Last Gladiatrix, The (12 page)

The slave reappeared and beckoned Titus to follow him. As an employee of the Senator, Titus rarely had cause to enter the main part of the house. The slave led him through the more familiar rooms of the villa, and then into the private section, which was reserved for members of the family only. Titus passed shadowy doors, catching glimpses of murals and elegant furniture contained within, before arriving at Claudia’s bedchamber.

The slave bowed his head and left. Titus hesitated, unsure if he should enter or not.

‘Come in, Centurion, don’t be shy. I trust you have news of your beloved.’ Claudia reclined on a large bed, its frame draped with sumptuous fabrics. She popped a grape into her mouth and smiled. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the room, Titus noted Claudia was scantily clad, her breasts barely covered.

‘It seems we are too late, my lady.’ he said, carefully averting his eyes. ‘Xanthe has been sold to a travelling show.’

‘Why, that’s terrible news!’ Claudia sat up, seemingly unaware the covering had slipped entirely, exposing the pale flesh of her breast. ‘What do you propose to do?’

Titus reddened, glad that the dark hid his discomfort. ‘I plan to ride after them. Providing your offer still stands, of course.’

‘A splendid plan! I gather they have not been long gone, so you will be able to catch them up easily enough. I have the coin ready for you.’ Lady Claudia waved a hand at a chest by the wall where a large bag sat. Relief coursed through Titus; the bag looked full enough to buy several gladiators if he so chose. ‘Thank you, good Lady Claudia. You have my word that I shall pay back every
denarii
or die in the attempt.’ In two strides, he crossed the room, hand outstretched to grab the heavy bag of
denarii
. ‘I will take my leave immediately.’

‘Not so fast, my handsome Centurion. There is no rush! I am happy to take your repayment of my loan at your word, and I do not mind explaining to my husband where his trusty bodyguard has gone; however I would request a small gesture of goodwill.’

Confusion caused Titus to halt, a frown creasing his brow. ‘A gesture of goodwill?’ he repeated.

Claudia laughed and patted the bed. ‘Come now, it is a small price to pay for the freedom of your beloved.’ She rolled over and looked up at him, pure lust written on her features. ‘Think of it as a first repayment,’ she said, purring.

Titus withdrew his hand, leaving the bag of coin where it lay. Was she asking him to lay with her? Was she mad? His heart rode with Xanthe, who was the Gods only knew where. There was no time to lose; if he did not hurry he might lose her forever.

Time stretched out, the silence growing with each passing moment as Titus stared at the Senator’s wife. If he did as the Lady asked, he would have enough money to buy Xanthe. If he did not, he was sure to lose his position and he would have nothing with which to bargain Xanthe’s freedom.

Claudia patted the bed again, the gesture more impatient this time. He knew what he must do.

‘I am sorry, my Lady, but I find your asking price too high.’ Titus sketched a bow and retreated to the bedroom door.

Claudia sat bolt upright. ‘You dare refuse me? You lowlife wretch!’ she screeched. ‘You would be nothing without my husband’s generosity. What do you think your little Scythian whore is doing now she can no longer fight? She’ll be on her back for the first man who pays her. Any Roman worth his salt would stick to his own kind.’

Titus hesitated on the threshold. A retort died on his lips; he decided to let silence be his only response.

‘I will see to it you never work in Rome again. Never. Get out. GET OUT!’ Claudia screamed after him.

As Titus retreated, something solid went sailing past his head, bounced off a wall and clattered onto the tiles. The centurion did not stop to see what it was. He gathered his meagre belongings, including his saved coin, and fled the villa. There was no going back now.

Drawn by two hefty oxen, the crudely built cart rumbled along the Appian Way, heading away from Rome and toward the outer reaches of the Empire. Xanthe sat huddled, nursing her injured arm, trying to stop her teeth chattering together as the cart jolted violently along. Walking would have been better, but her new owner had insisted she ride, claiming he had paid far too much money for her to risk further injury.

Xanthe knew he really meant he’d paid too much money to risk having her run away. Once she might have argued with him. Wiser now, she held her tongue and watched Rome recede into the distance behind them.

Xanthe’s heart was lodged heavy in her chest, a cold lump of rock. Any chance to find Titus disappeared the minute they had passed through the gates of Rome and out into the countryside. She knew not where they were travelling, nor did she care. General Sextus had been true to his word and found a worthy buyer for her.

