Seduced by the Gladiator

by Lauren Hawkeye

  The light of the sun as it began to set in the twilight sky glinted off of the intricate mosaic on the wall, hauntingly beautiful and in harsh contrast to the sounds that I made. Still I continued to scream.

  The mosaic was beautiful, yes, the kind of amazing art that could be afforded only by the wealthiest citizens of Rome. The rest of the room was the same, boasting of opulence and wealth.

  It did not change the fact that, no matter how gilded the cage, it was my prison.

  Though I shook instead, I swallowed back the tears that threatened, once again, to come. They were not tears of sadness, but ones of rage. Christus and I had been so close to the end of the games, so close to trying to prove to the citizens of Rome—to the wealthy patricians—that in the end they could not control us.

  Now, I had no idea what had happened to my lover. Had he won the arena game? I wanted so badly to believe that he had, felt certain that he had had the strength to defeat the other man.

  The truth was that I simply did not know.

  If he had survived, then where was he? Had he been returned to the ludus? Did he think me dead?

  Though my entire being wanted to dwell on the notion, I knew that I could not, or I would go mad. Instead, I elected to focus on getting through what lay ahead for me with Gaius.

  With derision, I looked down at the clothing that Gaius had left for me to wear. A toga the color of the sky and a palla—a woolen shawl—that matched had been laid out on the bed. When I bent over to look closer, I saw that the toga had slits up each leg, nearly to the hip, and that the front draped so low that my breasts would be almost entirely exposed.

  I would not have felt comfortable in such a garment ever. The fact that Gaius had likely chosen it specially, as a part of his sick fantasy, meant that I would rather wear my leathers until they rotted from my body.

  Clenching my fingers in the bedspread, I opened my mouth to scream again. Perhaps if I caused enough of a fuss, if I was more of a pain than he could ever have imagined, he would let me go.

  It was more likely that he’d kill me, but I could hope.

  A knock sounded at my door. My scream froze in my throat, and I looked suspiciously at the entry to the room.

  Gaius would not knock. Who could be there?

  The door opened, and a face peered around tentatively. Wide violet eyes dominated a small, white face and were offset by clouds of pale red curls.

  My visitor was the girl from the night before, the one who had showed us to the cave.

  “Apologies, miss. The dominus has given us instructions.” The young girl did not look in my eyes as she gestured behind her. Her attitude had changed from the night before—she was now skittish, her every movement tense with nerves.

  Two other women, who were also slaves but much sleeker and more self-assured, had followed the young girl into the room. One carried a vat of something that had steam rising from it, and another a tray filled with pots that I could smell even from where I stood across the room. They deposited their burdens by a wooden tub, turned some kind of knob that had water gushing from a lead pipe, and left.

  Running water! What an extravagance!

  The pregnant girl clutched a pile of linens in her hands, her fingers worrying the fabric until I thought that it might rip.

  “What is happening?” Though I was still angry and highly suspicious of anything initiated by Gaius, I tried to soften my voice, so as not to further frighten the young girl.

  She looked up at me from between her long golden eyelashes, then back down just as fast.

  “We have been given instructions to . . . to groom you, lady.” The poor girl’s hands were trembling, and for a moment I could not think why.

  I stepped closer, and she flinched. I understood then.

  “Did Gaius tell you that I would hurt you?” The girl’s head snapped up, and a flush stained her cheeks.

  She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again.

  My rage against Gaius built all over again. For the sake of the girl who was no more than a child herself, I swallowed it down, and stepped toward her again.

  “I will not hurt you, girl.” Something in this fragile creature reminded me of myself, but a very, very long time ago. Yes, I saw a shadow of the girl that I had been when my father had sold me into slavery, so many years before.

  I had had that innocence, that fragility, torn away from me, and so had this girl, or at least I assumed so. Such a timid creature would surely not have made the choice to get with child, not in her situation.

  I took an instant liking to her, felt a softness that I had not felt for anyone in years.

