Sword of the Gladiatrix

by Faith L Justice

  “Much better.” Clio handed Afra a polished bronze mirror.

  “You’re a different woman!” Marcius agreed.

  She hardly recognized the exotic face looking back at her. It had been so long since she had worn long hair, she had forgotten what she looked like.

  “It itches.” Afra grumbled.

  “You’ll only have to wear it for a short time.” Clio shot back. “Trust me. This is what you need to make an impression.”

  Afra sneaked a glance at Cinnia in the mirror. The girl grinned and winked. Afra was grateful for the dark skin that hid the flush of blood rushing to warm her face. She had never been vain, but it meant something that Cinnia found her attractive.

  “You’ll do.” Clio looked them both over. “Now strip. Back here tomorrow by third hour.”

  They donned their old tunics and left.

  Outside, Afra put her hand to her eyes, gazing at the angle of the sun. “We have a couple of hours before dusk. Would you like to go to the Forum? See who’s entertaining today?”

  “No.” Cinnia smiled. “I thought we could entertain ourselves.”

  Afra’s gut tightened. Since that first night, they had had little energy for more than kisses and sleep. Afra quickened her step.

  At the stables, Cinnia pulled her into their shared cell whispering. “It’s time. I’m so much stronger now. The memories are fading.”

  Afra started to shed her tunic.

  “No. Let me.” Cinnia pulled the rough garment over her head, dropped her own, and pulled Afra to the pallet. A puff of dust tickled Afra’s nose. She sneezed.

  Cinnia laughed, almost a moan of excitement, and ran her hands down Afra’s sides to rest on her hips. “Roll onto your stomach.”

  Afra complied, head on crossed arms, eyes closed. She felt the cool air where Cinnia’s warm body had been but a moment ago, heard a rattling of bottles. The scent of musk and olive oil wafted on the air. She felt Cinnia’s hands rubbing the oil into her skin, kneading the taut muscles in her back and buttocks. Afra relaxed with a deep groan. Her breathing deepened and slowed.

  A sharp slap on the butt brought her out of that place between wakefulness and sleep.

  “Roll over.”

  Afra half-opened her eyes. Cinnia’s breasts glistened with the musky oil. She rubbed more onto her hands and gently stroked Afra from throat to belly, lightly circling her breasts. Heat built in Afra’s womb. A feeling of pleasure, bordering on pain, spread along her nerves as Cinnia teased her nipples. She arched her back and moaned. She hadn’t known such pleasure since Asata. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye to escape into her hair.

  No, I can’t think of her. She is gone. Cinnia is here.

  Cinnia seemed to sense her distraction and stopped stroking.

  “No!” Afra took Cinnia’s hand and guided it to that small button hidden in the folds of her woman’s flesh.

  “What do you want me to do?” Cinnia whispered nibbling on her ear.

  “Touch there. Rub it. Lick it. That’s the secret to a woman’s pleasure.”

  Cinnia lowered her head to lick and suck at the hard nub.

  The pressure built until Afra writhed, crying out as wave after wave flowed from the spot to leave a pleasurable ache throbbing in her groin.

  She pulled Cinnia’s head to hers, kissed her deeply and rolled her onto her back.

  “Your turn, my love.”

  Cinnia smiled, her eyes wide with anticipated pleasure.

  ***

  THE NEXT MORNING, Afra woke to find Cinnia gone. Fear clenched her stomach and quickened her breathing before she heard her with the cats in the next box.

  Mari and Cari alternately hissed and chirped in distress as they paced in the straw. Cinnia sat in a corner humming a calming tune. She looked up when she heard Afra at the bars and smiled. The light flooding Afra’s soul rivaled the sun’s.

  “They’ve been like this for some time.” Cinnia watched the disturbed cheetahs. “They didn’t eat the mash I made for them. What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” Afra frowned. The few horses and mules not out to work were restless as well—stamping, snorting, jerking irritably at their halter ropes. “But I don’t like it. Animals are canny. Maybe a bad storm from the sea?”

  Cinnia’s eyes darted to the sun streaming in the open door and shrugged. “We should go.”

  They joined the noisy crowd of celebrants entering the city gates and made their way to the inn, Afra brooding over the cats.

