Roma Victrix (54 page)

‘Yes, she is beautiful,' he said. ‘Magnificent – we know this, Taurus. But all of Rome has seen her tits, so can you put your tongue back in your mouth.'

‘All of Rome hasn't seen them up this close,' Taurus's grin was lewd.

Illeana bore it with good humour, well-used to this sort of talk.

‘My opponent is a woman, Taurus. It's unlikely she'll be interested in my tits – magnificent as they are.'

‘Quite right,' Laenus said. ‘Now – you two may consider yourselves the best but this is
sparring
, not a death match.
And
…' he fixed Taurus with a hard look, ‘she's fighting next, you're not. Any injuries and I'll have you down with Settus and the others shovelling shit or whatever it is they do. I mean it, Taurus – you've got nothing to prove here, and neither have you, Illeana. So no egos –

I want to see speed, accuracy, aggression… take the angles if you can.' He put his vine staff in the space between them. ‘Ready?' his eyes flicked to them both. ‘
Pugnate!
'

Illeana skipped into her stance and began to move, circling Taurus who responded in kind: he could not take her lightly and they both knew it. ‘Come on,' she grinned, ‘let's see what you've got, Taurus.'

‘I'll give it to you,' he teased back. ‘Laenus said you wanted it hard, fast and aggressive. I can manage that.'

‘Not from the
graffiti
I've read, Cupid.'

His eyes widened in surprise and it was all the opening Illeana needed, her lead sword stabbing out like a viper's tongue. But Taurus was not
Gladiator Primus
for no reason and he deflected the strike and struck back hard. With abrupt suddenness, the game had turned to deadly earnest, their wooden swords blurring as they attacked, parried and countered. The sound of wood on wood echoed around the empty arena as they fought and, even from the early exchanges, Illeana could tell he was trying to keep her at range and bring his longer reach into play.

Laenus picked up on this. ‘They tell me your Achillia is a tall one,' he called. ‘See how Taurus is using that… that's it, mate,' he encouraged the gladiator. ‘Keep her away, pick her to pieces…
Ow
!'

Taurus had landed a painful blow to Illeana's forearm.

She cursed as one sword spun from her grip and she retreated, trying to fend Taurus off with the other. But he was as aggressive as he had promised, cutting off her angles till he had her back to the arena wall and his sword under her chin. Illeana swore again and pushed the weapon away, anger rising in her. She threw her second sword to the ground and turned her back on both trainer and gladiator, clasping her fingers behind her head.

‘What's the matter with you?' Laenus shouted. ‘What did you expect him to do? Roll over and have his belly tickled? He's fucking
Gladiator Primus
, Illeana!'

‘I saw it coming but I couldn't stop it!' she shouted, frustration bursting over. She hated to lose – she
should
have won! ‘Achillia would have had me too. Jupiter!' she exploded, whirling on an altogether-too-pleased-with-himself-looking Taurus. ‘Come. Let's go again.'

‘Don't fight with the hump,' Laenus cautioned and almost withered at the glare she gave him. He shrugged then. ‘Don't say I didn't warn you.'

She would show them both. Illeana stooped and retrieved her swords, forcing the fury back down to boil in the pit of her stomach.

Laenus was right: fighting angry only resulted in a swift defeat.

‘Ready?' she asked.

No sooner had he nodded and raised his swords than Illeana attacked. She guessed that Taurus would have been expecting her to charge in and in this she did not disappoint, but she controlled her aggression, letting her fury fuel it rather than consume her utterly. Using the circle-step, she moved in close, forcing him to fight her fight. At this range, it was impossible for him to get leverage and bring his greater strength into play. She thrust low with her right, going for the groin shot, but Taurus anticipated this and intercepted and countered, cutting high to take her neck. She blocked the swipe and their blades were locked together.

Illeana felt the pressure lessen on each of her swords and she went back a half-step: this was an old gladiatorial drill. When two blades became locked together the worst thing to do was force the issue – Taurus would only have to allow her to push too hard and he would take her balance. It was now about footwork, speed and sensitivity. Blades barely touching, they circled almost like dancers, each of them seeking that slight wavering in defences that would allow them to push through the other's guard and win.

