan fight was fascinating. Even though his wrists were shackled, he made every move look effortless, like he was completely at ease with the weapon in his hand and the opponents before him. There was no way he could lose.

He and Angus cut down Claudius’s men in a matter of seconds. There were a few jeers and angry shouts hurled at them from the crowd. Probably citizens of Capua come to watch the games. Tristan and Angus paced in front of their fallen foes, swords in hand, panting from their exertion, and one could almost see the energy of battle that raced through their bodies.

Claudius unleashed two more of his giants. They wore helmets and were protected by heavy armor. Tristan and Angus awaited their attack. Each of the warriors slung a heavy chain from over their shoulders, and at the end of the chain hung a heavy iron ball with sharp spikes. Valeria squeezed Lucia’s hand tighter. She hated flails. They were nasty weapons that did a lot of damage.

One warrior went after Angus, and the other closed in on Tristan. Divide and conquer was the first rule of the arena. Valeria couldn’t sit still as she watched the warrior go after Tristan, and he continued to get out of the way as the heavy ball came hurling at him, usually straight for his head.

Her heart leapt around in her chest and her stomach was a wild bundle of nerves. She prayed to the Gods over and over again to let him live. Each time Tristan dodged the spiked ball the crowd would cheer. He never got in close or made a move of his own. Tristan seemed to be dancing around his opponent on purpose, trying to wear him out.

Angus appeared to be doing the same thing, and after a few minutes the armored warriors were moving slower, their aim was getting sloppy. Once more the ball at the end of the chain went sailing through the air towards Tristan, and he thrust his sword up so the chain wound around the blade. With a hard jerk, he tore the weapon out of the warrior’s hand. Dropping his sword at his feet, he gathered up the length of chain in his hands and started swinging it, the ball whipping in circles at his side, then he released the length and sent the heavy ball smashing into his opponent’s chest, knocking him to the ground.

The crowd went wild. Valeria jumped out of her own seat with them and threw up her hands as she cheered at the top of her lungs. Excitement flooded her.
Please let Tristan live. Please let Tristan live.

“Valeria!” Lucia scolded from her seat. “You are in public. Try to act like a lady.” The hint of a smile on her lips told Valeria she didn’t really mean what she’d said.

The woman had fought against coming to the arena, yet there she sat.

Tristan and Angus beat their opponents into the ground and stabbed them through with their swords. As the crowd cheered them on, another pair of warriors came out to meet them, and fell just as swiftly. Tristan and Angus stood side by side, waiting for whatever would come at them next. This time Claudius sought to put an end to them and released eight men with swords and shields. Valeria held her breath. How much more would they throw at Tristan before they let him live?

Tristan stood back to back with Angus as the men closed in around them. The fighting had revived him. He let his anger and rage surface and used it to his advantage. He thought of his home, his family, of everything that had been taken from him, and he unleashed his fury on his opponents.

He and Angus fought together like they had on so many battlefields before this one, and soon eight men became six. Three.One.

Tristan kicked at the last man on the ground, who hung onto life by a thin thread. Blood gurgled from his mouth and he lay unmoving, while the crowd in the arena cheered and yelled. Tristan turned to face the crowd. He held his sword in his shackled, bloodied hands and turned in a circle to look at the mobs of people that surrounded the arena. Then he stabbed the blade through the last man’s throat and threw the sword away across the ground, completely disgusted with the whole display.

The unintelligible noise of the crowd morphed into a single chant as he and Angus stood ready for whatever they would bring out next.

“Live! Live! Live!”

He and Angus scanned the crowd, absorbing the sight of thousands of people on their feet, chanting the same word over and over.

Live.

Nothing else came at them. The heavy black gate they’d entered through went up and the lanista walked out to them. He took one of their hands in each of his and raised their shackled arms over their heads. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and screams, shouting their approval.

“You live to see another day.” The lanista went back inside while the guards came out to lead Tristan and Angus behind him.

Covered in sweat and blood, Tristan wasn’t sure if he wanted to live to see another day. Not if it was worse than this one.

True to his word, the lanista had their shackles removed. The small freedom did much to improve Tristan’s mood. He almost felt like a man again.

On the ground level of the arena were open-air cells, and he and the rest of the gladiators owned by the Emperor now shared one giant cell, and across from them was another cell full of the gladiators from Capua. They all sat around with nothing to do while the people came by to get a look at them or to observe them. Many wanted to see them up close before choosing who to place their bets on in the next games.