Breaking the Gladiator

by Nicola Rose

Just keep looking at him and reminding myself that this will all be worth it.

  But Marcus is pushing too far. Demanding too much. Cassian brims with so much rage that for a moment I have to admire the bravery in Marcus. Of course though, it’s not bravery. It’s sheer arrogance. He thinks himself a better man, more worthy. Accustomed to getting what he wants in every step of life. He’s untouchable and relishing in his power.

  They all are. All these noble men and women across Rome. And I’m one of them. I’m no better. Just a high-ranking pig, controlling the lives of others as if I’m a Goddess.

  But I am not. Right here, right now, I’m nothing. I’ve always just been nothing.

  Cassian is far more worthy than any of us. He has honour and pride, and compassion. How much more of this will he tolerate?

  As if reading my mind, Marcus suddenly exits the room and returns barely a moment later brandishing shackles. How long had he planned this?

  He instructs Cassian and keeps a wary eye on him while he binds his hands and feet. Cassian then slumps to the floor and braces himself for the show.

  Marcus is just getting going, ploughing into me like a squealing hog, when a commotion from the courtyard catches our attention.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. Cassian stiffens.

  “Probably my guard come to collect Alba from the desperate clutches of your lanista,” Marcus waves a hand in dismissal. “And to collect Cassian. I did tell you that the buyer for your gladiator is myself, right?”

  Silence engulfs my mind, swallowing all the noise, even that of my thrashing heart. Pure, hateful silence. This couldn’t be. Marcus would subject us both to a lifetime of this agony…

  He laughs, wild and free and crazed. “I rather like the idea of owning a gladiator in the bedroom as well as the arena. You know what?” He abruptly withdraws from me. “I think I’d like to experiment. Stand up, Cassian.”

  Cassian does as instructed, slowly, warily.

  “Now bend over and spread your cheeks. Look at your worthless Domina while I fuck you in the ass like the mongrel you are.”

  No!

  No no no no…

  44

  Livia

  Too much.

  This is too much.

  Cassian tugs on his restraints. Marcus laughs and moves behind him. As he turns I grab a heavy vase from the table and whack it into his skull. He lands on the floor with a dull thud.

  Cassian and I just stare at each other in horror.

  I dig my toe into Marcus’s ribs and he twitches. I can still hear the commotion outside. Raised voices, scuffling. His guard could arrive here any second. Cassian is tugging against his shackles again and I launch into action.

  Marcus groans.

  I fumble with Cassian’s bindings, my hands shaking.

  “Breathe,” he soothes.

  “I can’t!” I scream, yanking at the strap that won’t loosen.

  Marcus stirs again, his hands twitching to life at his sides. Blood pools beneath his head, but he’s definitely not dead.

  He’s not dead. I should feel relief.

  “Will you kill for me? For us?” I blurt out, as the final restraint falls away.

  “Is that not what I do every time I step in the arena?”

  “Now. Here—”

  “I’m yours to command, Domina, no matter when or where.” Cassian reaches out to embrace me and I fall into his safe arms. I’m secure against his warmth, and yet his touch will be the bringer of death upon us all.

  I look to the corner. Look to the floor… under the bed.

  Marcus tries to sit up and Cassian doesn’t waste another second.

  He lurches for the bed and grabs the knife hidden underneath.

  45

  Cassian

  Rage.

  Unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.

  There’s nothing – no voices in my head, no sound from Livia’s lips, no world beyond the doors. There is only me, and him, and my wrath. Blinding and hot.

  I grab Marcus’s hair and press the knife to his throat.

  Fear sparks behind his eyes as he wakes fully and comprehends his fate. This man spends his time thinking he’s an emperor, prowling his domain, abusing women against their wishes and pushing slaves around. Revelling in the destruction caused by his gladiators. It’s just games.

  But he is not a strong man. He’s weak. Hiding behind his wealth. He has no idea how to take a life himself. And now he’s here… facing the unshackled monster. No guards to protect him. And he’s just pissed himself. Literally.

  If he hadn’t pushed so far he might have got away with it. Might have lived another day.

  I side-step away from the puddle on the floor, maintaining my hold on him. I should take it slow. I should cut him up piece by piece, one body part at a time. I would enjoy that.

  But I look to my owner, as I would in the arena, and await her command.

  She nods her head, and I slit his throat.

  46

  Livia

  It’s gone quiet outside.

  It’s gone quiet again in my head.

  Marcus’s blood spurted out like a fountain, drenching Cassian’s chest. He stands there, shoulders heaving, the knife hanging limply in his hand. I’m drawn to his tattoos, the way they circle and creep around his arms. The way they look so black and solid against the silky red splatters that coat his skin.

  My whole body surges with adrenalin. Alive. Alive…

  “We need to clean this up. Somehow. I don’t know—” Cassian starts moving around the room, pacing.

  I get myself in front of him and he stops.

  We won’t be alive much longer.

  I dab a finger to the blood, marvelling at the hot stickiness of it. Then I swipe it over the whorl of a tattoo, dragging across his solid muscles. He takes a deep breath. “Domina,—”

  “Ssshhh,” I soothe, leaning in to lick the smear of blood. His whole body tightens as a whoosh of air escapes his lungs. “Let us unleash the sickness. Let us be free.”

