A Gladiator's Oath

by Tanya Bird

  Dulcia only looked more worried. ‘Because they will expect more. A fight to the death, perhaps.’

  Mila smiled. ‘Only in your imagination would that happen. I will be there by choice, and I have no intention of dying.’

  Dulcia chewed her bottom lip as she thought it over. ‘They will not let you in without an escort.’

  She had already decided to cross that bridge when she came to it. ‘The worst thing that can happen is I am home earlier than expected.’

  ‘That is not the worst that can happen. What if you are injured? How will you explain yourself to our dominus?’

  Mila pulled Dulcia close, hugging her. ‘When we are free, we will explain ourselves to no one,’ she whispered into her sister’s hair. Arms went around her, holding tightly.

  ‘Dulcia, are you out here?’

  Mila stiffened at the sound of her mother’s voice. ‘Quickly now, go to her before she comes looking for you.’

  ‘She will ask where you are. What shall I say?’

  Mila gave her a gentle shove. ‘Tell her I have a lover.’

  ‘She will never believe that. Every boy you know is an opponent.’

  ‘Dulcia?’

  Tertia wandered out into the garden. Mila gave her sister a much harder shove before sprinting to the wall, scurrying up the thick vines and swinging her legs over the top. She dropped to the paved street below just as her mother’s voice reached her.

  ‘Mila!’ Tertia called from the other side of the wall.

  It was too late. She was already jogging away from the house.

  It was the exact type of spectacle that Remus tried to avoid. A small, hastily constructed arena filled with desperate men. He looked around the scraggly crowd in their threadbare tunics and coarse togas, faces red from drinking too much posca. He turned to his friend, sitting on the bench beside him. ‘Tell me again why we come to these events?’

  ‘Oh, stop complaining,’ Felix replied, eyes on the entrance. ‘You know as well as I that Brutus likes to buy the best men before they realise their worth.’

  He knew, he just needed reminding if he was to endure an evening of amateur fighting. ‘I feel as if the seating is going to collapse beneath us at any moment. My feet bounce every time someone takes a seat near us.’

  ‘I will have to take your word for it,’ Felix replied. He glanced down at his own feet, which sat a foot off the floor. ‘Mine do not reach that far.’

  ‘That explains your calm demeanour right now.’

  It was a far cry from the arenas they were used to. Remus would have preferred to spend his evening at the tavern, or sleeping, or sleeping with a girl he met at the tavern. But what Brutus Julius wanted, Brutus Julius received. One of the necessities of a good gladiator school was good fighters—and good fighters had a tendency to die. Ludus Magnus had held its reputation as Rome’s best school thanks to a long line of highly skilled gladiators that history would remember. One of those was Remus’s own father, who had died at the hands of the very gladiator Remus killed eight years later during his last fight in the arena. It was the fight that had earned him his freedom. Instead of fleeing the city, he had remained as a trainer, preparing the younger men who found their way to Ludus Magnus, hopeful of freedom or fame.

  The bench seats were filling up, and the growing noise combined with the stifling air made Remus more uncomfortable. ‘I will be back in a moment,’ he said, standing.

  Felix nodded, knowing him well enough to not bother asking where he was going. Remus excused himself as he passed the spectators seated on the same bench and descended the timber steps towards the entrance, where he would be able to slip out for some much-needed air.

  ‘Remus Latinius?’ came a voice. He turned to see Gallus Minidius, the games’ sponsor, coming towards him. ‘Thought I had seen a ghost for a moment. I should have known you would be sniffing about the place.’ He took hold of Remus’s arm, looking past him. ‘Is Felix with you?’

  ‘Hiding inside, ready to poach the valuable ones.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’

  Remus examined Gallus’s fine toga. ‘Business is good, then?’

  ‘Very good,’ Gallus replied. ‘I open most evenings now.’

  Remus looked behind him. ‘One would think people would tire of it all.’

  A smile pulled at Gallus’s mouth. ‘Judging by your tone, one might assume you are becoming cynical.’ He looked past him. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Need some air.’

