The Gladiator's Honor

by Michelle Styles

  The game went better than Julia dared hope. After ten rounds she and Poppea were tied with Claudia only a point behind. A trickle of sweat snaked down her forehead, Julia wiped it away and reflected that perhaps Claudia had had a point after all. It was a relief to get her frustrations out by throwing the ball as hard as she could at Poppea and seeing her wince as she caught it.

  She deftly caught Claudia's underarm pass of the green ball and pivoted to throw it at Poppea. Standing directly behind Poppea was Valens.

  Julia froze. She blinked, hoping he might be a figment of her over-active imagination. When she opened her eyes, he was still there, feet planted, hands on hips, watching her. She swallowed hard and tried not to concentrate on the way his mouth looked or the shadows in his eyes.

  'Come on, Julia, throw the ball,' Poppea called.

  Julia tossed the ball wildly. It hit the ground and then rolled to within a few feet of Valens.

  "There was no way I could have caught that,' Poppea complained with her hands on her hips. 'That's Julia's point. Don't you agree, Claudia?'

  'I'll get the ball,' Julia said with a faltering voice.

  She wiped her palms on the skirt of her tunic and started forward. She kept her eyes on the ground, hoping against hope he had decided to ignore her.

  As she reached the ball, his long fingers closed around it and lifted it up. Her eyes followed the progress of the ball,from the ground past his calves to the bottom of his crimson tunic and up to his face.

  'Are you searching for this?' he asked, tossing the ball in one hand.

  Julia's mouth went dry. This was not how she had planned on meeting Valens again—hot and sweaty from exercise, her hair held back by a simple tie. If she met him at all, she had intended to be perfectly turned out, dressed in her most fetching clothes.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to look unperturbed. But her breath came in short sharp gasps that had nothing to do with the ball game she had been playing.

  'We need the ball to continue the game,' she said after what felt like for ever and held out her hand.

  He made no move to give the ball back. Instead, it seemed his eyes roamed her features, pinning her. Julia swallowed hard and tried to think of something witty to say. The only thing she could think of was how much she had missed him, how much she had missed hearing his voice and how frightened she had been of never having a chance to speak to him again.

  She wanted to apologise and to ask if they could begin again. But she found it impossible to utter any words.

  'Julia—' he said thickly.

  'Valens, there you are.' A cool, impeccably coiffured blonde appeared and tucked her arm in Valens's. 'I searched everywhere for you. Give the woman her ball back or we'll be late.'

  Julia felt a knife stab her heart. He had found another. But she refused to hide her face like some misbehaving child. She held out her hand.

  'My ball, please, Valens. My friends are waiting.'

  He tossed the ball and Julia caught it, closing her fingers around its faint warmth.

  'Enjoy playing your game, Julia,' he said and allowed the woman to drag him away.

  She watched them go, heard the woman's trilling laughter and her heart sank. She kicked the ground in disgust.

  'Is something the matter, Julia?' Claudia's voice pierced through a haze of misery. 'What did he say to you?'

  'Probably realised that she has no hope of winning the game,' Poppea said. 'Hurry up. Time is wasting.'

  Julia shook herself. She had to accept and to carry on. Valens was an interlude, nothing more. She had been foolish in the extreme to want more than what she had. She should be going down on her knees and thanking Venus that their affair was mercifully short.

  Gladiators were for one night, she reminded herself of Claudia's words. The trouble was that her heart refused to believe it.

  'I am perfectly fine,' she lied as Claudia continued to look at her with a strange concerned expression. 'It is hotter today than I thought it would be. But it looks like the baths proper are now open. What I would really like is a nice spell in the dry bath, sweating out everything, and a plunge in the cold pool.'

  Claudia came over and patted her shoulder. 'Poppea doesn't mean to be so forthright, Julia. It is just her way. When you're ready, we can talk.'

  Julia offered a silent prayer up to Venus. Claudia was not pressing for more details about Valens.

