But it seemed to her that the twin deaths had caused her to lose something of herself. She had become driven to the point of obsession, her only focus her troops and her training. She spoke of nothing else but tactics, weapons, and killing. It was as if she had armoured herself against all feeling, wearing the facade that was ‘Achillia’ to protect herself from further pain. The priestess was all but gone and Thebe found herself looking at the gladiatrix who had become a stranger.
‘Are you mocking me, Thebe?’ Lysandra broke her from her reverie.
‘I?’ she took on a scandalised expression. ‘How could one such as I mock the great General Lysandra?’ She would try to treat Lysandra in her normal manner and hoped that she came back to herself.
‘These next games are being highly publicised,’ Lysandra said, changing the subject.
‘That’s the truth. I heard that a Roman senator was coming to watch. That’s what all the fuss is about. It will be the biggest spectacle this province has ever seen, that’s for sure. Four months of games.’ She shook her head. ‘ Four months! ’
Lysandra glanced in the direction of the plains where the women trained. ‘I must see if I can be given dispensation to leave the arena after my bouts and return to the ludus to oversee the troops.’
‘They’ll wear that all right,’ Thebe agreed. ‘This whole ‘battle’ venture must be costing Balbus a fortune. He’ll want to ensure that all goes well. And, with no joke, you are the best person to oversee that.’
‘Naturally.’ Lysandra got to her feet. ‘Let us continue.’
Thebe shook her head as she rose. There was no doubt that the arrogance was still there.
XLV
The ludus was alive with a frenzy of preparation. The trainers drilled the gladiatrices ruthlessly, ensuring that each woman would be at her peak when her time came to step onto the sands.
With her time split between her own preparations and overseeing her growing army, Lysandra found herself pushed to the limits of her endurance. After a sparring match with one of the German girls that resulted in a near defeat for her, Stick took her to one side.
‘You have to slow down,’ he admonished her.
‘I am perfectly aware of my limitations,’ Lysandra snapped. She had her hands on her thighs, waist bent and chest heaving from exertion.
‘No. You aren’t.’ He held up a hand, cutting off her protest.
‘You must slow down, or you will be spent when the time comes to fight. Look at you now. You struggled against that girl when you should have put her on her arse in a moment.’
‘Listen, Stick. I am not a child to be ordered about. I know what I am doing!’
‘No, you listen!’ The Parthian was genuinely angered and Lysandra stiffened involuntarily. Stick glanced about and then stepped close to her, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘You think I’m deaf, girl? I walk past your villa on my rounds in the night, and I can hear your screams from outside. Your dreams are bad, aren’t they?’ Stick did not see fit to mention it but it was patently clear that he knew who inhabited Lysandra’s nightmares ‘Now, you’ll rest or I’ll have you beaten so as you can’t train.’
‘Balbus would never allow it.’
‘Balbus isn’t here.’ Stick drew the vine staff. ‘Get away with you, and take a bath. No more training. Not army. Not this.’ He gestured expansively. ‘You’ll rest and that’s that. Do some writing, pray to your Athene — or whatever you do to relax. I don’t care.
You’ve become very expensive, Spartan, and I won’t have you spilling your guts all over the sand because you were too tired to fight. You must get proper sleep. Clear?’
‘Clear, Stick.’ Lysandra pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘But you are mistaken in this.’
‘I don’t give a shit. Now fuck off, and take it easy! Gods, Lysandra, anyone else would be happy to be given time off.’
‘You may have noticed, Stick, that I am unlike these others,’
Lysandra retorted and stalked away.
He would not, Frontinus determined, be seen as parochial. He was a Roman, and would prove to this Trajanus that he knew how to entertain in the Roman style. Especially as it had come to his attention that Trajanus was of Iberian stock — a Spaniard, no less. Thus, no expense had been spared and not a moment wasted in preparation for the arrival of Domitian’s confidant; Frontinus was eager to show the emissary that he could be as lavish as the best of them.
