Gladiatrix (18 page)

While the women filed out, Alexander picked up a flask of oil and folded a linen towel from one of the benches over his arm. He had the wrong idea too.

‘Oh no,' I said with decision. ‘You're not staying either. I don't know what you think your job is, but forget it.' I turned my shoulder, saying, ‘Go and find someone else to harass. Polish some armour.'

I shot a glance over my shoulder to judge his reaction. He didn't have one. His face didn't change at all. Rock hard. He put the towel and flask back, and left.

Damn. I knew trouble when I saw it.

Cardea stepped forward and started stripping off my clothes and sandals. Once I was naked, she took me expertly through the bathing process. She started by rubbing me with sweet-smelling oil, then sat me in the hot room next door to make me sweat. Next stop was the massage table. The massage felt so wonderful I started to doze off, even dream a little. I was home and Spud was licking my back. That vision ended when she started scraping the oil off with a small curved knife.

Oy, that was interesting.

It felt like I was being shaved but good too, my skin tingling after each edged stroke. When she was finished Cardea wiped the excess oil off with a damp towel, then assisted me into the small hot pool to get the circulation humming. That was followed by an even quicker dip in the small cold pool next to it. To close the pores, she said.

‘Now, my lady, you can swim in the big pool. So you can completely unwind.'

I'd kept my shoulder bag nearby. ‘Cardea.' I pulled a silver denarius out, and put it in her palm. She nearly bent over double trying to thank me. ‘That's all right. I just want to ask you some questions.'

Her wrinkled old face went straight into sceptical overdrive. ‘What do you want to know?'

I forestalled my answer by saying, ‘And if you help me, you could earn another one.' I held the next one out as bait. I could see now why Victoria had so much cash in her apartment. Rome must run on bribes. Big ones, even for slaves.

Cardea watched me, as she flipped the first coin in her hand. Slap, slap, slap. Then slipped it into a hiding place inside her tunic. ‘I'll tell you what I can, my lady. What is it you want to know?'

‘How much do you know about Domitia?'

‘More than she thinks,' Cardea cackled. ‘The mistress likes to bathe. So she does everything here. From dictating her business letters to holding special parties.' The way she said ‘special' showed a measure of disapproval. ‘Yes. And if Cretius Spodium ever found out about them …' She purposely left the statement hanging.

‘He's the man she's after?'

‘Yes. And he's running like a deer before the hunt.' She whispered, ‘He's not a fool.'

Yep, I could think of several good reasons why he'd want to put some distance between them. And I'd just met her. ‘Why does she want him so much?'

‘Old family. With connections to Augustus. And a big dick, if the rumours are right.' Guess bath attendants would have only so much to talk about with each other.

‘Do many of the Isiacs ever come here?'

Cardea was shocked, ‘No, my lady. Course not! The mistress keeps all them ones away from the house.'

That sounded odd. ‘Why? I thought she was a devoted Isiac?'

She chuckled so deep it came from her feet. ‘Oh, yes she's devoted to the magic of Isis. Puts curses on anyone who crosses her, she does.' She shook her head, ‘But the Isiacs? Nah, she'd never have that lot here.' She jerked her finger over her shoulder. ‘It's his majesty next door, ya see. They're not in his good books at the moment.'

I wanted to ask why, but decided to press on with my main tack instead. ‘So the Hierophant's never been here?'

‘Wouldn't know, my lady,' she snorted. ‘No-one knows who that fellow is. Just the mistress herself.'

Damn. I needed to think about all this, I felt like I was going round in circles. I flipped Cardea the other silver coin, and sank into the big pool for a swim. But by now what I was really ready for was sleep. I hadn't slept properly in days, I had jet lag from flying from Australia to San Francisco, and now I was portal lagged from going from midnight in Union Square to lunchtime in ancient Rome. My brain wanted a break and it was going to take one, whether I wanted it or not.

I did one lousy lap hoping the exertion would wake me up, but no luck. I leant back against the side of the pool in the lovely tepid water struggling to stay awake. I focused on the surrounding wall murals. They had to be new. Freshly painted. Each panel framed by gleaming black and red tiles. They were big too, floor to ceiling. In lush colours, with the figures carefully painted down to the last detail.

