Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  Cassia lay motionless, her face as gray as the light that seeped into the room.

  My heart burned as it had done the night I’d learned Xerxes had been slain and carried off before I could bid him farewell. I’d held that pain inside for a long time afterward, and even now, thinking of him brought a dull ache.

  I did not want to experience that pain again. Cassia had to live. I didn’t understand how to function in ordinary life—she did.

  I liked waking to hear her returning from her morning errands, her sandals swishing on the floor, water sloshing into basins and jars, as the scent of the fresh-baked bread she set out for our breakfast wafted to me. I enjoyed watching her hunch over her tablets, one lock of hair trickling down her cheek as she wrote. She loved letters and numbers, not only writing them but reading them. She was so different from any person I’d ever encountered, and I did not want her to go from my life.

  I lifted a scalpel from Marcianus’s bag, a thin blade of Noricum iron, and cut a crease across my palm before he could stop me. Blood welled up on my skin.

  I gently dipped my fingers in it then wiped the blood across Cassia’s bared shoulders and her cold face.

  “The blood of a gladiator,” I told Marcianus and his quizzical gaze. “It can heal.”

  Marcianus drew a breath to say, You know that’s nonsense, as he had many times before, but subsided.

  I folded my fingers over my palm, and waited.

  When sunlight at last trickled through the window and touched Cassia’s cheek, she stirred. She murmured in her sleep and turned her head, a frown brushing her face.

  I let out a breath, hopeful, but Marcianus continued to look worried.

  “She’s better, isn’t she?” I asked.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “What did he poison her with?”

  “Arsenicum,” Marcianus said. “I think.”

  My fears rose. “You aren’t certain?”

  “Such a poisoning can resemble other things. But I’m fairly sure. There was a large dose in the cup, but she didn’t drink all of it, and much of the poison would have settled into the bottom. Thank the gods you didn’t down a cup in one go, or it would have killed you.”

  My heart gave a stricken beat. “Cassia took only a few sips.”

  “As I said, that is good. It gives her a chance.”

  I flexed my hand, which stung from the cut I’d made. I seemed to feel the wooden rudis I’d clutched as I’d walked out of the ring for the last time, until my hand had frozen around it. Cassia had gently pried it free, letting me begin my new life.

  The beam of sunlight moved to touch her eyes. Cassia made a soft noise and again frowned.

  “Must fetch the water,” she whispered and started to push at the covers.

  “Cassia.”

  She turned toward my voice and blinked open her eyes, forehead puckering. “I’m sorry, Leonidas. I’ll bring the bread.” She pushed at the covers again then fell back, letting out a quick breath. “I seem to be so very tired.”

  I rested my hand on her shoulder, over the dried smear of my blood. “Never mind. Rest, Cassia.”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at me, then drew a long breath and drifted into a quiet sleep.

  Marcianus closed his bag, his cheerfulness returning. “She will be all right. Let her sleep, and take her home.” He looked me up and down. “You’d better sleep too. I don’t want to have to carry you anywhere.”

  I was too exhausted to respond to his humor. I left the bed to stretch out on the floor beside it. I curled around myself as I’d done many a night in my life, when I’d had nothing but a hard slab and no blankets. Within moments, I was fast asleep.

  I woke with a grunt when something poked my side.

  “Wake up, Leonidas.” Cassia stood over me, in her palla and stolla, a slender piece of gilded wood tapping me. A blanket covered my body, a pillow under my head.

  While I stared muzzily up at her, Cassia let out a breath of relief.

  “Thank the gods. I’ve been trying to rouse you for hours. It is long past time for us to go home.”

  Our apartment was musty and stale from being shut up all morning, and noisy—the wine shop was open, with customers lined up to collect their drink for the day.

  Cassia immediately lifted the water jar from its place in the corner and headed for the door, ready to fill it as she did every day. She staggered under the clay pot’s weight, and I took it out of her hands.

  “You are not well,” I declared.