  “If I had wanted to harm you, I would have done so last night.” I felt the urge to harm Gaius all over again, for the fear that I saw etched in this young girl’s face.

  “You do not have to touch me, if you do not wish it.” I stood perfectly still, waiting for her to make the next move. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically, which was not what I had expected.

  “I must, lady! You do not understand.” Her eyes grabbed at the mound of her belly—a protective gesture—and she dropped the towels. Rather than letting her stoop clumsily to pick them up, I knelt and slowly, calmly began to refold them.

  “Why must you?” I stood and handed her the towels, then crossed to the wooden tub and examined the knob that the other slave girl had turned to obtain the gush of water. An experimental turn in the other direction made the stream cease, just before the contents of the tub were to flow out onto the floor.

  The girl inhaled deeply, then crossed the room to stand beside me. I saw her eye me with a sidelong glance, and hoped that I gave her no cause for concern.

  What had Gaius done to her to make her so afraid?

  “What is your name?” I tried this question instead, hoping to give her something, anything, with which to break the silence.

  “Viola.” The word was soft, but as she spoke, she looked up at me, looked me in the eye, which I thought was a step in the right direction.

  “Very well, Viola. Why must you groom me?” If it was for part of Gaius’ twisted fantasy, then I would allow nothing to be done to my person, though I had to admit that the tub full of water looked enticing. “I assure you, I would rather not be.”

  There were those wide eyes again, that fear. “I must, lady. I have strict instructions, a list of things that must be done. If I do not . . .” Viola’s voice shook, and her hands again clutched at the ball of her belly. “I think now, having met you, that you will not beat me, as the dominus said. But if you appear any less than as he wishes, I will be punished.” The sick fear in the girl’s eyes reminded me only too much of some of the burdens that I still carried with me.

  With a grimace, I looked across the room at the toga that had been modified to make me appear like a well-dressed whore. I looked at the tub, full of water that was clear as glass.

  “What has he ordered to be done?” I thought that perhaps Gaius wanted my hair styled a certain way, or that I wash with soap of a certain smell.

  I gaped when Viola brought forth the warm pail that one of the other slaves had brought into the room. With a stick she stirred the viscous yellow contents.

  “This is to be applied to your skin. When it is pulled off, it takes the hair with it.” While I gazed in horror at the liquid, she fetched the tray with the pots. “This is a scrub made with sugar. It smoothes the skin. And this perfumes your hair.”

  Her face flushed with embarrassment as she gestured to the final pot, a small one containing something thick and white.

  “And this . . . I am to apply this to your clitoris. It will . . . he said that it will ensure that you are ready for him.”

  “Oh, Viola.” How could the man ask such a thing of this young girl?

  I knew that I would suffer through all of this nonsense if it meant that she would escape punishment. And as for the last little pot of cream . . .

  No one was going to be applying that anywhere. I assumed
that it was some sort of stimulant, which was something that I had heard of. It was common among whores, for it helped to wet their cunts and made their work less painful.

  I would never be wet for Gaius, cream or not. My heart belonged to Christus, and all of my lust to him as well.

  “Well, let us get to work, shall we?” Grimly, I stood, stripped off my leathers, and climbed into the tub. Gaius had sent Viola to do this task because he had known that I would never allow a timid thing like her to be punished when I had the power to prevent it.

  I would be waxed and oiled and perfumed, and I would wear his whore’s outfit. But when he came to make me his, as he had threatened to do, he would find not a scared, trembling mess of a woman who longed for her lover and feared death.

  Though I had no basis for the sentiment, I felt a kinship with the young slave, the girl who had gone out of her way the night before to show Christus and me an unexpected kindness.

  She put me in mind of myself, so many years ago—she was young, she was frightened, and despite her advanced pregnancy, she retained an air of innocence.

  I may not have had any responsibility to the girl, but I wanted to return the favor that she had given me. I wanted to show Viola that she could be strong.

