Sword of the Gladiatrix

by Faith L Justice

  “Done!” Varro rose. “Let me show you the accommodations.”

  They went down stairs and entered the building. Cinnia wrinkled her nose at the faint stench from the latrine.

  “We have five rooms down here. Each furnished with a bed, mattress, and oil lamp. Caecus,” he clapped the blind man on the shoulder, “is our door man. He keeps the water clock. Customers pay for quarter-hours. The girls provide their own food and drink. A public fountain is down the alley and around the corner. The girls stand out here when not working so the customers can choose.”

  “When does the traffic pick up?”

  “During the afternoon and again after dinner. We get mostly tradesmen, freedmen, and slaves. A few take a break from errands during the morning, but not many. This is your room.” He indicated another of the wooden signs with pictures of sex acts and fees hung on a thin wooden door. “Turn this over when you’re in use.” The back of the sign had a word, but Cinnia couldn’t read it. He turned the sign back and pushed open the door.

  Cinnia stared in horror at the raised stone bed and graffiti filled walls. She pushed down a wave of nausea, clutching the amulet around her neck.

  I will come for you.

  I’m sorry Afra, I can’t do this. I can’t wait.

  Clio slipped Caecus a coin and whispered in his ear as she left, “Make sure she stays busy and you’ll have another coin tomorrow.”

  ***

  AFRA RETURNED FROM THE FALLOW FIELD with the cats by second hour and spent the next hour sitting in the straw of their box grooming them. She brushed the spotted coats till they shone, fighting back the tears. “I’ll miss you, my sisters.”

  Mari butted her hand, purring, begging for a treat while she combed Cari.

  Afra laughed and pushed her away.

  “They look good.” Clio peered through the bars.

  Afra twitched and looked over her shoulder. “Where’s Cinnia?”

  “My business, not yours.” A small smile picked up the corners of Clio’s thin mouth. Her eyes glittered as they searched Afra’s face for a reaction.

  She knows, Afra thought. The snake witch knows and is taunting me. She turned back to the cats and gave them a large bone to gnaw. I must find Cinnia…and soon.

  “When will they be ready?”

  “They could use another six months growth and training on bigger prey.” Afra stepped out of the box confronting Clio with her height. “Perhaps I could trade my skills for Cinnia’s freedom? Marcius said they would be worth far more fully trained.”

  “They look ready enough for my purposes. As for you,” Clio snorted through her hooked nose, “pack your things and leave. I no longer require your services. I won’t pay for your food or lodging.”

  “I had hoped we could come to a business arrangement.”

  “My business with you is done.” Clio snarled. “Marcius should have let you rot in that cell. You’re gods’ cursed and bring ill luck!”

  “What of Cinnia?”

  “She’s earning her keep.”

  “How?” Blood started to pound in Afra’s head.

  “Using her cunt the way it was meant to be used.”

  Afra moved before she thought, punching Clio in the face. The smaller woman reeled back, holding her hand to her face, spitting blood. “You black demon’s spawn, you broke my nose!”

  Afra grabbed her arm, twisting it up her back. “Evil witch. Where did you take Cinnia?”

  “Help! Murder!” Clio screeched. She kicked back connecting with Afra’s knee.

  Afra put her hand over Clio’s mouth.

  Clio bit down, sharp teeth cutting to the bone.

  Afra grunted in pain and pulled the arm up tighter until she heard the shoulder joint pop. Clio screamed in pain and went limp.

  Afra lowered the unconscious woman to the ground in one of the stalls; ripped a piece of cloth from her former domina’s tunic and wrapped it around her bitten hand. She stood shaking. The cubs paced and hissed, disturbed by the smell of her blood.

  “What have I done, sisters?” Afra breathed harshly, trying to focus. Finally she tore several more strips from the Clio’s clothes, bound her hand and foot, and gagged her mouth. “That should hold her for a while.”

  She soothed the cats, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind. “I’ll be back for you.”

