“No need.” She smiled briefly. “They think me a witch with power over beasts. I let it be known any man who comes to my bed will be swarmed by rats which will eat off his cock.”
“A fitting punishment. Speaking of beasts…” Murena snapped his fingers. A slave brought him a goblet of wine.
“How are the cubs?” A bit of passion entered her voice.
“Cubs no longer.”
Afra thought back to that day on the docks of Alexandria. “Yes, they are two years old; full grown now. They will have lost the last of their baby ruff.”
“My huntsman says they are doing well. I’m the envy of all my neighbors. Everyone wants a brace of hunting cats.”
“I could serve you better training animals than butchering people for entertainment.”
“You’re a condemned criminal, Afra. Until you win or buy your freedom, this is your fate.”
She hefted the bag of coins. “How many of these before I can buy my freedom?”
“The more you earn for the ludus, the more valuable you become, the higher your price.”
“There must be a price at which a gladiator can buy her freedom, else I’m trapped.” Afra raised an eyebrow. “I thought you an honorable man.”
“You don’t belong to me. You belong to the ludus. I have partners.”
“Are they not honorable men?”
“Afra, be patient. You have been fighting just six months. Most gladiators fight at least three years before…”
“Dying?”
“Some.” Murena shrugged. “If you survive the early years, you will most likely buy or earn your freedom within five years. Please the crowd, bring honor to the giver of the games. That’s the way out of the trap. That or death.”
Five years! Would Cinnia wait that long? Could she survive that long? She shook her head. Death was not an option.
“I came to give you news, as well as your purse.” He took another drink of wine. “Our beloved Emperor Nero will be coming to Pompeii next month to inspect the progress of rebuilding after the earthquake. There will be celebratory games. Two other ludi will provide a number of female gladiators. The one from Capua is reported to have several good female fighters, but I hear one in particular is fearsome. They call her Britannia.”
Afra’s heart sped up. Could that be a coincidence, that this woman bears the same name Marcius gave Cinnia?
“Do you know what she looks like?”
“I’ve never seen her.” He shook his head. “She fights as a Thracian. A good match for you.”
“Will we be matched ahead of time?”
“The men will, but Fortuna will decide the women’s fates with lots.”
Now her heart raced. Could it be Cinnia? This was the first inkling she had of her lover’s fate.
Murena put a hand on her shoulder. “Do me honor, Afra. Please the Emperor. That’s the way to freedom.”
She stood, topping him by half a head. “As I said, I have my own reasons to survive. They are not in conflict with yours.”
“Good! I’ll see you before the games next month. The Emperor’s presence means I’ll be busy.” Murena quaffed the last of his wine and left.
Afra twisted the thin braided bracelet on her wrist. Cinnia’s pledge. She never took it off…for practice, bathing, or fighting. Afra felt in her heart Cinnia survived. Whether her love survived was another question.
Afra thought back to her long-ago dream. Honor the gods, serve them well…Isis will reward you.
Will you Mother Isis, Queen of All Gods and Goddesses? Have I sacrificed enough? If not, tell me what more you require.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CINNIA ENTERED THE FEASTING HALL with sweating palms and a dry throat, Julia chattering by her side and Gerta looming behind. Portia had disappeared with a lover to a private room. Cinnia scanned the room for Afra. Where is she?
She had attended several of these traditional pre-game feasts given in honor of the gladiatorial combatants, but none as elaborate as this. The tables groaned with food: roast joints and fowls; baked, fried and sauced fish, eels, oysters; boiled pulses; chopped vegetables and salads; fresh fruits and tarts; cheeses and bread. Slaves filled empty goblets with fine wine. A small band of flute and lyre players provided music. Only the best for the emperor’s party.
The gladiators, dressed in their best tunics, enjoyed the food provided by the sponsors of the games and women, as well. The most famous of the gladiators, from all three ludi, had more than one woman serving them—in more than one capacity. Spectators circulated through the hall, observing the fighters who might die tomorrow. A few shrewd ones no doubt took notes on which ones overindulged in food, drink, and women, making last minute changes in bets. Cinnia noted that most of the more experienced fighters ate in moderation; drank well-watered wine. A few, given bad omens by their gods, lamented their fates or gorged on their last meal.