The average person would find it hard to find anything worthy about the ugly, skinny, strip of misery that passed for a man and who was her new owner. He went by the name Scaevola, which Xanthe gathered to mean left-handed. She thought he would have been better suited to a nickname describing the many boils festering upon his face.

A wine skin suddenly appeared beneath her nose. ‘Drink!’ its owner commanded. ‘It will cheer you up.’

Xanthe flicked her eyes to the face of her travelling companion and reached for the skin. Taking a long draught, she waited for the sour wine to take effect, hoping it would provide some warmth for her cold heart.

‘It’s not so bad, Scythian.’ The wine’s owner was a man with skin as black as night. ‘There are worse situations you could find yourself in. At least we have glory and a hot meal at the end of the day.’ The man smiled, shrugging with an eloquent grace. Scars crisscrossed his face in an intricate pattern, enhancing his masculine mystique.

‘If this is to be my life, I would rather be dead.’ Xanthe spoke with all the passion of her broken heart. What was life without Titus or the freedom of the open plains? Without her family? To be paraded around the Roman Empire for the rest of her days like some curiosity in this sorry excuse for a travelling troupe made her want to weep.

‘You would have been dead if you remained in Rome. Out here you have freedom and life.’ He spread his arms wide to indicate the fields on either side. ‘You and I will stage mock fights, the people will cheer and we’ll all get paid,’ he said cheerfully.

‘What is your name?’ Xanthe had studiously avoided speaking to anyone in the troupe; however, this man piqued her curiosity.

‘Maxitani of Carthage, at your service.’ Her new friend gave a mock bow from where he sat.

‘Carthage? An unlucky city.’

Maxitani raised his eyebrows in query. ‘And Rome has been lucky for you, my good lady?’

Xanthe blushed. ‘Maybe there is no such thing as a lucky city,’ she conceded. ‘I am—’

‘Oh, I know who you are, Scythian. Everyone knows who you are.’ Maxitani let loose a deep, throaty laugh. ‘You will make us all a lot of money. You’ll see. What a shame your centurion could not join us.’

‘Titus will come for me,’ she whispered.

Maxitani laughed again. ‘Oh, don’t count on it, Scythian. I hear he has a new role as one of Senator Decimus Aurelius’s personal bodyguards. Your centurion has found a life of luxury. What would he want with a bad-tempered hellion like you?’

He retrieved the wineskin and took another swig. ‘Life on the road is not so bad. You will make enough money to free yourself one day. You’ll find a new centurion and raise little hellions together.’ Maxitani chuckled at the thought before laying back and closing his eyes.

Xanthe watched him for a moment. If only it was as simple as the man said. But it wasn’t and never would be. Without Titus her life held no meaning. And how could Maxitani sleep with the cart pitching this way and that? His words had irritated her; he irritated her.

Sighing, Xanthe reclined back against the baggage piled in the back of the cart. Her wounded arm throbbed, reminding her that escape was temporarily futile. Besides, if escape became possible, where would she go?

Puffs of cloud skidded across the impossibly blue sky. Xanthe followed them with her eyes, imagining riding one all the way back to her family at the Great Steppes. She missed them so. Perhaps they would be there now, as winter began to turn to spring. A single tear trickled unbidden from the corner of her eye. Xanthe had not cried since the long ago day when she had first arrived at General Sextus’s camp. Only two tears had fallen then: one for herself and one for her horse. Only one tear would fall today, only for Titus. She worried that he had abandoned her, if what Maxitani said was true. As she had not seen nor heard from him since the day of their fight in the arena, the Carthaginian may have been right.

The last glimpse of Rome vanished below the horizon, and with it disappeared all her hopes of ever seeing Titus again, of ever holding him in her arms and feeling his lips upon her skin.

For one sweet moment after their contest at the Colosseum, she’d believed they could share a free life together, somewhere away from Rome. Instead, she was leaving Rome alone as she had arrived: as a slave.

An ache set up deep in her soul. Cradling her damaged arm to her chest, Xanthe closed her eyes and prayed for sleep.

