My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  Why would he lie to me about our money?

  “How much has Hilaria paid us?” I was overstepping my bounds, but the demon inside of me would not stop the flow of words. “Is it enough to last? We have been spending quite lavishly.” By we I meant he. Quite apart from the items that I had seen in the book, the largest being the length of blue silk that I had never seen, the quality of our wine, our food had improved. I was certain that he was spending beyond our means. We needed the patronage, I was certain.

  The only reason I cared to convince him of that, however, was so that he would allow me to again see a gladiator. I would have to find some way to assure him that Caius had strong enough seed.

  Perhaps I could tell him that the goddess Juno had visited me in a dream, had told me that Caius would do his duty. I quaked at the thought of using a goddess to tell a false tale, but I did not see what other choice I had.

  My husband studied me for a long moment, and I felt as though he was trying to look right inside every crevice of my mind. I schooled my face into what I hoped was the mask of a dutiful wife, concerned only with the welfare of her familia.

  “The patronage would be a blessing.” He finally conceded the point, and I felt victorious. “But I cannot stop Hilaria. She can make too much trouble for us, and for some reason she has fixated on your friendship. You will have to be mated tomorrow. I cannot imagine that one day will make a difference.”

  Relief that I had not lost my time with Caius was foremost in my mind, but it still did not drown all of my concerns.

  “Do you know who Hilaria has chosen?” I fiddled with a fold in my tunic, though I tried to appear nonchalant.

  It was one question too many. Lucius again shook his head, then waved a dismissive hand at me while pulling his book close again. His mind had moved on without me, moved on to the next thing he deemed of importance—and I knew that that thing was not the concern of his wife. “Do not worry yourself, Alba. Hilaria will be here tonight, and you will be a gracious hostess, as I know that you can be. I will be at a meeting, and Justinus will be with me. That is all that you need to know.” And with that I was dismissed.

  Slowly I got to my feet, aware that I was no more than a shadow in the room now, as far as Lucius was concerned. Though I kept my eyes on my husband as I moved, backward, to the door, the desired confidence did not come.

  “Lucius?” I paused a moment at the door, though I was not sure what to say. I wanted to ask him how our marriage had deteriorated to this state, wanted to ask him when I had changed in his eyes, when I had become an afterthought instead of cherished wife.

  He did not reply. I supposed that was answer enough.

  I was using my chamber pot at the precise moment that Hilaria arrived. Marina had shown her to the room where she was to be with her gladiator, and since no one had bothered to inform me which room that would be, I had to search when I was finished with my ablutions. I became flustered that I had not been able to greet the woman at the door.

  I found her in the chamber where Caius and I met. I was not happy, not at all happy, that this was where Lucius had decided that the event would take place.

  “Alba.” The other woman stood as I entered, pushing my way through the heavy velvet that I resentfully ruminated was for my benefit. She held out a hand to me as if welcoming me to her home, and I nearly slapped the patrician woman for the arrogance that she showed.

  I had an excess of anger lately, it seemed, wrought by my increasing dissatisfaction with my circumstances. Unfortunately, those very circumstances were what prevented me from ridding myself of the toxic emotion. Then I remembered her hypothetical question about men who raped their wives. I felt a pang of pity, and suddenly felt awkward.

  Who knew what pain, what memories the woman carried?

  Nonetheless, I knew my role. I crossed to her, a wide smile pasted to my lips. “Hilaria.” I suppressed a sneeze as the overwhelming aroma of her perfumed body oils reached my nose. “Are you excited?”

  She yawned deliberately, then toyed with an impeccably coiffed yellow curl. “I suppose this will break the tedium for tonight.”

  I gritted my teeth. She had me sick with worry, with jealousy to “break the tedium”? I told myself to remember, just to hold onto the thought that she might have a harder time of things than she let on.

  “And who have you selected?” I reached out to straighten one of her curls myself, as if we were close friends. Not at all as if I was dying to hear the answer.

