Roma Victrix (45 page)

‘Zeus,' Lysandra corrected absently. ‘More oil please, Kleandrias.'

‘If it is Jupiter, he's angry because a Hellene is going to defeat a Roman on her own patch,' the Spartan trainer said as he kneaded the sweet-smelling unguent into Lysandra's chest and belly. ‘No offence, lads,' he glanced at Cappa and Murco.

‘None taken,' Cappa supplied.

‘Nervous?' Kleandrias asked her as he crouched down, applying more oil to her legs.

Lysandra thought about that for a moment. ‘Somewhat,' she admitted. ‘It has been a long time. And I have never fought in the rain before.'

‘Goes without saying that you should watch your footing, lass,'

Cappa said. ‘The sand will be greasy and slick.'

‘Just take your time,' Kleandrias advised. ‘Make her fight your fight, not the other way around.'

Lysandra smiled slightly. ‘I think that my opponent will be in for a surprise.' Kleandrias had told her all about the arrangement between the Flavian amphitheatre in Rome and the provincial arenas.

The fighters from the empire's capital were regularly sent out to blood themselves on supposedly inferior troupes of Italia but this time they would find the roles reversed. Lysandra was well aware that she needed to shake off some rust and fighting a novice offered her a relatively safe way of stretching her muscles.

There was a knock on the cell door and one of the arena slaves poked his head around it. ‘It's nearly time,' he said.

Lysandra nodded and then turned her attention to her trainers.

‘Leave me now,' she said. ‘I must pray.' They filed out, each one offering a nod or a word of encouragement.

Alone in her cell, Lysandra closed her eyes and raised her palms.

‘Hear me, Athene, hear the words of your handmaiden, Lysandra the Spartan, who will fight in your honour. I have strayed from the path, strayed from your sight and surrounded myself with comfort.

I became weak. I forgot that it is you and you alone who gave me everything. I misused those gifts and abused your generosity. But you opened my unworthy eyes and set me straight. Athene, I have trained hard and long. Grant me victory so that I may dedicate it to you. Be with me.' She stood thus for some time and her body became warm and she knew then Athene had smiled upon her once again. ‘Thank you, lady,' she whispered. With that she left her cell and began the walk to the Gate of Life.

The crowd roared its approval as the two gladiatrices hacked at the criminal, the driving rain doing nothing to dampen the mob's ardour for slaughter. Valerian did not enjoy the arena – it was base entertainment and he had seen enough blood and suffering to have had his fill. Nevertheless, he could not argue with the fact that this bastard deserved his fate. There were enough cheap whores in the world for any man to empty himself into, so the crime of rape was a needless one. That they had turned the fellow over to these amazons was an act of ironic justice that even Valerian appreciated.

The two women, one an Egyptian
retiaria
called ‘Isis' the other a Britannic
secutrix
were certainly eking out the entertainment. The Egyptian had brought down their quarry with the net and now they were taking it in turns to stab him piecemeal – and were clearly relishing the task. His screams of agony were almost drowned out by the jeers of the mob, but the wails were so high-pitched and keening that they cut through the omniscient roar.

Valerian glanced at Illeana who was rapt with attention, her plump lips slightly parted as she watched the show. ‘What do you think?' he asked her, pushing away thoughts of those lips working their way down his stomach. He loved Pyrrha, but by the gods, Illeana was more erotic than Venus. On their way to Paestum they had agreed that even though the whole ‘scouting trip' had been made up, it was such a good idea that they should capitalise on it.

‘I like this Isis,' she replied. ‘I will request a fight with her, I think. I've been in training but there's nothing like a real bout to keep you at your peak.'

‘They'll love you for that,' he said. ‘These yokels won't have seen Rome's finest gladiatrix in action, so it'll be a treat.' He winced as the
retiaria
drove her trident into the rapist's groin.

‘Classy,' Illeana clapped her hands politely as the man flopped about on the sand, blood gouting from his ruined genitals. The
secutrix
let him live a while longer before putting an end to his suffering by ramming her long Gallic sword into his face which caused raptures in the audience. Illeana rose to her feet. ‘Pyrrha fights next,' she said. ‘I must attend to her.' With that, she made her way across the seats and away, the eyes of every man she passed suddenly alive with hunger.