  Clio watched them dress with a critical eye while she caressed Astarte. The snake tried to slip off Clio’s lap time and again. “What’s the matter with you?” Clio held the snake’s face close to her own. It flicked its tongue tasting the air, shaking its head side to side.

  “Put that thing away. I don’t like the way it looks at me.” Marcius grumbled from a messy bed. He sat up looking much the worse for wine and in need of a shave. “It’s probably hungry. Didn’t you say it hadn’t eaten in two weeks?”

  “She doesn’t need to stuff her belly every day.” Clio sniffed as she put the snake in its basket. “You better get up or you’ll miss the sacrifice.”

  “The magistrates don’t care if a man doesn’t attend the sacrifice, as long as he puts a coin in the jar.” Marcius rose, scratched his belly, and farted. “Do I have time for the baths?”

  “No. But don’t come back to my bed without going sometime today.” Clio wrinkled her nose, waving at the air in front of her face. “I don’t sleep with dirty pigs.”

  “I don’t sleep with poxy whores.” Marcius pulled Clio into a hug and growled as he buried his face in her ample breasts.

  She pushed and squirmed like her snake till she broke free of his embrace, cursing all the time in Greek.

  “Do we go now?” Afra tugged at the diadem Cinnia tied around her wigged head.

  Marcius laughed and pulled Clio back to the bed. “Meet me in the Forum in front of Jupiter’s temple at the fifth hour. I’ll have your swords and shields.”

  They escaped the room.

  ***

  CINNIA’S SPIRITS ROSE as she observed the crowds: smiling women dressed in bright colors, men chatting in clusters, children running free from chores or study, merchants hawking votives and other wares. The sun warmed her skin and the hopeful mood of the merrymakers, lightened her heart.

  They entered the Forum by the Via dell’Abbondanza, opposite the town basilica whose busy law courts were closed for the day. The two of them garnered some speculative looks. Cinnia had to admit they made a striking pair and preened a bit. Few people had their height or physique.

  The Forum was a lively, impressive place, dominated by temples and civic buildings, each faced with marble, decorated with columns and carved capitals; bronze and painted stone statues of important people populated plinths and niches. Someday, Cinnia promised herself, she’d find out who all those people were. She looked toward the imposing temple of Jupiter, Juno, and Mercury at the far end of the Forum, where they were to meet Marcius. “What do the Romans celebrate today?”

  “A feast for Juno Sospita Mater Regina.”

  Cinnia raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Juno Savior, Mother, and Queen?”

  “Juno is the wife of their main sky god, Jupiter. That’s why they share the temple.” Afra shrugged. “Women who want to conceive, shepherds who want to increase their flocks, will seek the goddess’ blessing. All can ask for her protection in the coming year.”

  They threaded their way through the crowds to approach the massive temple. Stairs led up both sides past a central altar with a huge bronze bowl on top. Flames flickered from the bowl. The smell of roasting meat vied with nose-tickling incense from the sacrifices. Two bronze statues of men on horseback flanked the stairs. Roman gods? Emperors? There had been an equestrian statue of Claudius at Camulodunum, which the Britons had pulled down and hacked apart.

  Cinnia’s mood darkened at the memory. “We have a similar feast at this time of year, Imbolc, sacred to t
he goddess Brigid.” Lambing time. Dumnor helping a ewe in distress. Oriana making the traditional stew from the docked tails. She dashed tears from her eyes. “But nothing so grand.”

  Afra squeezed her hand. “All peoples herald the return of spring. Mother Isis is protector and goddess of increase for my land. We also have a spring festival.”

  “Juno, Brigid, and Isis seem little different from each other. Are they the same goddess by different names?”

  “Isis lives in Kush, far south, and in Egypt. Even the Romans welcome her. Maybe she’s the same as your Brigid.”

  “My father studied to be a druid, a holy man. He believed the gods inhabited places: mountains, rivers, trees. If you traveled beyond one god’s territory there was another different god. I have traveled much farther than I ever believed, and the gods here are not so different.”

  “In Alexandria, there are people called Jews who believe there is one god and all others are false. They don’t give him a name.”

