Roma Victrix (39 page)

‘You are
the
Lysandra? The one who fights as Achillia?' he said.

She flushed with genuine pleasure that he had heard of her. ‘Yes.'

‘You are famous,' he acknowledged. ‘A heroine of Sparta: the
gerousia
ordered a statue of you built near Athene's Temple so that your sisters may be inspired by your example.'

Lysandra looked down, overwhelmed by this news. It was an honour she would never have been worthy of, even in her prime.

But now, the ghosts of her past flittered through her mind, her drinking, the building of the
Deiopolis
– at once a tribute to the gods but, in her darkest heart, it was suddenly revealed to her that it was a monument to her own pride. In this moment that should have been acknowledgement of her greatest achievement, she felt unworthy and had a profound sense of shame.

‘That is a grand thing,' Kleandrias stated. Her eyes flicked towards him and she saw that he was looking at the carousing fighters and so she was spared the shame of explaining her sudden melancholy.

‘There are no statues of me,' he went on. ‘But it is my hope that I may get a gravestone.'

‘I pray to Athene that you will die in battle,' Lysandra murmured.

Spartan men were not afforded grave markings unless they died in combat.

He looked over to her. ‘Thank you. It is well known that you are her handmaiden, Lysandra, and I am sure she will hear your appeal.'

‘Is that why you became a gladiator?' she asked. ‘So that you will die with your sword in your hand?'

‘Yes,' his weathered face cracked into a smile. ‘But the problem is that I was just too damn good for the people they put against me.' His smile became a chuckle and Lysandra found herself joining in with him, her sadness buried by his infectious good humour. ‘I have been a mercenary, a gladiator – and now a trainer of gladiators. I am no longer a young man as you can see. But on the field of battle or in the arena, I have never met my match.'

‘It is the Spartan way to seek an honourable death and the Spartan curse that the gods have created us superior to all others – finding such a death is hard work!'

‘I am glad you have come here, Lysandra.'

‘And I. To find a piece of home so far from it is like a gift from the gods. But…' she paused for a moment. ‘But I shall not remain at this
ludus
for long. I am here to hone my arena fitness only. Two fights, and then I go to Rome to defeat their champion.'

‘Ah.' Lysandra hoped that he was disappointed, but he was too much of a man to show it. ‘But we will train and work together while you are here, of course,' he said. ‘I have been wasting my talents far too long on these barbarians. Finally, the gods have seen fit to gift me with someone worthy to receive the experience I have to pass on.'

Lysandra arched an eyebrow at that. ‘You are confident, Kleandrias, that you can teach me? You have not yet seen me fight. Perhaps the gods have gifted you further in sending you someone who is more than a match for you?'

He laughed. ‘We shall see, wildflower, we shall see.'

Together they sipped their wine and talked of home and she listened to more stories of Kleandrias's great valour and the victories he had won. Lysandra did not notice the party die down as the gladiators took the whores to their beds, nor did she see the first pink hue of dawn touch the sky. She was aware only that she had found a kinsman, almost a long-lost brother or uncle. Someone who understood her and she in turn understood. Her eyes grew heavy at some point and she rested her head on his shoulder. When Morpheus came for her, the dreams he brought were sweet.

It had taken some time for Pyrrha to heal.

The girl's build was slight and wounds that more robust women would have shrugged off stayed with her. Nevertheless, she was young and, though the healing time was extended beyond what Illeana would have liked, once she had recovered she showed no detrimental effects, save the scars which she bore with an absurd pride.

Illeana had not wasted their extended stay in Capua, using her time to train at what was regarded by some as the finest gladiatorial school in the world. She had no idea if the champion from Asia Minor would appear or not, but she had to be prepared for that eventuality. And, if she was honest with herself, there was something almost mystical about training in the same facility used by Spartacus himself. The man was akin to a
lares –
an evil spirit – but to Illeana's mind, tapping into that force would bode well for any arena fighter. She pushed herself hard, to set an example to the
tiros
from the Flavian and to prove to fighters of Capua that their
ludus
did not in fact produce the best combatants, and she was helped by Pyrrha as soon as she was ready to train again.

In fact, the young gladiatrix worked with an almost maniacal determination, taking her training bouts to the extreme.

