Roma Victrix (30 page)

The whole of Rome worshiped this woman.

He realised he was staring, and looked down quickly.

‘Hello,' she said to him before turning her attention to Pyrrha.

‘Why are you standing around talking to this worker when I should have you flogged for loitering? You are leaving here very soon.'

Her eyes flicked over to Valerian as if to emphasise this point. ‘You have no time to exchange pleasantries with the workers or anyone else for that matter.'

‘I'm tired.' Pyrrha sounded petulant, even to Valerian's ears.

‘I don't care. To the
pallus
with you,' she gestured to the wooden posts used for sword training. ‘You'll hit it till I tell you to stop, is that clear?'

‘I'm tired.'

‘Good – then you'll learn a valuable lesson about pushing your limitations. Go.
Now
.'

Pyrrha looked for a moment as though she was going to protest before marching off huffily to the
palaestra
.

Illeana shook her head and laughed softly. ‘A firebrand, isn't she?'

‘She's young,' Valerian replied.

‘She's not that young.' Illeana arched an eyebrow, the act of which made Valerian feel week at the knees. ‘You like her, don't you?'

He swallowed. ‘Of course. She's a nice girl. Who wouldn't like her?' he tried to inject a challenge into his voice, but it failed miserably against the onslaught of Illeana's beauty and came across as whining as Pyrrha's protest.

‘She likes you a little too much.' Illeana switched her attention to the young gladiatrix who, to her credit, was striking the
pallus
with some gusto. ‘A girlish crush, I'm sure, but you shouldn't encourage it, Valerian. She is contracted here and you…' She turned back to him. ‘You are just a hired hand, promotion or no promotion. Don't interfere with my fighter's training.'

Valerian was surprised at the earnestness in her tone. ‘Why are you talking to me like this?' he asked. ‘You are worried that I am going to pursue Pyrrha, is that it?' The silence of her response spoke volumes. ‘I will not deny that I am… attracted to her. But – as you say, I am just domestic help round here.' He knew that Pyrrha would be in serious trouble if their liaisons, chaste as they had been, were uncovered.

‘You are an educated man,' she offered. ‘You will not be domestic help for long, I think. I don't know what happened to make you end up here, Valerian, but I do know that your star will rise fast.

Pyrrha needs no distractions now. I am taking her away from here to fight in the second-tier arenas outside the capital. When she returns, she will be much changed and her status will allow her certain… leeway. But at this time, despite her skill, she is still only a
tiro.
I've told her and I will tell you the same thing:
be patient
.'

Valerian was taken aback. ‘Thanks for your… concern,' he replied.

She smiled then and it seemed to him that for a brief moment she was the only thing in his world. ‘I like you, despite your pomposity. And I like her. I don't want to see either of you flogged or worse. I'm sure that she'll entertain your advances when she returns. Unless…' Illeana stepped closer to him, her green eyes glittering… ‘you prefer women to girls.'

In that moment, Valerian realised that no one could resist Illeana.

At the back of his mind, he knew that she was teasing him and perhaps even testing him, but he did not care. His thoughts swum with visions of her entwined about him, her sweat-slicked skin sliding against his, the hardness of her nipples crushed against his chest… ‘I like women
and
girls,' he croaked.

Illeana's chuckle was throaty and soft as rare silk and her eyes flicked down. ‘I can tell.' She stepped back and Valerian felt like a drowning man who had just breached the surface.

Illeana walked away and Valerian's eyes drank in the sight of her till she was lost among the fighters in the
palaestra
. Then he felt other eyes upon him and he saw Pyrrha glaring at him. He raised his hand to wave, but she threw her wooden sword on the ground and stamped off, shoving – to their amusement – two burly
murmillo
's out of her way as she went.

Lysandra swung her legs out of the bed and held her head in her hands. The familiar sense of shame welled up inside her as the fragmented images from the previous evening assailed her. Once again she had lost control and drowned herself in the bitter-sweet taste of wine, drinking until she could barely stand.