  ***

  AFRA CONFRONTED THE BLIND OLD MAN who kept the time for the brothel. “Do you have a Briton named Cinnia working here?” This was the ninth brothel she had visited. No sign of Cinnia. “She’s new. Just come today.”

  “We had a crazy new one.”

  “ ‘Had?’ My Mistress Clio urgently needs the slave she rented to you. She has met with an accident and needs her attendance.”

  The old man’s brows came together in a frown. “Your mistress lied to us. The mad girl scared her first customer nearly out of his wits with her screeching and babbling. He thought her possessed. My master had to give him a free ride with one of the other girls. He’s not happy.”

  “Where is she?” Afra scanned the hall behind the door.

  “She ran from the house. I sent for the guards, but they are busy with all this construction. If you want to find her, you’ll have to look yourself.” He shut the door in Afra’s face.

  Where would Cinnia go? Afra raced as fast as her bruised knee and wrenched ankle would take her back through the Forum.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE MIST LIFTED FROM HER MIND as Cinnia ran. Women stared. Men pointed. Children tried to follow her, as she raced through the streets, nearly naked, heading for the only safety she knew in this foreign land. Afra. I must find Afra!

  She skidded to a stop at an intersection of angled alleys. Which way? She chose left, ran around a corner, and collided with two guards, armed with thick clubs. Knocking one to the ground, she staggered, and fell to her knees. The other grabbed her hair and forced her head back, exposing the iron slave collar.

  “Where are going in such a hurry, slave? Where’s your pass?”

  “Pass?”

  “No slave can be alone on the streets without papers from his master.”

  She waved her empty hands, heart thudding, breath rasping.

  The second guard was back on his feet, puffing, red in the face. “Get up.”

  Cinnia rose, wincing at the pain in her scraped knees. “I won’t go back.”

  “To your master?”

  “That place, where men pay to…to…” She pushed the pictures from her mind. She couldn’t find the words.

  “Escaped from a brothel, most likely.” The red-faced guard grabbed his crotch and leered.

  The one holding her hair said, “How many times do I have to tell you? No raping the whores. The owners complain to the council.”

  “Fuck the council. I want a taste.” He squeezed Cinnia’s breast. His hot breath clogged her nostrils.

  Cinnia exploded. She kicked the red-faced guard in the balls. He went down moaning. She whirled to slash the other one with her nails, grunting as a handful of hair ripped from her scalp.

  This guard was faster than his partner. He backed up, pulled his club from his belt, and assumed a defensive crouch. They circled one another for a few moments then Cinnia turned and ran.

  As she passed the downed guard, he extended his leg, sweeping her off her feet, sending her crashing full length on the stone street. Breath left her chest in a whoosh. She fought darkness. A body landed on her back and pulled her arms behind her. She felt leather cutting into her wrists.

  “Vicious bitch.” Pain exploded in her lower back as the red-faced guard kicked her again and again.

  She closed her eyes, ground her teeth, trying not to cry out.

  “Stop it!” Cinnia heard a scuffle. The kicks ended, but the pain continued. “You kill her and the owner will demand your hide in addition to her value.”

  “But the whore…”

  “Serves you right for trying that shit on a barbarian woman. Look at her. She could
probably gut you in a second, if she had a knife, or break your scrawny neck with her bare hands. Better stay back. Let me handle her.”

  Cinnia peeked through her screen of hair at a pair of dirty feet encased in hobnailed sandals. One of the feet nudged her arm. “Can you stand?”

  She drew a breath, gasped at the pain, pulled her legs under her, and tried to rise—not easy with her arms tied tight behind. The guard put out a hand and helped her up, but kept his club ready in his other hand.

  “Who’s your master?”

  “Mistress.”

  “Mistress.” His voice was not unkind. “Where does she live?”

  Cinnia felt a glimmer of hope. “Afra. My mistress’ name is Marcia Afra. She’s at a stable outside the city walls. Through the Stabian gate.”

  The guard attached a leather thong to her bound wrists and walked behind with his club free, giving directions when they came to intersections.

  She had turned the wrong way.

  The red-faced guard limped along and muttered oaths. The crowds generally ignored them, with the exception of a few curious children, who trailed for a while until they gave up, bored.