‘You're going at it too hard,' Illeana advised her, after a particularly punishing session that had left one of Vigilo's fighters in the infirmary with a broken wrist. The two were in the
calidarium
, the lavish hot room of Capua's bath house. Pyrrha eyed her through her sweat-damp curls but did not respond. ‘You're damn lucky that Vigilo doesn't own you,' Illeana went on, ignoring the youthful defiance in the younger woman's dark gaze. ‘You're damaging his merchandise.'

‘It's a dangerous business,' Pyrrha's response was surly. ‘Would you rather it was me who had a broken wrist?'

Illeana raised an eyebrow at her tone. ‘I'm just saying that you've just come back from an injury and you should watch yourself. You don't have anything to prove, you know.'

‘I'm fine – I'm fully healed and I want to fight again.'

‘You will be fighting again soon. We're behind schedule as it is, so I've sent word to Avella that we won't be at their show. We'll go straight on to Paestum – I've sent to Rome for more money so we can take passage on a ship there.'

‘I don't care how we get there and where I fight, just as long as I fight.'

The girl's churlish attitude irritated Illeana. ‘What's the matter with you?' she demanded. ‘You've won your first bout and you've healed up. You should be happy.'

‘Well, I'm not.'

Pyrrha got up and stalked out, leaving Illeana staring after her.

It was unlike the girl to act in such a way and this sudden change in attitude worried her. Then again, training had dominated Pyrrha's life for a long time now: she had not had any time off and, despite her keeness to exert herself further, there
was
such a thing as overtraining. Pyrrha, Illeana decided, needed to relax and she determined to make that her priority before they got back on the road.

The rooms in which Vigilo had billeted her were well-furnished and comfortable and clearly for visiting clients of the Capuan
lanista
.

Only the finest gladiators would be housed in such luxury – the meritocracy of the
ludus
always ensured that the best rooms were taken, but as Illeana was
Gladiatrix Prima
of Rome, Vigilo was at pains to impress her. He acquiesced to her every whim, and his latest offering was the summoning of two gladiators that had caught her eye in training.

They stood before her now, clad only in their
subligaricum
, their oiled, muscular torsos gleaming in the lamplight. The first was like a young Achilles, coppery haired and blue-eyed. She approached him slowly, admiring his physique. Reaching out, she ran her fingers down his chest and the hard ridges of his stomach. ‘What's your name?' she asked, noting that at her touch, his body had already begun to respond.

‘Hylas, lady,' he replied.

‘A Greek?' she arched an eyebrow. ‘I hope that you don't only have eyes for young men, Hylas.'

Hylas swallowed, sweat beginning on his forehead. ‘No,' the response was throaty and thick with lust. She was well-used to this reaction; in predatory mood, Illeana knew that there were very few who could resist her.

‘Good.' Illeana moved to the next man, appraising him. He was taller and broader than Hylas, seeming almost to fill the room with his presence. His long, flaxen hair was tied in a Suebian knot and his sea-green eyes regarded her with undisguised hunger as she approached. ‘And you?' she said, stepping close to him, close enough to the smell the oil on his skin.

‘I am called Voicon,' he responded, his voice deep and powerful.

Illeana's loins grew hot as she admired him, her own body betraying her anticipation. But she could not indulge herself – not yet. She stepped away from them and made her way to one of the room's well-padded couches. ‘Voicon will pour wine for me,' Illeana arranged herself on the couch, propped up on one arm in the dining fashion. ‘Hylas will rub my feet – there is oil here,' she indicated a bronze amphora in a stand by the couches. She reclined as the Greek knelt at the end of the divan, removing her sandals. He dipped his hands into the oil and began to massage her feet, ankles and calves, his rough calloused fingers adding an edge to the delicious ministrations.

Voicon poured for her and handed her the cup; the wine was excellent vintage, warm and rich on her tongue. ‘Is there anything you require me to do now, lady?' the big Suebian asked her. She could see that his penis was already half erect, seeking to escape the confines of the
subligaricum
. Yes, she thought to herself, there was plenty she wanted him to do.

The door opened and Pyrrha stepped in. Seeing what was going on, she made to leave but Illeana called out to her. ‘Come, Pyrrha, sit,' she indicated another couch close by her own.

