Roma Victrix (48 page)

‘If she was my slave, I'd have her crucified for that!'

‘
Lanista
, it is clear that she knew that girl – I have not spoken to her on this yet, but I will.'

‘I don't want her back at my
ludus
!' the
lanista
shouted. ‘She dances around… what was her name… Pyrrha, and then puts out two of my best fighters like candles! They'll cost a fortune to replace, Kleandrias!'

‘With respect, sir, you put them out there to fight her. There is always a risk…'

‘Don't you patronise me, Kleandrias. Are you boning her, is that it?'

The other man sputtered a hasty denial, but even from outside the room it was clear to Illeana that if he was not in a relationship with Achillia, the thought had more than occurred to him. She took a deep breath and stepped into view. ‘Gentlemen,' she said by way of announcement.

‘Who the fuck…?' the short, bald
lanista
began – but then recognition dawned in his eyes. ‘Aesalon Nocturna,' he acknowledged her with a nod. ‘We're honoured by your presence.'

The other man simply nodded. Illeana appraised him. He was old, approaching middle-age, but still well-built and he carried himself with a fighter's easy grace. An ex-gladiator, clearly.

‘I won't take up too much of your time,' she said. ‘Pyrrha was
my
fighter, but I have discovered that she had a very close relationship with your fighter. Achillia, it would appear, brought the girl up from childhood. Cared for her – like a mother, I suppose. It's no wonder that the fight went as it did. But, whatever their relationship, that's not my concern. My concern is that
my
fighter performed poorly –

and I realise that this could damage your reputation… Hister, is it?'

‘Yes, it is, and yes, it could. Will, in fact.' Hister glared at Kleandrias as though all this were somehow his fault.

‘I will turn things around for you. I feel responsible for this poor show. In reparation, I will fight for you.'

Hister's eyes lit up, avarice burning through his irritation like flame on dry parchment. Clearly, this was an offer that would save his reputation and he was going to take it with both hands. ‘I've got two fighters I can match you against,' he murmured after a moment's thought. ‘
Provocatrix
and
thraex
.'

Illeana's eyes narrowed, holding him in her gaze. ‘I want the Egyptian
retiaria
. Isis.'

Hister squirmed for a moment and then came to a decision. ‘No,' he replied, surprising her. ‘I can't do that. She's already fought today – and if she fights again, especially against you, people are going to call foul play. After all, you're
Gladiatrix Prima
– they don't want you out there fighting someone who's already been softened up.

Especially after what's gone on today,' he added, glancing again at the impassive Kleandrias.

Illeana decided that it did not matter who she fought: the Egyptian looked challenging, but Hister was right, the crowd would not stand for it. ‘Very well. The
provocatrix.
'

Hister turned his mouth down and inclined his head. ‘She's good, Aesalon,' he advised her. ‘Big, strong and tough. German, you know.

Very dangerous.'

Illeana stiffened with indignation. ‘Are you trying to intimidate me?' she snapped, aware that he was playing the same game she had played with Achillia. ‘I'll reimburse you for your loss: there will be no
missio
, Hister, the mob will be baying for blood. Get her ready.

And have a slave sent to me, I need oil.' With that she turned on her heel and left the two men staring after her.

They had washed her and dressed her wounds, but they could not scour away the blight on her soul. Athene's judgement weighed heavily on her and though it was the Spartan way to acknowledge the will of the gods, Lysandra was finding it hard to stomach and it was only with an effort of will that she did not rail back at the goddess – because, after all, this was her own fault.

She looked up as she heard footsteps approaching and sighed.

She had no wish for further conversation – speaking first with Valerian, then Aesalon, had drained her utterly. ‘Go away!' she snapped as the familiar form of Kleandrias filled the doorway.

He ignored her. ‘There is something you should see, Lysandra.

Come with me.'

‘Kleandrias, please,' her eyes implored him. ‘You do not understand. Just leave me be.'

The big warrior sighed and looked down. ‘I understand,' he replied. ‘I know what the girl meant to you. But she is dead – and that is life.'