  “If there is one god, how could there be others to be false?”

  “The gods just are. It is not for ordinary people to question them.” Afra shook her head. The beads of her wig clacked. She frowned. “Religion makes my head hurt. Leave it to the priests to argue the details. Let’s eat.”

  Cinnia looked to the sun. They had an hour or so before they had to meet Marcius. Just to the right of the temple, the marcellum—a covered market—bustled with people going in empty-handed and returning with free food provided by the city fathers for the feast day. The smells of roasted meat and fish, redolent of rosemary and sage, made her stomach rumble. “Let’s go before they run out.”

  They joined a stream of people entering through the right-hand arch to spill out into a courtyard surrounded by an interior colonnade. The fish stalls on the south and meat stalls on the north were closed, but tables heaped with their cooked wares occupied the middle section under a circular roof. The city fathers also provided bread for trenchers, several kinds of cooked beans, early greens dressed in vinegar and oil, olives, cheeses, and the last of the winter apples and pears.

  “I haven’t seen so much food in months,” Cinnia cried. “I do get tired of pulse and porridge.”

  “Don’t gorge. We have to entertain soon. You don’t want to be sluggish or get overheated and throw up. Marcius would be most unhappy.”

  Cinnia laughed and pointed at a woman in a red stola and the traditional matronly palla pulled over her hair followed by a slave with two trenchers towering with meat and salad. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll eat like a dainty Roman lady.”

  They elbowed their way to the tables. Cinnia picked amid the abundance and came away with a quarter of roast fowl, salad, and an apple. They left the brightly painted market and found a shady spot at the base of the temple to enjoy their feast. Cinnia raised her chicken leg to the temple and intoned, “Thank you Mother, by whatever name you choose, for this bounty and any blessings you bestow on us in the coming year. I promise to sacrifice a white dove to you when I receive those blessings.”

  Afra clutched her wooden amulet and bowed her head for a moment. When she looked up, she smiled in that way that made Cinnia feel soft and melted inside.

  ***

  “THERE HE IS!” Afra pointed to Marcius squatting with three other men under the peristyle next to the temple; the gaudy gladiator equipment piled neatly to the side. As they got closer, she could see he played tali. From the frown on his face, he wasn’t winning. Her stomach clenched. “Fortuna, I beseech thee,” she mumbled under her breath. “Favor Lucius Marcius.”

  Marcius put the four dice in a small box, shook them while whispering his own supplication, and tossed them to the ground. Each showed a different number I, III, IV and VI.

  “Fourteen! Venus throw!” He whooped, reaching for a pile of coins.

  One of the men grabbed his wrist. “Let’s play again, friend. This time we’ll use my dice.”

  Afra slipped to Marcius’ side. “Dominus?”

  The man let go Marcius’ wrist.

  “My bodyguards.” Marcius indicated Afra and Cinnia as he poured the coins into his pouch. “Grab your gear, we have business elsewhere.”

  He stalked away, weaving between the crowds under the peristyle, Afra and Cinnia trailing with their blunted swords and flashy shields slung over their backs.

  “Good fortune you arrived when you did, Afra.”

  “Yes, I…”

  All the dogs in the city began to howl. The birds took flight, briefly blackening the sky.

  “Mother Isis protect us…”

  The stone under her feet trembled like a herd of elephants stampeded close. Soon it pitched and rolled like a ship tossing in a storm.

  All around her people fell, but she couldn’t hear their screams over the thunder of the earth.

  Cinnia stumbled toward her. Afra grabbed her, yelled in her face, “Run!” and pushed her from under the collapsing peristyle.

  Statues danced on their plinths and toppled in the Forum. Columns jerked and collapsed in the temples. The roar of the underworld ripping the earth apart smothered the wails of the dying.

  Afra tried to follow Cinnia, but the floor cracked and rose at her feet, tripping her. She fell full length, arms outstretched, as a shower of dust and rubble fell across her sight.

  A pain exploded in her head.

  Darkness took her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “AFRA!” CINNIA SCREAMED in the sudden silence as the earth settled. She scuttled forward on hands and knees to scrabble at the pile of rubble. “Don’t leave me,” she sobbed.