Taurus stamped on her foot.

Illeana's eyes widened in surprise at the move but it was already too late and, with ease, he twisted his blade and tapped between her breasts with his sword. ‘Sorry,' he winked at her.

‘There are no rules, Illeana, you know that,' Laenus approached them, nodding at Taurus to step back.

Illeana knew what was coming and decided to curtail it there and then. ‘I don't need a lecture from you, Laenus…'

‘Then stop fighting like a fucking
tiro
!' he screamed at her, putting his face so close to hers she could smell wine and food on his breath.

‘This woman has got you so worked up that you're trying too hard.

You're
Gladiatrix Prima
for fuck's sake – I don't care how good this
grecula
is.' He used the Roman derogative ‘silly little Greekling'.

‘You're better. You are Aesalon Nocturna! Is she in there?' He tapped her forehead with a rock-hard fingernail. ‘Is she?'

He was right and she knew it. Thinking back over the last two bouts, she realised that Achillia had been lurking in her subconscious mind, affecting her confidence. She was not fighting her natural fight but was overcompensating with too much aggression or too little.

‘I need to focus,' she said. ‘But, Laenus… she was so fast.'

‘So is Taurus,' Laenus stepped back. ‘And so are you. Forget her – she's just another… victim.' He looked into her eyes. ‘All right?' 

Illeana nodded. ‘All right.'

‘Good,' Laenus looked at her for a moment longer before nodding, satisfied. ‘Let's go again.'

Lysandra eyed the little man that stood before her. He was compact, handsome as the Italians measured it, dark eyed with straight black hair. ‘This is Faustinus,' Kleandrias introduced him. ‘He's an athlete.'

They were away from the
ludus
, on the flats beneath her hilltop home. Some distance away from them, Lysandra reckoned about a hundred yards, Cappa and Murco were stretching a rope between them. ‘That is a finishing line?' she turned to Kleandrias. ‘You want me to race against this man?'

‘Sprinting will teach your muscles to move faster,' he replied.

‘To be fair,' Faustinus rose from touching his toes, ‘it won't really be a race. Just try to keep up with me.'

Lysandra gave him a dirty look which made Kleandrias laugh.

‘Take your marks, you go on three.' he chuckled. She and Faustinus walked to stand adjacent to the big Spartan and adopted their starting positions. If this Faustinus thought that she had never run a foot race before, he was in for a surprise: in the priestesses'
agoge
, athletics was something the girls practiced every day and she – as in all things – had excelled at it. She was tall, her long legs always giving her the advantage as they would here. ‘One,' Kleandrias raised his hand, ‘two… three!' Like an arrow from a bow, Lysandra sprang forward, arms pumping hard, feet thumping on the soft grass.

‘Come on.' She heard Faustinus call from her left. ‘Run faster!'

Gritting her teeth, Lysandra pushed harder but, as they came within ten yards of the finishing line, Faustinus streaked in front, passing the rope way ahead of her; he continued running for some distance as he slowed to a trot and finally turned around.

To her surprise, Lysandra found herself a little winded. ‘You run well,' she acknowledged.

‘It's a living,' Faustinus acknowledged with wink as he strolled back towards her. ‘Keep your head
up
,' he advised. ‘And use your toes. Here, run on the spot.'

She did as she was told as he eyed her critically, crouching by her side. Faustinus stuck a hand out. ‘Get your knees up to there…

no, on your toes… that's right. That's good. Enough.'

Lysandra stopped and took a breath. ‘Knees high, run on my toes.'

‘It'll make you faster,' he said. ‘I know you're a fighter, not an athlete, but what your trainer says is right. You have to train your whole body to make it like a…' He looked skywards. ‘…like a
ballista
. Muscles are taut like the ropes and then –' He clapped his hands with a sharp retort. ‘… you fly.'

Lysandra chuckled. ‘A
ballista
bolt. If you were a gladiator, that would be your name –
Ballista
.'

‘Catchy,' he smiled back. ‘Listen, I was thinking… after your training is over, maybe I could show you around Paestum?'

‘She's leaving for Rome soon,' Kleandrias strode up, his expression dark. ‘She has no time for sightseeing. Or anything else.'