His words sparked fury within her, all the more so because she heard the Spartan pragmatism in them. How many times had she offered similar statements when her friends were in pain – now, Athene underlined her punishment further by reflecting her every arrogance before her. She leapt from her bunk, ignoring the pain from her wound. ‘Get out!' she screamed into his face.

‘You
dare
call yourself a Spartan,' he shouted, eyes black with fury. ‘I just gave you an order!' He punctuated this by slapping her around the face. ‘Stand to attention…Not fast enough!' He slapped her again.

There was a rush from behind him and through tear-fogged eyes, Lysandra saw Cappa and Murco burst in, running at Kleandrias. He whipped around, his huge fist slamming into Murco's jaw, sending him flying into the onrushing Cappa. Both men went down in a tangle of limbs, Cappa cursing and flailing, trying to disengage from the unconscious Murco. Kleandrias did not seize the advantage.

‘Cappa,' he raised his hands. ‘This is not what you think…'

The precious seconds had allowed the enraged Roman to get up and he balled his fists in a boxer's stance. ‘I'll fucking kill you,' he spat.

‘Wait,' Lysandra gasped, pressing her hand to the freshly opened wound on her abdomen. ‘Cappa – it is all right. Kleandrias was disciplining me… trying to snap me from my grief. It is the Spartan way.'

‘Disciplining you?' the ex-Praetorian's hard eyes did not leave Kleandrias. ‘He was giving you a beating – what sort of man does that!'

‘It is the Spartan way,' Lysandra said again, leaning her back against the wall. ‘I was out of line and disobeyed an order,' she addressed this to both men. ‘Really, Cappa – I am fine.'

‘The Spartan way,' Cappa repeated, slowly lowering his fists. ‘It's insane, if you ask me – what did you do to warrant
that
?'

‘Aesalon Nocturna has volunteered to fight,' Kleandrias spoke first. ‘She is taking on Swanhilde, Lysandra. You will take this chance to see her – despite what has happened to your friend.'

Lysandra knew he was right even if she could not bear the thought of returning to the arena. Discipline. Duty to the goddess and the Spartan way. These things were more important than her personal grief. ‘Of course,' she replied. ‘I am sorry for my derelic-tion, Kleandrias. It will not happen again.'

Murco groaned, taking everyone's attention. Cappa knelt by his side, gently tapping his face. ‘Murco…are you all right? Can you hear me?' The stricken bodyguard's eyes flicked open and shut a few times, then he looked around without moving his head. ‘Murco,'

Cappa tried again. ‘Do you know where you are?'

After a few moments' consideration Murco spoke. ‘I'm on the floor,' he replied.

In the relative silence of the tunnel, Illeana waited as Hister went through his hyperbole. The crowd, already disgruntled, were giving him a hard time, jeering and booing, making his voice sound like that of a man calling for help in a stormy sea. But a few in the front seats picked up the words ‘Aesalon Nocturna' and turned to their companions. Word spread and finally Hister was able to deliver his content. It was typical bombast that Illeana had heard many times before, but when these provincial bumpkins heard that she would be fighting for them, they went berserk, leaping from their seats and screaming her name to the heavens.

It was good to be the best.

Hister gave up on his announcement and simply beckoned to both Gates of Life; the iron before her began to rise and Amelia Illeana stepped out into the place that most felt like home to her.

As she did so a crack of light fought through the angry sky above and the rain began to peter out. She did not put much faith in the gods but it seemed they were indeed watching at Paestum – but be that as it may, she would win without their interference. Gods were fickle and untrustworthy – she had always believed it was better to rely on the strength of her own arms and not hope that a divine hand would sweep in to save her.

As she stepped out, the crowd seemed to calm like the sky above.

Illeana knew that there were comely fighters out there: she had met them and finished them in the arena. But she knew also that there was never one as beautiful as she. Oiled and naked save for her
subligaricum
, she raised her swords in salute to the crowd. The yokels seemed too stunned to respond, but after a moment they began to clap and cheer, their voices rising in a tumult that shook the stone walls of the arena.

