My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  Though I constantly reminded myself that I had no right, no claim, to either Caius or Marcus, I could not stop the growth of jealousy’s green leaves and twining vines as she sprouted throughout my entire body, piercing my flesh, my veins.

  “Alba!” Though I had been waiting, I still felt unprepared for the reality of the woman. Hilaria sauntered into the room as if she owned it, as if she was domina here, her every step measured and deliberate. She paused several steps from me, waiting, I knew, for words of praise.

  “You look . . . lovely.” And she did. Though her features were somewhat angular and her figure thinner than current fashions appreciated, she was a very attractive woman. Today she wore a shimmering tunic of brilliant azure blue, embroidered with the palest of gold, and it set off the shimmer of her naturally pale yellow hair.

  I shifted uncomfortably before forcing myself to still, aware of my own dark tresses coiled tightly against my skull so that I, too, could have waxen ringlets the color of sunshine. I was incredibly aware that my hair, however, was not my own—it had once belonged to a slave girl, and was attached to my own skull tightly with pins.

  “You do indeed look lovely.” Lucius followed several steps behind Hilaria, with Justinus as always a few paces behind him, and stopped to press lips moistly on Hilaria’s hand. She giggled, then swept a hand over her brow.

  “I am parched from the journey.” She batted her long, silken eyelashes at my husband, who snapped his fingers sharply for Drusilla.

  “Why does our guest not have wine yet?” His tone was harsh, his scowl fiercer than I thought the situation warranted. And Drusilla was my girl, after all. Not Hilaria’s, not Lucius’.

  “It is hard to find slaves who will be more than lazy layabouts, these days.” Hilaria spoke as she sauntered over to sit beside me on the plush, cushioned bench. I saw a shadow cross Drusilla’s face as she hurried to press a cup filled to the brim with spiced wine into the richer woman’s hand.

  The shadow made me mad. Drusilla was more to me than a common slave girl, and Lucius knew it. Why did he not speak? I did not appreciate insults flung her way.

  “Well, you did just arrive.” I kept my tone jovial, teasing, though I felt neither emotion. The journey that had left Hilaria “parched” had taken perhaps twenty minutes at most, carried as she was in her litter, that bed hoisted by her slaves. And wine did need to be poured, after all, before it could be drunk—it did not appear magically if one snapped one’s fingers.

  Lucius looked stunned at my words and then ferociously angry. I had dared to mock him in front of our guest, and as such he was well within his rights to punish me. In the past, I would never have feared that he would, but greed had so overtaken the man whom I had loved that I no longer could anticipate his actions. I gulped at my wine, swallowing past the lump of—surely that could not be fear—that had suddenly congealed in my throat. I realized that I did not know this man at all, not anymore. And he appeared fierce enough to cause very real fear to begin skittering through my veins.

  When Hilaria turned to face him, however, he morphed into another man completely—a jovial host, a charming flirt.

  I watched, sickened, as he smoothed a hand through his dark hair. He looked none the worse for wear from the celebration the night before, and I suspected that he had imbibed water only, no wine, for as had been proven once again the night I had been mated, wine left him with a terrible head and no memory of his doings while under the influence.

  “Have you made your choice, Hilaria?” I could practically see the denarii dancing in front of my husband’s eyes, and I hid a grimace in my cup and tried, very hard, to quash my jealousy and possessiveness.

  This was going to happen, whether I liked it or not. Hilaria would purchase one of the men for her pleasure, and chances were very good that it would be one of the ones that I cared about.

  It would be best for me to align my desires with Lucius’. After all, he was thinking of our familia when he acted as he did. The money from Hilaria was needed, and I would benefit from it.

  The knowledge did not much help.

  Hilaria leaned back on the lounge, reclined at an angle that she must have known accentuated her small but pert breasts. Her nipples, round and dark, were very clearly visible through the thin cloth, and I watched Lucius’ eyes rake over them.

