As we sprawled there, muscles quivering, the air kissing the sweat on our skin, a sense of calm stole over me, and I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my soul.
Even if I were to die tomorrow, I thought, even if that was it . . . at least I would always have this.
As we climbed to our feet and refastened our clothing around our sated bodies, we became aware of the noise beyond the curtain—not the noise of the other couple, who had long since quieted and moved on to other things.
No, it was the noise of the party—the sound of festivities that had denigrated into something dark and wicked.
Slowly we peered around the curtain. I blinked at the sight that confronted us.
The party—the feast to honor the gladiators—had become a drunken orgy. Every possible surface was covered with a tangle of limbs. The smell of sex hung heavily in the air; everywhere I looked was a gladiator twined with a patrician woman, a patrician man entering a gladiator from behind, two patricians and a gladiator—the only people not involved in the tangle of limbs were some slaves who cleared away the platters of food.
In the middle of it all I saw the blond head of Hilaria. One man had his mouth between her legs; another man entered her from behind. Yet another caressed her breasts.
Beside her was Gaius. He lay on a couch, thrusting in and out of the red-haired woman whom I recognized from the house of my dominus.
Another woman, a new one, knelt over the back of the couch, working a phallic-shaped object in and out of Gaius’ ass. Yet one more female knelt beside the couch, her breasts framing the face of the redhead. Propping his weight on his elbows, Gaius alternated between slapping her face and pinching and pulling at her nipples. She moaned in time with his blows and fingered her clit and cunt.
It seemed that, for the moment at least, Gaius and Hilaria had forgotten that we existed.
“Christus!” I hissed out the thought that hit me like a blow in the arena. “We can escape. Let us run! We will run away and be together!”
Temptation washed over his face, and then he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back, behind the curtain.
“Lilia, think this through.” I did not want to have my wild hope tamped down, and I refused to meet his eyes. Still he spoke, the voice of reason in my fit of madness.
“Where will we go? What will we do? My coin is back at the ludus, as is yours. We are both well known throughout the city. As soon as Gaius realizes that we have gone—and he will come looking for you the moment his lust has been slaked, you know this—we will be hunted.”
He did not say the rest, but I knew it regardless. If we were caught trying to flee the bonds of slavery, we would be killed.
If we stayed, if we participated in the games the next day, at least one of us would have hope of survival.
“You cannot escape, at any rate.” Christus shoved me behind him, and I pushed back as the sweet, young female voice sounded from the other side of the curtain. Christus ripped the cloth half off of its hanging, murder in his eyes.
My muscles relaxed somewhat when I saw that it was but another slave on the other side, sitting with legs crossed on a cushion. The young girl was heavily pregnant, and she massaged the curve of her belly with her hands. She was taking a moment to rest her swollen flesh, nothing sinister.
The girl had skin the color of honey, and she seemed so tired that she was not frightened by the sight of two gladiators, one of whom stood poised to rip her head off.
“Why these words?” Christus was still tense, still on guard. The slave laughed breathlessly and stood as best she could, brushing dust from her palms and onto the lap of her toga.
“The home of Gaius is a fortress. None enter without his permission, nor do any exit.” Waddling toward the back wall, still shielded by the curtain, she gestured at us to follow her. “Come.”
Wanting to be rid of the sounds of Gaius’ lust, and also fearing what he would do as soon as his senses returned to him and he came looking for me, I moved to follow the slave.
Christus grabbed at my upper arm, halting my progress.
“You are the slave of Gaius. You could be taking us to our deaths.” Though I knew that Christus spoke the truth, I felt the urge to shout at him, to move him past his protectiveness of me. It was more than likely that we would die the next day. If death came for us that night, we would not have been shorted very much.
“I could be.” The pregnant young girl stared up at us solemnly, her hands folded neatly on her belly, then again beckoned. “But Gaius will likely see to that himself. Now come. I want to give you a gift.”
“Christus.” When I was near Gaius, my skin prickled all over, and my belly rolled. I felt neither of these things with this slave. “Let us go.”
Settling his face into a scowl, he did as I asked. The three of us worked our way across the back of the room as quickly and unobtrusively as we could. Finally we slipped out the ornately arched entryway through which Gaius and Hilaria had arrived hours earlier, coming from a long, empty hallway that looked as if it had been carved from marble.
“Come.” The slave moved as briskly as she could in her condition, and we followed. We were led through a small room that looked as if it had been set up for prayer of some sort, and then through another doorway that, when opened, showed a yawning expanse of darkness and rock.
“What is this?” I smelled sulphur, and felt the blast of moist heat that emanated from the depths. Instead of fright, however, I was intrigued, drawn to whatever was down there.
“Part of this house is very old. This room was used to worship the gods by the ancients, and it was built on this spot for a reason. Down this passage is a warm bath, a natural one, a gift from the gods themselves.”
Puzzled, Christus and I looked at each other, then at the slave, who bit her lip and looked somewhat abashed.
“It is a place where you can be alone together, for an hour or so.” She looked toward the door that led to the room. “You cannot escape the grounds; there is no way out but back up these stairs.”
