A Gladiator's Oath

by Tanya Bird

  He shook his head. ‘This isn’t about a tart or the lie.’

  ‘No,’ Mila agreed. ‘She suspects something between us. I told her she was wrong, that you feel nothing but a sense of obligation towards me.’

  He blinked. ‘She’s not stupid. She knows I don’t walk you home out of obligation.’

  They stared at each other for a moment until he finally looked away.

  ‘I’ll ask around later, see where the boy ended up. Check he’s all right.’

  Her entire body sank with relief. ‘Thank you.’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m not making any promises.’

  ‘I know.’

  She went to move past him and he grabbed her wrist. She stopped and looked up at him. His eyes moved over her face.

  ‘Probably best if I don’t walk you home anymore.’

  She felt winded in that moment. Remus had quickly become the best part of her day, besides the stolen moments with Nerva and Dulcia. ‘I agree,’ she said, gaze falling briefly to his lips before looking away.

  He released his grip and she left with a feeling resembling grief pounding in her chest. It was the same feeling she had the day she had been sold.

  Prisca kept her promise to have her worked extra hard that day. The moment she reached Titus, he thrust weapons into her hands and told her to ‘Get ready to cry.’

  He paired her with a young slave boy, no more than seventeen years old. Judging by his pale complexion and the ribs on display, he was a new recruit. They would fatten him up before he was sent to his death. She had the advantage of being nourished, but that was all. Wherever he had come from, he had been taught how to fight.

  She put the weapons down and stripped to her tunic. Albaus cast her a wary look before he wandered off to his usual spot by the wall of the cavea. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus collect weapons from the ground and leave the arena. He never watched. It was best for both of them.

  ‘You will fight until I tell you to stop,’ Titus called to them.

  Hacking, he collected something from the back of his throat and spat it on the sand. Mila made a mental note to avoid that spot. Another glance at Albaus, whose eyebrows were drawn together with disapproval. She felt a little better knowing he was there.

  She turned back to her opponent, eyes drawn to the raw skin on his wrists where shackles had been moments earlier. This was no time to feel sorry for him. He met her gaze, no doubt trying to gauge her reaction to what she saw. She kept her gladiator face on, a technique borrowed from Remus.

  They held a wooden sword in each hand, staring at one another as they waited for Titus’s signal. Enemies for no good reason. The boy’s jaw was clenched, his eyes burning at her. All bravery left her in that moment, suspecting she was about to pay for his every suffering.

  ‘Begin,’ Titus shouted. He crossed his arms, making his biceps appear twice their actual size.

  She was thankful for the low-hanging cloud offering relief from the heat. As they circled one another, she watched the boy carefully, noting every twitch of his body as a clue to how he might come at her. But while observing him, she noticed something odd. His attention was divided. Yes, he was watching her, but his eyes flickered in all directions, taking in the entire arena and the men around him.

  What are you up to?

  She decided to strike first, while he seemed distracted. Even though she had grown accustomed to using a shield, she enjoyed the novelty of two swords, something Remus had discouraged, probably because he wanted to repeatedly shout ‘shield up’ at her.

  The boy was fast, skilled, even while distracted. She let her surging adrenaline drive her fight, faster and faster, until she felt invincible. Eventually she knocked one sword from his hand, a move that seemed to get his full attention. He narrowed his eyes and smiled. Or was it a snarl? She could not tell. She readied herself, heart pounding so hard her body seemed to rock with the motion of it.

  He came at her quick and strong, striking her shoulder despite her best efforts to block him. Pain shot down her arm as the tip of his weapon struck. The sword dropped from her hand, despite her determination to keep hold of it. She cursed under her breath and raised her other weapon just in time to block the next blow. He swung low then, but she saw it coming and stopped him.

  They moved like that for some time, a dance of sorts, the only problem being that no matter how much Mila tried, her left arm refused to rejoin the fight. Eventually the remaining sword flew from her hand, and the boy stopped, stood still, panting. He lowered his weapon and stepped back. He had beaten her.