‘It wouldn't take long,' Faustinus pushed back. ‘It's a lovely town, you know.'

‘I am sure that would be…' Lysandra began.

‘I said no and that is the end of it!' Kleandrias interrupted, rather harshly she thought. Faustinus was only being friendly – a professional courtesy as she was a fellow athlete of sorts. ‘No more talking,'

Kleandrias barked. ‘Back to your marks! You will run again.'

She was pushed hard. Every afternoon, she started with the
biathlon
and, as each day passed, she found that she came to look forward to the swim. What had begun as a torture was now something that revived and strengthened her. From there, she would run back to the flats for sprints against Faustinus, and then back into the woodlands to chop down trees and dig ditches. Cappa and Murco were making a handy profit selling firewood to the notables of Paestum.

She should be charging them a percentage, she mused, as another giant crashed to the ground. Let Thebe argue with her business sense on that issue.

Only as the sun sank did she begin her sparring. Varda had been drafted in to train with her since the Judaean slave was trained as a
dimachaeria
, but it soon became apparent she was not in Lysandra's class.

‘Just use her to practice
on
,' Kleandrias advised her. ‘Try things out to see if they will work. I will get you better partners.'

True to his word, he managed to convince Hister to allow some of the men to train with her. The fee the wily
lanista
asked for was exorbitant but Lysandra was pleased to pay it, even if she knew that she was being exploited. One of the gladiators, a Thracian who went by the ostentatious fighting name ‘Superbus,' proved to be the best of the lot and it was to him that Lysandra went when she wanted to be severely tested. His big nose and buck teeth reminded her of Stick, the Parthian trainer from Balbus's
ludus
: though, unlike Stick, Superbus had kept his hair – if the thick, clumpy substance on his head could be identified as such. Lysandra thought that it would look better if he had gone bald.

Like Aesalon Nocturna, Superbus was shorter than she, quick, wiry and – she discovered – dirty. In the flickering torchlight of the evening it was harder to see and harder to time her attacks, and Superbus was always quick to exploit any advantage. As they came together in a clinch, he once bit her on the shoulder – not hard, but hard enough to let her know that in a real bout he would have taken a chunk out of her, much as the Caledonian gladiatrix, Albina, had done years ago.

‘There aren't any rules in the arena, Achillia,' Superbus told her.

‘You should know that. Fight dirty if you have to. I've never heard any complaints from those that I've fought, you know. That's largely because I've beaten everyone I've ever fought.'

Lysandra felt a river of fire – of confidence – flow through her.

‘I too have never been defeated,' she replied raising her swords. ‘Let us try again. This time as though it were real.'

‘Yes!' Kleandrias exhorted from the sidelines. ‘Yes. Kill him, Lysandra!'

Lysandra breathed out sharply through her nose, stretched her neck from side to side and spun her swords twice. Then she attacked.

By the gods, Taurus was good!

Illeana ducked and spun away as the Numidian's
rudis
hissed above her head but he was on her in a flash, pressuring, not allowing her any respite. She struck back with a combination of blows which he parried and eluded: his response was lightning fast and she had to jump away again, backing out to the range that Taurus preferred.

‘He's making you fight his fight!' Laenus shouted. ‘Don't let him!

Get into him, Illeana, get into him!'

Superbus cried out in shock as Lysandra side-kicked him in the chest, sending him staggering back. Exultant, she moved in for the kill, but the tough little Thracian recovered faster than she expected and deflected her attack, steering her thrust to one side and ramming his sword into her guts. It was hard and knocked the wind from her.

‘You're dead, Achillia,' he leant over her as she gasped for breath on all fours. ‘Mind you, if I'd have been a woman, that kick would have put me on my arse.'

She spat on the sand and got up. ‘I thought you
were
a woman.'

‘Are you sure you're not a man? I've got bigger tits than you,' he observed.

‘Mine are
perfectly formed
, Superbus. Come…' She gestured with her blades. ‘Again!'

Taurus was relentless; like an avalanche made flesh, he overwhelmed Illeana with combination after combination. His greater strength and reach was telling, each parry juddering the muscles in her arms, each of his attacks coming closer and closer.