Gladiatrix (15 page)

She touched the stiff, underwire section of the bra with tentative fingers. ‘Your people are very clever.'

‘Yes, pyramids and underwear. We've specialised.'

Abeona just smiled thinly. ‘I'm afraid the top undergarment will have to go, my lady. You need to have bare shoulders.'

I complied.

She wrapped the long rectangle of fine linen around me twice, using ties at each corner to secure it. It fitted under my arms and across my chest, falling below my breasts in knife-sharp pleats to my ankles. She looked down. ‘Now move your left leg forward.'

As I stretched out my leg a long slit in the dress pulled apart. It showed everything to the top of my thigh. Fortunately it was the leg without the raw scrapes and grazes on it.

‘So we're going for the slutty look?' I asked, pushing my leg in and out of the slit.

‘If you will excuse my language, the sluttier the better. Most Romans think Cleopatra was the biggest whore in history. They believe it was her fault that their beloved Antony deserted them.'

‘So I'm supposed to convince people I'm a whore?' I wasn't sure what exactly this would mean for me. In this patriarchal society, probably nothing good.

Abeona seemed anxious about how to answer that question, so I said, ‘Don't worry. Let's just get me dressed and ready to go.'

We both went to work and the whole look came together pretty quickly. I had twin gold snakes with red eyes and green forked tongues twisted round my biceps and black leather sandals on my feet. The
sandals had been specially made so they were not just flimsy foot bindings, but had silent soles with good traction. Victoria was thinking like a fighter. The worst thing for a fighter to wear was bad footwear. If you couldn't move fast, then you'd lose pretty quickly. And the way things were going I wouldn't be surprised if I had to be able to run in the very near future.

Abeona helped me into a wide enamelled Egyptian collar that covered my neck and shoulders, with the transponder sitting snugly underneath. The collar was decorated with green and gold images of the Sphinx, which seemed an appropriate motif given the situation.

Now everything below my neck seemed right. The bronze mirror on the wall indicated I was every cliché ever concocted of an Egyptian woman, only twice the height and with lean muscles that looked like I had just returned from a stint of pyramid building. My surfer's tan as well as my black eyes suited the Egyptian image, but my white-blonde hair did not. It was covered with a black, plaited, shoulder-length wig with a square fringe. Finally Abeona painted black kohl around my eyes and long blue and gold lines out from the inner corners for emphasis.

I looked like a female version of Tutankhamon.

All that was left were the weapons.

Two finely jewelled straps secured a sheath to my exposed thigh, in it went a sleek black stiletto. It would show as I walked, but that was intended. Easy access and it fitted the part. Lethal body jewellery, what else would a professional fighter wear? Two smaller stilettos, as long as my hand, fitted into special matching metal wristbands decorated with serpents. I was ready.

Abeona insisted I put a long green cloak on top and
pull the hood over my head. She said I wouldn't make it back to Valerius' office without gathering a raucous crowd otherwise.

Fine. I put on the cloak, slung my bag over my shoulder and we left.

Judging from his expression Valerius was pleased with the new look. His only comment was, ‘As long as you can fight, Domitia Crassus will hire you. But we have to get you over there now. She's agreed to see you, but you must leave immediately.'

He suggested I get a chair to the Crassus mansion. Judging by the passing traffic that meant being carried in a chair fixed to two long poles by a team of four men. He said the house wasn't far, but it'd be better not to arrive dusty and on foot. So we stood on the steps outside his office and waited while a male slave went to find one. There were lots of chairs around but they were all occupied; everyone was heading home for lunch and a sleep.

‘Be careful of Domitia.' Valerius slanted a glance at me as he said it. It sounded like he was trying to warn me without actually scaring me off.

‘If you have something to say, Valerius, then just come out and say it. If this is the only way I'm going to get my mother back, then I'm going to go through with it. But I'd rather know what I'm heading into.'

‘All right,' he said. ‘Then you should know that Domitia has inherited the Crassus family predilection for power at any price. Her great-uncle Marcus was a rich and powerful man. The richest in Rome in fact. But when he died his relatives only acquired his fortune. No real lasting power or influence. But great wealth, even the Crassus fortune, doesn't last long in Rome. Not without protection.'

‘So no political power, no real safety?'

