Last Gladiatrix, The (11 page)

‘I need to get out of here,’ Xanthe said, suddenly realising her fate might be far worse than it already was. She struggled to rise, fighting the pain of her wounded arm and bruised ribs.

Klara stopped her. ‘You cannot go anywhere at present. Besides, everyone in Rome will recognise you. There are not as many redheaded, tattooed Scythian warrior women in this city as you may think.’

Xanthe allowed herself to be pushed gently back down. ‘But what if the General sells me?’

Klara shrugged. ‘He might. If you escaped right now you would be a runaway slave in a city where everyone knows of you. Even if you weren’t hurt, how far could you get before someone found you and returned you? Better to wait. Heal. An opportunity will present itself.’

Perhaps Klara was right. How far could she get in Rome? She would need a horse, and she was in no fit state to ride. Then there was the problem of coin for food. She would need to disguise herself, so would need new clothes. Any plans were futile while she could barely move.

Xanthe sighed, defeated, and slumped further down onto the hard bed.

‘I knew you were smarter than you looked,’ said the Hun woman. ‘Bide your time. Get strong.’ She yawned, her sharp teeth white in the gloom, reminding Xanthe of one of her father’s hunting dogs. ‘I must rest and so must you. Sleep now, little gladiatrix.’

Klara rose and shuffled across the room to an empty bed. As she observed the Hun woman’s awkward movements, Xanthe could see the woman was injured worse than she first thought.

Lying in the
valetudinaria
, listening to the sounds of gladiators training outside, she wondered where Titus was right at that moment. To feel his skin against hers again, to hear her centurion’s heart beating as she lay her head upon his chest—nothing would be sweeter. Surely there was a way to escape this nightmare?

Titus Valens waited in an elegant room, luxurious even by Roman standards. While the room was sparsely furnished, everything in it was of the highest quality. Even he, a soldier, could see that. On a small table stood an ornate silver jug, far beyond the means of a regular Roman; he guessed it would cost a year’s pay or more. Shifting uneasily, Titus pushed the thought away. He would not become a thief and dishonour himself, no matter how badly he needed coin.

A florid mural graced the walls. Nymphs and satyrs danced in a grove of trees, looking innocent despite their reputation for debauchery. The creatures seemed alarmingly life-like. The lamps bracketed on the wall emitted a light that flickered, making the figures in the paintings appear to move, dancing eerily across the walls. They crowded the room, even though it was empty except for himself.

Titus wondered what lay behind the summons. Lady Claudia, the Senator’s wife, had barely spoken two words to him since he had arrived, yet now summoned him to attend her. As a soldier, he was used to waiting, though not knowing the why of it was making him uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ignoring the nymph staring directly at him from across the room.

Titus was sure she was laughing at him.

Lady Claudia Aurelius swept into the room on a cloud of perfume. A well-shaped woman, her hair was dyed red and piled elegantly on top of her head. The sight of her brought forth an image of Xanthe’s long tangled locks, setting up an ache of loneliness in Titus’s belly.

‘Centurion Titus Valens! You are the talk of the town, do you know?’ Her voice was strangely girlish, given that her youth was well behind her. Lady Claudia sought to speak with him as if they had been conversing already and knew each other well. For reasons he could not explain, that familiarity put Titus on guard.

‘My lady.’ He bowed his head in deference. ‘I am simply Titus Valens now. I am no longer a soldier.’

Claudia laughed as if he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard. As she approached he could see the material of her
stolae
, her long tunic-like dress, was so fine as to be transparent. The outline of her nipples showed clearly through the fabric. He knew little of patricians but surely a noble woman would not wear such a dress in public? Swallowing hard, Titus kept his eyes straight ahead, feigning an interest in the nymph on the wall.

Claudia circled him, like a she-wolf circling a sheep. ‘Rumour has it you visit the Gladiator School every day to enquire about your love.’ One delicate finger traced a path across his chest. Titus’s gaze did not flicker.

‘Not every day, my lady. I would not derelict my duty to your lord husband,’ he said solemnly.

