Roma Victrix

by Russell Whitfield

  ‘I mean to ask for her hand,’ Valerian shot back, his dark eyes full of challenge.

  That took her by surprise. ‘You what?’ Illeana could scarcely credit it.

  ‘I mean to marry her,’ Valerian said firmly. ‘If she will have me.

  This is no life for her and I would see her living in comfort. Having everything she wants.’

  ‘On a fortune you’ve built by selling shit?’

  ‘Money is money. It doesn’t care where it comes from or where it’s going. Besides this has nothing to do with you, Illeana. It is up to Pyrrha.’

  Illeana put her cup down and sighed. The former tribune was full of earnest intent – she could read it in his eyes that he was in love with the girl. ‘She wants to fight, Valerian.’

  ‘Only because she has no choice.’

  ‘You know that isn’t the case. I don’t know why she wants to fight either, truth be told, but there is something that drives her.

  There is a need in her to be acknowledged as her own woman. She once said to me that she didn’t want to live in anyone’s shadow. I’ve pressed her on her past and I’ll tell you this – she’s told us all a pack of lies. There is more to this girl than you and I know.’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ Valerian was obstinate. ‘Her past is her own business – and it’s a business that I don’t care about. I won’t judge anyone on their past, it’s how they are now that counts – not what happened to them before!’ His eyes shone suddenly with repressed tears which shocked Illeana to the core. ‘I left my past behind,’ he continued, voice taut. ‘I won’t let it ruin my future.’

  She wanted to remain angry with him but could not. She understood love – and understood that there was no place for it in the life of an arena fighter. ‘Valerian,’ she said after a few moments.

  ‘Don’t do this now. Not now.’

  Valerian gathered his emotions with visible force of will and poured a stiff cup of wine. ‘I must. I don’t want to see her get killed. I love her,’ he added as though to affirm it in his own mind.

  ‘I can see that you do,’ Illeana looked down and then raised her head to meet his eyes. ‘Then you must listen to me, Valerian. If you ask her and she says yes and you take her away from all this, there will always be a part of her that resents you – and herself.

  She needs this – I don’t know why, but she does.’ Valerian made to speak, but she held up a hand, cutting him off. ‘Let me finish.

  You’ve been around the Flavian long enough to know that women who fight are not like… normal women. There is a need in all of us to compete – the ones that don’t have that… that spark within them die very quickly. You know, the slaves that are taken and made to fight? They are just offal. Sacrifices to whet the sand’s appetite for what is to follow. Those of us that choose to fight do so because we need to. Men want to prove themselves – and there are women like that too. Don’t take this away from her, Valerian.

  Wait till she has fought her next bout and then ask her – don’t fill her mind with things other than staying alive. I beg you – she must focus on her next fight or she will get hurt – or worse. Will you promise me this?’

  ‘And what if I do as you say and in her next bout she is…?’ he could not bring himself to finish. ‘What then?’

  ‘She will win,’ Illeana assured him. ‘I’ve seen her in action already.

  She’s a natural – these provincial arenas don’t have the class of fighter we produce in the Flavian. She has already fought and beaten the best Capua has to offer, and Capua is second only to Rome.

  Though it pains me to say it, Valerian, she pushes even me hard when we train. Trust me – all will be well.’

  Emotion warred with good sense across his face and finally he capitulated. ‘I will not speak of marriage, then,’ he affirmed. ‘But I will not pretend that I don’t have feelings for her. And I will accompany you to her next fight so that when it is over I can ask her.’

  Illeana wanted to push it but could tell he would not be moved.

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ she said resignedly. ‘And you’ll lose your job. If you don’t return, Maro will replace you.’

  ‘I don’t care about that. I just want to be with Pyrrha.’

  Illeana chuckled then. ‘Clearly. Very well, you can accompany us. Send Settus back with word – I’ll write a message to Maro that I want you here. Even if I do not,’ she added. ‘I’m trusting you on this, Valerian. Don’t speak of it to her.’

  ‘I give you my word,’ he replied stiffly. ‘What you say makes sense, even if I hate the fact that it does.’

  ‘Then we’re done here,’ Illeana placed her cup down. ‘Just tell her that you’ve been assigned to scout out fresh prospects for the Flavian – that’s why you’re accompanying us.’

