Seduced by the Gladiator

by Lauren Hawkeye

  I scuttled back, but I did not move fast enough. Bavarius caught my elbow and pinched, hard, before yanking me against his body.

  I knew that he liked it when I fought, so I forced myself to stay still, though every fiber of my being wanted to beat him to a pulpy mess.

  “This house needs a real champion.” His breath stank of stale mulberry wine and even staler barley grains, and the odor emanating from his body told me that he had not recently made use of the heated salt baths that were available to us. “You might fool some—might even fool the dominus—but you’re still just a woman. Just a set of tits and a cunt, here for a man’s pleasure.”

  Fury surged through me, and I raised a knee, kicking my foot back to slam it into his groin, the only thing that I could think of, since I was now wrapped tightly in arms that were slick with sweat. Blocking the movement, the man squeezed me even more tightly, my back to his chest, and pulled me farther into the shadows behind one of the arched pillars that supported the upstairs balcony.

  Fear suddenly coated my tongue with its metallic taste. He was stronger than I remembered.

  Bavarius raised a hand, covered my full breast, and squeezed. Revulsion roiled in my stomach, and unable to hold still any longer, I began to struggle fiercely, trying to escape the iron bands that held me tightly.

  “You will soon be put in your place.” The odor of rotting food from the man’s mouth was overwhelming, and he pinched my nipple through my strophium, the thin leather that banded over my breasts as he spoke, the edges of his overly long nails drawing blood. “A woman is not meant for greatness, and you overreach. Don’t you remember how it was, Lilia? You were my favorite whore. And you had best be careful, because the men love a good whore. Especially men who have never lived with a cunt before, like your new friend. And I’ve heard rumors about him, about how much he loves a good fuck.” With these words hanging pregnant in the air, Bavarius released me, and I stumbled forward, nearly falling. Catching myself, I all but leapt out of the bruised shadows behind the pillar, sour bile rising in my throat.

  Bavarius followed me into the light calmly. I stared at him in horror for a moment, before reminding myself where I was and schooling my face into a blank mask.

  The man moved toward me again, though this time he extended a hand, as if to help me up. The otherworldly flicker in his eyes was wicked, and I was repulsed. I recoiled from his touch, scrabbling backward, righting myself as I did.

  I heard the hiss of the snakelike whip before I saw it, snapping between me and Bavarius so fiercely we both jumped.

  “Bavarius! Back to your training!” Though our doctore stood on the other side of the sand, his voice boomed out clearly, impossible to ignore. Behind him was Christus, who, while seemingly focused on his training, had clearly been the one to alert the trainer to my situation.

  I wanted to smile as if I had had too much mulsum, so great was my relief. I had been ill prepared for such an attack from Bavarius—in the bright hours of day, nonetheless! I watched through narrowed eyes as the man strode back to his training partner, his gait cocky, and with every step that he took from me, my anger grew.

  I wanted him punished. I eyed the whip, the handle of which was swallowed by the doctore’s hand, and wanted more than anything to lash it across Bavarius’ back myself, to draw blood. I could still feel his fingers, pawing at my breast, branding me with his unctuousness. Looking down, I saw the smear of crimson that had stained the leather of my top, the result of Bavarius’ touch.

  He had left his mark on me. Though I had never considered myself to be a calm or docile individual, the knowledge made a rage unlike anything I’d ever felt grow inside of me.

  If I were to tell the doctore of what had transpired, I would be granted my revenge. But it would also show the rest of the men that I was weak, weak enough to be trapped by Bavarius.

  This, I could not allow.

  “Are you well, Lilia?” The voice of the doctore sounded out across the yard. Though how I could have been certain, I did not know, but I would have bet the ludus that Bavarius had arranged his attack at a moment when the doctore had been distracted elsewhere. Certainly the trainer seemed to have no idea of what had just transpired, though his features were clouded with suspicion, his head cocked slightly to one side as he studied me.