In addition to the more cosmetic nuances, Frontinus, with the help of the indefatigable Diocles, ensured that the local garrisons were well drilled, their lorica gleaming and their leathers well oiled and tanned. Nothing was left to chance; Frontinus feared that anything he overlooked was bound to come to the attention of the Iberian upstart and his reputation would be damaged.
Each day was taken up with duties and petitions from interested parties who wanted to cash in on the arrival from Rome.
Frontinus was hard pressed to keep up with it all but, with the aid of Diocles, he managed to stay afloat.
At least Lucius Balbus was no cause of concern. The lanista had assured him that the preparations for the games were going exceedingly well. Balbus’s associate, Septimus Falco, had been promoting the event since the news of Trajanus’s visit had broken and people from all over Asia Minor and even Greece itself were flocking to the city. It all added to his prestige: that he, Sextus Julius Frontinus, could put on a spectacle so lavish that people would travel from far and wide to attend was good political capital.
On the appointed day of Trajanus’s arrival however, Frontinus found he was somewhat nervous, despite himself. And when word reached him that the senator and his retinue were on their way to his home he was became positively rancorous.
‘Peace, my lord,’ Diocles soothed. ‘Have some wine and relax.
All is in order.’
Frontinus glared at the secretary but eased himself back on his couch; it simply would not do to be ill at ease when the Spaniard arrived. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, then gestured for the wine cup and sipped its heavily watered contents.
Time passed slowly and Frontinus drifted into a light slumber, rudely shattered by several loud blasts of brazen buccinae. Fortunately, Diocles had taken the wine from him, and thus avoided any spillage on his pristine toga. He gathered himself and, straightening its folds, got to his feet.
The doors to the great tablinium opened and Frontinus’s men snapped to attention as the Roman retinue entered. At their head was a tall, blond man in his early thirties. He was well built and clad in military attire, all buckles and bronze. He approached Frontinus and stood before him for a moment before throwing out a salute.
‘Hail, Sextus Julius Frontinus,’ he barked, his accent noticeable.
‘Hail, Marcus Ulpinus Trajanus,’ Frontinus responded, taking the measure of the man before him. He was impressed: Trajanus’s military bearing was no mere affectation. Frontinus could see the criss-cross scars on his right forearm. No dandy whose military achievements had been won for him, this was a man — a soldier’s soldier. And, Frontinus knew that, even as he assessed, he too was being scrutinised. He offered Trajanus his arm and the other’s grip was firm. To his surpise, he found himself liking the man on first impression. ‘Welcome to my home.’
‘It is my honour, sir,’ Trajanus said, inclining his head.
‘Come.’ Frontinus led the Spaniard through the avenue of soldiers. ‘We shall bathe and you will tell me of your journey here, and,’ he glanced at the younger man, ‘your purpose.’
Trajanus chuckled. ‘A frontal assault, General?’
Frontinus shrugged. ‘We are soldiers born, Trajanus, and politicians by mere circumstance.’ Trajanus swelled at the compliment — as well he might, Frontinus thought. His own military prowess was well regarded; he had been fighting battles when this young pup had been at his mother’s teat. To acknowledge him as equal was an honour indeed ‘There is little need for rhetoric amongst straight-talking men,’ he added.
‘T
ruth,’ Trajanus said. ‘We shall bathe and talk, then.’
The two men luxuriated in the opulent baths. Expensive Egyptian incense and steam wafted towards the ceiling, enshrouding them in an aromatic mist. Awaiting them at the poolside were several slaves, both male and female, chosen for their beauty and ethnic diversity; the governor wanted to ensure that any and all of Trajanus’s needs were catered for.
At first, they spoke of matters concerning Rome and politics, and Frontinus was also eager to hear news of Trajanus’s campaign against the rebel general, Lucius Antonius Saturnius and his Germanic allies.
‘Indeed,’ Frontinus said, ‘I have seen one of these Germans in a recent games. A female, no less.’
‘I am not surprised.’ Trajanus lolled in the water. ‘They fight alongside their men, and in some cases better than their men.