Pyrrha fights next.

Valerian's stomach churned with fear at the thought of his love fighting for her life: it was akin to what he felt before battle. A part of him wanted to run to her now, tell her that they should be married and drag her away before the bout. It was a conversation he had had with Illeana
ad nauseam
on the voyage and subsequent ride to Paestum, but she was adamant that Pyrrha would hate him for doing it and, moreover, the
Gladiatrix Prima
was right. Having spoken to her, he realised that there
was
a need in her to fight: to deal with the ghosts of her past – whatever they were – in the same way he sought to put Dacia behind him.
A man should pay both kinds
of debts
, Tancredus had said to him. He could not revenge himself on the Dacians but with Pyrrha he knew that he would find peace.

‘Jupiter best and greatest,' he whispered, ‘let her win so that we may quit this place and make a new life.'

The
lanista
of the Paestum
ludus
had made his way onto the sand, nodding appreciatively as one of the arena workers clad as Charon, ferryman of the dead, dragged the corpse of the rapist away. His feet left deep gouges in the wet sand, making a track towards the Gate of Death. ‘Citizens!' he shouted, waving his hands for silence.

It took a while in coming, by which time the poor fellow was soaked to the skin, rain hammering on his bald head. ‘Citizens!' he began again when the mob finally allowed him. ‘Criminals have been punished, animals slain for your entertainment. The gods are pleased!' He could not have timed this better as a flash of lightning illuminated the arena followed by a crash of thunder. ‘At least I think they are – Jupiter is watching!'

At this the crowd erupted into applause and began to hail the king of the gods, caring little that they were now as drenched as the
lanista
.

‘But now…' The
lanista
had to wait for a moment until the impromptu religious frenzy had abated. ‘But now I bring you the first of the day's contests! Gladiatorial combat is what you crave, is it not, Paestum!' The mob roared its agreement and, thus buoyed, the
lanista
pushed on. ‘Our men will fight later,' he shouted. ‘But first our women will whet your appetites for the battles to come! There's nothing like seeing a girl with a sword in her hand fighting for your entertainment. You'll take the visions home with you, Paestum, and you'll wonder what it would be like to have the
victrix
take
your
sword in her hands!' There was some laughter at this, but the
lanista
now pushed to the end of his pitch. ‘I bring you a battle of myth!' he shouted. ‘A battle from beyond history! Imagine, if you will, the greatest warrior in history pitted against his own son – Achilles taking arms against the mighty Pyrrhus! Today I bring you… from Greece…

Achilliaaaaaa!'

The first Gate of Life clanked slowly open and the gladiatrix stepped onto the sand and as she did so, Valerian's eyes widened in abject horror.

‘…Today I bring you… from Greece… Achilliaaaaaa!'

The Gate of Life lifted and Lysandra left herself standing in the shadows as Achillia stepped onto the rain-sodden sands. The sky was a furious grey, the rain driving hard. It was cold on her skin; she felt goose bumps rise on her flesh and her nipples tighten almost painfully. Cold, like fear, was just a feeling. You feel hot, you feel cold, you feel afraid – but those things she had left behind the Gate of Life. Lysandra raised her two swords to the heavens and the crowd roared its approval.

‘…And her opponent,' Hister called out, when the noise had subsided enough to allow him, ‘from the mighty Flavian Amphitheatre in Rome, a
tiro
with one fight and one victory to her name, she seeks now to add a second notch to her sword. Citizens of Paestum, I bring you the brave, the mighty, the
Roman
…Pyrrhaaaaaaa!'

Illeana patted Pyrrha on the shoulder as the
lanista
announced the other fighter, but as he did so, the younger woman started a little.

‘What,' she asked. ‘What is it?'

‘Nothing,' Pyrrha shook herself and grinned. ‘I'm looking forward to this,' she added.

‘Not too much posing,' Illeana advised, her heart beginning to thud in her chest with anticipation. ‘The sand is wet – you don't want to fall on your arse.'

‘Don't worry,' Pyrrha was all confidence now. ‘I'm ready, I'm ready.'