The sun had begun to set on the second day before Titus caught sight of the travelling troupe. Rome and his own life lay far behind him. The centurion didn’t care; he intended to liberate Xanthe or die trying. The bay mare he’d purchased, however, had cost a great portion of his coin.

He reined in his horse, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Dust kicked up in a plume behind the carts as they trundled north. He watched them go.

The first order of battle was to ensure Xanthe was with them, get a sense of how many travelled with the troupe, and if they were armed. Titus’s hands moved to his weapons, ensuring they were secure and accessible. If he intended on attacking a troupe of ex-gladiators he had better be prepared to put up a good fight. With any luck, Xanthe would not be shackled—that would make things trickier but not impossible. The rest the centurion would figure out as they went along.

Titus kicked his horse into a trot, intending to stay within sight of the troupe without raising their suspicions. He had brought himself a cloak of brown wool, replacing the bright red one so as not to advertise his soldierly profession. Better they think him nothing more than a merchant returning from Rome. It was a thin story at best, but it would do.

The truth would be revealed soon enough.

The sun began to set; its rays slid over the gently undulating land in a final caress before disappearing below the horizon. The troupe pulled up on the side of the road, too many of them to fear attack by brigands. Their confidence would be their undoing.

Titus followed the convoy slowly, allowing them enough time to begin to set up their makeshift camp. As the entire troupe went about their evening business they would be too busy to notice an unremarkable fellow traveller.

Titus rode up to their wagons as they began to unload food and lit a cook fire.

‘Well met!’ he called, his eyes scanning the camp for Xanthe.

A lean, well-muscled man with skin as black as midnight straightened from where he squatted over the fire. He took his time answering as he looked Titus over. ‘Hail, Roman.’

Titus smiled. ‘Friend! Is there room at your fire for a lonely traveller?’ He didn’t wait for a response, sliding off his horse and landing lightly on his feet. The centurion’s sword was concealed by his cape and he carried only a small bag of belongings slung casually over one shoulder.

The man considered his request for a moment, his eyes travelling the length of Titus before holding his stare. ‘Of course, come and be my guest.’ The man bowed and gestured for Titus to join him. All around them, members of the troupe unfurled goat skins used as makeshift tents, and lean-tos that provided protection against the cold night air. Lively chatter and the scent of cooking soon filled the air.

Titus guessed there were perhaps twenty people in total, including some women and children. Perhaps five in total would make worthy adversaries if it came to a fight.

He squatted by the fire, sliding his bag from his shoulder and removing his sword, careful to keep it within easy reach. The dark man watched him and smiled, his teeth white in the firelight.

‘You will have no need of that here, soldier.’

‘How did you know I was a soldier?’ Titus barely hid his surprise. He had been sure his disguise would serve him well.

‘When you have spent your life avoiding soldiers, you become very good at spotting them.’ The man wiped his hand on his tunic and held it across the burning coals. ‘I am Maxitani of Carthage.’

Titus grasped the man’s arm in greeting. ‘Carthage? A long way to come.’

Maxitani shrugged and unfolded a hard cheese from its cloth. ‘Maybe, but not as far as I have to go.’

‘And where are you going?’

‘Who wants to know?’ Maxitani sliced a chunk of cheese with his dagger and passed it to Titus. His question held challenge and yet his gesture spoke of friendship.

‘I am …’ Who am I? Titus thought quickly, realising this was a foolish oversight.

Maxitani chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving Titus’s face. ‘I know who you are.’ he said quietly. ‘Save your lie. All of Rome knows who you are.’ The dark man cut another piece of cheese and put it in his mouth.

Titus chewed, the cheese turning to sawdust in his mouth. The next few moments were crucial. Did Maxitani know of his relationship to Xanthe? He must if he recognised him. ‘I saw you fight that day, if fight is what you call it. I hear the Emperor has banned female fighters because of you. No wonder you left Rome in disguise!’ Maxitani laughed at his own joke. ‘So, have you come to join our little troupe, Centurion?’

‘I fear my days of performing are over,’ Titus said. ‘I prefer to make my living in other ways.’

Maxitani nodded. ‘As befits a centurion. I, on the other hand, must take my employment where I find it. By the time we reach Gaul, I will have paid back my price and more. I will fight as a free man then. They say Britain is an interesting place, so perhaps I will see it before I die.’