“There!” Julia pointed at a door. “I saw three other women—fighters by the looks of them—go in that room.” She grabbed Cinnia’s hand, pulling her toward the door.
Cinnia followed; hope spurring her forward; fear slowing her pace. She knew Afra was to fight the next day, as was she. Afra should be here. But what if she had changed? What if she had a new lover? What if Afra blamed her for her loss of freedom?
They passed through to a much smaller space than the men occupied, but as sumptuously furnished with food and drink. Traditional Roman couches, able to accommodate reclining diners, lined the walls. A bright fresco showing a hunting scene adorned the walls. Small three-legged tables served as repositories for plates and wine glasses. Half a dozen women already occupied the first three couches. There would be seven pairs of women fighters tomorrow; an auspicious number.
Afra wasn’t there.
“These should do.” Julia herded them to the couches opposite the occupied ones. The women eyed one another across the room. Tomorrow they would fight. Some would die.
“Wine!” Cinnia ordered, as soon as she reclined. Disappointment soured her stomach.
“With water!” Julia amended. “You don’t want to go into the arena with a sore head.”
Cinnia grumbled but took the watered wine. “If we’re matched tomorrow, you’ll wish I’d drunk myself into a stupor.”
“There’s no honor in killing a sot.” Julia nibbled on a roasted chicken leg redolent of garlic. “If you don’t make me look good, the winner’s take will be paltry. I need a fat purse.”
Gerta grunted assent and took up a savory beef pie. “Better than barley soup.”
Cinnia smiled. The food at the ludus did get monotonous. The ubiquitous barley and beans diet was filling, but designed to fatten the men. The extra layer was protection from shallow sword cuts. Gerta had put on several pounds. Julia seemed able to eat anything and stay trim. Cinnia didn’t want to carry the extra weight or risk being slower, so she ate in moderation.
A gust of music blew in as a stern-looking Roman dressed in a blue wool tunic with gold embroidery opened the door. Over his shoulder, Cinnia spied a tall black woman.
Cinnia froze.
Afra’s eyes searched the room and landed on Cinnia.
White teeth showed in a dazzling smile.
Before Cinnia knew what she did, she was in Afra’s arms, whispering, “Mother Isis told me we would see each other again!”
***
AFRA HELD HER LOVE TIGHTLY, joy racing through her veins with each rapid beat of her heart. The moment seemed to last forever, until she looked over Cinnia’s head at Murena’s astonished face.
She untangled their arms, holding Cinnia away from her. “Let me see you. Are you well? You have more scars!”
“And you a broken nose. Did the guards do that to you?”
“That and more.” She unconsciously put her hand to her side where her broken ribs ached occasionally.
“Julia told me of your reprieve in the arena. Mari and Cari?”
Afra nodded.
Murena gave a discrete c
ough.
Afra stiffened, turning to the Roman. “My apologies, Magistrate. Cinnia and I are…” She stumbled to a halt, trying to find the words.
“Is she the escaped slave the guards returned to your mistress?” Murena nodded at Cinnia.
“Clio was not my mistress.” Afra’s face hardened. “I was freed.”
“But she was hers?” He nodded at Cinnia.
“Clio sold me to Silo’s ludus.” Cinnia’s lifted her chin. “She has no claim on me.”
“I wasn’t suggesting she did. Just trying to get the facts straight. I’m a magistrate. I always want the facts.”
Cinnia’s shoulders relaxed. She bowed her head slightly. “Many pardons, Magistrate. Afra and I have been separated since that day. There is much we’d like to say…”
He looked around at the crowded room, a slight smile flickered across his face. “Afra, you’re my best hope of impressing the Emperor tomorrow. I expect you in your bed by midnight.”
“That will not be a problem, Sir.”
The Roman snorted and left.