  Under the watchful eye of the doctore, who was flanked by Darius and Christus, I felt inexplicably safe, and with that feeling came relief.

  It irked me that I enjoyed being protected.

  “Doctore.” My mouth snapped shut, almost of its own accord.

  Though it seemed unjust, I bit back my words, nodding in as calm a manner as I was able to at the doctore, Christus, and Darius.

  I would not let any of the men, not even these three, know how much Bavarius’ words had disturbed me. Especially not Christus.

  The beastly man’s words echoed in my ears, and I hated that they were lodged so deeply inside of me.

  I’ve heard rumors about him, about how much he loves a good fuck.

  Perhaps I was not as safe with the man as I believed; perhaps he was just like the rest. I cast a quick glance at him, from where he stood behind the doctore. I was startled to see the ferocity etched in every line of his being.

  If Bavarius had timed his attack so that the doctore did not see, his actions had not been nearly so secretive to the rest of the men. Christus looked ready to kill, his lips peeled back over bared teeth. There it was again, that protectiveness, emanating from his very core.

  Hearing him talk the night before, I knew that he had suffered some abuse of his own. This was likely why he felt such a need to be my champion, but I suspected that he would act this way for anyone.

  It was the intensity that I could not quite understand. It seemed that he felt it, too, that visceral connection that had snapped tight between us the moment that we had first laid eyes upon each other.

  That he felt so much rage over a wrong done to me made me want him all the more.

  No. I could not.

  “I am fine.” My words were calm, if my insides were not. “Carry on.” From the corner of my eye I saw Bavarius grin widely, but I raised my chin and ignored it.

  Vengeance sliced through my veins as I thirsted for punishment, but for once my head was cooler.

  I would not forget this—would not forget the actions of the man who would never be happy until I was dead—but I knew that it was not in my best interest to act rashly.

  Still, my head swam . . . I was shaken. I could still feel the pressure of Bavarius’ hand on my skin. His touch brought many memories flooding to the surface, memories that belonged to a much weaker woman, but that haunted the stronger one regardless.

  Inhaling deeply, I willed myself to calm. The best thing for me to do now was to rejoin training as if nothing had ever happened—to be vicious, more ruthless than ever. I and I alone would look out for my welfare.

  Lifting my head high, I stepped back onto the rough sand that was our training ground. My stare was drawn to the man who had begun to fill my thoughts. As I met his eyes over the heads of the men, many of whom had stopped to watch, I saw his eyes flicker over the sanguine stain on my clothing. The small wound had bled more than the pain warranted, but then, I was used to pain, having suffered my share of blows in the arena.

  I did not think that Christus would care that I did not consider the wound to be major. His lips pressed together until the skin around them grew white. He gestured ever so slightly with his head to our quarters, the chamber where I could rest and have a private meal and wine, if I so chose.

  But if I did not take a stand now, I risked losing the position that granted me those very privileges.

  After the encounter with Bavarius I wanted nothing more than to run as fast as I could, back behind the door that separated me from these fierce men. I brushed a hand over my breast, trying to wipe away the unwanted touch.

  I would not fail. So, with my eyes still on Christus, and his ever more frustrated
ones on me, I set my chin and stayed still for a moment longer, staring defiantly out at the men, just long enough that I felt I had made my point.

  The men could bully me, could push me down and threaten me, could beat me and even rape me. But they would not break me.

  As I strode out onto the sand, I kept my eyes on Christus’, hoping to see a smidgen of respect on his face, respect for my strength.

  Instead he looked ready to pick me up and haul me from the entire city of Rome.

  It hurt, though I could not imagine why it should, to not see pride in the face of the one whom I inexplicably wanted to impress. I felt as though a blow had been landed in my stomach.

  Inhaling deeply, I crossed to where Darius stood, steps beyond Christus, ignoring the other man entirely. Though my good friend shook his head at me, he joined me in the drill, allowing me to attack him loudly and with as much rage and strength as I possessed.

  It was as if Christus no longer stood there.

  That was the way that it would have to be.