  'The last few days have taken more out of me than I thought,' she said with a faint rueful grin, wiping her hands on her tunic. 'Hopefully these baths will be the last word in luxury as the sign over the portico said.'

  * * *

  When Julia finished her bath and started putting on her make-up, she had stopped trembling. The bath suite with its marble columns, and mosaic-covered floors and walls, had lived up to its promise, but it had also been a bit more crowded than she would have liked. Also, the price for being dried off and massaged was far steeper than at any of the baths she had been to.

  Still, the massage had made her muscles tingle and she had to agree with Claudia's assessment that a bit of pampering never hurt. The warm glow from the exercise, bath and rub down made her feel like she was floating on clouds. As she tried to decide if her cheeks needed wine dregs or not, she allowed Claudia and Poppea's conversation to flow over her.

  "They are harder to come by than Tyrean purple unless you know the right people, but I have two extra tickets,' Poppea said. 'Would either of you two like one? Claudia? Julia?'

  Julia stopped gazing at the mirror and turned towards Poppea, brush in hand.

  'Tickets to where?'

  'To the Gladiatorial Last-Night Feast,' Poppea replied as she fastened up a disc on her gown. 'Not that you will be interested, Julia, but it is when the gladiators say goodbye to their supporters and their families. It can be quite moving. For many of them it might be their last night on earth. It is something no true supporter wants to miss, but Lucia has a cold and Serena's husband has just come back from North Africa. Claudia, are you interested?'

  'I already have mine, thanks, and I am sure Julia has better things to do.'

  Julia's stomach dropped as the brush slipped out of her grasp and hit the counter with a small crash. She had completely forgotten about what day the games started. A queasy feeling washed over her. Tomorrow Valens would be out there, fighting for his life, and, if his prediction was to be believed, against Aquila.

  She looked at the large statue of Fortunata that dominated the changing room. Tomorrow the goddess would reveal which one she favoured. She stared at the statue's bland features and knew she needed to see Valens once more, if only to wish him good luck. She had been so wrapped up in her own misery and problems that she had forgotten he faced probably the toughest challenge of his career. She should have said something, something that resembled an apology, instead of merely asking for her ball.

  'I will take a ticket, Poppea,' she said before her courage failed her.

  Both Claudia and Poppea turned towards her with astonished faces.

  'Are you positive about this, Julia?' Claudia asked in quiet voice. 'There are public places and public places.'

  'I am more positive about going than anything else I have ever done before.' Julia felt her confidence grow with each word she uttered. 'I want to go tonight and then to the arena tomorrow. I need to go.'

  Claudia gave a small clap of her hands.

  'Have you been to a feast before, Julia?' Poppea asked. 'It is very dramatic and you should see what some of the women wear.'

  'I thought the point was to go to see the gladiators and wish them good fortune,' Julia replied, careful to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

  'It is, and for the gladiators to see you.' Poppea giggled. 'But fashions are often started at these feasts. I have had a new emerald-green gap-sleeve gown made for the occasion. I think the hint of flesh is so much more elegant than the plain old-fashioned gowns that covered everything.'

  The exhilarati
on drained out of Julia, leaving her feeling limp and weak. The enormity of what she was about to do washed over her. Having made the promise, she had no idea of what was expected of her, what she should wear. She wanted to look her best, but knew if she wore her usual party clothes—green gown and stola—she'd probably look like a dowdy moth in an array of butterflies. She felt Claudia put an arm around her shoulders and give her a quick squeeze.

  'Fear not, Julia,' she whispered in her ear. 'I will make sure you are dressed properly and that Valens will be stunned by your appearance. He will see what he has casually discarded.'

  Julia nodded. She had to see him at least one more time, and try to explain.

  'Julia may not have been to a feast before, but I have, Poppea. She will not disgrace you. What time shall we meet?'

  The banqueting hall of the Aventine baths flickered in the light of a hundred lamps. Valens stood in the doorway, surveying the feast teeming with food and people. From the corners came the just-audible sounds of dice clicking as groups of men huddled over gaming boards.