‘Well, at the very least you need influence,' he qualified. ‘Domitia's father is bedridden, so she's the unofficial head of the household. And she's busy trying to weave herself back into the ruling clique.'

‘She has a specific goal in sight?'

‘She's a widow. Under Roman law she has to marry again so she wants the right husband.'

‘And she needs the help of Augustus for this?'

‘The man she wants isn't sure he wants her. She's got a reputation.'

‘For what?'

‘For basically doing whatever she wants. It's a character flaw common among the very rich. Or the very ruthless.'

‘And she's both?'

Silence.

‘Oh I can see why you waited to say this.'

The slave arrived with the chair service. It was four men, all in bilious green tunics that matched the upholstered chair they carried on their shoulders. On the front of their uniforms was a sign printed in red saying ‘Bruno's Guided Tours'. On the back it said ‘See the Homes of the Rich and Famous'.

Valerius said, ‘You'll be fine. Just impress her in the demonstration fight tomorrow and we'll have the contract.'

‘Sure. What could go possibly wrong?' I muttered, as the slave helped me into the chair.

At least the Praetorians would never recognise me like this.

The chair service picked me up and we lurched off into the street. The chair was not as comfortable as it looked, and swayed too much if they cut the corners, but Bruno tried to make up for this by giving me a lively monologue on everything we passed. The history of the buildings, the famous people who'd built them, even the micro-details of some spicy scandals. It seemed half of Rome had been the scene of some highly illegal sex act.

He cut all that out after I told him I was not a tourist, but a foreign gladiatrix looking for work with the Crassus household.

‘The Crassus family, eh?' He turned back to give me a critical look. I had the cloak over my costume and the hood over my wig, trying to protect everything from the dust being kicked up, but the bright red sheath still peaked out at the front. His eyes rose to my stylised make-up and he said, ‘So you're trying out for the Cleopatra role.'

‘How did you know about that?'

Bruno pointed to the promotional sign on his chest. ‘It's my job. Half the senate get their evening rides home with me, so they can catch up on the latest dirt.'

The other three barked a knowing laugh.

The chair suddenly lunged sideways as we swerved to avoid another chair coming in the opposite direction. Bruno shouted out something obscene about the other leader's mother, and flipped him a brutal, one-handed salute. The motion sent the chair further off kilter, and I just missed clipping my head on the awning of a street vendor selling heavy copper pots and pans. A few of the hanging pans clanged to the ground, and the owner chased us up the street, cursing and complaining about the cost of dents.

Bruno ignored him, charging straight up the Palatine Hill. ‘This is the wealthiest neighbourhood in the world, dearie. Your political elite, your wealthy old-school aristocrats, and a sprinkling of noveaux riches who made a fortune trading grain in the last war.'

He wasn't exaggerating. Every square inch was covered in superb mansions. No crowds here. And there were enough hard-eyed, uniformed guards bristling around the front gates to make sure you moved on quickly. But apart from the guards there was no-one else in sight. The ruling class was inside, out of the hot sun, being waited on hand and foot.

As we made it to the crest, an amazing view of Rome spread out before us, but before I could take it in they lowered the chair. Bruno pointed, ‘That's his magnificence's house over there.' He snorted, ‘It's not much though. He likes to pretend he's one of us.'

I followed his finger. ‘That's the Crassus house?'

‘No. Augustus'.'

Augustus? Hmm, ruler of this world.

Bruno was right. In this neighbourhood it looked a little pokey. Just a simple stone house wedged in between larger and more spectacular neighbours, and set back from the road behind a beautiful new temple.

But it was the double line of fancy guards around the perimeter that took my attention.

I shivered. More Praetorians. The soldiers were studiously ignoring us. You could almost hear them muttering ‘tourists!' under their breath, which suited me just fine.

‘Not hard to tell where Augustus lives,' I said. I touched my heavy make-up with a fingertip. There was no way they could recognise me now. But I still didn't like it.

Bruno nodded. ‘Yep. They use those stiff little brushes on their helmets to wipe his bum off before they kiss him goodnight.'

I eyed him. ‘Don't like Augustus much, eh?'

The others groaned. One said, ‘Oh no, miss, don't get him started.'

