Desire of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 3)

by Lydia Pax

  The gladiator was a symbol of virility and strength, and even to be in the presence of one was said to make most men more capable in bed and most women more fertile. It was long thought that even parts of the gladiator—as if he were some statue or religious relic—could be used to create mystical effects such as longevity of youth or sexual endurance.

  The display was a strategic one. Everyone knew that the ludi all over Rome were having difficulty keeping their ranks full. If the first thing guests saw when entering a ludus were two long lines of gladiators surrounding them, suddenly there seemed to be quite a lot of gladiators in the ludus. And, as gladiators always were, they were in fine fighting shape and ready to go to combat at a moment’s notice.

  It was an advertising ploy, and an obvious one, but also an effective one. Publius had pulled every gladiator he owned to stand ready that evening. The cell blocks were utterly empty, and would be until the last of the guests arrived.

  Conall was one of the veteran gladiators brought up into the estate house for further enjoyment of the guests. His role was to simply stand and look as impressive as possible. He, along with five other gladiators, carried his wooden weapons in case he was called upon for a show of skill.

  Guests to a ludus often wanted to see gladiators in action, in the same way that someone visiting a winery would want a taste of wine. There were ludi, Conall had heard, that offered sexual services to those who could front the coin to pay for a night with a gladiator.

  Fortunately, Publius was far too much of a traditionalist for such things. Porcia might have tried it out were she less superstitious, but her husband Rufus had explicitly forbade such activities in his will. For a Roman, to act against the written will of the deceased was to invite their angry ghost into your home.

  The gladiators were gathered in a line at one end of the atrium on top of a podium so that any guest could look up and admire them at any time. Their instructions, straight from the mouth of the Dominus, were to remain as still as possible and their muscles as flexed as possible unless directed otherwise.

  Diocles was another of the gladiators brought into the home. He stood at the opposite end of the line as Conall. Whenever possible, the two exchanged disparaging looks. They were representatives of their fighting style, as was every man there—Diocles for murmillo, Conall for dimachaerus, and four more for retarius, thraex, hoplamachus, and secutor.

  There were other styles of fighting still which existed—men who fought with lassos, men who fought on horseback, men who fought just with their bare hands. But every ludus had to specialize somewhere. House Varinius had long been known for its murmillo and thraex styles, and only in the last decade had it risen to prominence with the dimachaerus and retarius styles as well.

  Leda was in the crowd, serving food and wine. She wore a shimmering robe of sheer white silk, barely concealing the exotic brown color of her skin beneath. He had a great deal of trouble taking his eyes off her when he ought to have been staring straight ahead.

  The cords of her stola wrapped up around the collar on her throat, attending so closely to the metal band that it looked as if the collar itself held the fabric up. Her breasts, always lovely, were displayed with agonizing tantalization, and when Conall turned away it was mostly to avoid becoming too excited at the sight of her.

  It was difficult enough thinking of her without thinking of their passionate embraces they had enjoyed night after night. More difficult still was seeing her in such a revealing stola without imagining his hands running up and down the full curves of her luscious body. He wanted every part of her, and had barely been able to restrain himself.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her, to ravish her, to have his way with her and bring her again and again to climax after climax. But he could sense her restraint—and already his one push past that restraint, when he had told her he loved her, had nearly ruined their affection entirely.

  Now that he had her presence again, pleasant and thrilling and heated, he could not risk it.

  Great plates of food were displayed before the guests. In the center of the atrium were tall tables carrying all manner of exotic fruit and meat. Slaves carried trays with tiny portions, offering up cooked shrimp or chopped, braised pork riblets to any who desired them—excepting the gladiators, of course. More slaves still carried large amphoras of spiced wine with them, keeping every glass full.

  Conall was not much of a drinker, and so had seen in his time plenty of instances where a man made poor decisions because he was drunk. Fights started, investments were made, and babies got brought into the world all with the help of just a bit too much wine.

  No doubt Publius had seen the same, not being a man for libations himself. And the man in particular that Publius wanted drunk was Puteoli’s governor, Trio. He was the ticket to more wealth for Publius—for paying off all the debts Porcia had incurred, for returning the ludus to the status it once held in the Italian peninsula.

  Governor Trio was a large man, possibly the largest Conall had ever seen without any real muscle attached to his frame. His belly was round and distended, stretching out far in front of him like a boulder. A series of jowls and chins descended from his face, and the many steps up the stairs to the estate seemed to have winded him thoroughly.

  Conall, who could run the steps for hours before getting tired, was simply amazed that such a corpulent man existed. He had seen bigger fellows in the arena from time to time, but only from a distance in the arena, and never for very long.

  The governor walked the room with a hop in his step strangely agile for a man his size, examining the gladiators with great fervor. When he saw Conall, his face lit up and he began pointing excitedly.

  “This one!” The governor exclaimed, clearly giddy. “I like this one quite a lot! What’s his name? Don’t tell me.” He wagged a finger. “Pericles. No. No, no. Pontifex? Something like that.”

  There was silence in the room as no one dared interrupt his thought process. He was an amiable man—jovial—but crossing lines of authority in Roman high society was every kind of a bad idea.