“So you’re the one who troubles Cinnia’s dreams and gladdens her heart.”
Afra turned to see a tall Roman woman with black curly hair and startlingly blue eyes assessing her.
“Afra, this is Julia of the ludus Silo.” Cinnia pointed to a large blonde eating lustily. “And that’s Gerta. We have another comrade, a free woman, but she’s too proud to eat with us lowly slaves.”
“We had a flock of free women join our ludus a couple of months ago, several from the noble classes.” Afra shook her head. “There must be madness among the aristocratic Roman women, that they choose such a fate. Murena is alarmed. He fears their influence on his own two daughters, who are of an impressionable age.”
Julia opened her mouth to reply, but Cinnia broke in. “Please excuse us, Julia. I need to talk to Afra.” Cinnia twined her arm around Afra’s waist. “It’s been nearly a year.”
“Of course.” The Roman’s mouth hardened.
Afra saw something flicker in the Roman woman’s eyes. Fear? Jealousy?
Julia looked over her shoulder. “I’ll take the couch with Gerta.”
Cinnia led Afra to the corner couch where they reclined, legs entwined, hands tracing the outlines of breasts and hips. A slow heat built in Afra’s loins, but she didn’t want to put on a show for these women. She grabbed a glass of wine from a serving slave and took a long drink.
“I didn’t know what happened to you. I feared…” She looked into Cinnia’s eyes and traced her full lips with her thumb.
Cinnia blushed; her eyes slid away. She took Afra’s hand and softly kissed the palm. “Clio told me you were dead, but I dreamed different. Months later Julia brought me word of your escape from the beasts. Now your name is legend at the ludus. Even the men talk of your prowess in the arena.”
“It’s a matter of pride for Murena, but none for me. I trained and fought to survive. I survived to find you.”
“And now?”
Tears threatened to well, and Afra swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t know. I thought only of finding you. Now…here…tomorrow we both face death.”
“Mother Isis gave me a message for you.”
“Mother Isis spoke to you?” Afra whispered. “At the temple?”
“In my dreams, when I was most low. She said, ‘When you see Afra again, tell her that her Mother brings Love and Light to the world.’ That’s when I knew I’d see you again.”
“The gods are cruel to bring us together in this spectacle of death.”
“Mother Isis said that it is people who are unkind to one another.” Cinnia gazed over the room. “The gods demand sacrifice, but it’s the Romans who demand death in the arena.”
“How many have you killed?”
“After my six months training, seven fights, six kills.” Cinnia took a gulp of wine. “The men scratch their opponents’ names in their cells, keep track of their wins. They boast of their prizes, and how many noble Roman women want to lie with them. I remember each face in life and death and pray their shades find rest.” She shook her head. “And you, how many?”
“Nine fights, seven kills.”
Cinnia’s eyebrows went up. “Nine fights in six months?”
“Five months. It took me several weeks to recover from my injuries.”
“That’s too many chances for death. You can’t be expected to keep that up. The top gladiators fight only twice or three times a year!”
“I am not a top gladiator. I’m little more than the novelty act Marcius trained us for.”
“You—we—are so much more than that!” Cinnia ran her hand over Afra’s face, tracing the sideways slope of her broken nose. “Oh, my love, what are we to do?”
Afra sat up. “Leave here.”
“Escape?” Cinnia whispered. “How?”
“No, my love, there is no escape but death.” She held out her hand. “But we have tonight. Come with me.”
Afra grabbed a pitcher of wine, sought a private room, she paid a guard to turn away other entrants. It was furnished with a plain pallet, chair, small table, and oil lamp; but Afra had eyes only for Cinnia.
The lamp light shone on her golden hair, tightly plaited, pinned in a bun at the nape of her brown neck. Afra reached up and removed a pin to let the braid fall down Cinnia’s back. “May I?” she asked.
Cinnia’s eyes glowed. “Of course.”
Afra unplaited the braid, running her hand through the silky strands, separating them, taking a deep sniff. “How I’ve missed the smell of fresh air and warm sunshine in your hair.”