‘See the big new temple in front of his house?' said Bruno. ‘That's dedicated to Apollo. Very popular with the tourists.' He winked broadly. ‘Lots of naked statues. Particularly of Augustus' favourite deity.' He looked around discreetly. ‘He thinks there's a family resemblance.'

‘Augustus thinks he looks like Apollo?'

‘He thinks he bloody is Apollo. Bald, fat-arsed git!'

The rest of his team looked a bit concerned by Bruno's brutal frankness, and one of them cut in with a heartfelt, ‘Please, boss. Not here.'

He laughed, ‘Well anyway here's ya address over there, love.' Bruno pointed to the imposing estate next door. ‘Crassus and Augustus are neighbours.'

I unwound myself from the narrow seat and stood.

The Crassus block was completely different from Augustus' humble little home. High walls surrounded the house and at street level it was impossible to see much more than a very large red tile roof. Entry was via a stone gate with its own gatehouse to one side, occupied by a small army of guards. Security was obviously a very big issue in this town, but looking at the ostentatious quality of the guards' armour and clothing, it was probably a status thing as well. Bet the Crassus family were competing with next door's Praetorians. Or was it vice versa?

Now that Bruno and his men were all standing round waiting for their tip, I pulled four silver sestertii out of my bag and casually played with them. ‘Bruno, when I was coming into the city today, there was a riot at one of the entry gates.'

‘Oh yeah!' Concern crossed his face, ‘Terrible mess, so I heard.'

‘Someone had painted a sign over the gate. It said “Bring Julia home. Now.” Who's Julia?' With the Praetorians' boss sitting right next door, I wanted to understand what exactly had churned their motors this morning.

‘You don't know about the scandal?' Bruno couldn't believe it, ‘How could you not know about the Julias?'

One of the men shot a look at the Praetorians and coughed. ‘Boss. Don't you think we should …?'

‘No. I don't.' Bruno shut him up with a gesture. ‘Besides everyone knows about it anyway.'

‘The Julias? Both are related to Augustus?' I asked.

‘The graffiti at the gate today was about Julia the Younger, Augie's granddaughter. Julia the Elder's her mother, Augie's daughter.'

That finally jogged my memory. Of course. ‘Augustus only had one child.' And a long and complicated search for an heir.

‘Yeah,' Bruno nodded. ‘And that was the problem. Julia the Elder was his only real ticket to a proper male line of descent. So he started breeding her out like a prize sow. She produced three grandsons and two granddaughters for him and not one year after the second husband was cold in his grave, he married her off a third time.' He shook his head. ‘But this last marriage was a big mistake. They hated each other.'

‘And Julia was accused of adultery and exiled.' To abject misery on a tiny desolate rock of an island.

He nodded. ‘Can you believe that? He exiled his only child. For life.' Bruno was getting really worked up about it.

‘But you were saying the graffiti …'

‘Was about her daughter, Julia the Younger. She was caught in adultery last month and now she's been exiled too. Stupid old prick! Picking off his family one by one! As if he doesn't swing his end around like a circus monkey!'

‘But why do you care? Why does anyone care enough about a rich kid to risk their life painting a plea to Augustus on the city gates?' And almost hitting a Praetorian with a rock, come to think of it.

Bruno was stumped for a moment. As though not being Roman, I couldn't really understand. ‘Look. We don't like most of the rich and mighty here. Too stiff to even pick up their own feet. And they don't like us. But the Julias were different. They were the best of that family.' He jerked his head towards the temple of Apollo. ‘Now they've gone, he's become just another fat, vain politician out for his own glory.'

At that he grabbed the coins out of my hand, took one commanding look at his men and they all simultaneously picked up the empty chair.

‘But, Bruno, why …'

He leant into me. ‘Young miss, you be careful what you ask. You mightn't get the answers you want.' He shot a look over at the Crassus house. ‘Especially around here.'

With that they trundled off back down the hill, ignoring the Praetorians as they went. The favour was returned.

Hmm? What exact question was he trying to warn me about? I shook my head. I had other things to worry about. Like impressing the hell out of Domitia Crassus.

Meanwhile the Crassus guards, two of them holding what looked like Rottweilers with spiked collars, were watching me with a keen interest. When I told them my name was Bellona, the leader, a well-spoken brute sporting more muscles than was attractive, replied that I was late and sent me up to the house on the double.