  ‘You fight until I tell you to stop,’ Titus reminded them.

  The boy turned to look at Titus. His face twisted, as though something were pulling at his insides.

  Titus nodded towards Mila. ‘It is not over until she is on the ground with your sword at her neck.’

  The slave’s gaze returned to Mila. The fight had changed. He took a few steps towards her, and ignoring the pain in her arm, she dropped into a crouch and used her foot to try to take his legs out from beneath him. But he must have anticipated the move, because he leapt over her leg and brought the hilt of his sword down on her head. It was not hard enough to lose consciousness, but enough to send light dancing across her vision. The problem with head injuries was they tended to bleed—a lot. Blood ran from the top of her scalp over her left ear and eye. Then her body betrayed her, tipping, despite her mind knowing better. She landed on her bad arm and cried out. The boy’s wooden sword pressed into her neck.

  She turned to look at him as he stood over her, blinking through the blood and blurry vision. His expression made her go still. It was not one of victory but of something much darker. He slipped a hand beneath his worn tunic, and the blade of a dagger flashed between them.

  ‘For my family,’ he whispered, his accent thick.

  Mila shook her head, but before she could react, he spun and threw the knife, striking Titus through the throat. It was so fast she could barely comprehend what was happening. She turned, trying to focus on Titus who remained upright, clutching his throat with both hands while he choked. Every man in the arena stilled. A few trainers came running, with nothing but wooden swords.

  At the same time, Albaus propelled himself off the wall, pulling a dagger from a hidden nook and throwing it with great force at the slave. It landed with a dull thud in boy’s chest. He cried out, his legs giving way as he sank down, collapsing on top of her. She tried to push him off with her good arm, but all strength had left her. A growing warmth spread through her middle as he bled out. Turning her head, she watched as Titus finally collapsed to the ground, men shouting instructions around him but saying nothing that could help. The boy coughed on top of her, and she closed her eyes against the noise.

  Finally he was lifted off and tossed onto the sand beside her. His wide eyes locked onto hers for a moment as air rushed into her lungs. Albaus reached down and scooped her up as though she weighed nothing at all, carrying her from the arena while she watched the scene over his arm.

  What just happened?

  Albaus stepped beneath the portico and marched towards the exit, not slowing for anything or anyone. She saw Brutus pass them as he ran to see what had happened. Both Titus and the boy would be dead by the time he arrived.

  The gate opened and the noise from the street reached them. Mila turned to look through the opening. People passed by, going about their day, unaware of what had just taken place inside the walls of Ludus Magnus.

  ‘It is all right,’ she said to Albaus. ‘I… I am fine. My legs are fine.’ Though she did not really believe it. ‘Put me down.’

  As the gate swung shut behind them, Albaus lowered her to the ground, holding on to her while she got her balance. That was when she noticed the strange angle of her arm.

  ‘Mila!’

  She turned to see Remus slip between the gate just before it closed, his expression wild. He stopped in front of her, eyes moving over her and hands unsure. ‘You’re blee
ding.’

  She shook her head. ‘Only my head. The rest is not mine.’ The intensity of his concern made her look away.

  ‘What happened?’ He looked at Albaus, who could not give him any answers.

  ‘Titus is dead,’ she said, unsure how he would react. ‘My opponent killed him.’ She tried to move her left arm and winced. Perhaps it was broken. Perhaps she would not be able to fight. Prisca might sell her off as well. She kept a hold of Albaus’s arm for balance while he stared off down the street, as though expecting to be attacked at any moment. ‘Is… is my arm broken?’ she asked Remus.

  He stepped closer to examine it, and she tried not to cry as he gently felt along her shoulder and down her arm before attempting to move it.

  She gasped and he let go.

  ‘Shoulder’s dislocated.’ His eyes returned to her stomach. ‘No chest or stomach wound, you say?’

  She shook her head, her throat tight. His hand went to her head, examining the small cut.

  ‘The head wound’s not too bad. You’ll have a headache though.’