‘So it’s true then? How romantic!’ She clapped her hands in delight, as if Titus had told her one of his deepest secrets. ‘You know the entire population of Rome is talking about your predicament? How does a poor centurion buy back his love and save her from an ugly death in the arena?’

Titus did not answer. What could he say? That he intended to save every coin that came his way until he had enough to free Xanthe, even if it took him years? His plan sounded small and useless when spoken aloud. Claudia didn’t notice his silence.

‘No one delights in a love story as much as I.’ She suddenly twirled away from him, an eddy of cloying perfume making his head swim.

It had been four weeks since Titus had entered the service of the Senator, four long, boring weeks. He had managed to visit the school several times since but had not been able to see Xanthe. When he asked about her, they had told him she was still recovering from her wounds. At least she lived, for which he was grateful. Many a wound like the one he had inflicted upon Xanthe became infected, poisoning the blood, and killing the patient.

For now, Titus was content to know Xanthe was alive, in good care and not fighting. But not for long. As soon as she could hold a sword, the General was sure to have her back in the ring. The centurion had to do something long before then. He needed gold.

‘What would you say if I said I might be in a position to help you?’

Titus blinked uncomprehendingly, startled into seeing Claudia properly for the first time since she’d first walked into the room. A small, satisfied smile played about her lips as she stared up at him. While Claudia’s beauty had long since bloomed, he could see that traces remained in her face. She was still a strikingly handsome woman.

‘I would be most honoured,’ he said cautiously. ‘Although, I’m not sure how my lady would be able to help.’

Claudia’s smile widened and her eyes lit up with a quality Titus could not name. ‘I think what’s happened to you is terrible. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to face your lover in a fight to the death. Then for you both to be saved, only to be torn apart again.’ Claudia sighed dramatically. ‘I’d like to loan you the money to buy your Scythian. I only ask that you let me hold a banquet in your honour as a special favour, and maybe one or two other small events.’

There it was, the ‘favour’. There was always a favour. Xanthe would hate a banquet in her honour, would despise all of those noble highborn Romans staring at her. Yet, it seemed a small price to pay for her freedom. Accepting Claudia’s offer meant they would need to stay in Rome to pay off the debt, which was not an ideal situation but a far better one than they currently found themselves in.

‘I accept.’ The words burst out of Titus’s mouth before he realised he’d said them. For right or for wrong, it seemed the only way he could save Xanthe before misfortune befell her.

Claudia clapped her hands with glee. ‘I knew you would accept. You are as wise as you are handsome. Go now and fix a price with the good General. I will ensure you have all the coin you need upon your return.’

‘But your husband …’ Titus’s first duty was to the Senator. He could not afford to lose his job, not now he owed his employer money.

Claudia waved away his concerns. ‘If my husband should send for you, I will tell him I have commandeered you for an errand of my own. The Senator has other men to serve him. Go now! Hurry, before the General sells her to someone else.’

Titus did not have to be told twice. It took all his restraint not to run out the front door and all the way to the Colosseum. Instead, he walked with a measured stride, his stomach churning with excitement and nerves. What if the price was too high? What if Claudia balked at providing the coin at the last minute? Should the centurion tell Xanthe what he was intending to do?

Titus was so preoccupied with these questions that he barely noticed he had arrived.

The great building flashed white in the sun as the Colossus, a huge bronze statue of Apollo, stood guard. It had once worn the face of Nero, the mad Emperor, until his fall from grace.

Titus did not give it a moment’s consideration as he hurried in to find the administrator of the Gladiator School. Titus had spoken to the man often enough over the past few weeks. Surely, he would help once he knew that Titus had the money in hand? Well, almost in hand.

The sundial in the courtyard of the Gladiator School, nestled next door to the arena, showed Titus how long it had taken to find the right man: a whole hour. Frustrated, he had to wait still longer, watching the shadows lengthen while the administrator made enquiries, checked his records, and returned.