She looked at the naked form of Euaristos laying face down on the bed. She cringed, remembering how she allowed herself to be charmed and flattered by the mercenary, how they had tumbled into his room, kissing and laughing in a Dionysian frenzy, tearing their clothes off and falling to the bed.

Lysandra had never been with a man before – consensually at least – and her inexpert handling of the situation coupled with the excessive amounts of booze Euaristos had sunk ensured a slurred conversation filled with his apologies and claims of it ‘never happening before.'

She blamed herself – her only experience of male lust had been the attack by Nastasen, so her ministrations had probably been as rough as they were clumsy. Euaristos rolled over in his sleep and she saw that clearly the effects of the drink had worn off. The mercenary's erection looked almost painful as it throbbed against his skin. It was strange to look at man in arousal without the sickening feeling of fear and revulsion that she expected. Then again, the crushing of shame at her own lack of control probably dampened anything else she may have felt.

Euaristos opened his eyes. ‘Ah,' he said, his voice gummy and thick. ‘I have died and gone to the Elysian Fields, for I see before me one of Apollo's nymphs.'

‘You only feel like you have died – the same as me,' Lysandra replied and stood up.

‘Zeus, but you're a beautiful girl,' Euaristos grinned. ‘As you can see, my body doesn't lie and, thank the gods, my cock has recovered from his bout of drunken lethargy. Come,' he beckoned her.

‘I need you.'

‘Please,' Lysandra shook her head. ‘My stomach feels as though Charybdis herself has taken residence.'

Euaristos waved the protest away. ‘A tumble will sort you out,' he insisted. ‘Sex is the best – and I might add –
only
cure for a hangover.'

‘Not in Sparta,' Lysandra replied, forcing her tone to remain light and bantering. Inside, she felt pressured by the situation and needed to get away. ‘Where's my tunic?' She began to cast around the room for the garment.

‘You're a virgin, aren't you?'

Lysandra retrieved the garment from the floor and threw it on.

‘No,' there was no point in lying, she decided; but there was more to it than that. ‘Well, yes and no. Why did you think so?'

He chuckled and then took on the look of a man who was about to say something and then thought better of it. ‘You're very…innocent,' he improvised.

‘Very kind of you to say so. I am used to the company of women.

My only other experience with men was hardly pleasant.'

‘Ah,' Euaristos rolled onto his side, pulling the sheet over his privates. ‘I understand of course.'

‘Do you?' Lysandra felt a bite of anger at his presumption.

‘Yes, I think I do. I am a soldier, Lysandra. I have seen things in victory that have appalled me. Maidens dragged from their parent's arms to be raped again and again on the bloody streets of a fallen city, murdered or taken as slaves when they have been used. Some men can be beasts – but not all men. I am not such a man: I have never forced myself onto a woman. And I never will,' he added with meaning. ‘But I will say this: love between a man and woman can be a special thing. A beautiful thing, indeed.'

She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps one day I will find out. But not today.'

Euaristos chuckled then. ‘I am cursed!'

‘I am sure the whores you hired will be sleeping off their labours,'

Lysandra suggested helpfully. ‘Or if they have departed, the innkeeper will let you have one of his slaves – you've put enough coin in his purse, after all.'

‘Spartan practicality knows no bounds.'

‘It is one of our many virtues,' she replied, picking up her sandals.

‘I hope we will meet again, Lysandra,' Euaristos said as she opened the door to leave. ‘You are an intriguing woman.'

‘Perhaps,' she said, and shut the door gently behind her. In the quiet darkness of the corridor, she puffed her cheeks out, repressing a shudder of guilt. Why, she asked herself, could she not control her drinking? Each time she thought the battle won, soon after a crushing defeat would follow.
Never again
, she vowed, making her way to her own room. It was empty.

Cappa and Murco had seen her go off with Euaristos – as had everyone else for that matter. Doubtless everyone would have been making jokes about her licentiousness which only added to the horrid remorse coursing through her. She sighed and made to clean herself up as best she could.

Her toilet complete, she made her way down to the
caupona
: she could hear the voices of her bodyguards chatting with Dulcis, the innkeeper.

