Gladiatrix (20 page)

Domitia shifted around on her silk cushions, then said, with dry sarcasm, ‘Augustus never did have a sense of humour.'

Gaius burped his agreement. ‘And now he's done it again. Exiled Julia's own daughter for the same thing. Which is why we're going through all this.' He waved his goblet down at the mess below us in the Circus.

‘Yes.' Domitia looked back over the wall at her neighbour. ‘They must have quite a few spare rooms over there by now.'

‘So he wants to distract Rome from this latest scandal with a spectacle to end all spectacles,' I said.

Without Domitia's active participation Gaius was starting to run out of conversational steam. Which gave me a chance to try to direct the conversation.

‘Well it's worked for him before,' Gaius said with approval. ‘Rome does like to be entertained. Augustus has already extended the number of days for public games, which means he has to provide something exciting nearly every week.'

Okay. That explained why these two had gone into the entertainment business. Filling the gap had to be a quick way up the ladder for Gaius. And a nice path into Augustus' good books for Domitia.

‘But this time he wants something really special. To remind Rome of his glorious past, his most famous victory.' He shrugged. ‘It makes perfect sense. He can't control his women, so he has to do something to publicly retrieve his manhood,' he concluded.

Before I could speak Domitia seemed to come out of her daze. ‘This is where you come in,' she said, seeing the opportunity to lecture me. ‘The re-enactment is of Actium, the naval battle where Augustus defeated Mark Antony.'

‘But why am I fighting as Cleopatra? Why not make the centrepiece the defeat of Mark Antony?'

‘Because a lot of people still love Antony but everyone hates Cleopatra,' said Domitia in a bored tone. My stupidity was not amusing.

I looked back down at the Circus. Two hundred thousand people, and they all hate you.

Nothing, but nothing, was going to get me near that stadium.

‘When Mark Antony took over the eastern empire he joined up with her, which was very dangerous for Augustus.' Gaius had misinterpreted my focus on the Circus for interest, and began to explain the
background to the battle. ‘So he began to discredit them. He called Cleopatra a foreign whore, and Mark Antony a weak drunkard. Augustus, of course, stood for Rome and Roman values, while Mark Antony stood for rule by foreign queens and alien gods.' He smirked, ‘And it was the last bit that worked the best. A very nice touch.'

‘Yes. That time, I will grant you, my neighbour was very clever,' Domitia said, with grudging approval. ‘Romans are very superstitious people and nothing frightens us more than foreign gods and demons.' She warmed to the topic, ‘When Cleopatra became Pharaoh she proclaimed herself the new Isis — a living goddess. When Antony married her she declared him a god king — the new Osiris — which scared the pants off Rome. So when Augustus beat them at Actium he said that it was a victory of his gods over theirs.'

‘Look down there. In the middle.' Gaius pointed for me. ‘See that giant stone monument that sticks out above all the other statues? That's the obelisk of Ramses II. It's one of the holiest relics of Egypt. It's supposed to contain the magical knowledge that their sun god gave the Pharaoh. Augustus carted it home to remind the crowd of his triumph over the Egyptian demons. Again, a very nice touch,' he said with admiration.

‘But the funny thing is,' said Domitia, with a hint of revenge spicing her words, ‘I know it frightens him to see that thing sitting there. Just below his house.' She smiled, canines showing. ‘He's the most superstitious of us all.'

Hmmm? ‘So how does Augustus deal with foreign religions in Rome?' I asked. ‘He must hate the Isiacs for worshipping an Egyptian goddess.'

‘You have to realise, gladiatrix, it's all about politics,' replied Gaius. ‘Since the battle of Actium Augustus has been publicly anti-Isiac. But because the Isiac community has become so large and powerful, he doesn't really do anything about it.'

‘But it's much more than that,' disagreed Domitia, with an arrogant shake of her head. ‘What he says and what he does are two different things. Augustus is a deeply superstitious man. He doesn't want to cross us.' She looked back over the fence, eyes full of malice. ‘Or should I say he doesn't want to cross Isis.'