  And so when Gaius came for me, he would find the female gladiator who had once almost been crowned champion of Rome.

  “Inspect her cunt.” Gaius had sent two male slaves to fetch me from my room that evening at the dinner hour. I had let Viola dress me, let her arrange my hair, and had sent her on her way with what I hoped was the sense that she had performed her duties to the fullest.

  Except for the stimulant cream. If Gaius was displeased, I would say that I had overpowered the girl and had refused it—which was not entirely untrue.

  Now here I stood, barely two steps into the dining hall to which I had been brought. Gaius had set it for a seduction, with candles casting soft yellow light against the walls, jugs full of wine that smelled of spice, and a feast to rival the one that had been displayed at the party nights earlier.

  “Fuck you.” I spoke as sweetly as I could and squeezed my thighs together tightly. Gaius laughed and then gestured to the two slaves to do so.

  “I must be certain that my directions have been followed, lovely Lilia. All of my directions.”

  I smiled at him, then grabbed the wrist of the slave who reached for the skirt of my toga. “If either of these slaves lays a finger on me, I will twist his cock off with my bare fingers.”

  I longed for a weapon. While every gladiator was fully capable of injuring someone with bare hands, I did not want to touch him.

  Settling back in his chair, he eyed me appraisingly. “Very well.” Nodding at the slaves, who stepped away from me quickly enough to make me smile, he gestured for me to come to the table.

  I paused just long enough to crease his forehead in irritation.

  “You will eat.”

  Yet another slave rushed forward to fill a plate with various foods. I, of course, had no appetite. When presented with the plate, however, I forced a few bites down my throat, hoping to humor the man.

  I wanted to know of Christus’ fate.

  “Is it to your liking, lovely Lilia? It is peacock.” Gaius said this as if I was supposed to be impressed.

  I might have been, if I had had any idea what peacock was, and if Gaius’ eyes had not been fastened to the shadow between my breasts as I spoke.

  I shuddered, pushing my plate away. I could not play a game. I was not that kind of person.

  “Tell me of Christus.”

  The lust on Gaius’ face morphed quickly into disgust and anger. He gestured widely, to the candles, the platters of food, me.

  “You dare to sit there, wearing clothing from my hand, eating my food, and ask me of the lowly gladiator?” Leaning in, he caught my hand in his own. I tugged, but he held fast, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “You are above all of that now, Lilia. Do you not understand that?”

  I shoved to my feet, standing abruptly. My seat toppled over behind me, and I paid it no mind.

  “Tell me of Christus!” My words were shouted, my fists clenched. I dreamt of lunging forward, of raining blows down on Gaius’ head, but knew that scores of Roman soldiers waited outside, in the hall.

  Angry now, Gaius stood as well, bracing his hands on the table. His face was twisted, the smooth mask of the man-child contorting into something more closely resembling the monster beneath.

  “You wish to know of the gladiator? Very well. He survived, but you shall never see him again.” My heart sang, and I very nearly sagged in relief.

  Christus had won. Christus was safe. This was the most important thing.

  Slowly, menacingly, Gaius moved toward me. I was done with cowering from the man, no matter that fear still trickled into my veins with his proximity. Grasping my chin in his hands, he forced me to look up, into his eyes. Slowly, nearly gently, he placed a kiss on my lips.

  Bile rose in my throat, hot and bitter, and I struggled to pull back, my hand connecting with the skin of his lips and drawing blood. The slap resonated throughout my frame, and my palm smarted from the impact.

  “You little cunt.” The madness in his eyes was bright. “Ungrateful bitch. The gladiator thinks you dead.”

  This I knew. Better Christus alive and mourning me than dead himself.

  “You, however. You were never to die. Do you not yet see this?” Gaius, through the cruelty, seemed genuinely puzzled at my continued rejections of his advances.

  “See what, you madman?” I stumbled slightly over the long skirts of the toga. I was unaccustomed to wearing such a garment. As I stumbled, he moved swiftly behind me, his actions sinuous as a snake.