Across the sands, her opponent stamped forward, seemingly put out that the home support was against her. Illeana sized her up: she was tall, rangy and tough-looking, and pretty enough in that straight-forward German way. She carried herself well and was clearly no
tiro
; her body was, like Achillia's, well scored from previous bouts.

Illeana's heart began to beat a little faster, her senses trilling as they always did before stepping into combat. Death was close and when it was, everything in life was enhanced. Finer than any narcotic, the thrill of battle was the ultimate high.

Her opponent – Medusa – raised her big shield and set herself, eyes flicking to Hister. The
lanista
raised his vine staff. ‘
Pugnate!
' he barked. Illeana smiled and raised her swords.

Murco, aside from sporting a bruised chin, was none the worse for wear and Kleandrias apologised profusely – he had just reacted and Lysandra guessed that, as a former soldier himself, Murco would understand that.

The big Spartan kept glancing at her as the four made their way to the stalls, seeming to beg forgiveness with his eyes, but the truth of it was that he had reacted in the right way; losing Varia was no excuse. She tried and failed to push thoughts of the girl from her mind and Kleandrias seemed to pick up on this and spoke up. ‘Just focus on Aesalon,' he advised.

Lysandra pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. She would have to fight this woman and anything she could learn from her performance might save her life when they met. She had made a promise to Athene that she would fight in her honour – no matter that a part of her now wished for death, she could not go willingly to Hades.

‘Bit of a surprise, though,' Murco commented, rubbing the bruise on his jaw. ‘Why do you think she put herself up for a bout?'

‘Because she wants to prove to me that she is the better fighter,'

Lysandra answered. ‘Mind games, Murco. All fighters do it – I learned that a long time ago,' she added, thinking of Sorina and the psycho-logical war they had waged on each other before their bout.

‘I'd say it'll be all for nothing if she gets skewered,' Cappa observed.

‘She might,' Kleandrias put in gingerly, as though he were trying to edge his way back into the circle of friends. Lysandra knew that the Romans would not understand that he had only been acting in her own interests so she decided to help him.

‘That is quite correct, Kleandrias. Swanhilde – Medusa,' she eluci-dated for Cappa and Murco, ‘is very skilled. And strong.'

‘You battered her when I saw you spar the other day,' Murco noted. ‘You really hurt my face,' he added to Kleandrias.

‘I am sorry for that.'

‘It is past,' Lysandra said, with an air of finality. ‘Cappa, Murco.

I am a Spartan as is Kleandrias. Our ways are different to yours and I am used to what you would consider harsh or unfair treatment.

I asked Kleandrias to train me in the Spartan way – it is not an easy path. Often it appears cruel and unnecessary to those uneducated…

I should say, unused to it,' she amended. ‘But these methods make us great warriors. You are my bodyguards, assigned to protect me, correct? Kleandrias is training me to survive – it amounts to the same thing in the end. So I would have you take each other's arms and put the incident behind us.'

Cappa grunted and looked as though he would rebel, but Lysandra arched an eyebrow at him, her gaze one of warning and command.

He capitulated and offered Kleandrias his arm for the warrior's grip.

‘I'll never understand you people,' he muttered as Murco too shook with the Spartan.

‘Good,' Lysandra nodded. ‘Now – Hister is here.'

They turned their attention to the arena as Hister struggled to make his announcement, eventually winning through at the merest mention of Aesalon Nocturna. The
Gladiatrix Prima
stepped out onto the sands and silenced the crowds with her beauty. Lysandra wondered why the gods had chosen to gift this one mortal with such splendour – and she was not even Hellene. Perhaps it was an admission that the Romans would eventually eclipse Hellenic achievement and they had given them a Helen of their own.

Swanhilde looked more annoyed than awed by her stunning opponent however, and Lysandra hoped that she would not fight with anger. It was not her style – she was laidback and cool and it worked for her.

The German
provocatrix
set her shield and, at Hister's barked command of ‘
Pugnate
,' closed in on the grinning Aesalon. Lysandra saw that they were standing close to where she had slipped and her heart lurched again. She looked down, fighting to control herself – she had to focus on the fight.