  “A bit dizzy, yes.” Cassia pressed fingers to her temple. “Marcianus said I would be ill a while yet.”

  “Rest.” I pointed at her bed. “I will fetch the water.”

  She began to laugh. “You, go to the well? That’s a woman’s task.”

  “Then the women will have something to talk about today.” I hefted the jar to my shoulder and strode through the door and down the stairs.

  “Wait, I must tell you …”

  Cassia’s voice drifted behind me. Whatever it was could wait—I’d fetch water and then bread from the bakery. She could talk to me as we ate.

  I felt light as I walked, lighter than I had even when I’d been handed my freedom and departed the ludus. Then I’d been stunned, uncertain. Today I knew I’d been given a gift.

  Marcianus had brought Cassia back to life. He’d done it not by the magic of my blood or his invocation of the gods, but by his expertise. I would have to find some way to repay him.

  Tullius was dead, and Nero had heard his confession. Tullius would no longer threaten Priscus, and I would not be accused of Floriana’s murder. I would eat my breakfast, see that Cassia was comfortable, and we could both sleep.

  The well nearest our house sat the bottom of a castellum, a tower that collected water from an aqueduct and sent it via pipes to the public fountains. The basin at the foot of the tower dispensed water through the mouth of a carved-stone Bacchus, stone leaves surrounding his scowling face.

  Most people drew water early in the morning, so only one startled woman was there at this hour. She drew back when she saw me, her mouth dropping open, then she jerked her vessel from the spigot and hastened away, water sloshing in her wake.

  I set the jar I’d brought beneath Bacchus’s mouth and let him spill water into it. The fountain’s basin sported a carved groove that allowed the ever-flowing water out into the gutter, where it trickled along the street, seeking escape into the sewers.

  “You are Leonidas?”

  I rose, lifting the full jar, now heavy and damp.

  The man who addressed me was perhaps ten years older than I, with black hair in thick curls. He was tall and broad of shoulder, filling out a tunic of fine linen. He wore no toga, but his boots were well made, and a thick gold wristlet proclaimed his wealth. Three burly men stood behind him—his guards. No man wearing so much gold should walk about alone.

  “I am.” I suspected he was an admirer of Leonidas the Spartan, and I waited patiently for him to tell me which bouts he remembered.

  “I am Sextus Livius.”

  I couldn’t place the name for a moment, then I recalled that Sextus Livius was the speculator who’d bought Floriana’s house.

  He went on. “I had a message from Gnaeus Gallus, the architectus, that you wished to speak to me.”

  I lifted my brows. “I sent no message.”

  “I believe your slave conveyed the message through him.” Livius reached behind him, and one of his guards slid a thin scroll into his hand. The scroll was tiny, only a few inches long when he opened it. I saw words on it in neat writing. “I thought it best to come to you myself.”

  “I already know you purchased the house Floriana worked in. That you make many such purchases.”

  “Yes.” Livius regarded me with dark eyes that reminded me of another’s I’d seen. I suddenly realized whose.

  My expression must have betrayed me, because Livius nodded. “Is there a place we may speak?”

  Withou
t a word, I gestured him to follow. I led the way back to our apartment, balancing the water jar on my shoulder.

  “The guards will not fit,” I said as I opened the door from the street. “I can give you my word you won’t be harmed.”

  “They will come if I shout.” Livius indicated I should precede him up the stairs.

  I entered the apartment and set the jar in its corner, my tunic damp from the water slopping over. Cassia hurried in from the balcony—she’d obviously not taken to her bed as ordered.

  “Oh, good. You found him.” She smiled at me, pleased. “I sent a message to Sextus Livius while you slept on the Palatine.”

  The three guards had remained downstairs. I’d left the doors open in case they wanted to rush in to Livius’s defense.

  I brushed droplets of water from my tunic and faced him. “Priscus is your father. Isn’t he?”

  Chapter 26

  Livius regarded me in surprise. “Your message said you knew this.”