  He goes to reply, but I’m already palming his crotch and biting his neck. On a starved growl he throws me to the ground and plunges into my heat. My back slides against the pool of crimson death around us. I let it cover my hands before reaching up to stroke him, to rub it all over.

  We are broken. Sick and depraved. Starved of love. And so we fuck like animals beside Marcus’s dead body.

  47

  Livia

  This time, it’s definitely too quiet outside. Marcus’s guard should have come looking for him by now.

  I extract myself from Cassian’s slumbering grip and shake myself into motion. We might have accepted our fates, but we could still try… do something…

  Pulling Cassian along, we tumble through the house and out to the courtyard. We don’t have many guards, but there’s one stationed by the barracks. He takes in the state of us, naked and covered in blood, and reaches for his weapon.

  “I wouldn’t,” Cassian warns.

  The guard backs down with a huff. “This night has already gone to total shit,” he mumbles. “You realise that you and your lanista have condemned us all, this whole ludus? No one will escape punishment.” He gestures us through and we find Vitus cradling a sobbing Alba.

  In the corner, a man lays dead. Marcus’s guard.

  Vitus has lost all the light in his eyes. “He tried to take her… I couldn’t…”

  “It’s alright,” I breathe.

  But it wasn’t alright. None of this was alright.

  “We need to flee,” Cassian states. Vitus nods in agreement. The other gladiators have gathered around us. A united front.

  “To where?” I counter. “The city cohorts will be after us in a heartbeat.”

  “We’re more than capable of taking on a few guards,” Cassian scoffs, and the other men grunt approval.

  I take a calming breath. “You would have me live in poverty? Always running, afraid, hungry?”

  He looks at me incredulously.
“What of the alternative?! You would rather die?”

  Yes. I would rather die than live in poverty like a slave…

  No.

  That was the old Livia. The Domina.

  This is a new me. One who is not afraid to take hold of what I want. With death loitering right over my head, the usual numbness has faltered. A fierce passion to live has broken through.

  “I will protect you, to the ends of the earth,” Cassian’s face softens.

  “Maybe I shall protect you, gladiator,” I smile, and the ludus gates creak open.

  48

  Livia

  Birdsong flits over the grounds as little wings take flight against the disturbance from the gates. Morning had broken at some point. Why were we still sitting here? If we were going to flee, it should have been under the cover of nightfall.

  And I realise then – they would have fled. Cassian would have gone hours ago. But he would not leave without me. And he would not drag me like a prisoner. The longer I had lingered over my own foolish fears, the closer I had brought our doom.

  “Go,” I urged. “I’ll keep him distracted while you gather enough supplies, then meet me by the ludus gates.”

  Cassian shakes his head.

  “You must, I’ll be fine, I promise.” I throw a bowl of water over myself and scrub frantically at the dried blood that’s glued to my skin.

  The footfall of a horse and cart approaches the villa. Alba tears off her tunic and throws it to me. I hastily dry myself with a rag from the cell and pull on the dress.

  Cassian catches my arm. The horse draws ever closer. “Please, Cassian, it’s our only chance.”

  His hand is locked on me. Anguish. Fear.

  “She’s right,” Vitus says, urging Cassian away.

  “He will have been drunk and fucking all night long,” I force a smile. “It won’t take long before he’ll collapse and fall asleep. I’ll meet you then.”

  I don’t wait for Cassian to grab me again. I sprint for the house and throw myself onto the wooden couch, just a moment before Felix walks in.

  49

  Livia

  My breath is too rapid. My appearance too flustered. Flecks of blood still speckle my arms if you look closely enough.

  Count, up and down. Deep breaths. Do not show weakness.

  Felix trips over a discarded sandal and attempts to kick it away, only stumbling further and muttering obscenities. Still drunk.

  Titus looms in the doorway. Fear engulfs me—

  But Vitus appears, calm and collected, and asks Titus to join him for a word. Felix waves them away without a second thought.

  Catching sight of the left over feast on the table, he strolls over and begins picking at the food. He scoffs down a platter of meat and half a cup of wine before turning and catching sight of me for the first time since entering.

  “Marcus finished with you, has he?” he sneers. “You look terrible. I trust it was an experience.”

  “You sold me to him.” I don’t know why it hurts.

  “Only for one night, don’t start bleating about it, my head hurts enough already.” He gulps back the rest of the wine. “Where is he, anyway? Has he returned home with Alba already? Not that I could blame him, she’s far perkier than you—”

  “Yes, he left. Right after he laughed about what an incompetent fool his brother is.” His lip twitches, so I continue. “About how easy you are to manipulate. How he’ll always be the one in charge. I mean, fucking his brother’s wife?! Does he let you fuck his own bride? Does he let you make any of his business decisions? No…”

  I stand to get myself some wine and steady my nerves, and his foot swipes at my ankle, sending me flying down. My temple cracks against the fireplace as I fall. Then sweaty hands are grabbing at my face and hair. He yanks my head up and smashes it back down into the mosaic floor. Light bursts behind my eyelids and I struggle to keep from drifting out of consciousness.

