Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  We left the quiet oasis of the gardens and returned to the streets. Not many insulae lined the area, as for a long time, none had been built on the Campus Martius. But after more prominent men had started erecting buildings, such as the Theatre of Pompey, Agrippa’s baths, and the nearby Pantheon, shops had appeared, and over them, rooms for the shop owners, which were sometimes rented out to other tenants.

  Cassia fearlessly approached shopkeepers who were closing up for the afternoon, and asked about their lodgers. She knocked on doors if they were already shut. Lucia would recognize me too quickly, so I skulked a block away, pretending interest in a tavern, while Cassia questioned the inhabitants around the Saepta Julia, where I’d fought in gladiatorial combat, and the Vicus Pallacinae.

  I realized as I watched Cassia follow one worker ruthlessly until he turned in exasperation to answer her, that slaves would more readily speak to other slaves. I was wise to let her get on with it. In the world of slaves, Cassia, as a learned scribe, even if a woman, outranked many. She had a fine sense of her own place, and used it.

  Cassia returned to me, ordered stew and wine from the popina, and handed me the jars to carry home.

  “No one has seen her,” she said, deflating. “I’d hoped this would be easier. Lucia is a distinctive woman.”

  “She might have dyed her hair a different color,” I suggested. “If you were asking about a red-haired woman that might be the only thing they would remember.”

  “I described her in more detail than that.” Cassia frowned as we navigated the increasing foot traffic toward the Quirinal. The Vicus Laci Fundani led us east and north, away from the crowds of the imperial fora. We passed a crossroads shrine and took the Vicus Salutis, which returned us to the Vicus Longinus and our tiny street off it.

  When we reached our apartment, I sat glumly down to the soup, lukewarm now, and the leftover bread from breakfast. I could not see that we’d made any headway in our tedious search.

  “I suppose we at least learned that Marcia knows something,” I said after a time. “And that Marcianus won’t let us shake it out of her.”

  “He will tell us if it’s important, as I said.” Cassia ate serenely, spilling not a drop.

  “You believe in him.”

  “So do you,” she countered.

  I could not argue. Marcianus had kept me alive when I’d been a raw recruit, full of bravado and energy but lacking in skill. I studied a scar on my upper arm, where a sword had sliced it to the bone. I still had the arm, with only the scar cutting across it to attest to the injury, because of Marcianus.

  “I trust him, yes.”

  But I wished I knew exactly what had happened to Floriana instead of having to rely on trust. I’d trained hard as a fighter so that I could compensate for the uncertainty of the arena. It was better to be over-prepared and never use half the moves I knew than not prepared enough—which could spell certain death. Knowing was better than guessing.

  A thought struck me. I dropped my spoon into my bowl, sending dregs of soup fountaining to the table. Ignoring Cassia’s look of dismay, I jumped to my feet.

  “I know where she is.”

  Before Cassia could form the word, Where? I was out the door, my passage fluttering the cloaks on their pegs.

  Chapter 19

  We’d been so close. I cursed under my breath as I tramped back the entire way we’d come after leaving the gardens.

  The Saepta Julia loomed, glittering under the afternoon sky, its colonnades dwarfing the line of shops where Cassia had hounded landlords and their servants.

  Beyond that and Agrippa’s baths, I passed the stables that held the chariot racing teams, and crossed the bridge to the far side of the Tiber. From there I charged to the wall and the gate that closed off Aemil’s ludus.

  I hammered on the gate. The guard opened it, but when he recognized me, he tried to block my way with the gate and his body.

  I shoved both aside and stormed into the ludus.

  The open training area within was lined with wooden posts on which gladiators practiced stabbing and hacking. The practice swords were wooden—the real weapons were safely locked away until the games.

  Men who were stripped to loincloths, their skin ruddy from the wind even as they sweated, battered at the posts. When I barreled inside, they ceased, straightening up and wiping brows to watch this new drama.

  Aemil, who’d been scrutinizing a clumsy recruit, jerked upright and started for me. I outpaced him as I made for the sleeping quarters and strode unerringly to my old cell. I yanked open the cell door even as Aemil caught up to me.