I hadn't taken much notice of them earlier, though they were so striking they dominated the room. Each scene took place in a forest populated by heroic figures, physically beautiful, but made even more
intriguing through their eloquent expressions and body language. One scene was so tragic that I stared at it for a full minute.

What legend was being told here?

I worked my way back around the room, trying to identify which panel started the story. My heart missed a beat in recognition. I knew this story.

I looked around the room to check. Yes. It gave me pause to see such an intimate part of my early life, painted in panels eight feet tall. Here in this place. Now.

When I was a child, and still finding it too hard to deal with the outside world, books had become my home. Most of all I'd loved ancient stories and legends, and they'd probably been my first step towards wanting to become an archaeologist. They'd taken me into the fantastic worlds of goddesses and magic powers. But this story had been my secret favourite, my fantasy.

It occurred to me that this room definitely had been recently repainted. It must be Domitia's fantasy as well. The murals had to have been commissioned after her father had become ill because no Roman man would've wanted this story on the walls of their house. The legend of the virgin goddess Diana, and the huntsman Actaeon.

On the first panel, near the door, Diana is shown hunting in the woods, armed with a bow and quiver full of arrows, and surrounded by her hounds. They're the size of small deer, with long legs and savagely sharp teeth. Diana is young and strong, with long black hair, smooth white skin and dark, fierce eyes. She dominates the panel; even her hounds seem cowed by her presence.

On the next panel Diana has put aside her weapons, and sent away her hounds. She's shed her armour near
a small pool framed by delicate ferns and lacy foliage. The pool glistens, reflecting beams of light that have broken through the dark forest canopy. The cool water of the pool beckons to her, and she's well aware that no mortal woman could freely take the solitary pleasure it offers. But no mortal man would think twice. She knows that here mortal man is, for once, her equal in freedom. And it makes her angry. She stands with one breast bared, arrogant in her display. No man would dare approach her.

But of course someone will.

In the third panel the goddess enters the pool. Illuminated by shafts of filtered light, her eyes are slightly closed and dreamy with the coolness of the water on her hot skin. Gentle ripples surround her thighs, and her neck and torso are covered with a stream of water pouring from her cupped hands. Without her armour, with her fierce eyes obscured, she seems like the spirit of the pool, a water nymph.

Unknown to Diana, a handsome, brown-haired huntsman stands mesmerised. His bow and arrows hanging forgotten in his hands. He's young, like the goddess, and he's also proud. He doesn't move towards the edge of the pond, giving her the respect of distance, but he does not retreat to the shadows either. He stands his ground. He doesn't know who this being is, but he knows that she must be an immortal. His gaze is soft, not a threat, but still intense as though he has finally found what he wants.

And he is right. This moment will define the rest of his life. This moment will give him a kind of immortality.

In the next scene Diana, standing half-submerged in the pool, has just opened her eyes directly into his. For this instance in time his beauty and the strong
heart that shines out of his eyes bind her. Her moment of relaxed pleasure has made this meeting possible. Here for a moment she recognises new possibilities. He's not a threat.

Not unless you are a virgin goddess. And pledged to stay that way.

In the final panel, unwilling, or unable, to allow chance to grant her its favour. Diana's eyes are once again fierce. As a goddess, she has the freedom to bathe naked in the forest, but as a female the remnants of learned shame spark her mind to anger. The feelings conjured up just a moment before, have reversed times ten. Long tendrils of black hair whip around her head as she extends her arm and turns the hunter into a stag. Her hounds have returned, and saliva drips off their canines as they pull him down. The half-transformed hunter dies a horrible death, still imploring the goddess not to reject him.

Here, Diana is revenge personified. But revenge for what? And why revenge at all? It's never made sense to me, and I've always rewritten the ending in my mind. If she'd been Jupiter, father of the gods, surprised mid-scrub, the last scene would've been substantially different. Probably ending in the production of yet another of his half-human children.

But why did Domitia have this scene around her bath?

I stared at the last panel. The savage goddess. The huntsman being ripped apart. I had a feeling I knew.

Sex and violence. No wonder her prospective husband was on the run.