  “I’m lost,” Trio said, a smile on his face. “Someone help me.”

  Publius leaned in and said softly, “Pertinax, Governor,”

  “Pertinax!” The Governor smiled broadly. “You took a thrashing at the last games, did you not?”

  “I did, Governor.” Conall nodded. “But I also won.”

  “And what is more important than that, eh? If a man’s not a winner in the arena, he’s nothing at all. It did look, I must say, like you were down for good a number of times.”

  “The Romans have looked that way in many wars, Governor. Hannibal destroyed the forces in Cannae, and yet Carthage is now merely a province and only a shade of the empire it once was building. Being too stubborn to admit defeat seems a good way to ensure a victory, to my mind.”

  “Ha!” The Governor pointed. “Haha! Publius, you have your gladiators studying history, do you?”

  Publius smiled. Its contents were a mystery to Conall. The man could have been pleased; he might have been mortified.

  “What can one say, Governor?” Publius shrugged woodenly. “The gladiators are allocated funds after every fight. What they spend their money on is their own business.”

  “Yes, naturally.” The Governor nodded. “But I expected…I don’t know. Women and booze. Perhaps some of the Egyptian herbs, if you take my meaning. But history? How many of your gladiators know how to read?”

  “Not too many, Governor. But this one knew our tongue when he came in to the ludus, to my understanding.”

  “Is that so?” asked the Governor. “Your tribesmen are searching out books to read?”

  “We hoped to show ourselves civilized and worthy of absorption into the boundaries of Rome.”

  “And were you?”

  “I’m standing here, as you see. Apparently not.”

  The Governor clapped his back. “Ha! Good man. Now,” he pointed at Conall’s face. “He’s a b
it of a small one, isn’t he? Is he truly one of your best?”

  “He is small, yes,” said Publius. His eyes were dangerous as they rested on Conall. “But he more than makes up for it in a fight. You saw him. Scrappy. Hard-headed. Refuses to listen to reason, even if that reason comes from his body telling him to quit. And skilled, beyond all that. A good hand in the ring in any fight.”

  Conall was almost flattered. But he knew Publius had to talk up his gladiators. No one else was going to do it if he didn’t, and if no one did, then no one would want to see them fight.

  And he knew also that Publius had studiously avoided calling Conall one of his “best” fighters, as the Governor had asked.

  “I’d like to see you scrap in the arena soon, Pertinax,” said Trio. “Are you up for the coming games?”

  “As ready as any man.” He cast a sidelong glance at Diocles. “And more ready than some will ever be.”

  “Confidence! I love to see it!” He slapped Conall’s shoulder again. “Good. Good!”

  He watched as Publius took the governor to one side, speaking with him softly. No doubt the subject was the games—and Publius guided Trio’s gaze several times over to Diocles over Conall.

  Chapter 28

  The party floated ever onward to rising levels of intoxication and gullet-stuffing as Publius called Leda to the office where he did all his business. Governor Trio was there already, immediately taking the amphora of wine Leda held and pouring himself a large drink.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all, Governor.”

  “Good girl.”

  The man had brought his own cup, twice the size of those that Publius boasted. It overflowed gently and dripped down to the marble floors below. Later, Leda would have to clean that. Oh well.

  “I keep myself to just three cups a night,” he said with a wink. “This is number two.”

  It was number four, but Leda was hardly about to tell the man that. If he wanted to enjoy his lies, she certainly was not in any place to stop him.

  The reasons she had been brought into the office with Publius and Trio when no one else had were not lost on her. Publius hoped to close the deal—and his fees—for the upcoming games tonight. For that, he would need a contract, and when it came to contracts, Leda was who he trusted most.

  Furthermore, there was this outfit she wore. Every time the ludus held some sort of affair, everyone was expected to dress their very best. This included the slaves, and for a slave, especially the women, this meant showing quite a lot of skin.

  It was, in a word, awful.

  All of her body was exposed. The slightest of breezes could slide through the opening in the ceiling and push it directly off her body, exposing her breasts to everyone present. The stola slid high up on her thighs, and all Leda could think was that at any moment she was going to turn too quickly or at too awkward an angle, revealing her crotch.

  But, summoning all her court training from childhood, she somehow remained composed.

  It helped that Conall kept looking at her with such wide eyes. This was not an outfit for public consumption, but perhaps she could find a way to wear it to his cell one night. That would certainly have an effect on him. Indeed, it certainly seemed as though he was already having trouble hiding the stiff effects the outfit had on him now. Her neck flushed slightly with the thought.

  If she came to his cell dressed like this, their affair would not end at kissing as it so often did. She doubted he would be able to control himself, and his lack of control would spur her own. Her tongue crossed her lips slowly. It was not such a bad fantasy, that.

  “Holding a man’s passions in check is akin to slicing off a limb, Governor.” She smiled. “And a great many limbs seems useful in a world where more and more needs doing.”

  “This one!” Trio raised his cup in admiration. “A clever tongue, her! Where do you find these delightfully intelligent slaves, Publius? Mine all whine about wages and food.”