  What happened next was out of her control. A sob rose up, choking her, determined to humiliate her. She could not stop it. While she would never admit it to Remus, it was the first time she had seen men die that way. She had not been prepared for death up close.

  Remus caught her as she sank down and lifted her off the ground. She felt like a child, her face buried against his chest to hide her embarrassment. She swallowed, determined not to make a further spectacle of herself.

  ‘I can walk,’ she said unconvincingly.

  Remus ignored her and glanced across the street. ‘We need to get that shoulder back in,’ he said, carrying her towards the tavern. ‘Best stay clear of Ludus Magnus until the mess is sorted.’

  The three of them stepped inside the dank space that smelled of wine and stewed meat. Remus placed her down on a stool by the window and crouched in front of her, waiting for her to look at him.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.

  She frowned and swallowed down the tears that had gathered in her throat. ‘Not really.’

  He smiled at that. ‘I’ve done this enough times.’

  Albaus shifted in her peripheral vision. ‘Done what?’

  ‘Popped a shoulder back in,’ he said, tone casual.

  She glanced at Albaus, who appeared just as wary. ‘Surely the task requires a physician.’

  Remus pulled up another stool and sat down at her left side. ‘It’s more common than you think. Easily fixed. Instant relief.’ He turned to Albaus. ‘Get something strong for her to drink.’

  Albaus hesitated, grunted, and then walked off to fetch the tavern owner, who was busy shouting at two men who had brought dice into the establishment.

  The moment Albaus was gone, Mila grabbed Remus’s arm. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  He looked at her, his face close to hers. ‘Prisca wants you toughened up.’ A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  She released his arm. ‘If you botch this, I am coming for you.’

  ‘With one arm?’

  ‘And one enormous sword.’

  ‘No shield?’

  She felt herself relax. ‘Shields are for girls.’

  They watched each other for a moment, the air still between them.

  ‘What trouble have you brought in, then?’ the owner said, arriving next to them.

  Remus straightened, and Mila looked up at the round woman who stood scrutinising her.

  ‘I’ve enough trouble keeping the gamblers out. Now you bring a slave girl in here looking like she’s murdered her dominus.’

  ‘Looking good, Copa,’ Remus said, winking up at her.

  She was obviously immune to his charms, slamming a cup on the table before filling it with wine. ‘No water in it,’ she said, placing the jug on the table next to the cup. She held out a hand, waiting for payment. The other wiped greying hair from her sweaty forehead.

  Remus retrieved a few coins and dropped them into her hand. She made a point of checking them before her fingers curled around them and she walked away.

  He looked at Mila and nodded after the woman. ‘Another jealous lover.’

  Mila suppressed a smile, glancing at the old woman whose wide hips swung away from them. ‘You would be lucky to have her.’

  A smile spread across Remus’s face as he picked up the cup. ‘Ready to get drunk?’

  Mila looked down at the wine in his hand. ‘Will Albaus have to carry me home?’

  They both looked over at the bodyguard, who had seated himself at the table with the two men who had been accused of gambling. Clearly he did not have the stomach to watch.

  ‘I’ll carry you home if you make a mess of yourself,’ Remus said, gaze returning to her.

  It was foolish, but Mila felt invincible in his presence. She lifted the cup to her mouth and drank. Remus reached up, tipping it higher, forcing her to swallow the wine in large gulps. Once empty, she placed the cup on the table and felt the liquid warm her insides.

  He reached up to wipe at her mouth with his thumb. ‘Best have another to make sure.’

  She held on to the table, her head already spinning. ‘Make sure of what?’

  ‘That you don’t feel a thing.’ He refilled the cup and handed it to her. ‘Drink up.’

  She hesitated, staring at it for a moment. He pushed it closer and she took it from him, emptying it before setting it down on the table.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  She blinked. ‘Ready.’