  Her eyes followed him as he left the room. The meeting had left her tired and drained – and there was something else. She poured herself another cup of wine and sat in thought for a moment, realising that it was a tiny spark of jealousy in her heart. What must it be like, she wondered, to have someone so in love with you that they would risk everything they had just built up to be with you.

  Of course, everyone loved Aesalon Nocturna – the Midnight Falcon had a list of admirers so long that the walls of the Flavian could be filled with their names. From the Emperor of Rome to its lowest Subura cut-throat, she had won all their hearts. Her beauty, her skill, her grace – it all made her something to be desired, something more than mortal perhaps.

  But what of Aemilia Illeana? Since her husband had died, there had been no one for her and, until that moment, she had needed no one. But now she wondered if perhaps it would be good to quit the arena, find a house away from the captial, drink good wine, eat rich food and grow fat and content with a man at her side.

  She stood and went to the full-length bronze mirror, looking at the demigoddess in its reflection. ‘What then of your legend, Aesalon Nocturna?’ she asked it. ‘They don’t make statues of fat country wives, do they?’ Illeana laughed aloud at her own moment of melancholy. There would come a time when she was too old to fight. Her tits would sag and no amount of callisthenics would keep her arse taut and her belly flat. Then the crowd would no longer chant her name and all she would have would be the memories of her glory.

  Time enough for retirement then.

  Valerian composed himself as he stepped out of Illeana’s room. He had come here with an intent but now he saw that the Gladiatrix Prima was right. Straightening his shoulders, he made his way over to Pyrrha who was giving Settus an impromptu tour of the Capuan ludus.

  ‘Well,’ he began, ‘it is good to see you again, Pyrrha.’

  She smiled at him, tilting her head and closing one eye as the sun shone in it. ‘And you, Valerian.’

  ‘Yeah, well, this is great,’ Settus put in. ‘Let’s get into town, have a few drinks and head off back to Rome in the morning.’

  ‘You know that I’m here on a scouting mission,’ Valerian fixed Settus with a look, imploring him to understand.

  ‘What?’ Settus said. ‘I thought that we were just supposed to drop off the money and head straight back. That’s what Maro said.’

  Valerian sighed. ‘Yes, and also that I was to continue on with Illeana to the next arena and report back on the talent – if there’s any to be found. I’m to negotiate with lanistas and see if we can’t buy some new stock.’

  Settus frowned. ‘Why didn’t you mention this on the way down?’

  ‘I thought Maro would have told you.’

  ‘That cunt never tells me anything. So we’re going on a trip are we?’

  ‘Well, I am – you’ve got to go back and tell Maro that Illeana agrees that I should go with her…’

  ‘I thought…’ Settus stopped and looked first at Pyrrha and then Valerian. Like the sun on a winter morning, understanding dawned on his face. ‘Right. Back to fucking Rome on me tod. Fuck’s sakes.’

  He shook his head. ‘All right then
. I’m going into town to get pissed out of my head, then I’ll go back tomorrow. On my own. Thanks a lot. See you then, Pyrrha.’ The former optio turned about and stalked off.

  Pyrrha watched him for a moment and then turned back to Valerian. As soon as she did, Settus spun around, making a shuffling gesture with his hand, mouthing the words ‘you fucking wanker’ at Valerian, his expression full of glee. No doubt the Flavian would be alive with gossip if they returned there.

  ‘So we’ll be spending some time together then,’ Pyrrha said.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Valerian cautioned himself not to be too enthusiastic.

  He wanted her to know that he cared for her but, as Illeana had warned him, he did not want her distracted. ‘I don’t really enjoy gladiatorial shows,’ he added. ‘Maro thinks that because I won’t get caught up in the action, I will have a dispassionate view.’ He was starting to believe the fantasy himself.

  ‘Well, I certainly hope you’ll watch me fight,’ she stepped a little closer to him. Valerian was struck by her beauty and he sensed a change in her. She was more confident, sure of herself and he reckoned that being in the company of Illeana was teaching her to use her sexuality as a weapon.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Of course, I’m looking forward to that.