  Gallus scrunched his nose up. ‘Yes, it gets rather stuffy.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’ It smelled like every animal in Rome had gone there to die.

  ‘Yes, well, make sure you come back.’

  Remus nodded, patting the man’s arm before stepping out into the grey light. Going to stand in the shadows, just out of reach of the torchlight, he leaned against one of the support beams, conscious of his weight against it. As he watched Rome’s poorest citizens arrive, eyes lit with excitement at what awaited them inside, he felt a familiar ache of discontent. It was not a logical feeling. He had what every man born into slavery wanted—freedom. And yet it felt as though his life were still not his own.

  Taking a lungful of air, preparing to return inside where the smell of garbage, sweat, and human waste seemed to be tenfold to the rest of the city, he glanced behind to ensure the beam remained in place, then headed for the entrance. It was then he noticed a brunette woman standing at the gate, speaking with Gallus. She was looking past him into the arena, gesturing as she tried to explain herself.

  Curious, and in no hurry to return inside, Remus stopped to watch the exchange. Judging by her simple braid and stola, he suspected she had become separated from her dominus and was being refused entry. She was a pretty thing, despite her scowl and unpainted face, the kind that made Remus think perhaps he did have a type after all. He stepped closer to listen, remaining in the shadows so as to not draw attention.

  ‘Even if I were to agree, there is no one for you to fight,’ Gallus said, crossing his arms over his inflated chest.

  She seemed in no way intimidated by their difference in height, lifting her face to meet his gaze. ‘I can fight anybody. It does not have to be another woman. A man, perhaps.’ She bit down on her lip, realising her mistake. ‘A smaller man, preferably.’

  Remus smiled to himself. His eyes went to the swords flashing beneath her shawl every time she moved, likely stolen. So she wanted to be a gladiator. He was reminded of the woman they had recruited from a brothel after watching her beat a man who refused her payment. To this day she was still one of their best fighters.

  Gallus narrowed his eyes and snatched her wrist. ‘Does your dominus know you are here?’

  That silenced her.

  ‘I am here,’ came an out-of-breath voice.

  Remus’s gaze shifted to the approaching man. Tall, sandy hair, strong jaw and handsome face—the kind that had never seen battle, but women loved all the same. His white toga was a startling contrast to the people he stood with.

  Gallus glared at the girl before letting her go. She immediately stepped back. Extending a hand, Gallus said, ‘Nerva Papias. Good evening to you. I feared the girl had come without your knowledge.’

  Nerva glanced at her, struggling to disguise his annoyance. ‘Mila would not dream of such a thing, for the punishment would be harsh.’ The words came out through gritted teeth.

  Mila. Remus let the name replay in his mind.

  Gallus looked between them. ‘She says she is here to fight.’

  Nerva’s eyebrows shot up, his annoyance dissolving into amusement.

  ‘Only if that is your wish,’ Mila replied, her hands brushing the handles of her swords.

  Nerva shook his head and placed his hands on his hip. He stared at the ground as he thought while she shifted nervously next to him. ‘You know, I think it might be a good idea to let her fight.’

  Gallus seemed surprised. ‘As I explained to her already, without notice
, I don’t have a suitable opponent.’

  ‘What about an unsuitable one?’ Nerva said, crossing his arms again. ‘A big retiarius with a trident and net, perhaps?’

  Mila’s face fell. ‘My dominus is joking, of course.’

  ‘You are not selling yourself very well,’ Nerva said, his tone blunt and teasing.

  Remus should have just continued past them and returned to his seat, but there was something endearing about her tenacity, and he suspected her dominus was keen to teach her a lesson, so he stepped out from the shadows and joined them. ‘Gallus,’ he said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘What trouble has found you now?’

  Gallus looked between the men, seemingly unsure. ‘May I introduce Nerva Papias, son of Rufus Papias.’

  The name was familiar. Remus watched as the girl stepped back from the men, her unblinking gaze on him.

  ‘This is Remus Latinius. Remus used to—’

  ‘I know who you are,’ Nerva said, grinning. ‘I watched you fight some years back. It was the only time in my life I considered becoming a gladiator.’

