Gladiatrix (17 page)

Domitia overrode my attempt to negotiate. ‘We will discuss the rest of the arrangements later.' She rang the bell once, and Horace appeared at the double. ‘Take her to her room.'

Horace motioned for me to leave.

‘What do you mean — my room?' I asked.

‘You're staying here.' Domitia made the inference
clear, she wanted to keep a close eye on me. She poked a sharp nail towards my chest, saying, ‘If you succeed tomorrow, you'll stay here until you've finished your obligations. That's the deal and nothing is open for discussion.'

I silently screamed. ‘But, my lady …'

Her patience at an end, Domitia demanded, ‘What, gladiatrix? Do you have a problem with this? It's a great honour for you!'

She was determined to own me until she got what she wanted. I forced my mouth to say, ‘Of course, my lady. A great honour.'

Horace, a displeased expression etched on his fine blue-black features, led me through a door at the very back of the main house, and out into the rear garden. Domitia had told him to personally accompany me to my new quarters, and when she said that she'd given him a curious look. He'd waited, as though for further orders, but instead she'd waved him away. He hadn't liked that, which made me wonder what was coming next. Freckle, a very red-haired boy, with brown dots all over his face and everywhere else I could see, trudged behind us carrying my shoulder bag and yawning in the afternoon heat.

As I followed Horace I tried to think of a shortcut out of the big mess Valerius had dropped me in. If I left the Crassus house now, I'd lose the only solid chance I had of finding the Hierophant, and also risk alienating Valerius as well. But then, was keeping Domitia happy going to take up way too much time and restrict my ability to search for Victoria?

The other thing, of course, was that I really needed
to sleep. The tiredness was clouding my ability to assess the situation properly, to make good decisions.

The white stucco, one-storey villa at the end of the path looked practical, even comfortable. Nothing like the main house, which was pure grandeur, a statement of the power and wealth of the Crassus family carved in marble and gold. The villa must be where they kept the less-favoured guests, and that suited me. Distance between Domitia and me had to be a good thing.

The villa was U-shaped, surrounding a terracotta courtyard with a shady old fig growing in the middle. Below the fig, water splashed through a simple fountain making a cooling sound in the afternoon heat. Horace took us through the archway, into the middle of the U and on to the first room to the left. It was a bedroom, plainly furnished compared to the main house, but it seemed cool and pleasant. Freckle moved past me to place my bag on a couch near the bed.

The room's light was filtered through the fig tree outside, so it took me a moment to realise someone else was present. A tall, dark-haired man, wearing a blue slave tunic, stood near the window with his back to the light. That meant he could see our faces, but not the other way around.

Horace noticed where I was looking and gestured. ‘Er, that's Alexander.' But he didn't explain who he was, or why he was in my room.

The man didn't acknowledge our presence. In fact he didn't seem to react at all.

‘And who is Alexander exactly?' I said. I had the feeling he was the next problem I was going to have to deal with.

Horace gave him a speculative glance, then turned back to me. ‘The mistress bought Alexander to serve as your bodyguard when you move around Rome. He's a
fully trained gladiator, so he can take care of your equipment.' Horace pointed to a set of armour and weapons carefully stacked next to a basket of clothes in the corner. Obviously Domitia had been confident I'd do exactly what she asked. ‘And he can help you train.'

Alexander had the right build for that kind of role, but why would she give a professional gladiatrix a bodyguard? ‘So he's supposed to keep an eye on me.'

Horace avoided my eyes. ‘I think that the mistress has other purposes in mind.'

‘What do you mean “other” purposes?'

Horace coughed, and said with a stately tinge of embarrassment, ‘Mistress Crassus will explain more later.'

Freckle giggled at that then flushed deep red, literally connecting the dots, when Horace sent him a sharp look. If Freckle knew what was going on then Domitia's plans for me must be common knowledge amongst the servants.

‘I want to know now.' I nodded meaningfully at Freckle. ‘Everyone else seems to know.'

‘Mistress Crassus has said that he is to be your bodyguard,' Horace insisted. ‘That much is certain. And Alexander is certainly well trained for the position.' Horace didn't lie very well, it was plain he was telling me half-truths. ‘He is, or rather was, a highly regarded young gladiator, sold only because his master went bankrupt. The mistress personally picked him to be your body slave.' He grimaced at Freckle to forestall another giggle. ‘The rest is pure speculation.' Then, without giving me time to ask any more questions, Horace grabbed the boy by the arm and made for the door.