  Illeana tells me that you’re very good.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Pyrrha said. ‘I am very good.’ Her eyes made it clear to him that she was not speaking only of fighting. This was not like the girl that had left Rome so recently and the change in her both excited and perturbed Valerian.

  He was, however, not above a little teasing of his own. ‘I can’t wait to find out for myself.’

  ‘It’ll be worth the wait,’ she said and, before he could react, she raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

  It was fleeting, brief, but the sensation jolted through him. Pyrrha laughed and made off, leaving Valerian staring after her.

  XXXII

  ‘Jupiter is angry,’ Murco commented; even here in the fighter’s cells at Paestum’s arena, the crash of thunder could be heard through the thick walls. It had been raining heavily all day and a storm had now come – not that that would serve to douse the enthusiasm of the crowd.

  ‘Zeus,’ Lysandra corrected absently. ‘More oil please, Kleandrias.’

  ‘If it is Jupiter, he’s angry because a Hellene is going to defeat a Roman on her own patch,’ the Spartan trainer said as he kneaded the sweet-smelling unguent into Lysandra’s chest and belly. ‘No offence, lads,’ he glanced at Cappa and Murco.

  ‘None taken,’ Cappa supplied.

  ‘Nervous?’ Kleandrias asked her as he crouched down, applying more oil to her legs.

  Lysandra thought about that for a moment. ‘Somewhat,’ she admitted. ‘It has been a long time. And I have never fought in the rain before.’

  ‘Goes without saying that you should watch your footing, lass,’

  Cappa said. ‘The sand will be greasy and slick.’

  ‘Just take your time,’ Kleandrias advised. ‘Make her fight your fight, not the other way around.’

  Lysandra smiled slightly. ‘I think that my opponent will be in for a surprise.’ Kleandrias had told her all about the arrangement between the Flavian amphitheatre in Rome and the provincial arenas.

  The fighters from the empire’s capital were regularly sent out to blood themselves on supposedly inferior troupes of Italia but this time they would find the roles reversed. Lysandra was well aware that she needed to shake off some rust and fighting a novice offered her a relatively safe way of stretching her muscles.

  There was a knock on the cell door and one of the arena slaves poked his head around it. ‘It’s nearly time,’ he said.

  Lysandra nodded and then turned her attention to her trainers.

  ‘Leave me now,’ she said. ‘I must pray.’ They filed out, each one offering a nod or a word of encouragement.

  Alone in her cell, Lysandra closed her eyes and raised her palms.

  ‘Hear me, Athene, hear the words of your handmaiden, Lysandra the Spartan, who will fight in your honour. I have strayed from the path, strayed from your sight and surrounded myself with comfort.

  I became weak. I forgot that it is you and you alone who gave me everything. I misused those gifts and abused your generosity. But you opened my unworthy eyes and set me straight. Athene, I have trained hard and long. Grant me victory so that I may dedicate it to you. Be with me.’ She stood thus for some time and her body became warm and she knew then Athene had smiled upon her once again. ‘Thank you, lady,’ she whispered. With that she left her cell and began the walk to the Gate of Life.

  The crowd roared its approval as the two gladiatrices hacked at the criminal, the driving rain doing nothing to dampen the mob’s ardour for slaughter. Valerian did not enjoy the arena – it was base entertainment and he had seen enough blood and suffering to have had his fill. Nevertheless, he could not argue with the fact that this bastard deserved his fate. There were enough cheap whores in the world for any man to empty himself into, so the crime of rape was a needless one. That they had turned the fellow over to these amazons was an act of ironic justice that even Valerian appreciated.

  The two women, one an Egyptian retiaria called ‘Isis’ the other a Britannic secutrix were certainly eking out the entertainment. The Egyptian had brought down their quarry with the net and now they were taking it in turns to stab him piecemeal – and were clearly relishing the task. His screams of agony were almost drowned out by the jeers of the mob, but the wails were so high-pitched and keening that they cut through the omniscient roar.

  Valerian glanced at Illeana who was rapt with attention, her plump lips slightly parted as she watched the show. ‘What do you think?’ he asked her, pushing away thoughts of those lips working their way down his stomach. He loved Pyrrha, but by the gods, Illeana was more erotic than Venus. On their way to Paestum they had agreed that even though the whole ‘scouting trip’ had been made up, it was such a good idea that they should capitalise on it.

