My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  It seemed that that did not matter. The expenditures noted in the book were high, much higher than I could have imagined. Granted, I had not ever had to run a household, so I did not have a good idea of what things cost.

  I did know that if we were so short on funds that we needed to secure a patronage, though, that the purchase of a length of imported cerulean silk seemed to be quite an unnecessary expense.

  There were other purchases such as this, ones not pertaining to the running of the house or the ludus, meticulously noted in Lucius’ neat hand. I was puzzled, for though I recognized some, such as the extravagant necklace that I had been presented with after being forced to fuck a gladiator, others, a unique cask of wine, a fine pair of leather sandals, and the silk, seemed odd.

  I had not been given a length of silk that matched that description. Lucius did not wear it, either. Perhaps he had ordered it as a gift for some future occasion.

  We did not drink that kind of wine, either. And Lucius did not spend much on the leather sandals that were worn around the house, preferring instead to invest coin where outside eyes could see it—sandals were not worn out of doors.

  The thought of what I might be forced to do to deserve such an extravagant gift as any of these things turned my stomach. I shoved the ledger away, disgusted, and leaned back in the chair. The parts of the wooden frame that were not covered with cushioning dug uncomfortably into my hips, and I wondered at Lucius, sitting for hours in the thing. Then again, my hips were more generous than his, hips given to me by Juno, goddess of fertility.

  Hips needed to birth the child that I might carry.

  Biting my lip, confused and still agitated, I pondered the mess that I had made of the desk. I had to tidy it, I knew, and meticulously, or Lucius would know that someone had been into his things. I doubted that he would suspect it was me, for I had never shown any interest in such matters, and because he had never questioned me on my ability to read and write and figure, but I would not have one of our slaves punished in my stead.

  With a sigh so loud it very nearly reverberated off the walls of the small room, I pulled the ledger close again, intending to close it, to return it to the neat stack that I had first found on the desk. My eyes wandered over the open page again before I did so, and I noticed two things that I had not the first time, when my attention had been caught on the entries that looked as if they pertained to me.

  First, I saw the addition of four hundred denarii made the day before. It was an unheard-of sum, a fortune greater than most Roman citizens saw in three lifetimes, and it had been, as was neatly noted, a payment from Hilaria.

  So she had made her decision, then. And I had not yet been informed of it. With a sinking sensation, I somehow knew that she would be given access to fuck Marcus or Caius, or maybe even both.

  The amount was so staggering that there was no way it could have been anyone else. Only a champion, or a potential champion, could fetch such a price for their stud services.

  Right beneath the entry detailing payment from Hilaria, written with the same pressure and same thickness of ink, was the removal of nearly half that amount. The similarity in the appearance of the entries told me that they had been made at the same time, but unlike the clear labeling that told me where the money had come from, it did not say where it had gone, merely that it was indeed no longer ours.

  It was all very odd. Perhaps I could find a way to weave the money from Hilaria into the conversation when Lucius returned in a few days. There very well could be a simple explanation for the fact that a large portion of that money had already been spent.

  It was hard to focus on that fact when the book had just informed me that my lover could very well be expected to service a woman whom I detested.

  With that thought uppermost in my mind, I slowly closed the book, then replaced it beneath the miscellaneous papers. I returned the whole mass to the corner of the desk where I had found it, lining the edges up just so.

  I was confident that Lucius would not notice anything amiss.

  I was not nearly as confident that he would hold steady to his vow that a champion gladiator must not sap his strength by spilling seed. No, I knew with every fiber of my being that his morals and convictions had been swayed by the immense amount of denarii given to our hands from Hilaria’s.

  It had been less than an hour since I had parted company with Marcus. Still, I craved the sight of him, wanted to look at him and know that he had been with me through choice, and would be with Hilaria, if he was indeed the one she had chosen, because he had no other option.

  I wondered if the men were training that night.

  The velvet curtain that had shielded the balcony overlooking the ludus had not been replaced. It was a reminder that in just over a week’s time I would again meet with my masked gladiator.

  If I bled, that was. There was a chance that I was already with child, and I laid my hands flat over my belly, searching for a sign at the idea, some sign to accompany the tingle of excitement.

  No sign came. Still, the sensation of my palms running over the softly mounded flesh there was pleasant, and so I kept them in place as I moved through the now-open archway that led to the balcony.

  Darkness had not yet fallen, though the sky had faded from the brilliance of its afternoon blue to a paler hue that I found calming. The air had cooled as well, a rare occurrence in our city, and I drew in a crisp lungful, savoring the refreshment of the slight chill.

  There were many men below, though they did not appear to be training. I could see into the open area of their dining hall, and it looked as if they were finishing their evening meal. Barley and oatmeal fortified with ash, boiled beans and sundried figs and grapes, no doubt. The house dietician kept them on a regime that was low in fat and contained no meat.

  My eyes continued to scan the area, searching. I did not see Marcus, but after a moment Caius appeared, entering from the hall that housed their rooms, if that was the word for the small, dank cells in which they were quartered.