  Lucia rose from the bunk inside, her bright red hair tumbling down her back, her eyes wide with fear. Regulus was nowhere in sight.

  “Leonidas—”

  The word was cut off by a roar behind me, and then Regulus had me by the neck. He dragged me backward out of the cell and into the practice area, and I let him, wanting to face him out of close quarters. Winter wind struck us as we emerged, Regulus’s hands hot on my skin.

  I was glad I’d rushed out without grabbing a cloak. Regulus would have strangled me with it by now. I slammed an elbow at his windpipe, and spun from him when he jumped from the blow.

  “She’s mine now.” Regulus glared at me, breathing hard. “Get out, Leonidas.”

  “Lucia is a freedwoman. She can go wherever she wants.”

  Regulus’s answer was to come at me again. I caught him by the arms, mine straining to hold him off.

  Aemil sprang into us and jerked us apart.

  Aemil was smaller than either of us, but he’d been training gladiators for many years, and knew exactly how to control them. Not that Regulus calmed. He snarled, baring his teeth like an animal.

  “Praxus!” Aemil shouted at one of the gladiators who had gathered to watch the spectacle. “Bring two swords.” He had us in his grip, which was as strong as I remembered from my green youth. “You two are settling this, now.”

  Regulus transferred his glare to Aemil. “I want to kill him, not dance with him.”

  “Your obsession is dulling your edge,” Aemil snapped. “End it. Leonidas wins, you concede he’s better than you and did you a favor letting you live. You win, he never comes back here. He’ll be dead to you.”

  “Can I break his limbs?” Regulus asked eagerly.

  “Whatever you want. But I decide the victor.”

  Aemil released us. We broke apart, my heart hammering. Though I’d sworn off death, the impending fight ramped up my excitement, letting blood burn through me as it hadn’t since I’d left the Circus of Gaius a free man.

  Praxus, so new to the ludus that I’d never met him, rushed forward with two wooden practice swords. He shook with nervousness as he handed them to Aemil, who inspected them and tested their balance.

  “Evenly matched.” He gave a nod of approval to Praxus, who looked as though he’d melt under it.

  Aemil handed a sword to Regulus who nearly ripped it from his grasp. I took the other more quietly, my mind already focused on the coming fight.

  Lucia, the murder, Priscus, my new life … faded. Nothing mattered at the moment but battling a fully trained gladiator.

  This time, I was ready to win.

  The sword might not be metal, but it was heavy, the tip whittled to a point. Aemil believed we’d learn to avoid being stabbed if the swords truly cut. Regulus could kill me with the wooden blade if he tried hard enough.

  I shucked my boots and tunic, facing Regulus in my loincloth. He did the same. I flipped the sword, its leather-wrapped hilt familiar against my palm.

  Regulus tossed his sword from hand to hand. The look in his eyes told me he’d do his best to kill me this day.

  Aemil instructed us to stand ten paces apart, and then he stepped back to referee. He’d done this so many times in my life that I had the sensation I’d never left this place. Regulus and I were sparring, demonstrating to the newer fighters what to expect in the arena.

  “Fight!” Aemil yelled
. He balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to watch and follow us. We might fight to the death, but only within the rules.

  We circled silently, eyeing each other, two predators waiting to strike.

  Regulus kicked dust with his bare right foot, as he liked to, a ploy to distract his opponent. In the arena the action swept sand upward to sting though the eyeholes of the helmet. We had no helmets today, but the dust headed for my face before I turned sharply to avoid it.

  Regulus had expected this move to slow me down and give him a few seconds to find his opening. So I attacked him.

  A shout rose from the watching gladiators. I rammed Regulus with the side of my sword, my body following to harden the blow. I’d timed it to get under his reach, and felt him smack my naked back with his wooden blade.

  Before he could do more than scratch me, I shoved him away, resuming a fighting stance to wait for my next opportunity.

  Regulus immediately launched himself at me, but I’d seen him coming. He’d given himself away with the tiniest shuffle to his back foot, which most would not have seen. He’d made the same mistake on the day of our last bout.