Arms still crossed over my chest, I contemplated the empty doorway. There'd been too many surprises
here, and it was all taking too much time. I'd planned on getting to the Iseum after meeting Domitia, now the visit would have to wait until tomorrow.

Alexander still hadn't moved an inch. I couldn't see his eyes, but my intuition told me he was watching me carefully. So he was my bodyguard? The last thing I needed was someone following me around, particularly someone loyal to Domitia.

On the surface, Horace's story seemed to be true. Alexander did look like a fighter. He had an athlete's body, built for speed with long, well-defined muscles in his thighs, but also proportional upper body development. He would've needed that to use his weapons. The speed would get him in and out of a confrontation quickly, but the upper body strength would be necessary to do the work while he was engaged. Combat takes a lot of strength, particularly if you have to chase them around a sand-covered arena first.

Yes, he looked the part. In fact he looked like he'd been bred for it, with a long reach and a limber body. If he had the technique and agility to match, then he'd be very good. But none of that really mattered, the key issue here was whether he going to hinder my search for Victoria.

I moved over to the arched window behind him. His eyes followed me, so he ended up facing into the light. Immediately Domitia's reason for buying him became clear. He was young, probably younger than me, but he left Narcissus' glossy blond attractions for dead. Dark, thick hair framed strong cheekbones and lushly curved lips. But it was the black-lashed eyes that held your attention. Dark around the outer edges, silver-white in the middle and bright blue around the pupil. Blue-tinged icebergs.

Unfortunately his expression was equally cold. Aggressively so. And there was something about the way that he carried himself that made him look dangerous.

‘When did Domitia buy you?'

‘Two days ago.' His voice was low and curt. This was not any submissive slave.

Hmmm. He wouldn't have much knowledge of the Crassus household, but if he'd cooperate he could be useful in other ways.

‘So you were a gladiator?'

‘Yes.' Again, as short an answer as was possible and delivered in a tone just this side of outright insolence.

‘What style?' Since my early teens I'd studied every kind of combat technique I could dig up. While the local high school princesses had devoted their time to advanced nail care, I had developed other, less sociable, skills. The techniques used in the Roman arena had interested me, as much as any of the other traditional methods.

‘Mainly I fought as a retiarius.'

Oh. So he really was dangerous.

Some Roman arena styles were just brutal jab and slash sword work, with little technique and no sophistication. It came down to size, speed and endurance.

But the retiarius was different. They used a net to entangle their opponent's arms or legs, pull them off-balance, then stab them with the three-pronged trident. It was considered one of the the most difficult styles as its exponents won not by brute force, beating the adversary into the ground, but by wit, dexterity and courage.

The good ones were the deadliest fighters in the Roman arena, the mediocre ones just died quickly.
A net and an extra-long fork are not a great deal of protection against an armoured man with a sword, when all other things are equal.

‘You must've been good,' I stated. ‘You have few scars?' As far as I could see he only had two long silver slashes on his left forearm, and they looked old.

‘I was lucky,' came the off-handed reply.

‘Come on', I scoffed. ‘No-one can just be lucky and win with a net and trident!' He had a chip on his shoulder the size of this villa.

He stared directly into my eyes for the first time, and replied coldly, ‘Then the others were unlucky.'

That was a threat. No mistaking it. Maybe I was going to be unlucky too? His attitude made me want to bare my teeth at him and growl back!

I shook off that impulse and demanded an answer instead, ‘Why has Domitia assigned you to me?'

He looked away at that, furious and trying to damp it down. Then he turned back, iceberg eyes on fire. ‘Ask her yourself.'

This kept getting better and better. Now I had a slave with attitude, assigned to follow me around, for reasons no-one would come clean on.

Something worthwhile was going to have to happen over the next twenty-four hours or else I was just going to walk out of here and chance finding Victoria on my own. Twenty-four hours. I'd play this game that long, and no more.

While Alexander and I were still silently glaring at each other, Freckle skipped in to tell me it was expected that I bathe before dinner. The subtext being that Domitia wanted to make sure I didn't bring fleas, or anything similar, to the dinner table. He added, ‘The mistress said that Alexander has to organise this from now on.'

For some reason Alexander didn't take that piece of news very well. He didn't speak, just emitted enough radiant anger to signal passing ships.