  Chapter 22

  The sun was setting as the three of them strolled through the streets and alleyways of region four. Mila, wobbly from drink, was particularly slow, humming as she watched her feet move beneath her. Occasionally she would stumble and Albaus or Remus would grab hold of her, exchanging a knowing glance as they did so. Her attempts at appearing sober were wasted on Remus— he knew a drunk when he saw one. He had given her the first two drinks for the pain in her shoulder, the next two for all her other pain.

  ‘Albaus,’ Mila said, her voice higher than usual. ‘What does your voice sound like if you actually try to speak?’

  ‘Mila,’ Remus said.

  She held up a hand to silence him. ‘No, no, no. Your days of telling me what to do are over.’ She looked at Albaus. ‘Obviously the words would not be clear, but we could get an idea of the tone of your voice.’

  Albaus shook his head.

  ‘Can you sing?’ she went on.

  Remus took her arm and pulled her away from the bodyguard, settling her on the other side of him. She leaned in to Remus and whispered loudly, ‘Would it not be the funniest thing ever if he turned out to have an excellent singing voice?’

  Albaus grunted.

  ‘Hilarious,’ Remus said, tone dry.

  ‘Do you want to hear me sing?’ she asked.

  ‘Not particularly.’

  She faced forwards. ‘Lucky. I cannot sing to save myself. That would have been rather embarrassing.’

  ‘We couldn’t have you embarrassing yourself now, could we?’ Remus said, glancing at Albaus.

  She stumbled and he caught her without breaking stride. So light. She needed more muscle on her if she stood a real chance in the arena.

  Mila laughed. ‘Albaus, sing something.’

  ‘All right,’ Remus said, creating more distance between them. ‘Let’s not poke the large bodyguard.’

  She tripped on his foot and his arm went around her, steadying her.

  ‘Had no idea what an annoying drunk you’d be,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Neither did I. I never drink.’

  Remus glanced down at her. ‘I see why.’

  She leaned closer, mouth stretched into a wide smile. There was that dimple. ‘Look how handsome you are close up, even with a beard.’

  He reached up and ran his free hand over the trimmed growth on his face. ‘What do you mean “even with a beard”?’

  ‘No wonder women fall at your feet
. You are a fine gladiator specimen, Remus Latinius.’

  His eyes moved over her face. ‘I’m going to remind you of this conversation when you’re sober. Watch you squirm at your own words.’

  The smile fell from her face, but she continued to look at him. ‘If I were a lady, like Prisca—’

  ‘Trust me, you’re twice the lady.’

  ‘Let me finish—’

  ‘No more questions tonight.’

  She frowned. ‘There will not be another time.’

  He studied her, missing her dimple already. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘What do you think Prisca is going to do when you bring me home drunk?’ She tripped on her own foot that time, and his grip on her tightened.

  ‘Leave Prisca to me,’ he said.

  Mila turned so she was walking backwards, and his arm fell away.

  ‘That’s not a good idea. You’re struggling to walk forwards,’ he pointed out.

  She tilted her face up to him and his pulse quickened.

  ‘And what is your plan, Remus Latinius? The only thing you have to bargain with is yourself. She wants to be a gladiator, and she wants to bed a gladiator.’ Her body brushed against his. ‘Which one will you give her?’

  ‘Albaus,’ Remus said. ‘Turn right up ahead.’

  The bodyguard raised an eyebrow in question.

  ‘Trust me.’

  Mila faced forwards again, shrugging and closing her eyes. ‘It feels better. My shoulder. Almost like it never happened.’

  ‘Open your eyes before you fall.’ He was ready to catch her.

  She watched her feet again. ‘He must have known they would kill him, but he did it anyway.’

  ‘They would’ve tortured him first,’ Remus said. ‘Albaus did him a favour.’ He was growing to like the bodyguard more each day.

  ‘That poor boy.’

  ‘Is better off now,’ Remus added, wanting her happy again. ‘Stop at the fountain,’ he said to Albaus.

  He led Mila to the small fountain while Albaus wandered off to sit on the other side. ‘Let’s try to sober you up a bit.’

  Mila nodded and knelt so her stomach wrapped the edge and her face was above the water. With the sun so far west, she could see her reflection.