  I met him, smacking my sword hard into his chest. Regulus had raised his arms to stab down at me, and I caught him with my powerful shoulder, lifting him and sending him backward and to the ground.

  A gladiator of lesser skill than Regulus would have been finished, my sword at his throat. But Regulus was up again, legs flashing as he sprang to his feet.

  His breath was ragged, but so was mine. Sweat trickled into my eyes, and I gave myself a slice of time to step back and wipe it away.

  Regulus followed me and struck again. I met him blow for blow, our bare arms used as shields. Aemil hadn’t given either of us any defenses except our own adeptness.

  We slammed together then burst apart, and I hammered him mercilessly. In my final fight, I’d gone easy on Regulus, wanting to defeat but not hurt him beyond Marcianus’s skill.

  Today, I decided to end this. He would realize why I’d been primus palus and that he’d never have taken the title if my benefactor hadn’t chosen to free me.

  I heard the roar emerge from my throat as I drove Regulus across the yard. He parried my strikes well but could not get his sword past my precisely moving arm. Aemil skimmed beside us and the other gladiators followed, the scent of their sweat-soaked bodies cloying the air.

  Regulus suddenly rushed me, trying to duck under my reach. I let him think he had then caught him in a headlock, spinning him around and pulling him off his feet. I kicked his legs out from under him, and he had to let go of his sword to grab my arm, hoisting himself on it to keep from being strangled.

  In an instant, I had him on his knees, my arm tight against his neck while he struggled for air. I jerked his head back and jammed my blade to the hollow of his throat.

  I heard around me the tumult of the crowd, the chant of my name, and I again wanted to lean into the sound. I smelled blood, the hot sand, the metallic tang of the inside of my helmet. The small practice yard became an amphitheatre or the floor of the Circus Maximus, with all of Rome come to watch Leonidas the Spartan triumph.

  “Practicum est!” Aemil yelled. A killing stroke. “Regulus is down. Leonidas is the victor.”

  Regulus thrashed, trying to fight his way to his feet. I tightened my arm around his throat, cutting off his air. His exertions slowed, and a gurgle crossed his lips. Finally, his eyes rolled back in his head, and Regulus slumped to the ground.

  I waited—he’d feigned unconsciousness before and then leapt up to strike at me the moment I’d let down my guard.

  This time, Regulus was well and truly out. I loosened my arm from his neck, and he fell to the dirt in a sprawl of limbs.

  I dragged in a breath. The arena drained away and became the practice yard lined with arched openings to the cells. The screaming crowd faded to the admiring shouts of the gladiators of the school.

  Aemil pried the wooden sword out of my hand. I flexed my fingers, sinews cramped.

  “You are the best, Leonidas.” Aemil clapped me on the shoulder. “None can touch you. Stay and help me train this rabble. I’ll pay you coin. I heard your benefactor is only so generous.”

  “No.” I wanted nothing more to do with the ludus. This fight had been personal.

  Aemil released me, eyeing me with confidence. “You’ll come back to me one day. Though you’d better go now. When Regulus comes to, he’s going to be furious. Your friendship is over, I think.”

  I knew this. I also knew I’d hoped my camaraderie with Regulus would turn into the bond I’d shared with Xerxes. It never had, as much I’d pretended. Xerxes had been large-hearted, but Regulus loved himself above all else.

  Without a word to Aemil, I resumed my tunic and boots. I made for the gate in time to see Lucia, who’d emerged wrapped in her cloak from Regulus’s cell, try to slip out of it.

  I ran after her, the energy from the fight still with me. I caught up to her, seized her by the arm, and hauled her from the ludus and down the street.

  I pulled Lucia all the way across the Campus Martius to the Vicus Longinus and so to our apartment and the waiting Cassia. Lucia fought me every step. She even appealed to passers-by, but most recognized me, and none wanted to interfere with Leonidas the freedman if he wanted to drag a woman home.

  Cassia hurried in from the balcony as I towed Lucia inside. Lucia tried to grab the doorframe, but I pried her grip from it and slammed the door.

  “What were you doing with Regulus?” My words came out a croak, barely discernible.