Cinnia groaned, stiffening in her arms. “I must tell you something. About me and…and…”
“Julia?” Afra guessed, her chest tightening in fear.
Cinnia nodded.
Afra dropped her hands, a pain stabbed deep in her gut. She turned her face away, so Cinnia couldn’t see the hurt.
“We are friends. Sisters-in-arms.” Cinnia reached up to cup Afra’s face and turned it back to hers. “We pleasure each other when we are not too tired. No more than that.”
“Is that what this is? Pleasure?” Afra tried to keep the pain from her voice.
“Of course.” Cinnia smiled. “And much more. Do I not touch your heart as well as your body? Did not the Great Goddess herself bless our love? Did we not both fight and strive to survive on the hope we might one day find each other again?” She clasped Afra’s hand, guiding it to her breast to cover the small wooden amulet.
She still had it! Thanks to you, Queen of all the Gods and Goddesses, for returning my love to me. Afra took a deep breath to stifle a sob and dropped her head in shame. She should never have doubted Isis’ promise. A tear leaked from under closed lids.
Cinnia’s soft lips kissed it away.
Afra pulled Cinnia into a tight embrace, kissing her with all her pent-up longing and loneliness.
***
LATER, CINNIA STROKED AFRA’S lean flank, fighting tears.
Her lover caught her chin and lifted her face to stare into her eyes. “The Romans can’t take our memories. Keep this night in your heart when you’re lonely or afraid. Remember, you are loved.”
“I don’t fear pain or loneliness.” She pulled Afra close, whispering. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. The lots. What if we are paired? If not tomorrow, some day it will happen. There are too few of us women. I couldn’t fight you!”
Afra stroked her hair, but it didn’t soothe Cinnia’s fears.
“I have thought about it. If we refuse to fight, we will be slaughtered immediately, as an example to the others and entertainment for the crowd.”
“Is death our only choice?” Cinnia lightly ran her hand over Afra’s wrist, searching for the pulse of life, finding a thin braid of hair. Her heart cried at this further sign of devotion. “We could beg a knife from the guard, open veins, die in each other’s arms.”
“I will accept death, if need be, but I choose life
. If we fight each other tomorrow, we should fight with all our strength and skill. Perhaps the crowd will grant the loser a reprieve.” Afra’s gaze became unfocussed. “Two of my opponents have won reprieves. Alive, we have the chance, a slim one, to buy ourselves free. I might persuade Murena to buy you from Silo for his ludus. We might be together.”
“If there’s no missio?” Cinnia shuddered at the thought.
“The winner kills the other with love in her heart, and—only then—takes her own life.” Afra clasped her tightly. “Better we chose our deaths than a Roman does.”
“A pact. We will follow one another in death.” Cinnia frowned. “I don’t fear death, but I do fear what follows. What if my gods claim me and yours claim you? Will we be separated again for all of time?”
“I don’t know.” Afra loosened her grip “But I don’t believe so. Mother Isis brought us together. Why would she separate us after death?”
“But…”
Afra stopped the question with a kiss. “Aren’t you the one who said all goddesses are The Mother? Leave the gods to their realm. Let’s enjoy ours. We have a couple of hours before we have to be back in our cells. Surely we can think of something to do with the time except talk of death and the gods?”
Cinnia smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Afra was right, but she couldn’t shake her sense of foreboding.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AFRA WOKE EARLY THE NEXT DAY, alone in her bed. The night past, more dream than reality. She bowed before the clay figures that she kept in the niche in her room: Isis, seated with Horus on her lap, and jackal-headed Anubis, judge of the dead. “Mother Isis, give me strength to do what must be done. Dreaded Anubis, if my soul is sent to you, I pray you find me worthy.”
She broke her fast with bread, beans, and olive oil brought to her room by a slave she paid. Her winnings added up, allowing her these small luxuries. The main eating hall would be full of men boasting about their coming fights, nursing a sore head, or nervously preparing for the arena. She wanted peace for a few moments to marshal her thoughts and feelings. Nothing must distract her.
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