  “Oh, you will see for yourself in a moment.” With lazy motions she pulled at the shoulders of her tunic, pushing it down until it fell to the floor. “I sent your girl to fetch him.”

  She was treating not just our home, but our slaves as her own, as well. I hoped, very much hoped, that the denarii she had paid Lucius would be worth it.

  I did not try to avert my gaze from the woman’s nudity, for I knew that if she were modest, she would not have disrobed in front of me. No, she was searching for compliments, for admiration. Perhaps she needed them to feel happy about herself.

  I let my gaze wander up and down her muscled body. I noted again that she was leaner than was considered fashionable, but it suited her tall frame, which could easily have belonged to Diana, goddess of the hunt. Her waist was narrow, as were her hips, and her skin was unmarred and the color of rich cream. She had removed every single hair on her body, barring those of her brows and head. She also looked to have been rubbed with an expensive oil, which I supposed was what I was smelling. Regardless, it made her skin gleam.

  “You look lovely.” It was the truth, and I was again struck with jealousy.

  If it was Marcus or Caius who appeared through that velvet curtain, would they prefer her to me? She was an extraordinarily attractive woman, and she looked far younger than her years, of which she had lived several more than I.

  She nodded, having expected the compliment. Tucking a shining yellow curl behind one ear, she seated herself primly on the very chaise on which I myself had waited for Caius the first time.

  She looked more like the mistress of this home than I had ever felt, sitting there wearing her confidence like a fine garment. A heavy necklace and matching bracelet with milky white stones the size of bird’s eggs would have looked ridiculous on me in the same situation, but suited her perfectly.

  She, I was certain, did not question her wants, her needs. She took what she wanted, and felt no shame.

  I supposed that I could learn something from her.

  “I have something for you, Alba.” I did not like her superior tone, but smiled anyway and moved to sit beside her when she patted the seat next to her.

  I was very uncomfortable at the thought of sitting next to her while she was completely nude. It was very odd that she expected it, and not entirely appropriate. She was so very unaware of my discomfort, so totally unaffected by the fact that she was bare while I was fully clothed that I had to wonder again at her mental state.

  Cautiously I perched beside her. As soon as I was seated she reached up into the highly glossed curls of her yellow hair and removed a carved silver comb. My mouth began to fall open, for surely she would not gift me with something so extravagant. I would surely not be able to accept it, not when I could not even like the woman.

  Then I saw that she was removing something that she had attached to the comb. It was a ring, a thin twist of metal and beads, and she clutched it between her thumb and forefinger before replacing the comb in her hair.

  “Here. This is for you.” She held the ring with its glittering sparkles of blue, green, yellow, and red, and as she did, I saw the polished woman’s façade crack open the slightest bit, revealing a hint of . . . surely that was not vulnerability? Somewhat shocked, I accepted the ring, clutched it tightly in numb fingers.

  “A friendship ring?” Such tokens were common among Roman women of a certain class, but I had never be
en close enough to another freeborn female citizen to exchange such things. Drusilla had once exchanged rings made of twine on one of my family’s visits to our home by the sea, a place that still held a special place in my heart.

  I still did not think myself close enough to any other, and Hilaria’s gesture seemed to me to make a mockery of the sweet gesture between Drusilla and me so many years earlier, but I remembered Lucius’ words that morning: She can make too much trouble for us, and for some reason she has fixated on your friendship.

  “Thank you.” I hoped that she would take the quiet tone of my voice for pleasure, and not for the strain that the strange situation had placed upon me. Accepting the extravagant piece from the naked woman, I slipped the ring onto the middle finger of my left hand and was confused. I was strangely touched by the gesture, though as I still could not stand the woman I also wanted to rip the ring off and fling it over the gates of ludus, never to be found again.

  It was a sweet, if completely unexpected, gesture, but I knew that I would never be able to move past the amorality, the selfishness that I had seen in her character. True, I now suspected that she had suffered greatly in the years that she had been with her husband. I would not blame her for taking delight in base pleasures.