‘What?' I asked Alexander. ‘What's wrong with that?'

He ignored me.

I felt like grinding my teeth till they broke off. I was really sorry Alexander was a slave, but he was also starting to piss me off.

‘So, my lady,' piped Freckle, earnestly playing mediator, ‘do you have any orders for Alexander?'

‘Er. What kind of orders?' I replied.

‘About your bath?' He spoke very clearly — as though I had a hearing problem. ‘He has to organise it. With the servants in the bathing rooms.'

I knew the Roman baths were different. More of an extended ritual than a quick shower. But I didn't know enough to make special requests.

Freckle saw my uncertainty and took pity on the ignorant foreigner. ‘They want to know if you want those funny herbs in the water.' He made a sprinkling motion with his fingers. ‘Or mud on your face. Or hair plucked out.' He mimed each suggestion, then shrugged his little shoulders. ‘Stuff like that.'

I couldn't remember the exact Roman position on female body hair, but I wasn't getting the ancient version of a Brazilian. ‘No plucking. Definitely no plucking — anything.'

He nodded and waited for more details.

I improvised. ‘Um. Just the usual. Whatever is usual.'

Freckle wrinkled up his face, as though he wanted to say more, but wasn't sure how to broach it without causing offence. Instead he grabbed Alexander's hand and tried to pull him towards the door. Alexander glared down at the boy, his face still rigid from our
little chat, then it softened and he allowed Freckle to lead him out.

I sighed and started stripping off my Egyptian accessories, lethal leg jewellery first. As I did, I kept repeating to myself, ‘Just get through the bout tomorrow.' ‘Just get through the bout tomorrow.' Valerius could've found Victoria by then. Victoria could turn up here by then. The NTA rescue mission could arrive by then … and so it went.

By the time Alexander had come back, I was still muttering my way through that particular mantra, and all that was left to come off was the heavy black Cleopatra wig. I was still wearing the red linen sheath and my sandals as I didn't think walking over to the house in my T-shirt and jeans was an option. All the jewellery and the sphinx collar had come off, and I'd cleaned the make-up off with a cloth and a basin of water I'd found in the corner.

When Alexander seethed into the room without any warning, I shouted, ‘Do you mind?'

He came to a sudden halt, staring back uncomprehendingly.

I snapped out, ‘Can you at least knock next time? This IS my bedroom.'

He decided to ignore that, and speaking towards the window, said in a cold voice, ‘They're ready for you now, gladiatrix.' I rolled my eyes, but didn't say anything. I wasn't going to get a polite ‘my lady' from him any time soon.

‘Hold on.' I pulled off the wig and unpinned my hair, gloriously scratching my scalp as I did. What a relief, the wig was made of stiff horsehair and it'd not only been hot, it'd itched the whole time. I grabbed a brush from my bag and smoothed everything out. I picked up my shoulder bag. ‘Okay. Show me where it is.'

Alexander was staring at me with an expression close to intense curiosity. Only it wasn't quite that. It was as though he'd just figured something out. Solved a puzzle about me.

‘What?' I touched my fair hair. I was supposed to be an Egyptian. ‘My father's family was from the icy north,' I said. ‘I'm not a full-blooded Egyptian.' If I had to stay here they were all going to know about my hair colour anyway. I wasn't sleeping in that wig, and I certainly wasn't wearing it in the fight tomorrow.

He didn't reply. Just sat back inside himself, making some kind of mental judgement about me.

‘Are you going to show me where the bath house is or not?' He could keep his thoughts to himself, as long as they didn't interfere with me.

As we walked through the house, servants appeared around every corner. The men watched me, and I heard a few whispers about my hair colour, but I noticed the women were eyeing Alexander. He just ignored them, so I did too.

The baths were on the ground floor, in a luxurious tiled complex, decorated with wall-to-wall murals. The main room contained two small pools and one large one. And it was filled with far too many young female servants ready to assist, they were more like an audience than helpers. When Alexander entered the room behind me, their eyes carefully slid to each other, it was plain what they were expecting to happen.

I wasn't prepared to perform in their version of daytime TV, so I dismissed them all except for an older woman called Cardea who'd been standing by with some towels and a bucket of herb-scented water. At least she seemed to be ready and able to do her job.
Besides, from her deeply wrinkled face, she looked like she might know a bit more about the Crassus household than the rest. If the Iseum visit was out today, then I might as well do as much reconnaissance here as possible.