  The scene with Bavarius had worked its way under my skin like the prickles of a million tiny needles, and everything—the insufferable heat, the deafening silence, the cloying feel of my long wheatish hair sticking to my damp shoulders—was an annoyance.

  I bit on my tongue and tasted metal as I drew blood. Irritated with myself, I slammed my wooden bowl down onto the table. The porridge inside was thick enough that it did not move, and I wrinkled my nose with distaste.

  “Water?” Darius offered me his cup, not commenting on my foul mood, though I knew that it was quite apparent. Silently I accepted the cup, then slid the bowl with my rations across the table toward him.

  Being touched by Bavarius had stolen my appetite.

  I saw the man watching me from across the dining hall. I made a show of appearing relaxed, willing my muscles one by one to release their strain.

  From the cocky grin on the other man’s face, I had not succeeded in convincing him.

  “Ignore him.” Though Darius was my closest friend—my only friend—at that moment I did not want company at all. What I wanted was to secure myself in the baths, alone, to scrub away the taint of Bavarius’ touch. I did not want to be fussed over, not even by Darius. If the big man had had his way, he would have tried to coax me from my mood by joining me in the bath for the sole purpose of splashing me and making me smile. He would have insisted that I wash away the grit and grime of the sun and sand, and that I then go to the ludus’ medic for a massage with scented oils.

  This, I knew, was my due, as the highest-ranked gladiator in the wealthy ludus. Truly, at that moment the only benefit that I wanted was to be left alone.

  I did know where Christus was at that moment, and I tried to convince myself that I did not care.

  It rankled that, despite my best efforts, I did care. Angry at the thought, I nodded curtly to Darius, then shoved away from the table, leaving my cup behind. I could not stand even being in the same room as the other men, the ones who had once used me like a common whore.

  Pacing, tense, I made my way outside, to the training yard. Despite the long day that I had spent in the sun, I shivered.

  The setting sun nearly blinded me, its rays streaming in white stripes straight into my face as it began to descend for the evening. I had spent even longer in its light today, and my skin was singed. I felt the heat suffuse my flesh but ignored the sting.

  I had felt worse.

  Most of the men had gone inside the dining hall of the gladiators’ quarters, upon which the great stone house that the pater familias inhabited was built. It was time for our evening meal, porridge and army bread, which to outsiders seemed like very little after our fierce work all day but was, in fact, our recommended diet.

  Only one remained on the sand. I watched silently and, I was certain, unobserved as Christus worked his training sword against one of the giant bags of sand, as if it were a person—an enemy.

  Where did his anger come from? Though he was new to our ludus, I knew that he had been a gladiator for nearly as long as I had—he should by now have accepted his fate. But watching his actions as he battled an invisible opponent, I saw quite clearly that the man I was watching felt constrained, imprisoned.

  Alone, thinking himself unobserved, Christus released a ferocity that was unrivaled in our ludus—he seemed to be untainted by mercy, something that even I myself could not claim.

  He should not have been so attractive, not when violence twisted his features as it did. In the fading evening light, the hair that lay cropped close to his head shimmered with the colors of honey, of nuts, and especially of flame, all teased out of the dark black. It was beautiful hair, or would have been had it sat on the head of any man besides himself. No, this warrior was not beautiful. He was too large, too fearsome . . . too damaged.

  I was not sure where that last observation came from, but I knew that he would not welcome it. So I bit my tongue, remained quiet, and continued to watch.

  As much of an irritation as his presence was to me, his form still pleased my eye, even more so when it was in motion, as it was right now.

  The realization sent something not entirely unpleasant skittering over my skin. I bit my lip as I admitted to myself that the man made me want, made me desire, and as I attempted to swallow that morsel, the man himself looked up, saw me watching.

  He looked beyond me quickly, toward the dining area, then shook his head in my direction, meaning, I thought, that I would be ill in the mind to disturb him. My eyes narrowed, and stubbornness had my mind made up to challenge him to a round or two.