  Cassia poured wine from an amphora, added water from a pitcher, and thrust the cup into my hand. I drank, the sour liquid burning my throat.

  “He wouldn’t let me go,” Lucia said. Her cloak fell away to show her stolla torn at one shoulder, her arms goose-bumped with cold. “He didn’t want you to find me.”

  “Why did you fight me then?” My voice was clearer but retained its harsh note.

  “Because I can’t trust you any more than I can him.” Lucia’s words clogged with tears that filmed her dusty eyelashes.

  “Why not? We sent you to safety. Why did you come back?”

  “To warn you.” Lucia sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “But I don’t want you to know everything I’ve done.”

  I restrained myself from shaking her. “Warn me about what? What have you done?”

  “She poisoned Floriana,” Cassia said clearly and calmly. She stood with her hands folded, her neat appearance a stark contrast to Lucia’s mud-splashed dress and wild hair.

  “She gave Floriana the salad that poisoned her,” Cassia went on as I gaped. “As I have suspected. What Marcianus told me this afternoon confirmed it.”

  Chapter 20

  “You fed Floriana the poison?” I roared as Lucia cringed in my grip. “Why?”

  Lucia’s panic dissolved as her face crumpled, and she went slack. I released her. No more fight in her, she buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  I looked across her to Cassia. “Marcianus came here?”

  “Not long after you departed. He told me what Lucia had gone to see Marcia about—to order her to change her story that the only food served had been lentils and bread. Marcia was to tell everyone she remembers now that they all had salad and that only Floriana was sick, eating rhubarb leaves by mistake.”

  I bent my glare on Lucia again. “I could be fitted up for her murder, Lucia. Why by all the gods would you poison her? What had she done to you? You could have come to me if she’d threatened you—I’d have protected you.”

  Lucia raised a face streaked with tears and mucus. “She did nothing to me. Floriana was planning to kill you.”

  Both Cassia and I went mute with shock, Cassia as amazed as I.

  “Kill Leonidas?” Cassia asked. “Are you certain?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lucia nodded fervently. “She told me. I was to keep him sated, make certain he slept soundly that night. Then Floriana would come
in and …” Her face screwed up and more tears wet her face. “But I couldn’t. Leonidas has always been kind to me. I didn’t want him to die.” She collapsed against the wall, her body wracked with sobs.

  I moved my jaw until the words in my head emerged. “Then, after Marcianus saved her, you stabbed her to death?”

  Lucia’s head jerked up. “What? No! I didn’t wish to kill Floriana, only make her sick so you could get away. No, he killed her.”

  “He who?” Cassia demanded.

  “I don’t know.” Lucia turned to Cassia in appeal. “You must believe me—I don’t know. Floriana met with a man, but I don’t know who he was. He wanted her to kill Leonidas, and after he’d gone, Floriana told me I had to help her.”

  Marcia too had mentioned a man meeting with Floriana. My heart sped. I needed to put my hands on him.

  “What did this man look like?” Cassia moved swiftly to the table, opening a tablet and snatching up her stylus.

  “I never saw him. Only a shadow. He’d visited her a few times, but when I asked about him, Floriana shut me up quickly. Once she even struck me. I asked why she wanted you of all people dead, Leonidas, and she said because you had agreed to guard a patrician on the road to Ostia. She only told me that because I would not cease my questions until I had an answer.”

  Cassia paused in her quick writing to meet my gaze. “Because he’d be escorting Priscus?” She frowned. “No, that can’t be true. I met with Kephalos about the job the evening before Floriana took sick. Priscus hadn’t hired Leonidas officially yet.”

  “I only know that Floriana told me of it that night, after Leonidas arrived and was asleep.” Lucia wiped her face. “Perhaps the man heard that you and whoever this Kephalos is had met, and was certain Leonidas would be hired—everyone wants him as a guard.”

  “Hmm.” Cassia made more notes. “Are you certain you have no idea who the man was? What he looked like? Anything can help.”

  Cassia’s no-nonsense demeanor calmed Lucia somewhat. Lucia, I was growing to realize, was ever a woman who needed someone to guide her.