  The central tables groaned with a spread of food fit for the gods: roast wild boar with two baskets containing dates hanging from its tusks, bearded mullet floating in a sauce in such a way that they looked as if they were still alive and rich pastries dripping with rose petals and honey. A pyramid of exotic fruits and berries stood next to a fountain of wine.

  Women dressed in brightly coloured gowns drifted about,draping themselves over the nearest male. These were no courtesans, but women with enough money to indulge their appetites. Who knew how many patricians had been sired by gladiators?

  One woman caught Valens's gaze and patted the couch beside her, licking her lips in a suggestive manner.

  Valens shook his head and passed by. It was not something he needed—meaningless coupling in one of the cubicles thoughtfully provided by his host. There was only one woman who haunted his dreams, and he very much doubted that Julia Antonia would be in a place like this.

  He should have said more this afternoon when he saw Julia at the baths, but there had been no time. A thousand words had crowded into his mind, and her friends had been waiting for her. He could hardly drag her away without causing a scene and more scandal.

  The one thing he had been conscious of was the huge gaping hole where his heart normally resided. The argument need never have happened. He knew he had been searching for one, trying to find a way out, and the worse part of it was that she was right. He was a coward for not contacting his father. He should have tried. He should not have shut the door on his past.

  He wanted his honour back, but he also wanted Julia. Despite everything, it looked like it would be impossible to have both. Honour was a cold bedfellow.

  Valens took a glass of wine from a silver tray and tried to concentrate on the scene before him. The buzz was quieter in here where the gladiators of the first hall had gathered than in the other rooms. Unlike the frantic wailing or gorging on food that he had seen in the other rooms where the untried, gladiators and the ones who had only won a single bout feasted, here most behaved with dignity.

  The gladiators of the first hall were survivors, and, while they might perish because of an injury, it was doubtful that they would be killed at the crowd's request—their price was too high for the giver of the games to pay to the lanistra. Or at least it was what they told themselves. Valens lifted the cup of honey-sweetened wine to his lips and avoided the outstretched arms of a cloyingly perfumed beauty in lavender.

  'Valens, you are here at last,' Tigris said, clapping him on the back. 'Come to partake of the wine, women and song. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.'

  'Something like that,' Valens said and tried to keep his mind away from the horrors with which he knew tomorrow would be filled. Time enough for nightmares in the small hours of the morning. He gave a brief laugh and gestured at the gladiators who lounged on the couches. 'I come to watch and make sure you and the others stuff your faces. It will make my job easier tomorrow afternoon.'

  'No, seriously, why are you here? You generally avoid these gatherings like the plague. Your views and Maia's are the same—maudlin overblown spectacles that demean the dignity of the gladiator.'

  'I've made an exception, at Strabo's insistence. He is our manager after all.' Valens raised his cup to the lanistra, who waved back from where he lounged, surrounded by young men. 'These parties are not the way I want to relax before a bout. But the paying guests will want the top of the bill, according to direct orders from Caesar. Who am I to disobey?'

  'You delight in talking riddles.' Tigris poked a finger at Valens's chest. 'You may want to believe that, but I know you are here for another purpose.'

  'Believe what you like,' Valens said and put his cup down on the table, disturbed that Tigris had read him that easily.

  'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave. I have fulfilled my contract, Strabo has seen me and I can now look forward to the bout tomorrow without worrying about my fee being docked for non-attendance at the feast.'

  Valens looked around the hall at the gambling and the women. He counted at least six men who could recognise him from his youth. The only thing that might prevent a confrontation was the story of his death. 'There are too many shades of my misspent youth here.'

  'You might have cause to linger.' Tigris leant forward and whispered 'She's here, you know. I saw you searching for her earlier. You can't fool me, old friend, with your talk of counting gladiators and orders from Strabo, I know you too well.'

  'Who's here?' Before he finished forming the words, Valens knew who Tigris meant—Julia.