It was really a palace, four storeys high, and made of the most exquisite gold and green veined marble. It sat in the middle of an excruciatingly formal garden filled with perfectly sculpted shrubs, and a huge fountain filled with even more perfect statues spouting jets of water from the usual places.

So this was Domitia Crassus' family home? Oh she was going to be trouble all right. It had ‘control freak' printed all over it in capital letters.

Around me a dozen or so wooden-faced slaves, all in spotless dark blue tunics, were tweezing the wrong coloured grit out of the gravel paths, sifting an errant dead butterfly out of the fountain, and carefully
manicuring each and every shrub into an unnaturally pristine order.

Yep, and I was betting Augustus didn't enjoy having his dingy little stone house compared to this highly polished mansion either.

The house steward Horace, a tall, thin man with blue-black skin and the clearest, most precise diction I'd heard so far, was poised to greet me at the front door. He ushered me through the entrance hall into a cavernous, four-storey-high atrium, every step echoing as we went. The upper floors all opened into the centre space via graceful arches offering a luxurious preview of the rest of the house. Here and there, slaves, wearing the same dark blue tunics, bustled through the upper storeys.

Horace steered me to an elegantly carved, but uncomfortable-looking marble bench set against the front wall. Two other clients, older men in white togas and tunics, sat waiting for attention. It was essentially the same deal as Valerius' office. The clients were lined up for a word with the main man, just in a much more impressive waiting room. And in this case, the main man was female.

The two men had been whispering, but clammed up as soon as I sat. They surreptitiously examined me, trying to work out who or what I could possibly be to the Crassus family. I still had the cloak wrapped around me, but the Cleopatra-style make-up had made their eyebrows lift. They decided I wasn't here on any business that concerned them, and moved as far away from me as possible. My attention wandered.

The atrium had three giant murals on the back and side walls, all elaborately framed by red and blue marbles set in geometric patterns. The combination of frame and mural had been designed to make it seem as
though you were looking out a window and onto a distant landscape. And each window depicted a different country. The wall to the right held an idyllic painting of a Greek temple set against an olive grove, across from it was a view into an arid African city and the back wall showed a snow-covered European pine forest.

The message was clear: this was the Crassus empire, the extent of their holdings on view in the waiting room. Hmm. Intimidation while you wait. Very clever. Just like the Forum. Show 'em who's boss before they even see your face.

I shot a glance over at the two men on the other end of the bench. They looked like schoolboys on their best behaviour, waiting to see the headmaster. Clean tunics, closely shaved, one with his thinning hair curled into meticulously close order, the other with a thick thatch damped down into an ugly helmet.

But it was more their body language that gave them away. Curly kept fidgeting with the folds of his toga, while the other one was rigid with tension, the cords in his neck standing out in the slack, wrinkled flesh.

They must have decided I was no threat after all, because they began talking again in hoarse whispers. Unfortunately for them I have excellent hearing.

Curly whispered, ‘But what can she possibly do, Marcus? The situation is so unstable now, anyone could be next. Juno's tits! Who could have foretold he'd start exiling his own frigging line again.'

Ah. Back to the Julias. I knew I should've found a way to extract more information from Bruno before he exited.

Curly was getting an hysterical note to his voice. ‘Now he'll never listen to reason about the new aqueduct. And that means everything, all our investments, will be lost.'

‘Get your gold to your estate in Iberia,' growled Marcus. ‘If we have to make a quick getaway then you'll need it all.'

‘You think it's going to come to that? Us on the run again!'

‘You knew the deal from the beginning,' barked Marcus. ‘If the mistress falls, we'll all fall.'

Was Domitia involved in the scandal too?

‘But I thought it was a sure bet,' Curly tugged at the other man's sleeve, as though asking him to make the bad news go away, ‘that with Julia the Younger as her best friend, the Crassus line would rise to power again.'

‘Yes, the little slut almost lived here the past few years.' Marcus snorted. ‘How were we to know she'd go the same way as her mother?'

So Domitia had reasons, other than wanting a husband, to try and please Augustus. I frowned. Why hadn't Valerius mentioned it?

What else hadn't he told me? Or what else didn't he know?

‘Bellona!' said Horace, with an edge to his voice. From his expression it was clear he'd caught me eavesdropping. ‘The mistress will see you now.'