What on earth could be taking him so long? Xanthe wasn’t exactly hard to recognise, and neither was the General. The old toad spent every day hanging around the Senate. If they needed to speak to him about Xanthe’s purchase price, Sextus would be easy enough to find. Could something have gone wrong? The thought sent shivers down Titus’s spine. Had Xanthe’s wounds become infected? Surely she could not have died without him feeling her passing. Titus rose and paced furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching. He was helpless, powerless; two new and unwelcome sensations.

The administrator entered the courtyard, hesitating in the doorway for a second.

‘I am sorry, Centurion. The Scythian woman was sold two days ago to a travelling entertainment troupe. You are too late; I believe they left Rome yesterday,’ the man said, as he stepped into the sunlight.

‘An entertainment troupe? What kind of entertainment troupe?’ Titus reeled at the news. How could Xanthe have been here one minute and gone the next without him knowing?

‘The kind of entertainment troupe which travels to the far corners of the great Empire. The kind of entertainment troupe which has gladiators, wild animals and—I do believe—an orchestra. Perhaps, even some acrobats.’ The administrator smiled, condescension dripping from each word.

Titus itched to throttle his mockery out of him.

‘Where are they? Where have they gone? Tell me!’ He muttered between clenched teeth.

The administrator, a small balding man with a pot belly, waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. ‘Spain? Gaul? Perhaps even to North Africa or Britain? Those uncivilised outposts get to see so little real entertainment. Either way, she is lost to you, Centurion. I suggest you find yourself another wild woman. I hear there are plenty on the borders that you can …’ The man never got to finish his sentence before Titus’s fist connected with his jaw. The little man went down hard, yelling for the Colosseum guard.

Titus turned and stormed out of the Gladiator School. He did not care; let them come for him. Fists balling with anger and frustration, Titus pushed his way through the busy streets of Rome, unsure of where he was headed or what action he would take next.

Within a short time Titus had burnt away some of the rage kindling within him and begun to think clearly again. Finding himself in the Forum, the centurion slowed his stride. All about him, Romans went about their daily business. The Forum, as always, was busy.

Titus located a
popina
, a small restaurant, where he could get some food. Sitting where he could watch the people come and go, he ordered from the serving girl.

A
praeco
, a herald, stood in the middle of the Forum shouting the day’s news. Titus listened with half an ear as he waited for his meal. It was the same old drivel—taxes were up, lawlessness was increasing, there were more decrees from the Emperor.

The waitress brought Titus his food: a selection of boiled eggs, olives, cheese and figs. Titus bit into a juicy fig, tearing the flesh with his teeth. Perhaps if he took Claudia Aurelius’s money and borrowed a horse, he could catch the troupe. How far could they have gone in two days? People would have noticed a group of gladiators and wild animals travelling through the countryside.

Would the Senator let him go, though? Titus peeled a boiled egg and let his mind wander.

The
praeco
continued his announcements. ‘Fellow Romans,’ his voice bellowed above the din of the crowd, ‘the good and wise Senate has passed a law prohibiting women from fighting in games or spectacles across the Empire. No woman will fight for money or in competition. However, a woman may fight for her life where she has been condemned to death by wild animal or if she stands accused of a crime and wishes judgement by contest.’

Titus nearly choked on an olive. Women could no longer fight as gladiatrices? Xanthe was out of danger. This was good news indeed. Whoever owned her now could not force her to fight to the death in some backwater hell-hole.

Still, Titus couldn’t imagine what they intended to do with her now they couldn’t push her to fight like a dog. Her fate might be worse than even he could imagine. There was no time to lose.

Hopefully, Claudia would understand the need for urgency. Surely she could explain it to the Senator. Having Xanthe at a banquet would only increase the Senator’s popularity, which was as good as putting gold directly into the man’s hand.

Emboldened by his sense of urgency, Titus left the
popina
, shouldering his way impatiently through the crowd. He turned into a side street and made for the Senator’s villa.

Upon his return, he found one of the household slaves and instructed him to ask for an audience with Lady Claudia. How much money would the new owner want? Surely not more than he had paid. Titus paced backwards and forwards as he waited, his red cape swirling as he turned.