Eyeing the two gladiators, the young woman did as she was told, sitting somewhat primly on the edge of the couch. ‘You wanted to see me,' she said.

‘Yes,' Illeana favoured her with a smile. ‘I thought we could share a drink and some… entertainment. You've been working too hard, as I said before, and you need some diversion. Voicon – a drink for my friend.'

Pyrrha took the wine and drained it in a single draft. ‘That was very nice,' she said. ‘Thank you, Illeana. I apologise for being rude earlier. It is just that I am feeling a little tense these days.' She stood up. ‘I'll leave you to your evening.'

‘Nonsense!' Illeana retorted. ‘I've picked them out for us – you can have whichever one you want,' she added as Voicon topped up Pyrrha's cup. Aside from looking like a formidable gladiator he also was an excellent house-slave – a man with many talents.

‘Oh!' Pyrrha smiled. ‘No, thank you. I mean to say they are very fine and I'm grateful to you for thinking of me… but I must decline.'

‘Why?' Illeana almost purred as Hylas continued his work, his hands moving a little higher up her legs. ‘Stop,' she commanded suddenly, rising to her feet. She unfastened her stola, letting it slip down her body with a whisper, revealing her nakedness. Hylas gasped, taken aback by her beauty. Even Pyrrha, who had seen her unclad many times, looked a little awestruck. It was one thing to see the naked Aesalon Nocturna in fierce battle, but quite another to see Aemilia Illeana flushed and eager with desire; with hooded gaze, she regarded the younger gladiatrix as she settled back on the couch, motioning for Hylas to continue. His hands, she noted, were trembling a little.

‘I'm saving myself for someone.' Pyrrha sounded embarrassed.

‘Thanks,' she added, as Voicon refilled her cup. Illeana fancied that he was hoping the booze would loosen the girl up and get her involved in what was to come.

‘Who?' Illeana queried. ‘No, let me guess.' She bit her lip as Hylas continued his ministrations higher up her legs. ‘Gaius Minervinus Valerian, former military tribune, now rising star in the Flavian's underclass?'

Pyrrha took a sip of her wine, making no comment.

Illeana chuckled. ‘Pyrrha, I know you have feelings for our handsome ex-soldier but, really… there is nothing between you yet – a few stolen kisses when you thought no one had seen you, perhaps?'

Pyrrha flushed as the arrow hit home. ‘You, my girl, need to relax and take a step back from your training. Have some fun. Hey!' she directed her gaze to Hylas who had moved his hands to the soft flesh of her inner thighs. ‘Not yet.'

‘Yes, lady,' the Greek was contrite. Illeana rearranged herself, laying on her front, chin propped up on her forearms as she looked at Pyrrha who wore the face of the most prudish Vestal.

‘I'm really not in the mood for… this.' Pyrrha motioned for more wine. ‘I appreciate what you're trying to do for me.'

‘Very well,' Illeana made a show of being disappointed. ‘Voicon will massage you then. And when you are refreshed you may take your leave. Fair enough?'

‘Well, thank you, but really…'

‘Fair enough?' Illeana felt the pique flash in her eyes and it was enough to silence the girl.

‘Fair enough.' Pyrrha eyed the big Suebian the same way a mouse looked at a cat that was about to have it for dinner. ‘Can I have some more wine first?'

Voicon smiled at her. ‘Yes, little lady. And don't worry,' he added as he poured for her. ‘I can see that you are in no mood for love so I will simply knead away your
palaestra
aches.' He glanced at Illeana. ‘And then we shall attend the
Gladiatrix Prima
.' That seemed to placate Pyrrha and she disrobed – somewhat awkwardly –and reached for the wine cup to give herself a little more barbarian bravery, as if she knew that – despite her protestations – things would go further than she originally intended. ‘New scars,' the German observed as she lay on her back. ‘Neatly avoided, though,' he added as he smeared a copious handful of oil on her belly. ‘Could have been a crippler.'

‘
Go for the cripple before the slow kill,
' Pyrrha murmured as Voicon began his work. ‘
Remember, a slow kill might have enough left in her and
kill you before she dies. With a cripple, you know you've got her, if you keep
your distance and wear her down.
' His big hands worked down her body to her legs, making her thighs slick with oil.