Alexander wasn't waiting in my room when I got back. Maybe he was busy reporting to Domitia? Though what he'd have to say besides my hair being fair was beyond me. Until proven otherwise I'd just assume he was her spy.

Meanwhile I had a bit of a problem. While I'd been lounging in the pool Cardea had taken my red sheath away to be cleaned on Domitia's flea-hunting orders. The shoulder bag I'd hung onto — it had my gun and the phactor in it — but I didn't think to watch my dress. When I emerged from the pool Cardea had apologised and offered me a long yellow robe to wear back to my room. The dress, she said, would be ready tomorrow.

Now I was stuck trying to find something to wear tonight and the choice was pretty limited. In the end I wore some pieces from the set of leather and metal armour Domitia had provided, together with an elaborate shawl that was supposed to go with the Egyptian outfit. A black leather skirt and black sandals laced up to my knees covered my lower half, and the gold cloth shawl was wrapped around my breasts and
tied at the back. I looked underdressed for dinner, so I put all the Egyptian jewellery back on again, the elaborate pectoral covering, the gold bicep and wrist decorations, as well as the weaponry.

What to do with the gun and the phactor? Neither of them looked like anything Egyptian I'd ever seen, but where to hide them? If there'd been anything like a purse around that would have been useful, the shoulder bag was just too bulky and awkward. But there was no handy hiding place. Reluctantly I stashed them both back in the bag and stowed it under my bed.

What about the black wig? Should I wear it?

Nah. My hair had dried quickly in the heat and the wig itched too much.

Well, they wanted me to attract attention. Blonde hair was considered exotic here, and an Egyptian with black eyes and whitish hair had to be unusual. The household had already seen me on the way to the bath, so Domitia would find out about it anyway. Might as well manage the revelation to my own advantage. I brushed it straight and left it hanging over my shoulders.

Freckle had been sitting in the courtyard waiting while I finished dressing. He giggled at my hair, then put both hands over his mouth. I winked at him. He grinned and said Domitia wanted to talk to me before dinner.

Domitia was upstairs, dressed in silks of red and white this time, and stretched out on a comfortable couch. Horace was bending over her offering a goblet of wine, but her eyes went straight to my head and stayed there. She waved Horace out of the room, while she decided whether to be angry or pleased.

‘Think of it this way, my lady,' I jumped in. ‘You know I can look like I just stepped out of a pyramid. But then there's this look as well. It's another option for us to use.'

‘A gladiatrix with that colour hair? Unusual.' Domitia was shrewd enough to take my point and seemed to respond to my business-like attitude. She wouldn't care what the reality was as long as the appearance served her purpose. ‘You will, of course, have to wear the wig when you play Cleopatra.' She tapped her chin, musing, ‘Yes, Plautius, the games manager, does love blondes. Last year he had all his house slaves' hair bleached that colour.' She grimaced. ‘Very tacky too. Most of them turned out a green-yellow.' She pointed to a seat opposite. ‘Sit, and let's get down to the plan.'

I gave her a searching look. She seemed a little too mellow, too confiding. There was an empty wine flask sitting on the round table next to her couch. Was she drunk? ‘What plan is that, my lady?'

‘You're only of use to me if Augustus is interested in you. His last games were not a success and he doesn't want to repeat that. You must attract his attention. Make him think you will be a genuine draw-card for the re-enactment. You have the right physical attributes to do that. So use them.' She paused to say with steely care, ‘As an added incentive, if you do well tomorrow I will give Alexander to you. Permanently.'

Give me a slave? I was shocked.

Domitia gave a salacious little laugh at my expression, ‘Yes. He's a special one, isn't he? If you impress Gaius, he'll sign the papers on the spot and give Alexander to you outright. If, later, Plautius makes you his choice for Cleopatra, then you get the initiation. If he doesn't, then you still have Alexander. That's a good deal, isn't it? Make you want to stay?' she said, her voice syrupy sweet.

She was trying to charm me, in her Genghis Khan kind of way. She was worried I might back out because
of the change in contract. Hmm. Offering me Alexander was a good development. It meant they thought I had a good chance with Plautius.

Domitia was frowning with impatience. I was taking longer to roll over and present my neck than she was used to.