  Cassia would have written the message, which she’d given Gallus to deliver. How she’d discovered Livius’s identity, I did not know, but now it was clear what she’d been trying to whisper to me since we’d left Priscus’s domus.

  I remembered her telling me the story that Priscus had set free one of the boys in his household because he’d seen good in the lad. Priscus had placed him with a family through an intermediary, according to Kephalos and Celnus.

  The deed was more understandable if the boy had been Priscus’s own son, perhaps by a mistress. Priscus had spoken of his wife with so much love that I suspected the liaison had happened before his marriage.

  “He allowed you to be adopted,” I said. “So you’d have a chance.”

  “He was incredibly kind.” Livius spoke with reverence. “I was indeed adopted by a man—Julius Livius—who raised me as his own. When he went to his ancestors, I inherited his wealth and his estates throughout the empire, making me one of the richest men in Rome.”

  Ideas fell together. I wasn’t certain I was right, but as Cassia would not speak, I did.

  “Powerful enough to threaten the princeps if Priscus is touched?”

  Livius regarded me quietly with a hint of a smile. “You knew this?”

  “I guessed it.”

  He nodded, the calm with which he acknowledged his complicity showing he was powerful indeed.

  “I can call on the assistance of many people from all tiers, plebeian to patrician.” Livius’s smile was self-deprecating. “I never had ambition for such power when I was younger—it arose as a consequence of my inheritance, and I learned to use opportunities. I have no wish to remove the princeps or establish another in his place. I only wish to keep alive the one man who is important to me. A truly good man, who should live out his life in peace.”

  When Livius finished this speech, he glanced from me to Cassia. “This is secret knowledge, my friends. It can go no further.”

  If it did, I sensed, Cassia and I would be the first to pay. That was his unspoken promise.

  “We will keep your confidence,” I said. “I too would like to see Priscus left in peace. He is a good man.”

  Livius’s expression turned wry. “Priscus is a bit … unworldly. I will do all in my capacity to protect him.”

  “As will I.” I had a thought. “Did you return the money to Priscus? The casket of gold the pirates managed to capture?”

  Livius acknowledged this with a nod. “My men were there that day, lurking in watch, ready to intervene if necessary. But there was no need. You were as good as your reputation indicates. My men alerted the Ostian authorities that the men were brigands, and were there to help round them up once they fled you. My head guardsman had the presence of mind to walk away with the casket while soldiers arrested the pirates. I hear the princeps ordered the pirates executed immediately. He’s being praised for it, for keeping the waters that much safer for the rest of us.”

  Livius’s neutral expression gave me no indication about what he thought of Nero’s deed. But I saw satisfaction that he had saved his natural father along with Priscus’s coin.

  “It was good of you,” I said.

  “I had no use for the money.” Livius brushed his generosity aside. We studied each other a moment, then Livius drew a breath. “I will detain you no more. Good day, Leonidas the Spartan.”

  I gave him a nod in farewell.

  Livius turned to depart but paused at the top of the stairs. “If you need a friend, do call on me. I am indebted to you for saving my father’s life, and that of his son.”

  He glanced at our shrine to the departed as though reflecting on the irony that he’d saved the family he could never acknowledge. Then he squared his shoulders and strode out.

  We heard his even tramp on the stairs and his barked order to his guards. I moved to the balcony to watch the four walk away, Livius always surrounded. Crowds parted for them like water from a prow.

  Cassia joined me on the balcony, and I sent her an accusing look. “How did you know?”

  “Celnus and Kephalos.” Cassia kept her voice low, though the shouts and calls of people on the street would prevent any from hearing our conversation. “As I said, they told me about the freed boy. When I spoke to them last evening, they said they knew the boy had been adopted by a very wealthy landholder, though not who. But a wealthy landholder decided to purchase a building that belonged to Priscus, one this landholder likely couldn’t sell for much, yet he pays a premium price for it. I thought it was obvious.”

  She shook her head, her pitying exasperation with her informants clear.

  “Do Celnus and Kephalos know Livius is his son?”