  'Julia Antonia, the woman you proclaimed you were finished with. The woman you stood transfixed by this afternoon, or so Maia tells me. I recognised her from Maia's description. Shaking your head in disgust at me will do you no good,' Tigris laughed and then sobered. 'But if you want her, you'll have to move fast.'

  'Why?'

  'It appears Aquilia has taken you at your word and is treating her as fair game.'

  Valens's jaw clenched as he followed the line of Tigris's finger. There in a knot by the door stood Aquilia speaking to a vision in rose-pink.

  Despite the stylised hair and the gown so thin it left little to the imagination, he knew from the way she tilted her head that it was Julia—a suspicion confirmed when he heard the echo of her laughter over the din of the crowd.

  As he watched, he saw Julia try to disentangle herself from Aquilia's heavy grip, only for the former pirate to wrap his arm around her waist.

  Their eyes met, and Valens fancied he saw desperation in them. Why had she approached Aquilia? She knew what he was like. Aquilia was not the sort of man to pay attention to any woman's wish. Nobody would come to her rescue, not here, not at this feast. More likely they would be wagering on whether or not she'd manage to take him to bed. Anger at Julia, at Aquilia and most of all at the system washed over him. He squared his shoulders and started towards the pair.

  'Valens, what are you going to do?' Tigris grabbed on to his arm. 'Remember, Strabo gave you clear warning to stay away from Aquilia. He will find another to amuse him shortly.'

  'Would you be so quick to find excuses if that was Maia?'

  'The lady might welcome his attention…' Tigris began. 'You did say you two were finished. Perhaps she merely wants a gladiator…'

  His voice fell silent as Valens glared at him, feeling the anger surge through him. He was uncertain whose neck he wanted to wring more—Aquilia's or Julia's. Although he was pleased to see her, she should know better than to be here.

  'That is what I am going to find out.' Valens shook off Tigris's arm and took another stride towards the couple. 'She appears to be in need of assistance and I intend to offer it.'

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julia tried to disentangle her hand from Aquilia's broad one for the third time. Talking to this overgrown cretin had been Poppea's idea. Ask him where your gladiator is, she had hissed with a giggle and a hard shove to her
back.

  Before Julia could explain or interrupt Claudia's discussion with a soldier about the merits of extra armour on the torso to ask her to explain, Poppea had simpered up to the man, spoken to him and then had pushed her forward. With a flick of his wrist, his paw had closed around her arm. His eyes glittered with the same intensity as they had after the weapon-giving ceremony.

  She felt her backbone begin to give way, then she thought of how he liked to see women cowed. She refused to allow him that satisfaction. She lifted her chin into the air and stared directly back at Aquilia.

  'Please release my hand,' she said through gritted teeth.

  Aquilia showed no signs of granting her request. His meaty breath assaulted her nose, and his eyes held a distinct leer to them.

  'Do I need to repeat myself? Let my hand go.' She heard her voice rise and a tremble of fear appear in the last word. This whole feast idea was a grim mistake. Between the crowds, the noise and now Aquilia's behaviour, she would be hard pressed to think of a less pleasant way to spend an evening. Thus far, she had not seen one glimpse of Valens.

  Her heart sank further. Perhaps he had already been and left. Her entire journey would be for nothing. The oniy thing she would be able to do would be to perch in the stands and pray that she would have a chance to explain and to put things right between them.

  Aquilia seemed to notice her discomfort and laughed. He put his hand on her waist.

  'You are very pretty. I am a gladiator. We go somewhere, yes?'

  'No. I need to find my friends. They are in the crowd. I told you that.'

  Julia jerked her hand away, and the force she had to use propelled her into a large object. She put out her hand to steady herself as warm fingers grasped her elbow.

  'We meet again, Julia Antonia.'

  Julia looked at where her fingers were—not grabbing on to a marble pillar as she had first hoped, but clutching on to fine wool material. Her heart sank to the tops of her sandals at the sound of his rich voice. She froze, refusing to believe that this could be happening to her. She was supposed to be calm and poised when she met him, not grabbing on to his tunic for dear life.