  ‘Your father must have been thrilled, a fine educated man like yourself showing interest in the arena.’

  Nerva laughed. The slave girl continued to watch him. Remus was used to women’s attention, slave or otherwise, but he could tell she was not admiring him—she was assessing him.

  ‘I believe he was the only spectator wishing you dead, so I might be put off the sport forever,’ Nerva said.

  Remus gave a small smile. ‘He probably wasn’t the only one. I can think of at least one more.’ His gaze shifted to the girl, and her brown eyes narrowed on him. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear your dilemma. I might have a solution.’ His eyes returned to the men. ‘What if Felix gave the girl a workout?’

  ‘Felix?’ Nerva asked.

  ‘Do not worry, he is only half a man,’ Gallus said. ‘But the dwarf can fight, and the crowd love him.’

  ‘I will do it,’ Mila agreed.

  Everyone turned to look at her. Nerva cleared his throat.

  ‘Are you sure you do not want someone bigger?’

  She looked down. Remus could not tell if it was a sign of respect or if she was hiding a smile.

  ‘Yes, I am sure,’ she replied.

  Nerva turned back to Remus. ‘Would your friend be willing?’

  ‘I can make it worth his while,’ Gallus said, his own excitement growing.

  ‘He’s easily persuaded, and now I’m curious about whether the girl has any skill,’ Remus said, looking at Mila. She raised her eyes to him, her expression giving nothing away. She certainly had a gladiator’s stare. ‘Leave your swords with your dominus. I’ll have Felix meet you inside.’

  Mila undid her belt and handed the weapons to Nerva, careful not to meet his stern gaze.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t thank him yet,’ Remus warned. ‘Felix won’t care that you’re a woman if you come at him with a sword.’

  Mila stared up at him. ‘That suits me fine. I am not in the habit of fighting gentlemen.’ She turned and followed after Gallus, disappearing through a small door beneath the seating.

  ‘Shall we break the news to your friend?’ Nerva asked, gesturing inside.

  Remus watched the door Mila had exited through for a moment. ‘After you.’

  Chapter 3

  Mila had been ready for anything, except Nerva showing up. It was likely her sister had gone to him, worried about her. Now if anything went wrong, she was responsible for two people getting into trouble.

  She followed Gallus through the dark passage, support beams appearing inches from her face and tripping her feet. Pounding sounded overhead as the arena continued to fill up. Her mind wandered to Remus, still suspicious of his willingness to help. She hoped she had done the right thing in accepting it. She knew Remus’s type: more muscle than sense, conceited to no end. But there was something else about him.

  Though perhaps he was more than a pair of blue eyes who made women swoon. She had noticed the silver scars beneath his trimmed beard, the one above his ear, the irregular shape of his nose which suggested it had been broken more than once. Yet none of those things took away from how handsome he was—as far as gladiators went. He was not insanely broad-shouldered like some, but had a good cover of muscle visible beneath his tunic. Perhaps he had relied on speed, as she did.

  Blinking against the dark, she realised her evaluation of him had moved past the point of character assessment.

  She wiped her hands on her clothes, the first sign of nerves, and kept her eyes on Gallus so she would not lose sight of him in the dark. A door swung open and they stepped into a torch-lit room filled with men. Not just men—gladiators. They turned to see who had entered, quickly losing interest in the slave girl. There were six fighters, three pairs, all in shackles.

  ‘Wait here,’ Gallus said, pointing a sharp finger at the ground between them.

  A short while later, he returned with the dwarf. Upon entering, Felix stopped and looked around the room with disdain before his bored gaze settled on Mila.

  Gallus gestured to her. ‘That is her,’ he said, in case Felix could not figure it out from the fact that she was the only woman in the room. ‘The two of you will go on after the first battle.’ He sniffed and called to her. ‘Name?’

  She was still studying the muscled dwarf. ‘Mila.’

  Gallus rolled his eyes to the heavens. ‘Arena name?’