Many tribes have the ridiculous belief that women are not inferior to the male. They hold them in some reverence, in fact.’
‘Utterly absurd,’ Frontinus responded, ‘in war. But in the entertainments I find the combat of women gratifying on several levels.
There is something exciting about it, do you not think?’
‘I?’ Trajanus arched an eyebrow. ‘Until recently, I had never seen such a thing. But the Divine Domitian, is an advocate of the female combats. One of these Germanians — Aurinia they call her — has taken his fancy. Now in Rome, female matches are billed alongside those of the men’s — equally, by torchlight.’
This last was said with distaste, leaving Frontinus in little doubt that the Spaniard himself held the women’s games in low esteem.
That he had mentioned the torchlight status of the matches meant that in Rome the female combats were being held at night, at top billing — unheard of till now. Then again, Frontinus mused, it was a modern age.
‘It is said in Rome,’ Trajanus went on, ‘that Asia Minor is host to the finest of these… events.’
Frontinus paused before answering. He would have to tread carefully here and well he knew it. ‘That is not so,’ he said. ‘Whilst we do our best, we are but a province. I am sure anything sponsored by the Emperor would make our poor events pale into insignificance.’
Trajanus laughed, his throaty chuckle echoing from the walls in the bathhouse. ‘Come, Governor,’ he said. ‘You said yourself, we are soldiers born, not politicians?’ He turned and fixed Frontinus with his gaze. ‘You fear to say what is the truth. You fear to say it, because you fear that I will return to Domitian and report that you believe your shows are better than his own.’ He lifted himself from the water, and stood by the edge of the pool, beckoning for a slave to dry him.
Frontinus found himself momentarily envious of the man’s well-muscled, youthful body, scarred yet unhampered by the chains of old age. Gingerly, he hauled himself out of the warmth and shivered.
‘ I will say it, then.’ Trajanus lifted his arms as a pretty Carian slave girl patted him dry. ‘Word has reached Rome of the recent Games of Aeschylus. That you, and you alone, are responsible for elevating the female combats from mere sideshow to main event.
That the quality of these… gladiatrices… is superior to anything we have in Rome. Your women, it is said, are superbly trained, that their combats are epic. That though we have good fighters in the capital, most of them are as nothing compared to the women of Asia Minor. He paused. ‘Are the stories are to be believed.’
Frontinus gestured dismissively. ‘I would be lying if I said that we haven’t accomplished great things with the women’s combats.
But,’ he added carefully, ‘that is a niche entertainment. Perhaps the novelty will wear off.’
Trajanus laughed again, and the two men made their way to be dressed. Soon after, they reclined on couches in Frontinus’s study, nibbling on grapes and olives.
‘I am here, as you no doubt know, to ensure that your preparations for the Emperor’s birthday celebrations are going in accordance to his preferences,’ Trajanus took up the conversation once again. ‘There’s nothing worse than a disgruntled Emperor, Frontinus.’
The governor coughed. ‘That’s true,’ he admitted.
‘It is well known to me that you have been frantically preparing a spectacle for me.’ Trajanus looked somewhat smug at Frontinus’s startled expression. ‘You must realise that espionage is a necessity in this day and age.’
‘I wouldn’t say frantically, young man,’ Frontinus blustered. ‘Your arrival was not scheduled. But, here in Asia Minor, I like to maintain that Roman skill of reacting to a situation and bringing it under one’s control.’ Like the boy or not, Frontinus was not going to be ridden roughshod by him — even if his observation was accurate.
Trajanus did not look in the least chagrined, but he did incline his head. ‘A bad choice of words, sir.’ The addition to the sentence was enough of an apology for both men. ‘But in any event, I am here to see if the rumours are true. If your games are worthy of our divine Caesar.’
Frontinus smiled. ‘Oh, I think you will find your stay here most entertaining, Trajanus.’ The governor raised his cup, his mind racing. The young senator was demanding something special, that much was obvious. Frontinus decided that he would have it.