‘Good.' Pyrrha's eyes were alive with excitement; she was like a hound straining at the leash, anxious to be out there and about her work. Illeana knew the feeling well – no fear, only eager excitement at another chance to prove one's worth.

‘And her opponent,' the
lanista
shouted from the arena, ‘from the mighty Flavian Amphitheatre in Rome, a
tiro
with one fight and one victory to her name, she seeks now to add a second. Citizens of Paestum, I bring you the brave, the mighty, the
Roman
….

Pyrrhaaaaaaa!'

With infinite slowness, the Gate of Life began to clank upwards and Illeana stepped into the shadows, all too aware that there was nothing else she could do now. She had delivered her training and her counsel. Now it was all up to Pyrrha.

The other gladiatrix was also armed with two swords – a contest, then, of the
dimachaeria.
Lysandra grinned, nerves forgotten now – she was keen for the contest to begin. She stretched her neck from side to side and spun her swords twice as was her custom. Through the driving rain, her opponent moved closer and there was something familiar in her gait. Then, she too stretched her neck and spun her swords in exact replica of Lysandra's own signature move. Then she began to dance, spinning her blades in intricate patterns as she leapt about on the sands. Realisation hit Lysandra like a hammer-blow.

Varia.

She had changed in the months they had been apart. Like Lysandra she was clad only in a
subligaricum
and she could see that not only was her body well-muscled now but it was scored with fresh scars: she had pursued her path and fought in the arena, then. Lysandra watched aghast as her friend went through her blade-dancing routine, her swords hissing as she spun them. She leapt up with a cry and then came to the earth sinking down on her right leg, her left extended, one sword held over her head, the other pointing straight at Lysandra.

‘I didn't think we'd meet this soon,' she said, as Lysandra walked towards her.

‘Varia,' Lysandra's mind was a confused morass of thoughts and emotions, at once relieved to find her safe and well but stunned by the circumstances. ‘What in Athene's name are you doing?'

‘Fighting. Fighting you.' Varia came up from her crouch and dropped back into her fighting stance – the stance Lysandra had taught her.

‘Do not be absurd. Put down your swords at once, you stupid child! Do you think this is a game?'

‘What the fuck is going on here!' Hister's face reddened with anger.

‘Hister, I know this girl – I trained her. This is not a contest.

Send her away and I will fight someone else –
anyone
else.'

‘I can't do that, Lysandra.
Pugnate
! Fight!'

‘I will not fight
her
!' Lysandra said, her own ire rising. Varia wanted her independence, Thebe had said, but this was no way to go about it.

‘I'll fight
you
, Lysandra!' She could tell that Varia was tensing to attack.

‘Just put your swords down.
Now
!'

Varia smiled at her. ‘There was a time when I worshipped you, Lysandra. Then I watched you grow older, grow fat and sodden on wine, blinded to everything but your own ego. You kept me down, made me think that I wasn't good enough, that I would never be better than you. You wouldn't even give me the chance. So I took the chance myself and the gods have seen fit to grant me my heart's desire. Don't worry – I'm not going to kill you. I'm just going to humble you. Make you feel like I've felt. So that you know.'

‘You will do nothing of the sort!' Lysandra screamed at her. ‘You will put down those fucking swords now and walk away.'

‘Those
fucking
swords,' Varia taunted. ‘My, my. How perturbed must the mighty Lysandra of Sparta be to resort to vulgarity? I thought such things were beneath you. And you don't tell me what to do anymore.'

The crowd had begun to boo and jeer at the lack of action and Hister once again shouted ‘
Pugnate
!'

Lysandra ignored him. ‘Do not do this,' she implored. ‘Varia, I am begging you – I do not want to hurt you.'

‘Worry about yourself!' Varia snapped and then she leapt into the attack.

Valerian recognised the Spartan gladiatrix at once: Achillia, who he had insulted at Frontinus's party; Achillia, who was
Gladiatrix Prima
of all Asia Minor; Achillia, who had a statue carved in her honour.

Achillia, the killer – he knew that no matter how good Illeana thought Pyrrha was, she was only a novice, a
tiro
and would be no match for this seasoned
veterana
.