  Fingers tighten, pulling hair from the roots. “What did you say, you miserable whore?” He prepares to crack my skull again. I frantically scramble around until my fingers find the iron poker for the fire.

  My head is lifted high up from the ground. I find his eyes, hateful and cold, and brace for the impact. But the poker is in my grip and I stab the sharp point into his side. His shocked face is so empowering, I wish I could freeze it and admire it for hours. But it soon crumples into pain and fear. He falls back on his ass, clutching at the bleeding wound.

  “That’s for Aelia,” I mutter.

  I crawl to him, my head spinning, and before he can realise what I mean to do I stab again into the top of his chest. He falls flat onto his back, gasping. “And that one’s for Cassian.”

  Horror in his expression now. It’s beautiful. My heart soars. I stand over him and slowly wipe the bloodied poker across my tunic. My insides are churning, but my hands are steady.

  I will never show weakness.

  The lesser men must know their place. I had it all wrong for so long. Cassian is the real man, the one who deserves respect. This man… he is not even worthy of the title of man.

  Blood bubbles from his lips. He’s trying to say something, but I can’t make it out.

  “And this one? This one is for me.” I bring the pole down, right into his throat.

  I am free.

  50

  Livia

  I will never be free. I will most likely be imprisoned or dead before this day ends.

  And if not, then I’ll be bound by the restrictions of a life in poverty, a life in hiding…

  And I don’t care.

  I charge toward the gates, passing the wooden cross in the centre of the grounds. It’s no longer Aelia’s body that hangs there – it’s Titus. Nailed to the wood. Crucified and twitching. He lifts his bloody face to stare at me, but I fix my focus on Cassian – standing by the gates.

  As soon as his eyes meet mine I know; I will never need anything else. What a terrible crime it is that I made him look at my feet for so long. His steel gaze upon me takes my breath away.

  I have hastily washed again and pulled on fresh clothing. One of the bags I carry contains everything I could cram in, in terms of clothing and anything of value. The other bag is bulging with all the money that Felix kept locked away in his private room. Unfortunately, he keeps most of his wealth guarded by a bank, but Vitus’s eyes still widen when he takes the bag from me and realises what’s inside. It seems like a lot to them, but it’s not enough…

  Vitus lets out a sigh, dumping the bags into a cart. The horse fidgets impatiently against the harness. “Thank the Gods you’re here, I couldn’t hold Cassian back any longer from coming to find you.”

  “He’s sleeping?” Cassian asks.

  “Yes. Deeply asleep,” I smile.

  “Good. Then let’s hope he burns slowly.” Cassian turns to face the villa with a nod, and two gladiators hurry back to it.

  “A fire might cover up the murders and allow us more time to flee,” Vitus adds.

  We watch in silence. Waiting. Before long a wisp of smoke drifts from my balcony.

  51

  Livia

  I plead with Vitus and Alba to come with us, even some of the other gladiators, surely there’s more safety in numbers? But they all have the same response.

  “No, it will be more dangerous together.” A group looking like ours will draw too much attention. We are to disperse. Disappear.

  We will sneak through towns and run. We won’t look back. We won’t falter.

  And once we’re clear, once we have found a haven, somewhere that we feel safe… then perhaps we shall find each other again.

  The remaining guard from the barracks prepares to drive the horse for us. The gladiators had despatched of any guards that tried to get in their way. Evidently, this one decided that helping us was a better option.

  “Can we trust him?” I whisper.

  “If he turns us over he’ll have to pay for failing to protect the ludus. I think he was always on
our side, anyway. He’s barely more than a slave himself,” Cassian mumbles, but I note the way he eyes the guard with caution.

  Alba cries freely as Vitus tries to encourage her onto a horse. Her sweet face awash with the tears. She clutches me into an embrace and a sob escapes me. “I’ve seen the goodness inside you, Domina. I have belief in you. May the Gods be with you.”

  For once, I squash the voice inside – don’t show weakness, break them…

  I shut it down and let every bit of emotion pour from my face. I don’t care that I’m crying too, or that I’m trembling. I bury my face into her neck and allow myself to feel her friendship, weeping that I have lost it before it could even begin.

  “I will find you again, Alba… Gratitude.” I let Cassian guide me away, into the waiting cart. We set off down the road and I glance back only once, just so I can see the devastation as our entire ludus burns to the ground.

  52

  Livia

  My fingers trace along the tattoos on Cassian’s arm. Black and dangerous. They give him an exotic edge, an extra dose of thrilling masculinity.

  They will also draw a huge amount of unwanted attention. My touch finds the brand on his lower forearm. The mark of our ludus. One that identifies him as a slave, a gladiator, and now, as an escaped criminal.

  “I will have it covered over,” he says, following my gaze. “Or burned away.” He shrugs, like either option is just fine.

  We continue on in silence, and it isn’t nearly long enough before it happens – our cart draws to a sudden halt, and rough male voices sound outside. I knew we’d encounter problems, but so soon…