XLVI
Balbus had assigned the biggest six guards in his employ to stand in his study. Flat-eyed and brutal, the men held their batons loosely in their hands, ready for trouble. The lanista had decided he would take no chances with this meeting.
He saw the large form of Catuvolcos approaching, flanked by his charges. The Gaul had taken the precaution of having the two women chained, ankles and wrists, and Balbus winced. The pair of them would doubtless be furious at this indignity. It was like dealing with the worst kind of children, he thought sourly.
Deadly children, though, he reminded himself. He forced a smile.
‘Greetings, ladies,’ he said, not wishing to acknowledge one before the other. They glared at him and he knew his assumption had been right. Balbus clasped his hands on the desk before him. ‘I have summoned you both here as I have a gift for the two of you. Something you want very much.’ He lifted a parchment from the desktop. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is a communication from Sextus Julius Frontinus. Shall I read it to you?’ Always keep the crowd hanging on, Balbus thought to himself — ever the showman.
‘You should,’ Lysandra said. ‘The idiot barbarian has no letters.’
Sorina growled, lunging at Lysandra, but was intercepted by Catuvolcos. He pushed her back into the arms of two waiting guards. Lysandra sneered at her.
‘There’s no need for that,’ Balbus sighed, thankful for the precautions that had been taken. ‘As you both know, Frontinus has organised a spectacle for a high-ranking member of the Senate in Rome. It is a huge endeavour, the biggest this province has seen thus far.’ He paused for effect. ‘You two will not fight in the usual supporting bouts; it has been decided that you will top the card. Above the men. You will fight a death match at the end of the games.’
Sorina’s smile was feral. ‘Why, Balbus, surely this senator wants a match. This girl-child will fall too quickly under my blade. Like her friend. And her lover.’
Lysandra’s face reddened and Balbus saw her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly; he was grateful for the Spartan discipline that the former priestess cherished. He knew that had the barb been fired the other way, Sorina would be at Lysandra’s throat.
He was startled at the measure of hate in the Amazon’s words.
Sorina had loved Eirianwen too, and to use her death as weapon to wound Lysandra spoke volumes as to the depth of their enmity.
‘Now you two listen.’ He pointed a finger. ‘You’ve got your wish. You can cut lumps out of each other on the day. But not before,’ he added meaningfully. ‘You have your own gaggles of friends and followers; you are both leaders. I expect you to stay apart and encourage your women to do the same. If there are any disturbances before or during the games, any at all, I’ll hold you two responsible. Your eyes will be put out and I
’ll sell you to the mines. Don’t think that I won’t carry out this threat. My life is on the line if this goes awry, and I’ll revenge myself on you both before anything happens to me.’
He was sure even Lysandra baulked at that. Pointless, he realised to threaten a gladiatrix with death, but maiming was something else entirely. ‘I hope we understand each other.’
Neither woman spoke, but the hatred in the air was palpable.
Balbus dismissed them, reminding himself to ensure that Falco played up the rivalry between them in the promotions. He was not pleased that Frontinus had forced his hand in this matter after their discussion, but he was a businessman. He would, he decided, maximise any profit to be made from the death of one of his best.
The two women, separated by guards, did not speak as they were escorted from Balbus’s villa. Only when they had reached the training area did Sorina break the stony silence.
‘I will kill you.’
The ice coloured gaze of her hated foe fell upon her, the arrogant lip curled. But Sorina saw nothing in Lysandra’s eyes, no fire of anger, neither passion nor hatred. They were blank, the fixed stare of a marble statue. ‘I think not,’ was all she said.
Catuvolcos released her from her chains and she strode away without further comment. Sorina watched her back retreating into the crowds, shaken by the exchange despite herself.
She shook off the feeling. That Lysandra had shown no battle joy was testament that she lacked the stomach for the fight. She feared her, and had been at pains to cover it with the gambler’s straight face. Sorina’s grin was fierce as Catuvolcos undid her chains. ‘The gods have smiled upon me,’ she said to him.
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