by Nhys Glover
Gladiator 4: ORION
An Ancient Roman Reverse Harem Romance
Nhys Glover
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. With the exception of historical events and people used as background for the story, or those clearly in the public domain, the names, characters and incidents portrayed in this work come wholly from the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental
Published by Belisama Press
© Nhys Glover 2018
The right of Nhys Glover to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This book is copyright. All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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OTHER BOOKS BY NHYS GLOVER
ANCIENT ROMAN HISTORICAL ROMANCES:
Liquid Fire
The Barbarian's Mistress
Lionslayer's Woman (Sequel to Liquid Fire)
White Raven's Lover (Sequel to Barbarian's Mistress)
The Gladiator's Bride (Sequel to White Raven's Lover)
WEREWOLF KEEP TRILOGY:
Guardian of Werewolf Keep
Imprisoned at Werewolf Keep
Defiance at Werewolf Keep
Insane (A novella)
NEW ATLANTIS TIME TRAVEL SERIES:
Nine Lives (Cara/Jac)
The Dreamer's Prince (Jane/Julio)
Savage (Faith/ Luke)
Shared Soul (Maggie/Travis)
Bitter Oath (Liv/ Rene)
The Titan Drowns (Eilish/Max, Karl/Lizzie, Pia/Marco)
The Key (Kat/Bart)
Pieces (Krista/Dirk)
Second Chance (Bree/Hakon)
Watcher (Jin/Rafe)
Vision of You (Ellen/Duke)
Osiris (Takhara/Dan)
Causality (Willow/Jarvidh)
Gods of Time (Teagan/Jason, Lucien/Alba)
Book of Seeds (Shay/Cy)
SCORPIO SONS SF/SHIFTER ROMANCE SERIES:
1: Colton 2: Connor 3: Cooper 4: Chase
5: Cameron 6: Caleb 7: Conrad 8: Charles
GREYWORLD SERIES:
(Paranormal Sweet Romance)
1: The Anomaly
2: Mallory
3: Earth Angel
4: Crag Wraith
REVERSE HAREM FANTASIES:
THE AIRLUDS TRILOGY:
The Sacrifice
The Chosen One
Goddess Unbound
THE AIRSHAN CHRONICLES
The Five
Daemon
The Devourer
GLADIATOR
1. Typhon 2. Asterius 3. Talos 4. Orion 5. Marcus
OTHERS:
The Way Home (Ghost Romance)
Caught in a Dream (SF Sweet Romance)
Labyrinth of Light (New Age Inspirational)
Find out more about Nhys and her books here:
www.nhysglover.com
PROLOGUE
Winter 50 CE Fulginiae UMBRIA
ORION
The big, ugly warrior I had been told to call ‘Sir’ pushed past my little sister as he strode for the door to our domus. She fell awkwardly to the dirt and burst into noisy tears. My two year old sister could be an annoying little pest. But she didn’t deserve to be knocked out of the way as if she was nothing. The man ignored her as if she didn’t exist.
Gerta didn’t deserve to be hurt by this stranger who had moved in with our ma at the start of winter. She didn’t deserve to be treated as if she was manure on the man’s sandals just because she was a girl.
Mama said that in her homeland girls could fight alongside the boys. They were sometimes as good at fighting as any of the boys. She said she had been better than most boys and had fought beside her brothers before she was captured. That was before the Master bought her. Then she was given a fine home in the Breeders’ compound here in the south.
So treating Gerta like she didn’t matter was wrong. I rushed over to help her up. Then I spun to face the intruder. I snarled at him to mind where he was going.
I heard Mama draw in a fearful gasp the moment the big man froze in the doorway. He turned slowly to face me. His face looked scary fierce.
“They think you will be a gladiator one day, do they? You?” he jeered.
I lifted my chin and stuck out my chest. At five-and-a-half I was big for my age. Or that was what I was told. Mama and Papa were both big, so everyone thought I would be big too. And I would be. And I would be strong. I could already carry a pail filled with water in from the well. None of the other boys my age could do that.
“I will be the best gladiator in Rome one day,” I announced proudly.
The warrior laughed at me. He took a few steps back in my direction, looking at me like I look at insects I’ve never seen before.
“You, little worm?” he finally grunted out. “I do not think so. A gladiator is more than size and strength. He has to be a warrior who shows no weakness. If he has vulnerabilities, others will use them against him. And emotions, even the anger you are showing me now, makes you weak. Caring about that little sister of yours makes you weak. If I wanted to best you, all I would have to do is threaten her. Your skills and size would mean nothing then.”
He gave me a shove and I fell over. Gerta, who still cried pitifully, rushed to my side and tried to help me up. I knew she saw it as her turn to help me. But she was too little to help, and her attempts only made me look weaker to the ugly bastard.
