by Nadia Aidan
Aurora glowered at her and the gesture. “Do not be honored. I shall not be fighting for the House of Norbanus. I have refused.”
Aurora noted the look of horror that spread across the girl’s face.
“You cannot refuse,” she protested. “And why should you? If you fight well for the governor, your life as a slave will be accompanied with many tributes—coins, privileges, even freedom. You will have things that many of us shall never have.”
“And what if I do not fight well for this governor of yours?”
Her quarter mate appeared dismayed, as if she could not fathom such a thing, but then her expression shifted to one of confidence. “Do not say such a thing. You are quite strong. I know you shall fight well for the House of Norbanus.”
Aurora almost smiled at the girl’s confidence. She was naïve and far too trusting, which bespoke of a kind heart and indiscriminate loyalty—attributes which had no place in a ludus. She was refreshing. This girl did not know her, but had defended her, against herself, no less. A tiny smile somehow found its way upon her jaded lips, despite her best efforts to stymie it.
“What is your name?”
The young woman’s face brightened. “Artemisia. And you?”
“Aurora. How long have you been a servant to Governor Norbanus?”
“For six years, since I was the age of twelve.”
Aurora soon learned Artemisia was a captive from the lands of Arabia and for several years had tended solely to the kitchen, but now also served as a maid to Cornelia, the governor’s wife.
“I would ask you another question,” Aurora began, choosing her next words carefully. “A man visited me last eve. He wore the collar of a slave, but did not carry himself as such. He was thickly muscled, as if he was a gladiator, and yet, he spoke with almost perfect Latin, he could have been a Roman patrician.”
Artemisia’s guileless eyes twinkled. “That is Cyrus, our champion of Capena. He is also doctoris and quite handsome, is he not? But he will have none of the women within these walls or beyond. He maintains a strict code of discipline and honor.”
Aurora noted Artemisia’s words with bemused interest. Thick, dark locks, firm, sensual lips and those eyes—as clear as the sea, that if one stared too hard and for too long they would drown themselves within them. Cyrus’ harsh masculinity would hold an allure for most women, and yet he touched none. She considered the meaning of the young girl’s words, but said nothing. Seconds later, the sound of a key twisting within the lock, brought a swift end to any further discussion.
A guard entered the room, his bronze armor reflecting the sudden blast of light that flooded the space, and both women squinted.
“You.” He pointed to Aurora. “Dominus, will see you now.”
Aurora followed him out of the room and waited as he locked the door behind her. He did not shackle her wrists, but she noted he stood so his left side was closest to her, his sheathed blade well out of her reach on his right side. She took notice of his actions, she took notice of many things as she was led up a series of twisting steps, then through a large gate.
Aurora passed through another smaller gate before she entered the abode proper.
Her worn sandals left the mud brick and found purchase upon smooth, gleaming marble with tiles decorated in rich colors to depict images of local divinities.
With the guard still at her side, Aurora entered the atrium, which was spacious and opulently decorated with mosaics. She soon made her way through a short hall into a lush, green garden that was surrounded by marble statues of Roman deities and overflowing with a brilliant array of colorful flowers. At the center of both the atrium and the garden were pools, full of crystalline blue water, and the garden boasted a fountain. She heard the trickling water long after she passed through another vestibule into the private quarters of the governor and his wife.
The guard led Aurora into the triclinieum where a sole occupant, Claudius Norbanus she assumed, reclined on one of the couches, dining.
There was no one else in the room, save two guards, one of them being the guard who’d escorted her there. It was only at the last moment Aurora saw him. He stood deep within the shadows of the corner, as silent and stoic as a sculpted stone statue.
Cyrus.
She knew his name now.
He stared at her, as if he could see clear through her. She returned his gaze, her eyes steady, unwavering, penetrating him. He must have gleaned something from her expression because he blinked in surprise, then glanced away.
“Aurora,” Claudius greeted, and she reluctantly dragged her attention away from the man who held her captivated, to gaze upon Claudius Norbanus.
“As the dominus and master of the House of Norbanus, I welcome you to my home.”
Aurora bowed her head in response, a nod of subservience, out of remembrance of a past life she’d done all but forget.
“I am told you have met Cyrus, the doctoris of this ludus,” Claudius remarked, a comment to which she nodded again. The governor had not asked her a question, so she did not answer in kind. Another remembrance of the life she’d once lived as a slave a long ago.
“He tells me you do not wish to fight.”
Aurora stiffened at Claudius’ direct words and her gaze speared Cyrus before returning to the governor, seeing him truly for the first time.
He was not a handsome man, he was frail and wrinkled, his skin splotched with age. His eyes, however, were sharp—clear and discerning. They also brimmed with an emotion she’d glimpsed in the eyes of many men from an early age.
Lust burned in their depths, desire darkening his pupils as his attention slid over her, slowly appraising her figure in the worn tunica.
Had this been a time long ago, his rapt attention would have curdled her stomach, now it compelled her, arming her with another weapon. He desired her, which meant he could be manipulated, he could be used.
“Is this true? Do you not mean to fight for the House of Norbanus?”