‘Mistress.' Horace appeared at Domitia's side. ‘Master Rabirius has arrived. He's waiting downstairs. Should I …'

Gaius rudely interrupted, ‘That riffraff butcher's been making it impossible for me to get any kind of commitment out of Plautius. I don't know why you had to invite him. He's little better than a gangster.'

‘Because, Gaius,' replied Domitia, with a steel-rimmed expression. ‘He has contacts. Useful ones. Ones I may need in the future.'

‘But why now?' whined Gaius. ‘He's sending at least one gladiatrix to Cerebus tomorrow. Maybe more. He's our main competition.'

‘Behave, Gaius. Until this is all finished, I need to know what Lurco is up to. And if necessary make a deal with him.' She turned back to Horace, ‘Is the Harvest room ready?'

‘Yes, Mistress.'

‘Seat him. We'll be right down.'

The Harvest dining room was on the ground floor, opening directly onto the back garden, which was
bordered by a low hedge of rosemary. While we didn't have the same sweeping view as the rear terrace, the cool, herb-scented breeze made it very pleasant indeed. It was a lovely room, everything in it celebrated fertility, abundance … And, of course, that the residents were billionaires.

Everything was gold.

Tall gold lamp stands, in the form of entwined stalks of wheat, gave off a soft glow. Wall murals, framed by delicate mosaics of grapes and vine leaves, created the illusion that we looked out onto waving fields of grain. The gold plates, knives and spoons sets, following the harvest theme, were decorated with sheaves of wheat. The gold wine goblets had ivory inlays, depicting satyrs chasing nymphs through vineyards. The soft yellow sheen continued onto the furnishings with dusty gold cushions covering each of the three couches arranged around the central table.

Yes. This room was as good as a recent bank statement. The harvest had been very good indeed.

Domitia and Gaius took the place of honour on the middle couch. Lurco Rabirius was already lounging on the one to their left. Pairs of slaves, all dressed in the same ochre cloth, stood behind each of the couches, ready to serve. Guess they were meant to represent the Earth, not the more expensive metal.

Alexander and a young dark-haired girl stood behind the empty one on the right. Before I could reach them, Lurco patted the space beside him with one hairy paw and belted out an order. ‘Get over here, girly. I'll feed you something long and tasty.' He laughed at his own joke.

My lip curled. No-one had talked to me like that for a very long time. Lurco was a thick-set man, greasy,
with a wandering eye. His fat, bull neck didn't suit his rich clothing. And neither did his speech.

Domitia looked bored, while Gaius watched Lurco with ill-concealed loathing. I decided to ignore him and reclined across my couch. He responded by rubbing himself and blowing me a kiss with the same hand.

I sat up …

‘Lurco,' Domitia cut in warningly. ‘Bellona may not understand your …' She searched for words, ‘Unique sense of humour.'

Lurco blinked once, at her rebuke. Eyelids dropped slowly down, then rolled up again — like a reptile's. His expression changed in that instant from lolling buffoon to something more primal. Predatory.

Domitia caught the change too. Her face fixed into a menacing glare.

Lurco immediately reverted to the buffoon. ‘Come on, Domitia. I'm just appreciating your new fighter. That's what she is, isn't she?'

‘Look better than yours, Lurco?' asked Gaius, gloating.

When I saw Domitia had the twin expression, I realised I'd been invited to dinner for a reason. They were showing me off to Lurco. But why?

Lurco ignored Gaius to scratch his behind. Then he sniffed at his fingers. Oh, this was going to be some dinner.

Domitia, repulsed by Lurco's manners, immediately clapped her hands and the servants behind each couch moved forward. The girl to my left filled my wine goblet, at the same time Alexander presented me with a bowl of scented water and a soft towel. I wiped my hands while he stood with his eyes lowered. He was using the same ‘invisible man' stance as the others, but how long would that last?

I stopped worrying about that once the food was served. Ptomaine poisoning seemed more of an issue.

The appetisers were served to us individually, each in the shape of a small pyramid — as a compliment to me, Gaius said. Again more gloating, but Lurco refused to react. Fat green olives sat on top of a layer of snails in honey, below were pastry-covered birds, on a foundation of short round sausages seasoned with pomegranate seeds. At least that's what Domitia said they were. I just ate the olives.