  ‘Oh.’ She thought for a moment. ‘What about Spes?’

  Felix walked towards her, frowning. ‘Spes? The goddess of hope? You are a slave girl fighting a dwarf with a wooden sword. It is hardly inspiring.’

  Her eyebrows shot up, surprised by his voice. He sounded more like a nobleman than a gladiator. Not that she had ever met a real gladiator before Remus. ‘Fair enough. What name would you give me?’

  He let out a noisy breath. ‘What about Nanus Slayer.’

  She suppressed a smile. ‘Dwarf slayer?’

  His shoulder lifted in a shrug. ‘It will make them laugh. People expect to laugh when I enter the arena.’

  Gallus patted Felix’s shoulder the way one did a goat after taking milk from it, then disappeared back through the door.

  Mila glanced at the bare-chested men seated on the benches, suddenly grateful she was fighting Felix. He began stripping down to his loincloth. Despite only reaching her stomach, he was muscled to the point of ridiculous, and she felt her confidence wane.

  ‘Do not fret,’ he said, taking in her expression. ‘They are wooden swords, and I never hit a lady in the face.’

  She did not know whether it was a joke. ‘I should probably warn you that I will not hesitate to hit you in the face.’

  He studied her for a moment. ‘Why do you want to do this?’

  She swallowed. ‘For the coin.’

  ‘Pfft. Gallus is as tight as a mule’s arse. You would have been better off placing a bet.’

  ‘Gambling is illegal.’

  He let out a long whistle. ‘Lectured by a slave. That is a first for me.’

  She stiffened.

  Felix walked to the bench and picked up the weapons, studying them. ‘I assume you can actually fight,’ he asked, turning and waiting for her answer.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Rather well, I have been told.’

  There was amusement in his eyes. ‘And who told you that?’

  ‘The men I beat.’

  His lips turned up. ‘What are you wearing under that dress?’

  Her arms instinctively wrapped her middle. She knew most female gladiators fought wearing nothing more than a loincloth and shield. ‘I am keeping my breast cloth on.’

  His expression did not change. ‘The men will complain.’

  ‘Let them complain. I am here to fight. If it is breasts they want to see, they can visit one of the many brothels in the region.’

  Another tug at the corner of his mouth. ‘Very well, dwarf slayer. Now off with the rest
of your clothes.’

  She glanced at the other men who were now watching her. Shrugging off her shawl, she slipped her stola down to her feet and lifted her tunic over her head. She did not hesitate or cover her body with her hands; there was no point in being self-conscious in front of a handful of men before stepping out in front of an amphitheatre filled with them.

  Felix appraised her, unaffected by what he saw. ‘You are going to need a lot more muscle on you if you are planning on being a gladiator.’

  She looked down at her arms, holding them out as she did so. ‘You might be right. How long did it take you to get to that size?’

  ‘That size?’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘I was referring to your… width.’

  A smile flickered. ‘I knew what you meant. When you are as short as me, you have to compensate.’

  ‘I suspect it is the same if you are a woman.’

  They looked at one another for a moment.

  Gallus entered the room with two men in tow. ‘Let us move,’ he said, signalling to two slaves. They stood and walked ahead of the men. The room went silent again.

  ‘What is your weapon of choice?’ Felix asked, gesturing to the bench.

  She went to stand next to him, ignoring the stares of the other men. ‘I am a dimachaerus.’

  He snorted. ‘Two swords? Women usually fight with a shield.’

  ‘I fight better with two swords.’

  He shook his head. ‘Two swords it is.’

  The screech of weapons did not invoke the same feelings in Remus as it did in other spectators. It was a sound he had heard every day of his life for the past twenty-five years. It was the sound of the everyday.

  Two men were led out into the arena, not to die but to entertain. Though death was always a possibility if the injuries sustained were bad enough. New recruits were problematic, particularly if they were captured soldiers. Remus had seen them kill their opponents during training with one blow to the head. They only knew how to fight like soldiers, quick and clean, as they would have on the battlefield. A paying spectator would be most disappointed with a fight to the death lasting only a few moments.