  Slowly, enjoying making us wait, she pulled a dusky red grape from the platter that Drusilla, now standing still behind the lounge, held. Lifting it to her glossy lips, Hilaria bit into it, licking up the juice that dribbled out before chewing and swallowing.

  My nerves felt grated at her deliberate movements, at the knowledge that she acted as she did out of a sense of superiority. Perhaps I was alone in my feelings that denarii and social class did not make a person worthy of a pleasurable afterlife, but it was how I felt, and it was something that I thought of often when in Hilaria’s company.

  “I have thought on it.” She paused again, this time to sip at her wine and arch her back ever so slightly. Damn her, she knew that my husband was looking at her breasts through her tunic, and she was doing this on purpose. Likely she had even worn such thin cloth by calculation, as well.

  Was she so insecure that she needed the constant praise of others? Or was she truly that horrid a woman?

  “I have thought,” she repeated her words and sipped more wine. “I have decided that I do not know enough to make my decision.”

  “My lady?” Lucius stepped forward, confusion and a trace of panic echoing out through the room. I was right, then.

  We needed the money, and he would allow Hilaria to do as she wished with our men, so long as the price was high enough.

  “Calm yourself, Lucius.” Raising herself up, with her weight balanced on her elbows, she placed a hand lazily on my knee. It felt heavy and wrong where it rested, but I knew that I could not shrug it off. “I merely wish for a demonstration.”

  Lucius’ brow furrowed. “Surely you don’t expect to . . . sample . . . the wares before an agreement has been made?” His words were cautious, and the panic he had shown on his face leaked through them, though I could see that he was trying to hide it.

  I understood his feelings. Had Hilaria crossed us? Was she intending to demand the services of one of our men for free, knowing as well as we did that she could ruin our alliance with Baldurus?

  Did she even know of our potential patronage?

  Had Lucius sunk into depths far over our heads?

  She must, of course, know of our potential deal with Baldurus. Just as there were no secrets in a house with slaves, neither were there amongst those who flitted about in society in Rome.

  I did not like the thought. Might I have to endure her possession of Marcus or Caius while receiving nothing with which to comfort myself in return?

  Hilaria laughed then, her laugh sounding to my ears like shards of glass scraping on stone. “Oh, you should see the faces on the pair of you!” Lucius and I exchanged a glance, our expressions stony. Though it had been a very long time since we had agreed on anything, in this instance our desires snapped into alignment. “We will come to an agreement, fear not. A financial agreement. But I want to inspect the goods before purchase.” In the blink of an eye, the lazy languor that she had so carefully displayed moments before vanished, replaced with brisk, business-like acumen. Who was this woman? Nothing in her silly, flirtatious attitudes had ever before suggested to me that she had a brain, as well. She continued, “Bring me your champion, and the other one that I desired last night. Bring me two others as well, two of your best.”

  As Hilaria’s demeanor had changed quickly, so too did Lucius’. He shifted from stunned underling to sly businessman in the beat of a heart.

  This was business. This was something that he could understand.

  He would leave the silly women’s games to me, of that I was certain.

  “Hilaria, we have d
iscussed this.” He smiled then, that unctuous turn of the lips that I only recently found so revolting. “Our champion, and the next in line, are not available. We simply cannot risk weakening them.”

  Hilaria returned my husband’s smile, but beneath the seemingly innocuous expression was metal, forged in fire. I wondered if perhaps there were two people in her one body. “I will see them, Lucius. After all, I need something to compare the others to, do I not?”

  This time Lucius did not look to me, his wife. Rather he turned to Justinus, who had been standing quietly—for once—just inside the doorway.

  They communicated silently, which I found odd, for the understanding pulsing between them seemed far deeper than that normally found between a slave and his master. It irked me that Lucius would consult his man before his wife, but I bit my tongue.