  “Do not call me that.” Suddenly my arms were twisted behind me, held in place by his pinching fingers. I bucked, elbowed, nearly escaped, but the soldiers in the hall had heard the commotion and come in.

  “Take her to the play room.” Gaius wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You think I am mad, lovely Lilia? I will show you how methodical I can be.”

  Christus thought I was dead.

  When I saw the chains in the “play room” to which I was dragged, I decided instantly that I would rather be lifeless than have Gaius lay a hand on me. I struggled so, screamed, fought as hard as I had ever fought in the arena, and in the end the soldiers could shackle only one of my arms.

  Gaius watched from the entrance coldly, approaching only after I had been restrained. One of my arms was cuffed, and I lay flat on the floor, three soldiers holding me down.

  Clearly I had created enough trouble with the second cuff.

  Gaius squatted at my feet, wrapping his arms delicately around my ankles, smoothing his hands up to my calves.

  I kicked as hard as I could.

  “Lilia.” A finger tickled the skin behind my knee, and then Gaius straddled me, his legs on either side of my hips. “Lilia. Listen to me.”

  Glaring, I continued to buck. I would never make this easy for him. Never.

  I longed for Christus, and mourned that I would never see him again.

  “You will hold still. You will listen.” One of the soldiers handed Gaius a knife, and I went very still indeed as he pressed the blade to my throat.

  “This was all for you. These games, they were for you, to extract you from the bondage of your slavery and to bring you here. Once I first saw you, I knew that I had to have you.”

  “How have you extracted me from slavery if I am under your control here?” My words were bitter, and seemed to surprise him.

  “Here you will be my mistress. You will have every privilege, everything you desire.” His eyes narrowed as I tried to pull back from the knife. “So long as you do what I say.”

  He was nearing the end of his patience; I could read it on his face. Though it went against everything in me, I forced myself to relax.

  “Why would you do this for me? I do not understand.”

  Seemi
ng stunned that I had stopped the fight, Gaius removed his hands from my body, though he still straddled me. Waiting a moment to see if I moved, he waved the soldiers away. I watched them hesitate, but they backed away, out the door that he had gestured toward.

  Idiot man.

  Free but for the one hand, I rolled, shoving Gaius off of me. Using the muscles of my thighs, I pinned him by the hips. His face showed surprise, though whether he was surprised by my strength or the fact that I did not want the same things he did, I was not sure.

  I was strong, but he had madness on his side. Grabbing him by the throat, I flexed my fingers, squeezing as tightly as I could. He bucked beneath me, stronger than I had anticipated. I was losing my grip, and my advantage, when I became aware of a commotion in the hall, where the guards had been dismissed to.

  Black out, the gods damn you. Gaius’ fingers scrabbled at his throat, but he refused to submit. I was distracted by the shouts, the screams from the hall, and finally my fingers slipped from his throat and Gaius lunged at me, throwing me to the floor.

  “No!” He was truly mad, to be pulling up the skirts of my toga while what sounded like a battle raged in the hall beyond.

  As if from a dream, two men exploded into the room, vengeance in their eyes. I did not know them, but in that quick moment I saw that, despite the simple togas that they wore, they were gladiators.

  I tried to scream, but my breath had been knocked out of me when Gaius had knocked me to the floor. Not knowing if the new gladiators were friend or foe, I struggled anew, finally succeeding in flipping Gaius off of me.

  Soldiers streamed into the room, and the gladiators began to battle them, moving so fast with their swords that they seemed like the wind. This told me that they were friends, but who were they? Why were they here?

  “Lilia!”

  My heart leapt. I turned away from Gaius—I could not have done anything else, for the voice belonged to Christus. There he stood, just inside the door, the right side of his face purple and swollen with bruising.

  “Cunt! You are mine!” I was caught off guard when Gaius wrapped his arm around my throat. My eyes widened—I was so stupid. I had turned my back on the beast.