  As they walked toward the stable, Cinnia’s mind cleared. She began to formulate a plan. She’d identify Afra as her mistress and the guards would let her go. The two of them could escape the city into the wilderness on the slopes of the mountain, Vesuvius, looming to the north. They could take the cubs for hunting and live free! Maybe she could go home. She shook her head. No. Home was gone, destroyed by the Romans. Maybe they could go south to Afra’s homeland?

  They arrived at the stable. Cinnia found it strangely quiet. Usually it was filled with small noises; a hoof stamp, a breathy snort, the squeak of a mouse being caught by one of the cats, the creak of leather or rope as an animal pulled it across wood. All the horses and mules were out, being used to haul debris from the earthquake, and their attendants with them. But a muffled sound from one of the stalls caught their attention.

  “Who’s there?” Her guard cried out.

  “Mmmmmf,” came from the far stall, then a regular tattoo as someone kicked the boards. “Mmmmmf!”

  They rushed over to find Clio trussed like a bird for roasting, a gag stuffed in her mouth. Her guard pulled the gag out. Clio screamed, “Untie me you ignorant clod. And be careful of my shoulder. It hurts worse than Hades’ fires.”

  While her guard untied Clio, Cinnia edged toward the door. The red-faced guard grabbed her tether and poked her in the back with his club. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  She froze, hopes dashed. There would be no escape. No living free.

  Afra, where are you?

  ***

  AFRA STRODE DOWN the Via dell’Abbondanza weaving in and out of pedestrians, avoiding the constant stream of carts filled with rubble and the occasional stinking pile of manure left by the draft animals.

  Where could she be? Not at Clio’s. She’d never go back there. The Temple of Isis? Would she hide? Where? Try to escape? Which direction? Is she in her right mind?

  Afra looked for signs of disturbance in the crowd, but detected nothing out of the ordinary. Like most crowds, it seemed chaotic, but under the surface was a purpose. People had a direction and followed one another.

  This is useless.

  If Cinnia kept her head, she was looking for her. The most likely place for her to look was in the stable. Afra groaned. She would have to go back. Maybe Clio was still unconscious.

  She heard the voices before she came to the door: the high screech of Clio in a rage and the lower, soothing tones of a man trying to calm the angry woman.

  “I told you, she’s mine! I rented her to a brothel. The stupid, lazy, barbarian bitch costs me more money than she brings in.”

  Afra came around the corner to see Cinnia sitting on a pile of straw, arms bound behind, feet hobbled together, head bowed. Clio, with her torn clothes and left arm hanging limply by her side, screamed at two city guards. She spotted Afra over the shorter one’s shoulder and raised her good arm to point.

  “That’s her! That’s the murderous Ethiopian slave that attacked me! Get her.”

  Cinnia’s head snapped up. A brief smile, followed by a look of horror, crossed her face. The guards turned, pulling their clubs. Afra put out her hands to show she carried no weapons. “Here are my papers.” She reached into a small pouch tied around her neck; pulled out a piece of papyrus. “I’m a free woman.”

  “Not after today, you’re not!” A thin string of spittle hung from Clio’s lips. Hectic red blood inflamed her cheeks at the sight of Afra. “The penalty for attempted murder is death.”

  “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  The guards approached from both sides hemming her in. One moving with a limp, grabbed her paper and glanced at it. Afra thought he held it upside down. “The seal looks right, but you’ll have to come with us to see the magistrate. Assaulting a citizen is also a crime.”

  She looked over the men’s heads to Clio. “Cinnia?”

  A smile pulled at the corners of the small woman’s mouth, but didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll never know, demon spawn.”

  Afra lunged for Clio. The guards hit her with their clubs. One blow to the back of the legs sent her stumbling to her knees; another aimed at her head, she ducked but the club landed with full force on her shoulder. Fire spread down her arm. She toppled sideways.

  “Afra!” Cinnia’s scream tore across her consciousness, accompanied by the eerie chirping distress of the cheetah cubs in the next stall. Cinnia struggled in her bonds.