I knew that word bastard because Mama called the ugly man that behind his back. Bastard was a bad word. It fitted him well. I didn’t know why Mama let him stay in our domus and in her bed. She didn’t even like him.
“Leave him,” Mama demanded, her hands on her hips as she did when I was in trouble. But I was not the one in trouble now. He was. And I was glad.
“You know what the Master will do to you if you hurt any of us. All I have to do is tell him what you do to me in the dark and he’ll be feeding you your cock on a platter. And I will do it too. I will!”
“You’d die before you got the chance, woman!” the man sneered, turning his narrowed, beady eyes on her. He was not as tall as she was. But he was much broader across the shoulders and chest. My ma looked like a sapling beside him.
“Either way you’d be dead!” she snarled back, crossing over to stand in front of my crying sister and me.
Part of me felt safer with her there. Another part felt mad that she tried to defend me when I was going to be a gladiator one day.
“Pathetic little worm!” he sneered at me from the other side of Ma’s gown. “You will never survive long in the arena showing your weaknesses. They will gut you like the little piglet you are and laugh as they do it. And your ma will be ashamed she ever gave birth to you. Do you hear me, little worm?”
I didn’t know if he could properly see me. But I wasn’t going to nod my head, if he could or not. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t vuln... whatever that word was he said that must mean something like weak. I would ask Ma what it meant when he left.
The warrior looked back to Mama. “I’ll do you a big favour, woman. Before I’ve sown my seed in you I’ll make a warrior out of the little w
orm for you. The Master will thank me for it.”
“You leave him alone. I’m warning you. Hurt my son and I will tell the Master how you use me!”
“Oh, don’t waste your threats on me, woman,” he scoffed. “I won’t harm a hair of his girlish locks. There are plenty of other ways to make a man of him. Plenty!”
Now I did feel scared. No, not just scared, terrified. It was not just his words. It was the way he said them. I didn’t know what he was going to do to me, but it wouldn’t be good. I knew it wouldn’t be good.
Chapter One
January 65 CE Fulginiae UMBRIA
ACCALIA
My pack had been gone for nearly two months now, yet the pain was not lessening. Not that I expected it to. It hadn’t eased when they left to join Magna Ludus in Rome last year, so it was unlikely to lessen this time.
When Pater returned from his tour, he had expected my pack to accept his offer of freedom. But after long hours of discussion during his absence, we had agreed that it was safer for them to remain part of Pater’s troupe.
A freedman fighter who voluntarily entered a ludus gave up all his rights and could be used in any way the lanista chose. And we had already seen what public pressure in Rome could make a lanista do. Or try to do.
Had I not stood strong against the incredible pressure placed on me, and if Pater had not had a clause built into his contracts for all his gladiators, my four men would have faced twenty middle-grade gladiators at the festival six weeks before the fire. They would all have surely been severely injured, if not killed outright, if the lanista had had his way. All to produce the ‘most spectacular of spectaculae’ as it was described on the fliers posted up around the city.
When Pater returned, he had readily agreed with our argument. Surprisingly, he had also offered to give my men the earnings from their contests. The money they would have received themselves as freedmen. It was a sign of just how much he respected my pack, and loved me, that he would do such a thing.
So, when my pack were ready to retire, all their earnings would come to them, and they would likely never have to work again. It was a wonderful offer. And one that could not be refused.
I shifted restlessly in the cisium as it lurched over the rough dirt road that led into town. Pater was staring sightlessly off into space, and I was not much better. We were going to the small amphitheatre in Fulginiae to watch this year’s graduates fight in the spectaculum for the holiday of Janus, which marked the beginning of the new year.
Because of the fire that had destroyed most of Rome the previous year and, more relevantly to us, the amphitheatres and ludi in the field of Mars, Pater had to find room for more of his troupe further afield. Not an easy task. And though there was already talk of setting up makeshift arenas on the outskirts of Rome, Pater preferred to wait until more permanent arrangements were made before moving his men back to the hub of the empire. It was a win for the provincial centres and a loss for Rome that the best of the best were being shunted off to perform in far-flung arenas.
Pater had decided to keep this year’s crop of new gladiators close to home, to see just how well they fared before sending them to the provinces. Normally he would have sent them to Rome and trusted the judgement of the manager of Magna Ludus. But now that was no longer possible.
A gladiator-in-training might have spent ten years, more than half his life, training to be a gladiator in Pater’s unique facility, but that did not prepare him for the reality of actual combat. And that reality was death. No matter how good the gladiator, death was an ever-present possibility. Until a man faced his death, his true courage could not be measured, and Pater could not determine where that fighter belonged.