  ‘I like this Isis,’ she replied. ‘I will request a fight with her, I think. I’ve been in training but there’s nothing like a real bout to keep you at your peak.’

  ‘They’ll love you for that,’ he said. ‘These yokels won’t have seen Rome’s finest gladiatrix in action, so it’ll be a treat.’ He winced as the retiaria drove her trident into the rapist’s groin.

  ‘Classy,’ Illeana clapped her hands politely as the man flopped about on the sand, blood gouting from his ruined genitals. The secutrix let him live a while longer before putting an end to his suffering by ramming her long Gallic sword into his face which caused raptures in the audience. Illeana rose to her feet. ‘Pyrrha fights next,’ she said. ‘I must attend to her.’ With that, she made her way across the seats and away, the eyes of every man she passed suddenly alive with hunger.

  Pyrrha fights next.

  Valerian’s stomach churned with fear at the thought of his love fighting for her life: it was akin to what he felt before battle. A part of him wanted to run to her now, tell her that they should be married and drag her away before the bout. It was a conversation he had had with Illeana ad nauseam on the voyage and subsequent ride to Paestum, but she was adamant that Pyrrha would hate him for doing it and, moreover, the Gladiatrix Prima was right. Having spoken to her, he realised that there was a need in her to fight: to deal with the ghosts of her past – whatever they were – in the same way he sought to put Dacia behind him. A man should pay both kinds of debts, Tancredus had said to him. He could not revenge himself on the Dacians but with Pyrrha he knew that he would find peace.

  ‘Jupiter best and greatest,’ he whispered, ‘let her win so that we may quit this place and make a new life.’

  The lanista of the Paestum ludus had made his way onto the sand, nodding appreciatively as one of the arena workers clad as Charon, ferryman of the dead, dragged the corpse of the rapist away. His feet left deep gouges in the wet sand, making
a track towards the Gate of Death. ‘Citizens!’ he shouted, waving his hands for silence.

  It took a while in coming, by which time the poor fellow was soaked to the skin, rain hammering on his bald head. ‘Citizens!’ he began again when the mob finally allowed him. ‘Criminals have been punished, animals slain for your entertainment. The gods are pleased!’ He could not have timed this better as a flash of lightning illuminated the arena followed by a crash of thunder. ‘At least I think they are – Jupiter is watching!’

  At this the crowd erupted into applause and began to hail the king of the gods, caring little that they were now as drenched as the lanista.

  ‘But now…’ The lanista had to wait for a moment until the impromptu religious frenzy had abated. ‘But now I bring you the first of the day’s contests! Gladiatorial combat is what you crave, is it not, Paestum!’ The mob roared its agreement and, thus buoyed, the lanista pushed on. ‘Our men will fight later,’ he shouted. ‘But first our women will whet your appetites for the battles to come! There’s nothing like seeing a girl with a sword in her hand fighting for your entertainment. You’ll take the visions home with you, Paestum, and you’ll wonder what it would be like to have the victrix take your sword in her hands!’ There was some laughter at this, but the lanista now pushed to the end of his pitch. ‘I bring you a battle of myth!’ he shouted. ‘A battle from beyond history! Imagine, if you will, the greatest warrior in history pitted against his own son – Achilles taking arms against the mighty Pyrrhus! Today I bring you… from Greece…

  Achilliaaaaaa!’

  The first Gate of Life clanked slowly open and the gladiatrix stepped onto the sand and as she did so, Valerian’s eyes widened in abject horror.

  ‘…Today I bring you… from Greece… Achilliaaaaaa!’

  The Gate of Life lifted and Lysandra left herself standing in the shadows as Achillia stepped onto the rain-sodden sands. The sky was a furious grey, the rain driving hard. It was cold on her skin; she felt goose bumps rise on her flesh and her nipples tighten almost painfully. Cold, like fear, was just a feeling. You feel hot, you feel cold, you feel afraid – but those things she had left behind the Gate of Life. Lysandra raised her two swords to the heavens and the crowd roared its approval.