  He might have been bigger, but I was not the highest-ranked gladiator in this ludus for nothing.

  Turning his back to me as if I did not exist, Christus deliberately resumed his sport. Even through my ill humor, I struggled when trying not to notice the way the sheen of sweat brought on by the physical exertion emphasized the raw strength that he held in his arms, his legs.

  “Are you trying to prove yourself worthy of this brotherhood, Christus of House of Manius?” I recognized the oil that floated on the words before I saw Bavarius step onto the sand. The heat that the granules had absorbed during the day rose around the man’s feet in waves, and once again I thought that he seemed to represent pure evil. I recoiled physically, though I knew that he could not touch me where I stood, half hidden in the growing shadows of the balcony. Though the words spoken were muffled, I heard the derision and lack of respect that Bavarius laced his words with.

  I saw Christus’ spine stiffen, just the smallest fraction—I was certain that even Bavarius himself, who stood close to the man, did not see that his own words had driven home. Christus finished his game, then rose to his full height and faced the much smaller man.

  “Just some sport, Bavarius.” He let his training sword fall to his side, but did not leave. “Training is done for the day.”

  “Why do you feel you need extra sport, extra training, new brother?” Bavarius was clearly trying to antagonize, and I saw again that slight stiffening in the otherwise rod-straight spine of Christus. “Is it that a woman stands to hold the title of champion? Do you not feel yourself equal to our Lilia?”

  I should have been pleased, perhaps, by the offhanded compliment. I knew that words that fell from Bavarius’ lips, however, contained vinegar rather than honey. I could not trust anything that he said—and I found that I did not care for the insult to Christus.

  “Am I not permitted to do as I wish in my free time, Bavarius? Do you begrudge me that?” Christus did not make reference to the insult, instead speaking far more calmly than he ever had to anyone else, that I had seen.

  “On the contrary, new brother.” Bavarius stepped closer still, closer than was normal, and the invasion of space was yet another insult. I expected Christus to strike him, to reach for the sword that still hung at his hip. “You have not yet gone through the rites of passage, have not been initiated into our brotherhood, no matter how much the dominus has paid
for you. You should take all the practice that you can, for soon enough you will be tested.”

  Christus did not move. He spoke instead, and his words were deadly calm.

  “Very well.”

  Christus turned to face the stocky man who challenged him. The shadows cast over Bavarius’ face made him look like the spawn of the underworld.

  Bavarius feinted forward, hoping, it seemed, to make Christus flinch. When the newer gladiator did not move even a whisper, the glower on the shorter man’s face became yet more pronounced.

  “I can make your life here hell.” Spittle flew as Bavarius spoke, spraying into the air like drops of poison.

  Christus allowed the merest sneer to curl his lips before finally, slowly, raising that sword. I watched, fascinated, as the shadows that were so unflattering to Bavarius served only to accentuate Christus’ muscles.

  “The dominus has reassured me that he demands no rite of passage upon entrance to his ludus, no trials, no branding.” Absently he rubbed his forearm, and when I squinted, I saw a faded section of skin that may have one such marking. “Any rite that you speak of must be of your own devising. Very well; let us get on with it. I will undertake whatever trial you set before me, if it means only that you will cease with your incessant chatter.”

  There was no such trial; this I knew firsthand. This was an open challenge from Bavarius, but he had been a fool to issue it at that moment, alone on the sand with Christus. Bavarius was brave only when he had a half-dozen cronies to back up his words, his muscle.

  He would never have intended to face off with a man who, from the look of it, could best him in under a minute.

  While I was the top ranked in the ludus, Bavarius hung somewhere in the middle. If challenged one on one, even I would not be scared of him, though I was a fraction of his size.

  Bavarius seemed to be taken aback. “It is mealtime, new brother.” He cast an uneasy look toward the area where the men ate, which had a roof but was free of walls. Though the food was not overly appetizing, I knew that for a glutton such as him, not being able to finish his meal would be a major punishment.