Pater had the largest troupe of gladiators in the empire fighting in twenty-five of the hundred or more amphitheatres across the empire. The twenty-five largest amphitheatres. Their earnings gave us the kind of wealth few patricians at the lower end of our society could ever enjoy. Although much of that income was funnelled back into the breeding and training programs for the next generation of gladiators.
Pater regularly sponsored games in his local community, as was expected of our class. And his games were always well supported because of his reputation for producing some of the best gladiators in the empire. This was one such event.
I shifted uncomfortably on the well-cushioned bench seat yet again, staring unseeingly at the four bodyguards who rode beside us. Going to the contest was supposed to be a pivotal moment for me. It was Pater’s way of showing our local community that I was his heir in more than just name. After I succeeded in managing my pack in the political snake-pit that was Rome, Pater had been assured I could take his place. Now he was declaring it to the world.
But I was less than enthusiastic. I would have preferred to join my pack in Puteoli, managing them there as I had in Rome. But Pater had wanted me to remain at home with him, at least for the winter months. And I could not refuse him. After all, he had almost lost me in the fire and for several awful days had thought I had died in it.
In the last two years he had almost lost me twice. The first time was when his new wife tried to marry me off to a Parthian prince while he was away. The second was in the fire. Both events had taken their toll on his health. He had aged too quickly in the last two years, and the way he often pressed at the centre of his chest made me worry his heart might be failing him. Leaving him now would have been too cruel, and my pack had reluctantly agreed with me.
Pater had promised me he would accompany me to Puteoli in spring and introduce me personally to the lanista there. He was even making arrangements for me to stay with a patrician family he knew in the area. It was not ideal, but it was the best short-term solution we could come up with. Because Pater had to be my first priority.
We were just about to leave the woods, the town just coming into sight in the distance, when it happened. The suddenness of it was shocking, the results devastating.
Men on horseback and on foot charged out at us from every direction, their war cries hideous, the speed of their attack overwhelming.
My heart beat like a Celtic war drum in my chest. I wanted to move. To take action. But my body was frozen in place. It was all happening too fast for me to adequately react.
There had to be twenty or more of them, my fevered mind calculated. All excellent fighters from what I could determine, as they crossed angry swords with our men.
The warrior cries, and the sound of clashing steel, was all the more horrifying because it occurred in what had only moments before been a silent wood. The only sound then had been the call of birds. Now, the noise was deafening.
While Pater attempted to take charge our rearing, neighing horses so our driver could join the fight, I felt around for the small dagger I kept attached to my belt. My men had taken pains to teach me how to use it over the winter months. Even more than in the past, they had worried about my safety. My ability to defend myself.
Taking my eyes off the fighting was impossible, so my fingers were left to seek out the dagger for themselves. My throat had almost closed up with fear, but my shaking fingertips finally found and released the dagger as our driver took a sword thrust to the gut. He cried out in agony as he was dragged from the cisium.
Brandishing my dagger, I searched for someone to use it on. Pater, realising we were outnumbered, tried to drive the horses forward so we could get away from at least the men on foot. If we could get free, our mounted guards would follow behind us, I decided groggily. The town, and the safety it offered, was so close!
But two of the ambushers rushed in to grab our horses’ heads, blocking our only means of escape.
Two of our guards were dragged from their mounts, their horses galloping away in terror. Our men scrambled nimbly to their feet and engaged the enemy, back to back. These were retired gladiators initially trained in our barracks, and they acquitted themselves well. I could see that. One after another, the enemy fell beneath their swords.
But there were
too many ambushers. We were outnumbered. Five men against twenty was not enough.
I heard the cry as a sword drove home into the side of one of our two men on foot. It was only a matter of time before the other found a sword thrust into his unprotected back.
Meanwhile, the other two guards had also been unseated and were fighting fiercely. I saw the intensity on their faces. I saw their unwillingness to give in.
Desperately, I looked for an opponent. But the attackers were staying well away from the open carriage. Short of jumping down to engage them, there was nothing for me to do but stand at Pater’s side and watch the last of our men fall.
Though it felt like the battle had taken an hour to complete, my rational mind told me it had all happened in a matter of minutes. It was the speed of it that had stolen my breath away and turned my guts to water.
Bodies were scattered in the dirt around us. Blood lay in dark puddles on the ground, too much to be absorbed into the earth so quickly. Severed limbs lay oddly out of place beside the wrong bodies. The stench of spilled bowels tainted the air. All this I took in with my fogged brain as I fought to keep hold of my dagger in a numb hand that had tingling fingers.
When the noise and chaos abated, Pater faced the leader of the marauders, his spine straight, chin up. I had never been as proud of him as I was in that moment. He was unarmed and defenceless against his enemy, but he did not cower or try to escape. Though time had taken its toll on him, I saw the man my pack respected. The one they had spent ten years trying to impress.