Her lips, full and lush, curved into a smile that teased, that taunted. Such a smile had felled men of a far stronger purpose. He was not such a man, when she watched his nostrils flare with lust.
“My apologies, dominus. It is not that I do not mean to fight, for I would fight to honor the House of Norbanus. And that is why I have refused. Because it has been some time since I was last in the arena. I would not wish to dishonor this house with my lack of skill. Not when I possess other skills to please my master.”
Her bold words were met with a sharp cough.
She cast a baleful glare at Cyrus, for his interference, until she realized the cough had not come from him. It had been distinctly feminine.
She turned at the same time a radiant, almost painfully beautiful woman entered the room. Adorned in an elegant stola, the deep indigo hue of the shimmering garment stood in lovely contrast to skin as rich and smooth as goat’s cream, skin that was then gently kissed by hair of silken, lustrous sable.
As lovely as the woman was, her features still managed to twist into an ugly frown that was for Aurora alone.
She did not appear pleased to see her.
Aurora experienced a similar feeling for the raven haired woman’s interruption.
“You would tempt my husband so boldly, and you have only but arrived here? She is insolent, is she not?”
Cornelia. Claudius’ wife. At least that explained the animosity radiating from the woman.
Aurora was surprised, however, that Cornelia directed her last question to Cyrus, a slave, and actually expected an answer, when she said, “I asked you a question, Cyrus. This new slave is insolent, is she not?”
Claudius seemed to be as uncomfortable as Aurora, the both of them caught up in the web of sexual tension that hovered between Cornelia and Cyrus.
Aurora recalled what Artemisia had said earlier and understood immediately the events unfolding before her. Cornelia longed for Cyrus’ touch, but he refused her, and she could do nothing. He was the champion gladi
ator of her husband’s house. Cyrus brought in denarii, while she spent it. Cyrus was a slave and she could be executed for betraying her husband with him. Cornelia could not compel Cyrus to lay with her, they both knew it, and it ate away at her, to be denied by a common slave.
“I imagine Aurora is many things,” Cyrus answered finally.
Every brow in the room reached for the sky at his words, which suggested a host of meanings, but truly revealed nothing.
“It is Aurora to you already?” Cornelia mocked, bitterness trickling through her voice. “First you, now my husband.” Cornelia raked her with cold eyes. “It would seem the whore has a voracious appetite.”
“That is enough, Cornelia,” snapped Claudius, his tone firm. As unstable and crazed as Cornelia appeared, Aurora considered it a great feat this woman’s unhinged mind could even grasp she’d reached the end of her husband’s patience and it was best to restrain herself.
From the way Cornelia’s eyes shifted erratically, brimming with anger, Aurora gathered the woman’s restraint would not hold for very long.
“As Cyrus noted, I am certain you are quite adept at many things,” Claudius spoke directly to her, but with his jealous wife’s presence, he was subdued. The lust that had burned so openly in his gaze just moments ago was now nothing more than a dying ember. Aurora imagined her lusts would wane as well if she were wed to Cornelia. The woman appeared as cold and frigid as a Germanic winter.
“But I would first have Cyrus judge your skills in the arena, before you discount yourself,” Claudius continued. “If you are found lacking in the arena, then I shall find another purpose for you—”
“In the fields! I would have her toiling in the fields—”
“Silence, Cornelia.” Claudius glared at his wife. “I shall decide where she serves this house, not you.”
It was obvious Cornelia wished to protest, but the stern look upon Claudius’ face brooked no further argument.
Claudius nodded to the guard who’d brought her to him. “Return her to her quarters.”
He glanced at Cyrus. “When you have completed your training for the day, summon her. I would have you test your skills against her.”
Cyrus did not look pleased, but he bowed his head out of respect.
Aurora was then led from the room and returned to her quarters, which were now empty of Artemisia. She noticed upon her return, the house was fully awake, alive with the din of noise and the heavy tread of footsteps.
Aurora drowned out the cacophony of sounds floating around her to reflect upon her assignment.
Her mission was to secure her place within the House of Norbanus, gain Claudius’ trust and kill him at the first opportunity. Aurora did not relish taking a life. During her days as a gladiator, she had despised it. And of late, she’d grown weary of the toll her duties exacted upon her weathered soul. She consoled her conscience with the knowledge that Claudius was obviously a detriment to The Empire, but far worse, he was given to the depravities of his perversions, bartering in the trade of children for sexual servitude.
What he did was against the laws of Rome, for there were many impoverished parents who would sell their children outright. Instead, Claudius took the children of his enemies and those who owed him debts, because his station conferred upon him absolute power over the region, and no one would dare protest against him out of fear.
Still, that was not why she’d been sent to eliminate him. There were many who dealt in the unlawful trade of children and The Order did not involve themselves. Claudius had done something to threaten The Empire.
His actions in the kidnapping and bartering of children could very well be the threat, or it could be another offense entirely. Whatever it was he’d die because of it; he’d die to right his wrong. It wasn’t her duty to know all of Claudius’ sins against the Empire. Her duty was simply to dispatch of him.