  “Justinus will fetch the men.” With this announcement, the charming, flirtatious man reappeared in my husband’s demeanor. “Marcus and Caius, Appius and I think perhaps . . . Christus. You will like Christus.” He winked once and mimed length with his hands, and Hilaria again spilled over with mirth, the forcefulness of her attitude again receding as the silly flirt returned.

  The games these two were playing were hurting my head. And at the same time, my insides clenched at the thought of seeing Caius and Marcus.

  I was not happy imagining what Hilaria considered a demonstration, however. No, I was not happy at all.

  The chamber, full with the bright light of the early afternoon’s sun, was full. Hilaria still sat beside me on the soft chaise, and she had nestled in close, as if we were the best of girlfriends. Lucius stood behind me, and Justinus and Drusilla behind him.

  In front of us, in a rigidly formed line, were the gladiators. Caius, Marcus. Appius, Christus.

  I cared nothing for the latter two. My eyes were firmly fixed on the two former, who appeared like two gods, two statues of sculpted muscle and bronzed skin.

  I wanted to run my hands over that sun-bronzed skin, that taut, sinewy muscle. And I wanted my hands on them both. No longer did my loyalty lay with just Marcus. No, in my mind they had become entwined, one unable to exist without the other, though both were very clearly still individuals.

  Two gladiators whom I cared about. Two whom I desired. Two whom I wanted to do with as I wished: Caius, who entered the room with a defiant swagger, and who managed to suggest a wink and a smirk without his face changing at all, and Marcus, the soldier, his face expressionless, his eyes dark as a summer storm.

  I could do as I wished with neither, no matter how I longed to. They were here at Hilaria’s bequest. They were here to do as she commanded.

  To be at her service.

  So, too, it seemed, were the members of my husband’s household, for Hilaria turned to Lucius and fluttered a hand. “Leave us now, Lucius. This is a women’s matter.” She smiled at me then, a conspiratorial smile that alarmed me, and I looked to Lucius for an answer.

  He appeared to be in pain. He started to speak, then stopped, and I knew very well what he was thinking. If he was not here to control the situation, what might Hilaria do? It would be up to me to monitor things, and confrontation was not something that I enjoyed.

  “Very well.” What could he do, after all? The damned woman had wrapped us all in her sticky web, and we could do naught but as she wished, for fear of the consequences. “I shall just kiss my wife farewell.”

  I watched with foreboding as he crossed the small space between us, placed hands firmly on my waist, and, lowering his head, kissed me thoroughly, the kind of kiss a man gives to the woman he craves more than anything.

  I did not know how to react. My husband had not kissed me in this manner in years, and I could not imagine why he was doing it now. My whole body stiffened involuntarily with displeasure at the lie.

  Trailing his lips from my mouth, over my jaw, to brush in the silken hair by my ear, he whispered, and his words managed to sound harsh even in that quiet tone.

  “Keep her under control. Do you understand?” His fingers dug into my hips as he spoke, a loving squeeze to any observing, but I felt pain under the brutal force of his fingers on my tender flesh.

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. Had all of his love for me gone, then, all of it replaced with greed?

  When he moved back, away from me, he was again jovial, and gestured grandly with his left arm. “Well, you heard the lady. We shall all remove ourselves, but for my wife.” He stressed the last two words, and I understood something then that I had never quite seen before.

  I was his property, just as much as the gladiators were, as Justinus was.

  I caught Justinus’ eye as he moved to follow my husband, and he cast me a look of loathing. This was nothing new, but it was still not pleasant. I dared not look at Hilaria until my features were composed, so I turned instead to the row of gladiators.

  A quick punch of adrenaline shot straight through my flesh when I saw that both Caius and Marcus had moved. Neither was staring straight ahead, eyes distant, in formation, as they were meant to be. No, both had shifted just enough to look at me, and I wondered what they saw that interested them both so.