Lurco, meanwhile, was providing a floorshow all of his own. He ate like a pig, the excess hanging from his lips, and he drank so fast the wine dribbled down his neck. The slave next to his seat had to continually mop him down like some kind of oversized baby. The pity was that every time she reached over him he pushed her tunic up and fondled her as though she was some kind of human hand towel.

I found myself gripping my knife like a dagger. I couldn't sit by and watch him maul her. The girl was really distressed, though trying to hide it. If he touched her one more time I was going to drag him outside by his stringy hair.

But before it could come to that, Horace had replaced the serving girl with an older man on the pretext that the girl, now covered in Lurco's grease and slobber, was too grubby to serve at the table. Lurco didn't seem to notice or, more likely, was wary of alienating Domitia again. But he looked around for more entertainment. When I ignored his offensive jibes, he began eyeing Alexander.

Fortunately the next course arrived before Lurco could try anything, and his digestive tract focus took over again.

It was a blue, pottery dolphin on an enormous platter, which virtually covered the whole table. Out of the dolphin's mouth spurted a thin stream of smelly brown-grey liquid.

One look at it and I grabbed Alexander's arm, pulling him down to my level. ‘What is that?'

‘Liquamen. It's a sauce made from fermented fish entrails.' The look on my face made his eyes narrow slightly in what could have been carefully controlled amusement.

‘Of course.' I steeled myself to look back at the dolphin. No wonder it was vomiting.

The tidbits that surrounded it were equally revolting, and Domitia described them in way too much detail. Around the bottom of the dolphin was an array of pastry-covered testicles, stuffed sow's udders, and other various intestinal meats. They were piled there ready for dipping in the spewing sauce. Claiming I had to stay light for the fight tomorrow I passed on that course. Domitia approved.

Vegetarianism was starting to look good for many reasons.

For the main course a long narrow table was placed at the front of the room, and carvers filed in to stand behind it. They began juggling their blades, waiting for instruction.

The first food sculpture brought in was a giant fish somehow springing out of an artificially coloured pastry rock pool, and surrounded by oysters and sea urchins in their shells. Oysters? Hmm. Not a good risk in any era.

The head carver symbolically delivered the killing blow before slicing. His manoeuvres revealed that inside the giant fish were successively smaller fish. The last one was stuffed with seasoned fish eggs.

The next sculpture was a roast wild pig raising its tusks to disembowel a hunter made of cake. The pig had tiny herb-stuffed suckling pigs hanging off its undercarriage, and the hunter's entrails were made of honey figs.

When the carver sliced the neck of the roast pig, a rain of fried snails fell out.

Hmmm. I may never eat again.

The last sculpture was a stuffed peacock in all its brilliant blue-and-green-feathered glory, sitting on a nest of egg-like pastries containing chicken embryos. When its neck was cut a songbird flew out.

Better not think about what it had been doing while it was in there.

The worst course was the final savoury meal, which was fried bear paws complete with the claws. Lurco used a claw to pick his teeth while he burped his appreciation. He was a mess, covered in food stains and slurring his words, but I didn't underestimate him. Every now and again, his little piggy eyes would look over at me and speculate.

There hadn't been much dinner conversation, both Domitia and Gaius had seemed put off by Lurco's eating habits. But when he'd finished spitting out the food that he had stuck between his teeth, Lurco lay on his side and demanded, ‘So, Domitia, when am I going to see Andromache? I've heard about what she can do. Is it true?'

Domitia just nodded.

‘And is she as beautiful as they say?'

‘Yes. But she has mutilated feet,' added Gaius, with distaste.

‘Really?' From his prurient expression Lurco obviously didn't feel the same way. ‘Mutilated in what way?'

Domitia ostentatiously ignored his question, but it made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

Gaius caught my look. He said pompously, ‘Lurco specialises in distorti.'

Lurco grinned at my cold expression. He lay sprawled across the cushions opposite me, with more of himself exposed than was needed. He looked pleased that the conversation had finally come around to his favourite topic. Himself.