As if reminding her of her assignment, soft laughter echoed through the tunnels. It was the laughter of the slave children who were still young enough to idle about their days.
She closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting back to her original purpose. Every slave was subject to the whims of their master and could be sold at any point, but especially one new to the household, and especially if they did not prove themselves valuable to their masters.
Aurora let out a raw, jagged breath, her stomach already roiling, already quivering at the thought of entering the arena again. She’d vowed never to return, not after what had happened, not after she’d finally escaped such a life. But here she was, every demon she’d thought she’d vanquished, every memory she’d fought to bury, returning to haunt her.
Her heart hammered harder and faster beneath her breast, sweat beading her forehead. If she didn't prove herself as a fighter, she could not be certain she’d find a place as a servant within Claudius’ home.
She drew in another breath, this one quiet, calming. She opened her eyes.
She could not fail. Never once had she failed. Not at anything. She recalled the lesson learned long ago. Failure brought only pain, punishment—if you failed, it brought you an early death.
Death may very well be her fate, but no matter her fears, no matter her wishes—she would not fail.
* * * *
Despite his reservations and his displeasure at having to do so, Cyrus summoned the woman at dusk as he’d been commanded.
He stood within the center of the training arena, two wooden short swords at his feet and beside each of them, a parma.
He glanced over at Flavius at the same time she entered with a guard by her side. The guard stopped at the edge, but she continued forward, her chin high and proud, her shoulders back.
When she halted before him, she looked curiously between him and Flavius.
“I would have you fight one of my newest gladiators,” he said in answer to the question brimming in her eyes.
“You do not wish to match your skills against mine. You do not think me a worthy opponent.”
He did not mistake the smug gleam upon her face, yet Cyrus did not rise to the challenge. “It is difficult to judge your skills while engaged in a battle. I will learn more of your abilities from my position as a spectator.”
Within her eyes he saw what she did not say. She called him a liar, then a coward. He kept his face blank, even as his gut churned with anger.
He gestured for Flavius to retrieve the gladius and shield, deciding this fight would be over soon enough. He would see who the coward was when she begged for him to call an end to the match, when she begged for mercy.
Marching across the arena with long strides, he took up a position far enough away from the battle, but close enough to see. When he turned back around, she was gripping the hilt of the sword within her hand, and her gaze speared him.
“Your dominus told you to match your skills against mine, not those of one of your men. What will he say when he finds that you have disobeyed him?” she challenged.
Cyrus held back a snort. Claudius would never know otherwise. Despite the fact that the gladiators of this ludus were the source of his vast wealth, Claudius was only mildly interested in the testing and training of his men, leaving most of the decisions to him as doctoris. Cyrus glanced up at the balcony, which was adjacent to Claudius’ private chambers. It was empty—as it usually was.
He returned his gaze to Aurora. “Our dominus has given me leave to assess you as I see fit, and this is how I see fit.”
He did not explain himself further, for he did not owe this woman an explanation at all. That he’d given her this much was more than enough.
Besides, she had no more time to ask questions after that because with his two fingers raised in the air, he signaled for the match to begin.
* * * *
Cyrus had introduced her opponent as Flavius, and she circled him, her gladius loose in her grip, ready to strike. At the same time, she held her parma close, prepared to wield it as a weapon or to deflect the blow of her opponent.
F
lavius must have thought her as unworthy an adversary as his doctoris because he charged her like a mad bull, exposing himself to an attack.
Aurora did not hesitate.
She took advantage, her wooden blade striking his side, leaving an angry red welt.
His face registered surprise, which was soon replaced by deadly focus, and determination. He realized his error and would not be quick to repeat it. After that, the match began in earnest, becoming a true test of her skills.
Their shields crunched together, and he lifted his sword, slicing down upon her. She met his blade, deflecting his blow, pushing him back.
Flavius attacked her ruthlessly, relentlessly. It was all she could do to raise her shield to deflect his powerful thrusts and lightening quick strikes. Sweat poured from her body, trickling down her back, along the valley of her breasts. Her tunica clung to her frame, the warm balmy air inflaming her already heated skin.
It had been so long since she’d sparred in this manner that her body protested. Even still her instructions in The Order were far superior, far more brutal, and of all the Keepers of the Oath, Aurora was known as one of the best because she continued to train daily. So she ignored the discomfort—the aches roiling through her, the burning fire eating away at her lungs—as if the pain did not exist.
Aurora took each blow, absorbing the force into her body, her teeth rattling as she waited out Flavius’ strikes. While he pummeled her shield and sword with slashes of his blade, she looked closely, carefully for the sign she’d always waited for when she’d owned the arena, for the sign she’d waited for as she’d trained for her position within The Order.
Flavius was skilled, but no different from the others.
His eyes were wide, weary.
His jaw slack, his chest heaving.
His bare torso was covered in rivulets of sweat, and his tawny locks clung to his wide forehead.
When his fingers curled then uncurled around the hilt of his gladius, she gathered he was finally fatigued, and that was when Aurora lifted her weapon in earnest, unleashing her full fury upon him.
She battered him, pushing him back.