  He looked angry.

  Striding furiously to the large leather bag that I knew was filled with pound upon pound of dry sand, he began to beat upon it, fury raining down from his blows.

  I was distressed that he was so upset, though I had no real reason to be. And more than that, I was curious as to the cause.

  Several men left the dining hall then, wandering into the gated yard. Most took up their wooden training swords, their nets, and their shields and began to spar, but one, a foreign-looking man with dark skin and a ponytail, circled around Caius and the punching bag.

  I thought perhaps that the large, mean-looking man was enticing Caius to spar with him, but his manner was aggressive, taunting. They were on the far side of the yard, and so were too far away for me to hear clearly, but I thought I heard the words “mask,” “domina,” and “whore.”

  Without warning, Caius spun, charged, and rammed his fist into the leaner man’s face. Blood spurted into the air, a shower of bright crimson, and the man fell to the ground, dust and sand rising around him like a halo.

  The other men in the yard stopped what they were doing to watch, but none interfered. I suspected that none wanted to challenge one so skilled as he, not unless they were certain of a win. I stepped back, intending to fade back inside the house.

  For some reason, I felt as though I had witnessed something that I should not have. I wanted to leave before Caius saw I was there.

  But before I could retreat more than a step, the amber-haired warrior turned and looked right at me, those intense blue eyes visible despite the difference. With a nod, he raised his arm to me, as the men did after a fight.

  As the men did after a fight, when they were dedicating a win.

  My mouth opened to say something, then closed. And while I fumbled for words, though he would not have been able to hear them at that distance, he disappeared back i
nside.

  Had I just discovered what I had so desperately wanted to know?

  CHAPTER NINE

  It seemed that the freedom I had felt when Lucius was gone had not been because of him alone. Back from his trip to the coast, he was nonetheless away from our home again that evening. Even with him gone, I felt none of the abandon that I had felt during the few days in which I had been alone with no one but our slaves.

  It was because of Justinus, that damnable man. For once he was not accompanying my husband on his every move. When I had questioned Lucius as to why Justinus would not be with him at the dinner that he was attending that evening—I would highly have preferred a night alone to a night with the male slave lurking about—I had been informed in cold tones that Justinus was sick.

  I was expected to attend social dinners with my husband, but to business matters he brought no one but his slave—and he always brought the man.

  I had bitten my tongue at my husband’s churlishness, swallowing the response that had leapt to my mouth. Every other slave in our household was expected to perform their duties no matter the circumstances. Not that I agreed with the policy, but I was astonished that Justinus was permitted by Lucius to stay behind, and not only that, but to lie abed with the girl Marina waiting on him.

  The man had far too much power in our household. I did not like it, I did not like it at all, but I had no idea how to broach the matter with my husband. He was my pater familias, and I was supposed to defer to his superior judgment.

  Even when I thought that that so-called “superior” judgment was absolutely ridiculous.

  I had been sitting on the balcony overlooking the ludus for most of the evening, a cup of wine at my side. As far as our slaves were concerned, I was bored and simply passing the time, though I of course knew better. Both Marcus and Caius had been out in the yard sparring, not with each other but with new recruits.

  I saw quite clearly why Marcus was champion and Caius was not, though both were strong and able. Marcus observed, attacking with a reserve born of skill and discipline. Caius, however, fought like the gods’ own thunder, a whirling storm of anger and unbridled energy. He lacked the restraint that made Marcus the superior warrior. Still, the stoic Marcus was the only man that Caius could not defeat.

  I had been watching intently, searching for more clues as to the identity of my masked warrior.

  My courses had started that day. I was not with child, at least not yet. That meant that I could expect another visit from the hugely muscled man who had treated me with such unexpected tenderness and joy.

  Though it should have been shameful, I found myself excited by the prospect, much as I had been thrilled to my very soul by the secret visits that Marcus had paid to my chambers while Lucius had been absent. It had always been Marcus, for though I wanted Caius very nearly as much, Marcus had given me permission, of sorts. He had shown me that his desire matched my own.

  I did not have the same with Caius.

  Watching the two men sparring together, watching the slightest hint of honeyed gold from the setting sun gilding their sweating skin, their hair, I felt as needy as I had before Marcus had ever come to me. As I sat on the balcony, I wanted more than anything to slip a hand between my legs, to rub fingers over the center of my desire, to release some of the pressure that being in the presence of the two warriors built in me.

  Instead I sat stiff, every muscle tensed, gulping at my wine to ease the lump in my throat. When it became too much, I rose abruptly and left the balcony, leaving my cup of wine behind, not caring for the moment if Lucius found it when he returned home, though I was sure that Drusilla would tidy the area before she retired for the evening.

  Stalking through the halls of our home, I did not know what to do. I could hardly summon Marcus upstairs to ease my ache, not with Justinus here, lying abed or not.