“Why?” My heart broke a little when I heard the anger, the suspicion in Christus’ voice replaced, at long last, with weariness. “Why would you show us this kindness?”
The slave shrugged again, shuffling her feet back and forth on the stone floor. I was struck by her youth. Though it was not uncommon for a woman to have children early, this girl was barely more than a child herself.
“I am a slave, and I will never be free. I know this.” The girl’s voice was soft, and I found myself wondering what her story was, for we all—we slaves—had one. “But I am not submitted to the bloodthirsty citizens of Rome for entertainment. I know that that is what you do as gladiators—that is what you are. But . . . I do not think that it is right to send two people in love into the games. Love is rare, and too precious to be wasted.”
With those final words, she urged us past the opening, and down onto the steps. “You will find candles on the ledge. Now go.”
The girl left us alone then, the slave whose name we did not know. Her selfless kindness brought me close to tears, as did the knowledge that her words had slammed home.
Love. Yes, that was exactly it. I loved Christus.
How either of us were supposed to face the next day with the knowledge of that hanging over our heads, I did not know.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
It was dark in between those rocks. Incredibly dark.
“Come with me.” Christus took my hand, though how he found it in the dark I did not know, and tugged, just the tiniest bit.
Though I was not certain that I would be able to relax with the knowledge of the games looming over my head, I was still strangely fascinated by the unexpected gift that the slave girl had given us. I opened my mouth to say this to Christus, but my words were cut off.
“Wait a moment.” I heard a soft rustling, as if Christus was undoing his clothing. Then his fingers touched my temples, and I felt something soft co
vering my eyes, something that smelled like leather—one of the ties from his subligaculum, I thought. I jolted as the last hint of my vision in the darkness was removed and was fairly certain that I heard a laugh, just a little one, from him. I understood then that it was important for Christus to give me this, this moment away from the stress and strain of the games.
He touched my hand with his, and without much choice in the matter, I followed him, through the crevice of rock.
Every other time that Christus had touched me, I had been swamped with warring spears of lust and what I now realized to be love. What I felt now, as he twined his fingers in mine, was comfort. Camaraderie.
It was nourishing as ambrosia from the gods, and I drank it in greedily.
Still, I felt a bit uneasy. Surely Gaius would know where we had gone, and would come to search for us soon. The more I thought on it, however, the more I ceased to care.
What would he do if he caught us? What could he do that was worse than what he had already planned?
I would savor these last few moments with my lover. The thought of how I wanted to spend them turned my own cheeks bright red under the soft folds of the worn leather.
“How much farther?” I needed to fill the silence, which was thick with something I did not quite recognize.
I could imagine his smile at my impatience. Whatever he was going to show me, I was going to love it, simply because he wanted me to.
“Let me guide you.” This was whispered in my ear, from behind me, and the shivers that the sensation of breath on my tender lobe caused thickened when I felt hands on my waist, guiding me forward. He could not have known where we were going any more than I did, but he at least could see.
“Step.” Feeling the way blindly with my right foot, I measured the distance and tentatively took a step down, onto a stair.
“Step.” Again. And again. Thirteen steps in all, and when I could stop concentrating on where my feet landed and on the distraction of Christus’ hands clasped firmly at my waist, I registered the sound of water, just the tiniest of ripples.
I felt the moisture in the air.
“Stay here for a moment.” That moisture sizzled and popped moments after Christus’ hands had left my waist, and a blood orange flame flared to my left, visible even under the blindfold. I pulled at the leather, pulled it down around my neck, and freed my eyes. I saw that Christus had begun to transfer the flame from the single taper that the nameless slave had given us to a multitude of other candles. Scores of fat, half-melted white pillars were placed at various places in the cavern. They were covered in a thick layer of dust, dust that crackled as it was eaten away by the flame.
How long had it been since someone had been here? Carved into the wall of rock was something that looked like an altar, and words that I could not read were inscribed into the wall above it. The very air around us pulsed—this place was holy, full of magic.
It would take a man like Gaius to hold ownership of it and ignore it completely.
Soon Christus had all of the candles lit, and though I missed the romance of the shadows around us, the candles cast a warm, tawny light over everything that was very nearly as beautiful. Even if it had not, the expression on Christus’ handsome, finely honed face held traces of shyness and also a layer of excitement. Seeing it made my insides warm.
I wondered at how he could still stir excitement in me, even when I was preparing to die the next day. But then the warmth of the candles’ glow glanced across the mirror-smooth, seemingly solid surface that was a small pool of water.
It was beautiful. So beautiful. Even in the dim light, I could see a blue as dark as the night sky, a small pond carved out of gray granite and shot through with threads of pale rose and leaf green. Huge spears of rock surrounded the pool, great jagged teeth protecting it, giving the impression of something ancient and magical.
Ancient, magical, and given the humidity and temperature of the air, warm.
“What is this place?” I could hear the wonder in my own voice.