  Distaste, just the slightest hint of it, was apparent in the features of each, though Marcus sowed it in the crinkles around his raven dark eyes, and Caius in a tightening of the lips. I saw that Marcus was stiff, his muscles tensed, while Caius looked liable to fly into a rage at any moment, to strike Lucius down.

  I did not think that their distaste was directed at me. It could have been toward the situation, but something told me that that wasn’t it, either.

  Could it be . . . could it be that they had understood how my husband had just made me feel?

  No. No, that could not be it. For even if they had seen, their loyalty lay with Lucius, not me.

  “Alba.” Hilaria snapped her fingers, and I blinked in irritation, not so much at being abruptly brought out of my ruminations, but at being snapped at as if I was a servant girl. “Come now. Stop dreaming while awake and let us have our fun.”

  Reluctantly, I walked the short distance that lay between Hilaria and myself. She cooed as she drew me down to sit beside her on the lounge.

  “Before we start to enjoy these luscious men, I have a treat for us.” The polite smile froze on my face as I watched the woman pull a vial from between her breasts. It was attached to a leather thong around her neck, and was too small to hold anything troublesome that I could think of.

  “Give me your cup.” Warily I handed her my clay cup, which did not yet contain any wine. I watched her pull the stopper from her vial, then upend a viscous splash of liquid into the vessel.

  “Drink it.” Her words held certainty that I would do as she said. I watched as she drained the rest of the vial into her cup, which was full of wine.

  “What is it?” I looked into my cup. The liquid contained within looked oily, thick, and dark. I had no more desire to drink it than I would to drink my own urine.

  Hilaria lowered the cup that had been raised halfway to her lips to grin at me with delight. “It is a special mixture of opium and belladonna and it has traveled halfway across the empire to my hands.” Lifting the cup the rest of the way to her lips, she took a long drink of the wine and opiate mixture, then licked her lips.

  “Mmm.” Narrowing her eyes at me, her expression became suspicious. “I expect you to drink this with me. It cost a pile of denarii, and many patrician women would quite literally die for the taste that you are about to have.”

  I thought that perhaps the opium would help me through the ordeal that lay before me, but when I lifted the cup to my lips found that I could not swallow. Now that I knew it was opium that had been in the vial, I also knew that it had been mixed with flax oil and honey, and though some, I knew, considered this combination to be a rare treat, I found the very idea repulsive.

  In parties held by my h
usband, I had seen many a Roman become slobbering and foolish under the influence of such substances, whether they were the common varieties available in the marketplace, or special ones imported from across the Empire, like the mixture that now swirled in my cup.

  I knew that I would need all of my wits about me to deal with Hilaria in the next few hours. And though I was loath to even allow the thought to surface, I did not wish for Caius or Marcus to see me so.

  “Let me add some wine, at least, as you have.” I stood before the other woman could protest, rounding the chaise and approaching the standing tray that Drusilla had left with cups and a large pitcher of our most expensive wine.

  My hands shook as I poured wine into the cup that held the opium and also splashed some into the cup directly next to it. I needed to distract the woman while I switched them.

  “Tell me, Hilaria, you have seen both Marcus and Caius, but what is your first impression of Christus and Appius?” As I had hoped, she turned from me to survey the men, and I took in hand the cup that held only wine.

  “I do not yet know.” Her voice was fretful as I again approached the chaise. “I suppose they look well enough, but I must see their cocks to know for certain.” Her attention returned to my cup as I again sat, and she smiled at the sight of the liquid within.

  I noted that her mood had again changed. She had been angry and forceful when directing me to drink the opium, and now she seemed as a little girl, a child whose treat has not lived up to expectation.

  “Let us toast to the cocks of men!” I narrowly managed to turn my grimace into a gay smile as we both lifted our cups in her toast, which I found distasteful. I took a deep, fortifying sip from my cup, which I alone knew contained nothing but wine.

  Satisfied that I was indulging in her “treat” along with her, Hilaria turned her attention to the men who stood before us.