  But the hint of cruelty that I often saw while she was partaking of these joys—that I had difficulty with. We all had struggles—my mind skimmed over Lucius and the burden of his ancestral loyalty; Justinus and his need to climb high; even myself and my supposed barrenness and the grief that it had caused—but how we dealt with them, how we lived our lives, was a choice.

  But for the moment it would cause only excess trouble to refuse the small twist of beads, so I tucked my hand under a fold of my tunic and tried to forget about it.

  Satisfied that I had accepted the gift, Hilaria nodded, seamlessly sewing up the crack that had allowed me to see that hint of neediness.

  “They were a very good deal at the market.” Her voice was brisk, and in direct contrast to her manner in the moments before. “You needed something pretty.”

  I bit my lip as I thought of the many fine pieces of jewelry that Lucius had bestowed upon me and that I wore frequently. This was clearly how Hilaria had justified the strange gesture in her own mind, and it was so strange that I did not wish to question any further.

  “I would have some wine, Alba.” The woman’s voice broke through my thoughts. She waved her hand at me, and I saw a ring identical to the one that I had just been given glinting on her finger. I rose from my seat automatically but stood still for a moment. Marina had, apparently, gone to fetch the gladiator. Drusilla was cleaning my chambers.

  Apparently I was to fetch the wine myself.

  With eyebrows slightly raised in annoyance, I moved to the standing tray that rested behind the chaise. There was a pitcher of spiced wine there, and I was tempted to pour it over Hilaria’s head instead of into one of the clay cups. There the woman sat, completely naked in my home, having just gifted me something extravagant and strange, and yet I was now to serve her. I was saved from either action that I had contemplated when Marina entered the room through the curtain, her hips deliberately swaying.

  Behind her was Christus. My knees buckled, and I nearly fell as relief poured over me like a warm blessing of rain. My hands trembled as I set the pitcher back down on the tray, and the harsh noise of clay smacking against wood reverberated through the room.

  “Ah.” Hilaria all but purred with pleasure at the sight of the man. “Leave us.” This was directed at the scarlet-haired Marina and, I assumed, myself. Though I bristled with the rudeness with which she spoke, I bit my tongue, thought of the unexpectedly sweet gesture of the ring, and moved from behind the chaise.

  “Oh, not you, Alba. Just the slave girl.” Hilaria reached a hand out for me, and I took it before I could think.

  She wanted me to stay? Why ever would she want that?

  Sensing my hesitancy, she pouted. “Come now. Surely you would not leave me alone with a man who could hurt me?”

  I had no response to that. Christus had the strength to overpower her, certainly. He could overpower the both of us at once, truth be told, and Marina and Drusilla as well, without breaking a sweat.

  I was not concerned. He knew what the repercussions would be if he was to step out of line. Also, I had seen nothing volatile in his character, nothing to suggest that he would behave in such a manner. He subscribed to the same gladiatorial sense of honor as Marcus and Caius. No, I was not worried.

  Still, if Hilaria was nervous—or even if she simply professed to be nervous, as I suspected she was doing—the matter had to be attended to. Had he been home, I would have fetched Justinus, but had he and my husband been home, I would not be in this situation.

  Still. “Surely you want to be alone?” There was a gleam in Hilaria’s eye, one that took a moment for me to put my finger on.

  Thinking back on her past behavior, on the manner in which she had behaved when she had been sampling the gladiators weeks earlier, the manner that had nothing to do with the opium that she had ingested, I understood. Half of the woman’s excitement came from exhibition. She needed to be admired, desired.

  I shuddered to think of where that need had been born.

  Though I wrestled with it, I could not see what choice I had. I still did not entirely trust Justinus not to tell my husband about my visit to the gladiators’ quarters, and if I upset Lucius by refusing something to Hilaria, it would be just the circumstance that would prompt Justinus to tell.