Christus let go of my hand long enough to wedge the last candle into a crevice in the wall. A shard of mirrored glass hung above it, and the glow of light bounced off of the glass, casting light around the room, enough that it made it a bit easier on the eyes.
He smiled then, and the sight nearly brought me to my knees.
“I do not know.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and gave every impression of someone feeling awkward and even a little bit bashful. “I cannot read the inscriptions.” Here he looked up, looked right at me. “But it seems as if it was created by the gods themselves.”
I looked around the cavern—I had never seen such a place in my life. It was as if the world had swallowed us, as if we were in some sort of space that was caught between the earth, the underworld, and the heavens.
Someplace all our own.
When he closed his eyes and took a minute to just breathe, I followed his example, and felt some of the resentment and emotional turmoil that I had been storing up, hoarding away, begin to melt, to evaporate into the already thick, silent air. The silence should have been oppressive, it was so still; instead, it seemed friendly. Welcoming, warm, like an embrace.
I took another moment and savored that warmth, drawing as much comfort as I could out of it.
When I opened my eyes, Christus was peeling his subligaculum down over his hips. A noise of desire caught in my throat as the easy comfort evaporated in one primal beat and he turned, hands resting on the waistband of his leathers.
I felt heat wash over me in a great wave. The light from the candles cast the sculpture of his lean frame into sharp relief, accentuating the body that was so strong, yet treated me with such care.
My mouth watered. Women all over Rome surely felt desire when they saw this man in the arena, and yet here he was, in front of me.
I watched his expression darken as he saw me drinking him in.
A terrible arousal began to tighten in my gut. It was stronger, far stronger, than anything I had ever felt before, and I did not know what to do with it.
That arousal loomed in the dim light of the cave, absorbing the shadows thrown by the candles, growing and mutating until it became a tangible thing.
I closed my eyes, squeezed them tightly shut. Though I did not hear anything, when I opened them again, Christus was in the water, fully submerged. He looked up at me through the liquid, and though I should not have been able to see him so clearly, he seemed to glow, to radiate a soft white light. That light let me see more clearly than I had ever been able to in my life, and I had nearly perfect vision. I could see the separation between his black strands of hair, and every slight dilation and contraction of the black pupils in the cerulean circles of his eyes. Through the looking glass of the heated pool, his skin, tanned that delicious golden brown, beckoned to me.
I wanted. Gods, but I wanted.
My fingers strayed to the hem of my leather top. Crossing my arms, I gripped tightly at the dry leather with sweaty palms, then lifted. I felt the wet air kiss first an inch of my skin, and then another. I heard Christus break through the water just as the leather blocked my vision, and then the top was over my head and on the floor, and he could see my naked breasts, the nipples tight with need.
The look on his face caused a great shudder to run through me. I reminded myself that I had seen all of him before, and that he had seen all of me.
It did not seem to matter. My belly quivered as I worked at the knot of my subligaculum.
No matter how many times I had him, I knew that I would want him all the same.
When my subligaculum, too, was on the damp rock at my feet, I tentatively stepped forward and slipped a foot into the water. It closed around me like an embrace, warm and seductive, licking the remains of the perspiration from my skin. Eyes latched on to Christus’, I slid farther into the water. The weight of the wetness clung to my skin, sucking it down, pulling me in. I took another step, then another, wondering how it was that
I felt so drugged when I had not touched opium or wine that evening.
When the water reached my shoulders, I curled my bare toes against the slippery rock at my feet, and again closed my eyes. Only the slightest noise made by flesh breaking through the water told me that Christus had again ducked under the water. I had not heard him resurface, so when I opened my eyes, I was startled to find him above the surface, maybe a foot away, submerged to the shoulders like I was.
His naked shoulders gleamed as they rose above the water.
He was a foot away, not quite in what I would consider my personal space, and yet it was both too close for comfort and too far away.
I think he had meant our visit here to soothe me, to ease my worry about the next day, but the heat of the silky water was not doing anything to calm. Instead it added to my already scorching internal temperature.
Something had to give, or I would be burned alive.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I sank down farther into the warmth and the wet, dunking under the surface to dampen my hair and soak away the last of my anxiety. I was startled when a second face joined mine beneath the smooth surface of blue. Strong arms wound around me, and legs intertwined with my own. Despite the carnal ferocity with which I was gripped, the brush of lips against my own was a touch so light it felt like a dream.
Lungs beginning to ache from the lack of air, I felt drugged by something thick and potent, something that belonged exclusively to Christus. I began to close my eyes, to lean in again, despite the fact that I desperately needed air.
My air gave out, and I sputtered to the surface, clawing for breath. I was dizzy. He surfaced beside me, though a lot more gracefully. Since we were still tangled, his exhalation of breath hit me full on in the face.
I greedily inhaled the scent that was so uniquely him. He turned my still entangled limbs as tightly as he could in his rock-hard frame and crushed my face against his. We clung, suspended in heat and wet, straining to get closer. Though it was not possible, I felt that I would not be happy unless I could somehow crawl inside his skin.
Seduced by the Gladiator Page 17