‘How did the fighting go?' Dulcis was asking. ‘I reckon they could have heard you lot cheering in Rome. And,' he lowered his voice, ‘I heard that your woman got involved. What happened there?'

‘Broken ribs. Teeth smashed out. Two broken arms, one kneecap shattered and a cracked skull.' This from Cappa.

‘Tragic. She was a lovely girl.'

‘What?' Cappa was feigning confusion. ‘Oh no, Lysandra's fine.

I was talking about what she did to your lot.'

‘Fuck off,' Dulcis turned sour.

‘I'm serious.'

‘
No
.'

‘Yes. I wouldn't have believed it either, if I hadn't seen it myself.'

‘He's telling the truth,' Murco put in. ‘I've never seen anything like it. She was
lethal
, mate. Lethal.'

‘Bollocks.' Dulcis adopted that inscrutable tone that only innkeepers who had heard every lie in the book could muster.

‘You'll see for yourself when she comes down. Not a mark on her – well, apart from her knuckles of course. She fights like a man and she fucking drinks like one too,' he puffed his cheeks out at the memory. ‘Jupiter, she can put it away.'

Lysandra cringed at this comment and decided to make her entrance. ‘Good morning,' she called loudly, deciding the best course of defence was attack. She would have to brazen it out.

‘Good morning, lady,' Cappa tossed her a wave. ‘We were just telling Dulcis here how you battered the locals.'

‘And that's all?' she replied more sharply than she intended. They had probably already covered her liaison with Euaristos, which of course she could not deny. It would hardly be fair to report back that he had not been able to manage an erection – an unforgive-able thing for any man and certainly a secret that must be kept.

‘That and you can drink the doughtiest legionary under the table,'

Cappa grinned. ‘How's the head?'

‘I will be well after some food and water. See to it, Dulcis!' she ordered. Dulcis grunted and made off. ‘I want to be on our way swiftly,' Lysandra said to her bodyguards. ‘Are you both ready to depart?'

‘Yes, lady,' Murco replied for both. ‘We can leave as soon as you are ready.'

‘Good.' Lysandra was keen to put the scene of her drunken shame far behind her.

Lysandra kept her head down for the rest of the day, letting Cappa and Murco assume that she was dreadfully hung over. Not that that was far from the truth, she thought bitterly. Thoughts turned and tumbled in her mind, over and over again. She had always been supremely disciplined: why was this weakness – this
curse
– upon her? It was almost Promethian. After all, she had been the greatest gladiatrix of her day, and would be again. Perhaps this fallibility was god-borne in case she stole too much of their fire. The thought buoyed her flagging spirits somewhat and by evening she was beginning to feel a little more human and a little less full of guilt.

The three made camp close to the road and Murco caught and cooked several wild rabbits which were excellent. As she ate, Lysandra could not resist asking them if she had made a fool of herself the evening before. It was all part of the remorse she felt after a session, this need to know that she had not done or said anything she should regret.

‘Don't be daft,' Cappa soothed. ‘You deserved a good drink after fighting those local fellows. And no, you didn't do anything out of order. And no one apart from me and Murco noticed you… er…retire for the evening.'

Lysandra smiled at him over the orange glow of the fire. ‘Thank you, Cappa.'

‘It was all good fun. But still – you should turn in. It'll be a long day tomorrow and I'm hopeful that we'll reach Paestum ahead of time.'

Lysandra nodded. ‘Good. I need to get into shape. No more boozing.'

‘Everything in moderation,' the old soldier agreed.

Lysandra rolled out her blankets, hoping that his words were a mantra she could keep to. Both men were respectfully quiet as she tried to find Morpheus, chatting only in very low tones before Cappa made off to patrol the surrounds. Murco, his back to the flames, began to hum and then sing in soft, rhythmic verse. The almost monosyllabic guard was, Lysandra thought, a very complex fellow under the surface – connoisseur of fine wines, bard and soldier.

He, like his companion, had the ability to make her feel safe and comfortable. The song washed over her and Lysandra found that sleep pulled her under without a struggle.

‘You should like this place, Lysandra' Cappa commented as they looked down on the city of Paestum.

‘How so?'