  I could pleasure myself, and likely would, but it seemed a pale substitute for what I craved, a ghost of my real desire.

  Perhaps I would have Drusilla draw me a bath. I did not know where she was, however—I had dismissed her to her own time when I had seated myself outside, not wanting company. She would be found easily enough, though, I knew—she always spent any spare time that she had in her own tiny room, reading anything that she could get her hands on.

  Lucius would think it ridiculous for a slave to know how to read. His attitude was not cruel—it was common thinking. I, however, liked to slip books to Drusilla whenever I could. She had learned to read alongside me, studying with me in the evenings of my girlhood, though the passion for words had never taken me as it had her.

  Her room was next to that of Justinus. Thank the heavens that Lucius had not lost his last grain of sense and given the detestable man more elaborate quarters, though the way that things were going, surely it was just a matter of time. I had to pass by Justinus’ room to get to Drusilla’s, though, and since none of the rooms that the slaves lived in had curtains over the arched doorways, I would have to see the man.

  He would no doubt have something to say to me, some little barb to throw my way that was veiled enough that I could not complain to my husband about it. The little imp was clever, I would give him that.

  It was still more than he deserved.

  I detected a noise coming from his room, and it grew louder the closer I approached. Grimacing, I realized that he was having relations, the telltale slap of flesh on flesh and grunts of pleasure a sure sign.

  I pressed myself against the far side of the wall, the marble cool at my back, hoping to slide by without him noticing.

  Like someone who cannot take their eyes from a horrific spectacle, however, I could not help but look.

  Justinus lay on his back, his arms pillowing his head. His tunic was racked up around his waist, the material bunching thickly, and I wondered fleetingly where he had obtained something so fine as the blue cloth.

  Marina, the slave that my husband favored the most—or at least favored fucking the most—sat astride him, riding him hard and fast. She did not seem to be under any sort of duress, and as far as I was concerned our slaves could sleep with whomever they chose, no matter how poor I thought that choice to be. The scene forced a slightly bitter taste into my mouth, and with puckered lips I made to continue past the open doorway.

  My sandal caught on the sleek stone of the floor and squeaked, and both Justinus and Marina snapped their heads around to source out the noise. My heart jumped into my throat—why, I was not sure, for though it was a bit of an awkward situation, I was the mistress of this house, and as such could be wherever I pleased.

  Marina acted as I expected, simply returning her attention to the task at hand. Her face showed no embarrassment, no emotion at all, really—she might have been polishing the floor for all the excitement that she displayed.

  I found a slight enjoyment from what that indicated of Justinus’ prowess.

  Justinus, however—Justinus paled as if he had seen a ghost. He sat straight up, pushing Marina to the side and off of his erect cock, on which his tunic caught comically. I grimaced as the sight of his pale, straining member slapped itself across my field of vision—it was not something that I had ever wanted to see.

  I could not think what had scared the man so. Slowly I turned, looking behind me, searching for the thing that had cause the man to react so. I saw nothing, and as such concluded that it was me that had frightened him. But why would he be so concerned about me catching him having relations with another slave? He was well within his rights to do so.

  I did not care enough about the man to find out. I continued on my way, but before I could travel more than a few steps, a grasping hand was on my shoulder, pulling me back, turning me around.

  “Alba.” Never had I seen Justinus so upset. His face was pallid and ravaged with worry.

  “Remove your hand from me.” I had very nearly had enough of this man, of this con
temptible slave. “And you will address me as Domina.” My words were cold as the ice of the north, frosted and hard.

  Over his shoulder I saw Marina storm away, down the hall to her own room, her naked body sweaty and tense. Her face finally displayed emotion and it showed that she was angry. I did not pity Justinus the job of calming her, if he bothered to do so.

  Justinus looked taken aback, but quickly nodded. “Very well. Apologies . . . Domina.”

  I waited for him to speak, to tell me what the fuss was about. He did not. By this point Drusilla had emerged from her room and stood behind me reassuringly.

  “Drusilla, will you draw me a bath?” I could scarcely remember the reason that I had come down here, to the overly dramatic slaves’ quarters, in the first place. “I will be along in a moment.”

  “Yes, Domina.” Had Drusilla called me by my first name—and she often did, given our past—I would have thought nothing of it. She meant no disrespect by using my first name instead of my title.

  Justinus, I knew, did.

  Once alone, I raised an eyebrow, again pulling the haughty manner that I seemed to need to deal with the man around myself like an impenetrable shield.

  “Well?” I was through with waiting. “What do you want?”

  Justinus started to speak, then stopped. Started, and choked on the words. I could see his mind churning, trying to fabricate some sort of explanation for what I had just witnessed, though why he thought I would care, I still did not know.

  Tired of the game, I sighed and made to move past him.

  “Please.” He again touched my shoulder, then, remembering my words, removed his hand as if burned. Fussing with his tunic—and something about that garment pulled at something in my mind, but I could not think what—he finally spat out what it was he wanted to say.