  “There is much to be said for living in an institution of obedience and discipline, sat upon the razor’s edge of death at all times. One bad day at the games could ruin this house for years. I impress that upon everyone here when it is appropriate to do so.”

  The governor hummed, taking a sip. “A dismal thought. You’ve more fortitude than I. A city seems easier to run than a ludus. Many moving parts, none of them quite essential. You need, oh…at least five or six things to go wrong at once for anyone to really take notice and start trouble. Though,” he chuckled, “at least two or three parts are always broken anyway.”

  Outside, a great roar of laughter went up. One of the guests had told a funny joke or story. The governor eyed it with some envy.

  “I dislike this talking in secret,” said the governor. “I am a social creature. Why may we not speak in public?”

  “We may speak wherever you wish, Governor. My hope was that we would finish our talks as soon as we could, so that you return to the party. Out there…” another round of laughter echoed through the atrium. “…there are a great deal more distractions.”

  “Let me be earnest with you, then, in what I am seeking for this show. I like your ludus, Publius, and I like this place. I want to give you full respect in the games.”

  “You mean the primus?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s very good to hear, Governor.”

  “However,” the governor hiccuped slightly. “It’s not quite so simple. You see, my wife’s brother-in-law—from her first marriage, you see, operates a ludus in Capua. House Vibius, I expect you know them.”

  Publius gave a nod to indicate that he did.

  “Good. Well, she insists that he be honored. The man is having some trouble in his own city finding proper matches. There was some debacle a year or two ago where a fighter of his managed to climb all the way into the crowd.”

  “I remember. Three men died putting him down.”

  “Actually, it was five. Took the hand of another. Vicious fellow. There was much celebration for his execution, I’m told. But we can’t let the stain of one incident ruin an entire ludus with a three hundred year history, can we?”

  Publius nodded. “Tradition is important, Governor.”

  “Yes!” Trio nodded. “Now. I know what you’re thinking. Your ludus is too well-respected to be found in a one-on-one match in the primus of all things with the Vibius ludus.”

  Publius made no sign of thinking that, or anything. He waited.

  “For this show, I wanted something memorable. Something that the crowd never sees. I want them to come in droves. I want them to be sitting in the stairs. And so I’ve contacted House Malleola.”

  This was the other ludus in the Puteoli area. For a long time, it had been a ludus known only for the poor quality of its fighters. But a recent surge of interest by its paterfamilias had resulted, in recent years, an upswing of its fortunes. With its newfound wealth, it absorbed the fighters and supplies of other ludi down on their luck.

  “I don’t know that I understand, Governor.”

  “Three men enter the arena. One man leaves the winner. Simple enough?” He burped loudly, chortling. “Your best man against the best man from the other two ludi.”

  Even Leda felt herself balking at this news. A three-man fight?

  “That’s…highly nontraditional, Governor.”

  “Yes, that’s the point. And the point for you, Publius, is that if you want the primus, and let’s say five other matches that day, then you’d do well to learn to break a little from tradition.”

  Publius stiffened. “I see.” He gestured at Leda. “My slave here will write something up. We’ll call you back in when the paperwork is complete.”

  “Wonderful!” The governor slapped his leg and stood up, draining half his enormous cup. “There was some wine I was hoping to try. I’m only on my first cup of the night, and I’d like at least two more.”

  Chapter 29

  Deep into
the night, most every guest had left. Those that had not were too drunk to move or even to be moved by their guards. They were given cushions and beds to recline on in the atrium.

  As such, it was time for the gladiators to be done with their standing duty and to return to their cells. If Conall rushed and fell asleep immediately, he might get three hours before he wanted to wake up in the morning to start training.

  But instead, he waited for Publius and Leda to finish their paperwork. Next to him, an equestrian snored loudly. Conall was content to wait from his perch. Leda was lovely as she worked. He imagined his fingers sliding through the thick mass of her hair, trailing down her back, untying the cords that held her outfit together…

  All he wanted was her.

  Publius occasionally barked an order her way, and she would barely look up. Her hands—cleaned for the party—were stained once again with heavy ink. He liked that. It was how her hands had looked when she had treated him. Occasionally she had to wipe her brow or scratch her cheek, and small smudges of ink stayed behind on her face. It only highlighted for him the natural beauty of her lovely brown skin.

  Finally, Publius noticed him.

  “Do you want something, gladiator? Why are you not in your cell?”

  “There was not an order to go, Dominus. Merely the invitation. I wanted to speak with you if I could.”

  The lanista seemed too tired to tell him no. “Very well. You seem determined.”

  “I overheard the governor speak of his desire to put a fighter of ours in the primus.”

  Indeed, the moment the governor left the meeting he had starting telling everyone in the party he could about what an amazing day at the arena it would be.

  “Three men in one fight! What a spectacle!” and so on.

  Conall didn’t know how much of a spectacle it would be, but he did know it provided him with an opportunity for certain.

  “I already know what you want to suggest, in that case.” Publius straightened. “The answer is no. Go to your cell and get some sleep. You must train. I have arranged for your placement in the games. You will be posted honorably, I assure you.”