  Moans, prayers, and curses rose from the people scattered in heaps in the Forum and on the streets. Bells clanged in the distance, signaling a fire. Broken water pipes from toppled fountains gushed into the gutters.

  “Please Brigid-Juno-Isis let her be alive.” Cinnia clawed at the rubble with bleeding hands, paying no attention to others crying for their loved ones. Tears cleared tracks down her dusty cheeks. She uncovered a hand, ebony skin pale with dust. “Please, please, please, Lady Fortuna, gods of all names and none, spare her. Spare her.”

  The prayer became a chant as she shoveled debris away with her shield. An arm. A shoulder. At last the back of her head. “Afra! Speak to me!”

  Silence.

  Cinnia renewed her efforts. A column lay next to Afra providing protection from larger blocks. The hated wig seemed to have cushioned her head from the worst of the rubble and the crumpled shield protected her from the large chunks.

  “Love, please wake up.” Cinnia stroked Afra’s exposed face. She could feel her irregular breaths on her fingers.

  The earth started to tremble again. “Take me! Take me!” Cinnia beseeched the gods as she pitched forward to protect Afra. This tremor was but an echo of the first. It lasted moments.

  “Cinnia?” Afra coughed.

  Cinnia’s tears dripped on Afra’s turned cheek, making dark puddles in the dust. “Yes, my love. I’m here. You’re trapped under the rubble, but I’ll soon have you free.”

  “Water,” she croaked.

  Cinnia looked around. A trickle ran down the gutter, but she had no cup. Using a sharp rock, she ripped a piece of her tunic from the hem. “I’ll be back.”

  She ran to the gutter, soaked the wool strip, and brought it back. “Here, suck on this. Can you move?”

  Afra wriggled her shoulders. “My legs…” Her eyes grew round with fear.

  Cinnia stroked her face. “Stay still.” She shifted more rubble, freeing Afra past her waist.

  “Let me try.” Afra rose to her hands and knees; shook the dust off, like a dog after a dunking. She pulled one leg free, then the other, and staggered upright.

  Cinnia shoved her shoulder under the taller woman’s arm. “Don’t try to walk yet.” They settled on a cracked pedestal. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  Afra flexed her joints from neck to toes. She flinched when she swiveled her left ankle. “My ribs hurt and my ankle is sprained
.”

  Sitting in each other’s arms, Cinnia took a moment to look around her. Juno’s altar lay toppled down the temple steps, the fire dying, sacrifices scattered. Dust hovered over collapsed buildings.

  A portly man walked up to them. Blood streamed down his dazed face to soak into his fine white tunic. “Fabia? Have you seen my Fabia?”

  Cinnia shook her head. He moved off, mumbling.

  On the temple steps, a small girl sat under a leaning marble statue, eyes round, sucking her thumb. A woman lay next to her, unmoving, half obscured by a large chunk of roof tile. Dust fell from the statue as it settled uneasily on its cracked plinth. Heart pounding, Cinnia rose to rescue the girl, but a dark-haired man stumbled up to the child. He pulled her into his arms, just before the statue smashed to the ground. He sat, sobbing, the girl clasped tight in his arms.

  All around her, people dug in the rubble—some to free their loved ones, others to rob the dead and dying.

  “Marcius?” Afra croaked.

  Cinnia drew in a sharp breath and nodded toward the downed column. “It fell on him.”

  Afra’s tears streaked her dusty face.

  ***

  AFRA AND CINNIA SHOULDERED THE BIER carrying Marcius’ body. They followed Clio through the Nucerian Gate to the cemetery. Clio saved a few coins by providing her own slaves for the funeral procession. The widow, dressed in dark robes, carried a covered basket. Afra tried not to hiss when the pain in her ankle flared. In one way the throbbing was a blessing, taking her mind off her fate now that Marcius was gone.

  But today was given to the dead—dozens of them—so many that the funeral directors had difficulty accommodating them all. Today the poorer folk were to be cremated and buried. The rich were able to afford separate ceremonies at a later date.

  Outside the gate, Afra saw the smoky fires concentrated in the southeast portion of the cemetery. They joined a string of bereaved families heading in that direction. The smoke thickened, as did the smell of roasting meat.