Gaius took my silence for ignorance. ‘Distorti are misshapen slaves. They've become very fashionable in Rome in recent years.'

This piece of shit dealt in disabled slaves? My hands automatically went into fists. I was very close to having Lurco on the floor, with my fist down his throat. I felt Alexander tense as well.

I looked up. He was watching Lurco too, the hate written in neon lights across his face.

I tapped the side of his knee. He knelt. ‘Calm down, Alexander,' I whispered. ‘If anyone else sees your expression they'll punish you.'

He dodged my eyes, nodded curtly and stood.

Lurco, meanwhile, had decided to run with the topic. ‘I got into the niche market at the start and made a financial killing. My produce fetches top price at the market.' He burped. ‘And I do special orders.'

‘What? You have your own pool of human waste?' Gaius was only disgusted with Lurco because he dealt in damaged goods.

‘I have scouts out around the countryside looking for freaks. And,' he said proudly, ‘I have my own production system as well.'

I couldn't stop myself from asking, ‘What d'you mean “production system”?'

‘I'm investing in the future. The demand hasn't peaked yet, so now I've started working with root stock.' Then he smirked at his wit.

It was clear, even to me, that he was talking about mutilating children.

‘I have special boxes made, so I can fill private commissions. The richer they are the more monstrous they like 'em.'

Everything went red. I picked up my knife again. This time I was going to use it.

Before I could move, Alexander had dropped straight down to land in a kneel at my side, blocking my way off the lounge. He pretended to brush away some non-existent crumbs, whilst carefully shielding everyone's view of my hand. ‘If you even threaten Lurco … he'll have you killed,' he whispered into my cheek. ‘Don't take him on, you won't win.'

I turned to stare at his profile, just inches away. A few minutes before, I'd been the one stopping Alexander from lunging over the dinner table to attack Lurco.

I took a deep breath.

He had a point. I had another responsibility to fulfil, and until that was done I was going to have to watch my temper. I put down the knife. Alexander stood and moved back behind my couch.

Domitia commanded Horace, ‘Bring Andromache down now.'

Lurco licked his lips. ‘So how much did you pay for her in the end?'

Pre-empting Domitia, Gaius scoffed, ‘More than you'll ever see in a lifetime.'

Lurco eyed him lazily, ‘And what happened to the sister? Did you ever find out?'

‘No,' Domitia took a sip of her wine. ‘She was never found.'

‘What were they called? The …'

‘The Gallic Pearls,' Gaius cut in, full of himself. ‘More precious than gold. Dwarf twin sisters from Gaul, each with different occult powers. Andromeda could heal with a touch …'

‘Yeah, yeah. And Andromache can see the future. Everyone knows the legend,' Lurco, not liking the little history lesson, had interrupted to supply the bit he did know. But his curiosity got the better of him. ‘I thought they both died in Egypt. With Cleopatra?'

‘Andromeda may have. But Andromache was smuggled past Augustus' troops by one of the court sorcerers. He took her to Parthia. To the king. That's where she's been …'

With the sound of footsteps, our eyes all swung to the doorway.

Horace carried Andromache into the room on a lapis lazuli and silver embroidered cushion, just as if she was some kind of exotic pet. He placed her, cushion and all, on a stool carved in the form of a crouching tiger, which now stood at the foot of the dining table. It put her on the same eye level as the rest of us, her gaze no less penetrating than that of the real version of the jungle cat on whose back she now rested.

A tiny woman, well below normal height even for this era, she was perfectly formed with blue eyes, red hair and chalk-white skin. Between her physical appearance and her forceful expression she seemed like a powerful fairy queen who'd dropped in to deliver a curse whilst on her way to somewhere better. Without doing a thing she had us all waiting for her first words. Even Domitia had shut up.

It was very strange for a slave to have such a sobering effect on these particular people.

Andromache surveyed the room with an air of profound cynicism. Everyone here was lacking in her world-weary eyes. Then, without warning, her expression changed, as though she'd caught some intriguing scent. She turned to stare straight at me, her heavy-lidded blue eyes transformed from cynical to curious. Very curious indeed.