  Silently, I seated myself on the edge of the chaise, my body stiff and uncertain. I would have preferred a seat farther away, but since Hilaria still had hold of my hand, shiny ring and all, I could sit nowhere else.

  Hilaria stayed seated beside me, languid, lazy.

  Christus stood in the center of the room, still and silent. He reminded me so much of Caius in that moment that it made me uneasy. Strong and silent, still and watchful. Waiting for instruction, as he had no choice but to do. Just as I had no choice in much that I did. Oh, he looked nothing like the other man, with his short spikes of ink-black hair, his eyes of honey. But his manner . . . it was the cloak of the gladiator. Donned when the oath to their dominus was sworn, I suspected it would linger, a part of them, until death.

  I doubted that Hilaria noticed or, had she done so, cared. Instead she stood, arrogance ripe in every movement, and circled the unyielding man.

  “I think I have chosen well, this first time.” This first time? I dared not interrupt, but I did wonder what she meant. “Hard body. I have seen that your cock gets hard, as well.” She paused directly in front of the warrior, placed a hand on his chest. “What would you do to me, gladiator?”

  “Whatever your lady wishes.” He could say nothing else. Pity washed over me like rain, though I did not know his thoughts on the situation. Perhaps he was pleased to have the chance to fuck a woman as beautiful as Hilaria.

  But he should have had the opportunity to say yes or no. On that I was certain.

  “I’ll tell you what I wish, gladiator.” The air in the room began to grow thick, perfumed with Hilaria’s rising lust. She slithered her way to Christus’ back, her hand trailing over his skin.

  Her hands slid up to his shoulders, which she squeezed once, hard. Then one finger, just one, traced down the length of his spine, all the way to the cleft of his naked ass. When she reached the hidden pucker, she pressed, hard enough that her finger must have moved past the tight ring of muscles and entered.

  Christus did not flinch. He stood stoic, his face expressionless. His cock had risen at the touch of Hilaria’s hands on his skin, but I knew that that did not necessarily mean that he liked what she had just done.

  “I will tell you what I wish.” She repeated the words, withdrew her finger, and finished circling the man. Retreating to the chaise where I still sat, she fondled the ornate carvi
ngs at one end, then leaned over it, the cool bronze pressing into the taut skin of her waist.

  I could see the heavy globes of her breasts, dangling between the arms that supported her weight like ripe fruit on a branch. The egg-sized stones of her necklace looked luminous, catching rays of light, and I could not look away. Still I felt a slithering sensation inside of me, like olive oil spreading in water, which was not entirely pleasant.

  I could not help but be aroused, be just the slightest bit wet, by the sight of so much skin, both his and hers, and by the brazen way that Hilaria spoke. But it was not a clean arousal. That was the only way that I could describe it. I felt as if I needed a bath.

  “I want you to take me from behind, gladiator.” Hilaria’s eyes had begun to glaze over with that lustful fog that I had seen when she had first inspected the choice group of our men, and it was accentuated by the charcoal and saffron that she had ringed dramatically around her eyes. “I want you to fuck me in the ass, and I want you to do it as hard as you can.”

  I stood, quick and abrupt, at Hilaria’s words. They were tainted with a desire so dark, so . . . warped . . . that I was not at all comfortable where I was seated. In fact, I was not at all comfortable with this situation. I did not want to watch this. Perhaps it made me prudish, but the patrician woman receiving a cock up her ass in a manner that would hurt, that would be next to abuse, was entirely too much.

  “Hilaria, please. Don’t . . . would you not prefer that I leave you two alone?” I tried to keep my voice reasonable, tried not to plead, and tried not to resent the fact that I had to even consider pleading to another woman in the house in which I was mistress. “I can assure you, you will be perfectly safe.”

  Her eyes now on Christus, she waved an irritable hand in my general direction. “Oh, go then, if you are so intent on it.” The way she watched Christus reminded me of a predator and its prey, a hunter with a wild boar.