  The guards continued to rain blows on Afra’s back and ribs. The red-faced one kicked her head, sending her thoughts whirling in a dizzy dance. She heaved, threw up, and the blows stopped. She lay on the straw strewn with her blood and vomit, broken ribs rubbing against each other with every shallow breath.

  She could hear Cinnia cursing and crying, but couldn’t see her through eyes beginning to swell. Clio’s dainty feet came into blurry view. Afra heard her hawk and spit, but couldn’t feel the gobbet.

  “I told you she was dangerous. Best to strangle her now and save the Empire the expense of her trial.”

  “The trial will be short enough,” one of the men said. “She’ll make good arena fodder.”

  The guards hauled Afra to a low stone building, threw her into a small windowless room, and cuffed her leg to the wall. She heard the lock tumblers fall into place. When the footsteps receded, she finally let herself groan. Every muscle thrummed with pain, her face swelled with bruises. She lay on her side on the bare earth, letting tears course down her face.

  Again, I failed to protect the one I love. She sobbed. Cinnia, as long as I have breath, I’ll try to find you, but my love, you must help yourself now. May Mother Isis give us both strength.

  ***

  CINNIA WRENCHED AT HER BONDS. “You better kill me now, Clio, because when I’m free, you’re dead.”

  “Big talk.” Clio limped over to Cinnia, her arm hanging useless at her side. Pain fought with rage to control her face. “You’re still worth more to me alive than dead. You can lay here in your filth, until I get rid of you.” One of the cubs let out a blood curdling growl. “And those horrible animals, too.”

  “Marcius, I curse the day I met you.” Clio sobbed. “May your shade never leave the land of torments. All I wanted was a little coin and a comfortable life, a little wine, a few laughs. This is what you leave me…trouble and debts!”

  The sharp smell of a sweating animal reached Cinnia’s nose, as she heard the clomp of hooves on the floor. An older boy, leading a lame mule into the stable, stopped short at the sight of the battered women.

  “What are you looking at, fool?” Tears furrowed the dust on Clio’s face. “Put that animal away and come help me.”

  The boy led the limping mule to a loose box and hurried back. “What can I do, Mistress?”

  “There’s a coin in it, if you guard this slave.” Clio held out the dirty rag she
had been gagged with. “She’ll curse you with a barbarian hex, so stop her mouth with this.”

  The boy approached Cinnia, eyes wide and with hesitant steps. She glared at him through her tangled hair, muttering curses in her native tongue. The blood drained from the boy’s face.

  “Hurry! Grab her hair and stop her mouth!”

  He stepped close and yanked her hair back. She clenched her teeth. She heard the straw rustle before feeling the sharp kick to her stomach. She gasped.

  “Now!” Clio yelled.

  The boy stuffed the rag in her mouth. Clio and the boy retreated as Cinnia curled up in pain.

  “She’s dangerous, so don’t go near her. She’ll gut you as soon as look at you.”

  Clio’s voice faded as Cinnia turned inward.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE GRAY MISTS WERE COMFORTING THIS TIME, not frightening. Cinnia felt no pain. She wandered, thinking of nothing, feeling nothing. A faint sound caught her attention. The barest hint of a melody. She turned toward the sound. A grove of oaks rose from the mist.

  A flute. One of the sacred songs her father used to play.

  She walked the grove, searching for something…someone?

  The flute led her on.

  The undergrowth thickened. Thorns grabbed at her clothes. Branches slapped at her face. The more she pushed, the thicker the vegetation. Vines trapped her feet.

  The music grew more insistent as she struggled. A familiar feeling of panic and helplessness clogged her throat and hastened her heart.

  She stopped struggling. The vines withdrew.

  She breathed deeply. The thorns loosed their hold.

  She closed her eyes and slowed her heart.

  When she opened them, the grove stood clear of underbrush. Golden sunlight streamed in bright bands. The music changed from the familiar melody to one of eerie ululation she had heard once coming from the Isis temple. It was haunting and beautiful, but foreign.