I said, with as much gratitude as I could muster, ‘Well then, my lady, I will do my best tomorrow.'

‘Good.' Domitia dropped the attempt at charm and became all business. ‘If you continue to please me, then I will continue to show my appreciation. But make no mistake.' Her eyes glinted. ‘If you do not please me, you will not only lose your chance at an initiation with the Hierophant, but I will make you very sorry, gladiatrix. Very sorry indeed. Do you understand?'

‘Don't worry, I don't intend to fail.' That was said with enough determination to sound convincing. Well, it was true.

‘Now, tomorrow you must show that you are a good fighter. The demonstration will take place in front of Augustus' own team of gladiators — the Ludi. Cerebus, the main trainer, will supervise your fight. And you must dazzle him as well. Plautius listens to Cerebus' advice, so if you can impress him then you are halfway to the prize. The key thing to remember is that Cerebus has trained the greatest fighters in Rome; if you can't fight, he will throw you out of the amphitheatre.'

This was not good. Unlike the easy bout of sword waving that Valerius had talked about, it sounded as though it was going to be a serious match. ‘Exactly who am I fighting, my lady?' I said, with concern.

She waved her hand casually, ‘It's up to Cerebus. He'll decide when he sees you.'

I was nodding, but inside I was screaming. This wasn't what Valerius had promised!

They could pit me against any kind of fighter at all. I'd trained in the use of a variety of weapons, but the Romans had used some very strange and unusual techniques. And anything more serious than a minor injury would put me out of action.

I couldn't look for Victoria if I had major blood loss, or a broken arm. No emergency rooms here. No antibiotics. No sterile surgery.

Maybe I should get out of here after dark and look for Victoria on my own.

Before I could go any further down that track, Domitia launched into her next series of instructions. ‘So, if you're successful tomorrow Gaius will make sure your reputation spreads. Rome is bored and wants to be entertained. All going to plan, by the time you fight in the battle the crowd will be calling for you by name.'

‘Yes, my lady.' And fighting as Cleopatra would probably mean my name would be followed by ‘kill the bitch'.

Domitia droned on, oblivious. ‘As Valerius will have already told you — your part of the games is just for show. You will, of course, be defeated, spared because you are female, and then led away in chains. The crowds will cheer the winner. End of story.'

‘But you need me to be good enough to put up a fair show — to make them cheer the winner?'

‘Yes precisely. And if you look sexy while you do it then the crowds will cheer even louder. And that is exactly what Augustus wants.'

‘Sexy?'

‘Yes, and that is the key to convincing Plautius,' stressed Domitia. ‘In two days' time I will hold a feast to introduce you to a select cross-section of Roman society. Attending the party will be influential members of Augustus' court, including Plautius. You
will perform a piece of theatre for them. And you will impress them with your talents.' It was an order, not a request.

An uneasy picture of what she might mean by ‘talents' flashed through my mind. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?'

‘If the fight is successful tomorrow, then we will make sure that all of Rome knows you are dangerous. Your next public performance is designed to highlight your erotic appeal. So I have hired a Greek playwright to create a special piece based on a story that's very popular at the moment. Plautius is just enough of a sentimental old fool to lap it up.' She added, as if it were of no consequence, ‘You, of course, will spend your time until then rehearsing.'

This was getting out of control. Domitia was attempting to tie up all my time. Time I needed to search for Victoria. Before I could work out how to object, she rang the bell on the table next her, and asked Horace to bring in someone called Philemon.

Philemon was a small, bald man in an apricot-coloured tunic, clutching an armful of scrolls to his chest. He had ink stains on his hands and down one side of his nose, and he smelt strongly of wine. Domitia gave Horace a pointedly raised eyebrow. Horace swung round to check Philemon, bowed to his mistress, and then hauled the playwright back out of the room for a quick clean-up in the hall. Domitia evidently didn't make allowances for absent-minded genius. While she was waiting she tapped her fingers on the back of the lounge and scowled at me as though it was my fault.

Philemon bowed his way back into the room. ‘My profuse apologies, my lady. I found there were last-minute changes to be made to the script. The Muses
visited me in the waiting room, and I had no choice but to listen.'