  “No, indeed. They have all the pieces, but cannot put them together.”

  Again, the pity. I’d met few men with minds as quick as Cassia’s.

  I moved inside, out of the sun. “I didn’t bring bread. I’ll fetch it.”

  “No.” Cassia forestalled me. “I will. The walk will do me good, and you won’t know what to ask for. The baker is tricky.”

  “Tricky?” I yawned, my long night weighing heavily upon me.

  “Sly, I should say. It is best I deal with him. I’ll return soon. Why don’t you nap until I do, and we’ll have lunch.”

  I could barely keep to my feet. I did not like to send Cassia out alone, but I knew she would talk rings around this baker, as she likely did every day. I’d rest and look for her if she remained out too long.

  Cassia waited until I’d fallen to my pallet. I felt her lay a blanket over my prone body, and loosen and remove the shoes from my feet. I would doze and be ready for her return. Later, I’d go find a carpenter who could do something about our flimsy door.

  I swore I only blinked my eyes before Cassia was removing her palla and straightening her hair. The smell of baked bread filled the small room.

  “Excellent. You are awake.” Cassia set the bread on the table and poured out wine, as though she and I had slept peacefully all night, no adventures at all. Cassia, I was coming to know, was resilient.

  “I spoke to the baker,” Cassia said as I rose and shambled to the table. I smelled fusty—I’d make for the baths after this. “He is awaiting some shipments of goods from Ostia, and he would be pleased to pay us to guard them from there to Rome. I told him we would take the job. I managed to win a good price.” She sat down, pleased with herself.

  “Then I suppose we are to Ostia once more.” I broke apart my bread, dunked it in my wine, and shoved it into my mouth. The bread was yeasty and soft—this baker made decent enough loaves. “Will you let me go to the baths first?”

  “Of course.” Cassia sent me a smile. “We won’t leave for a few days. You’ll have plenty of time to bathe and rest.”

  I grunted something and returned to my meal, but a warmth eased through me, relaxing me in a way I’d not felt in a very long time.

  Before I’d left Nero’s house this morning, Gallus had approached me, his relief at Cassia’s recovery evident.

>   “I am glad the girl is all right.” He’d peered at me in curiosity. “You care much for young Cassia. Is she your mistress?”

  “No,” I’d said sharply, then softened my tone as I caught sight of her, wrapped in her palla, speaking earnestly to Marcianus. “She is my friend.”

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading! I’m thrilled to present Book 1 in the Leonidas the Gladiator mystery series.

  For years I’ve been picturing a former gladiator wandering the streets of Rome, becoming involved in other people’s troubles while dealing with his own. With him is Cassia, trained as a scribe, assisting him with her book smarts and knowledge of the Roman upper classes.

  I was able to get the project partway off the ground with the novella, Blood Debts. That story takes place after Blood of a Gladiator—I wrote it to insert into an anthology (although it’s also available on its own), but preferred a full-length novel to introduce Leonidas and Cassia and their circumstances and launch the series. Blood Debts can be considered Book 1.5, and the series continues after that.

  I had the great fortune to travel to Rome to research this series. I was overawed by the ruins of the Forum Romanum, and I never wanted to leave! I could easily picture Leonidas walking the stone-paved streets and passing beneath the massive columns of the Temple of Saturn and that of Castor and Pollux.

  One reason I went to Rome was to get a sense of the scale of it. Many photographs of the Forum are taken from the balcony of the Capitoline Museum above it (I did this too—the museum is well worth the visit), but while the Capitoline Museum has a great view, it does not give me the same feeling as standing on the Via Sacra with the monuments towering above me. They are huge! The engineering that went into constructing these buildings is amazing.

  While many of the ruins we see today did not exist in Leonidas’s time (the reign of Nero: AD 54-68), I was still able to get a sense of what he would see, how much energy it takes to climb the Palatine Hill or up to the Capitoline, and what richness had been in the domii of the Palatine. Excavations continue to reveal more each year.