He winked at me, and hiccupped. There must have been wine in the waiting room as well the Muses.

She stared at Philemon, and then snapped, ‘Well? Get on with it. This is the one.' She pointed over to me. I'd evidently become nameless again, now that she had my cooperation. ‘Tell her!'

The old playwright complied with more vigour than grace. He dumped his scrolls on Domitia's table, which she greeted with a loud, offended sniff, then awkwardly dragged a heavy wooden chair from across the room, so he could sit next to me. There was an empty chair already waiting on my other side.

‘Well my dear,' bubbled Philemon with enthusiasm as he settled in. ‘You will be acting out scenes based on the story of Cupid and Psyche.' He stopped to leave room for my expressions of joy at the news. But I was too busy trying to work out a way to get out of the bloody play, and said nothing.

He let the lack of response sink without a trace, and said, with conviction, ‘It's all the rage at the moment, my dear! But this is the first time it will be shown as a piece of theatre.' He fanned his hands out, saying, ‘It will be a true sensation.'

Right. ‘Cupid and Psyche?' I said. How on earth did they intend to fit me into the role of Psyche? ‘Refresh my memory. Precisely which version are we dealing with here?'

Philemon, glad to finally have a response, started to read straight from a scroll he retrieved off the table. He cleared his throat and said, in a very well modulated voice, ‘Venus, the goddess of love, heard of Psyche, a princess reputed to be more beautiful than herself. Jealous, Venus ordered her son Cupid to make Psyche
fall in love with a monster.' He added, with a surprisingly cheeky grin, ‘You must realise that Cupid is a wicked teenage god with a malicious sense of humour. As the archer of love he's played havoc with all the gods. Making them fall in love with the wrong people.'

He looked up to check that Domitia was also listening. She wasn't. She was picking her back teeth with one pointy nail. Philemon coughed in embarrassment, then continued, ‘Well. Er … Cupid agreed. However, when he found Psyche he accidentally shot himself with his own arrow. In love for the first time, he concocted a way to deceive his mother and have Psyche as his wife.'

I swallowed a groan. I hate these kinds of myth — the women always end up being turned into rocks or trees.

Philemon shot me a nervous glance. Realising he had lost both of us, he tried to get our attention by acting out the story as he read it.

‘He sent an oracle to tell Psyche's parents of Venus's curse. The oracle ordered her to pay for her offence by marrying a monster that lived on a mountain top. Psyche went to meet her fate and offered herself at the base of the mountain.' Philemon mimed Psyche weeping and pleading. ‘Cupid sent the wind to bring her to his secret palace.'

Philemon pretending to be Cupid was too much for me. I touched his arm, saying, ‘That's okay, we get the picture. Just read it.'

Philemon read the rest in a breathy monotone, as though the previous stint of acting had worn him out. ‘Trying to hide what he'd done from his mother, Cupid came to Psyche only in the darkness of night. He swore he would love her forever, as long as she never tried to see his face. One night after Cupid had fallen asleep she became curious and lit a lamp. Once
she saw the beautiful Cupid, Psyche fell deeply in love. He awoke when oil from the lamp dripped onto his shoulder. He reproached her and left. Psyche, pregnant and alone, wandered the Earth searching for Cupid. She approached her mother-in-law Venus for help, but Venus tricked her instead.'

‘That was unexpected,' I said dryly.

A bored Domitia stopped picking her teeth to belt out a raucous laugh. Bet she'd had in-laws problems in the past.

Philemon chose to ignore us both, and said, in a more dignified manner, ‘While performing a task set by Venus, Psyche makes a fatal mistake and falls into a deathlike sleep. Cupid relents and pleads with Jupiter for his intervention. Jupiter allows Cupid to give Psyche a drink of ambrosia, which reawakens her and makes her immortal.' He stopped, waiting with raised eyebrows for a reaction.

Turning to Domitia, I said, ‘Let me get this straight, my lady, you want me to be Psyche?'

‘Of course. Who else could you play?' she replied, caustically. ‘The performance will make everyone talk about you.'

Philemon added, ‘Don't worry, you're only doing three scenes from it, not the whole thing.'