Barbarian Bride (22 page)

***

“Come, I want to show you something.” Decimus indicated for Lucius to follow him through a door and into a dark corridor. The party was well underway, the sound of the gladiators and guests clear through the walls of the villa. Dreading the moment when he had to walk into the room and pretend nothing was wrong, he happily embraced the opportunity for delay.

Lucius found himself in a space so small two men could not have passed one another. “What is this place?”

Decimus stopped. “Look,” he said. Filigree of light shone through the wall, the only illumination in the dark space.

He peered through a small grill to see his father’s guests laughing and drinking, some brave enough to be pawing the gladiators. He stepped back and stared at his father in astonishment. “I don’t know what to say.” The implications of the spy hole ran rampant in his mind and he wondered where else in the house they were employed.

“These things are useful.” Decimus shrugged as if everyone was in the habit of spying on their friends. “One can get a
feel
for things. You never know what information may be helpful later.” He laid one finger aside of his nose in a gesture of secrecy. “One needs all the tools one can lay one’s hands on in politics.”

No doubt
. His father’s revelation left Lucius with a queer queasiness. Personally he had never subscribed to underhanded tactics in his business dealings and was deeply suspicious of those who did. Clearly Decimus fell into that category which really came as no surprise, yet the physical evidence of his deviousness rattled Lucius. How far would he go to secure his goals? Lucius took another peek into the room. Laughter and music drowned out conversation. He searched for Klara certain she would be amongst those seated at the table. Then he saw her and his breath caught painfully in his throat. She looked both angry and alone—so completely foreign in this quintessentially Roman setting. His heart pounded against his ribs with a hollow, mournful beat. She would fight tomorrow and then what? Another fight, providing she survived this one, on and on until she became seriously injured or worse, dead.

Anger gripped him causing his fists to clench and his teeth to grind together. Turning to his father he spoke without thought of the consequences. “I have done all you have requested. I have given up my life and my freedom to become what you wish me to be. I have agreed to marry the bride of your choice. Now you must fulfil your end of the bargain.”

“My end of the bargain?” Decimus sounded truly surprised. “And what might that be, dear boy?” Lucius could hear traces of amusement in his tone which only served to drive his anger higher, hotter.

“If you expect me to continue to play your game then I expect you to see to Klara’s release.” He spoke through clenched teeth trying hard not to make it sound as if he was delivering an ultimatum. Even though he was.

“Who?”

“The Queen of the Hun.” Lucius was very sure Decimus knew exactly who he was speaking of.

“Ah! Of course. Your little
delicata
. Well, I suppose in the spirit of our new agreement,” Decimus threw his arm around Lucius shoulders, awkward in the enclosed space, “I could see to it she wins a
rudis
tomorrow. Of course she will have to prove she’s worth one. I can’t be seen to be giving them away to any flotsam or jetsam. Providing she fights well I promise you I will set her free.” He laid his hand on Lucius heart.

Lucius could feel the heat from his father’s palm against his chest. Funny how Decimus hadn’t laid his hand on his own heart. “I have your word then.”

“Yes, yes. Now let us join our guests. The night is young and there is much opportunity to gather favour.” He turned Lucius around and gave him a gentle push in the direction they had come. As they walked down the narrow corridor the gripping anxiety which had wrapped itself around Lucius’ heart began to ease. Klara would win her freedom tomorrow. Decimus would not go back on his word.

Then Decimus spoke again, “Of course she might not fight well at all and lose her match. I’m afraid there would be little I could do in that case.” He sighed dramatically as if the fact broke his heart. Lucius knew better and his anxiety tightened a notch.

***

Klara sensed rather than saw Lucius enter the room. She turned slowly and there he was, dressed in the Roman fashion, his toga draped elegantly over one arm. A vision so alien to her personal knowledge of him to render him almost unrecognisable. She swallowed hard, unsure as to what to do so she remained in her seat, holding on to the arm of her chair so tightly her knuckles were white. Would he acknowledge her? How much had changed when he’d donned that toga?

She need not have worried. The moment his eyes found her his entire countenance lit up and as it did her shoulders relaxed down from around her ears. She watched him as he slowly made his way towards her, stopping to chat with this one and that. Already he wore the mantle of a politician easily. A grin crept across her face. It was so good to see him, to actually lay eyes upon him, instead of relying upon the memory she carried around in her head. She wanted to leap up and a throw herself into his arms, wrap her legs about his waist and kiss him senseless. Her smile widened at the thought. What would the Romans think!

As he approached her heart began to pound so loudly she looked about to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had, being far too intent upon their own flirtations. Lucius’ smile said all the things she wanted to say, the tenderness in his eyes reflecting all the unspoken emotion she held in her own heart.

“Hello,” he said simply.

“Hello. I’m glad you came.” She stood up so the distance between them narrowed seductively.

Lucius didn’t step back but locked his eyes with hers. “I dare not stay and talk to you for too long. My father will be watching. He agrees to award you the
rudis
tomorrow if you fight well. I need you to fight like you’ve never fought before. I need you to win. If you lose I cannot save you. Do you understand?”

Klara’s smile faded just a little. “Yes,” she nodded. “I understand. Fight or die.”

“Yes.” That one word from his lips dropped like a stone between them. It’s implication rippling out, needing no explanation.

“Then I will fight and I will win. Nothing will stop me from being with you.” She resumed smiling, the taste of victory already on her tongue.

Lucius raised his hand as if to caress her before thinking better of the action and letting his hand drop to his side. His face took on a grave expression. “There are no guarantees of anything my love. Even if you win tomorrow I am promised in marriage to another…”

“No!” Klara began.

He held up his hand to hush her. “I dare not go against Decimus now as much as I want to. He holds the power of your life and death in his hands. Come to think of it he holds the power of
my
life and death under Roman law. I have to do as he bids if we are both to live. At least one of us will be free.” He offered her a weak smile, pain clearly etched in the lines around his eyes.

“But—”

“No buts, my love. There is nothing we can do. I wanted to tell you this when last I saw you. I didn’t know how. We’re trapped it seems.”

“I won’t accept that!” Klara balled her hands into fists and pressed them into her thighs. “I won’t! We’ve come too far and been through too much to lose each other now. I will win tomorrow and I will free you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Klara awoke to the sounds of the Coliseum preparing for the great event of the day. Slaves bustled about, calling to and cursing one another as they prepared the animals. The animals roared with anger and frustration, their cries echoing through the underground maze of rooms. She stretched and yawned, taking stock of how her body felt. Apart from a couple of bruises earned during training she carried no injuries to slow her down.

Rising from her bed, she stretched once more before reaching for the bucket of water to wash her face. Refreshed, she cast her eyes to the other cell containing the Sarmatian woman, Xanthe. She sat on the floor looking terrified. A feeling Klara remembered well.

“It’s the
venationes
” she said. “The wild animal hunts, so to speak. They are the first event of the day. Perhaps some nobleman, some patrician, feels heroic and wants to fight a tiger. Or maybe some poor criminal or enemy of the state is being hunted by a lion. The Romans like to see people being eaten by animals. Later, the animal itself will die one way or the other.” She leant on the bars of her cell, so Xanthe could see her better. “The
bestiarii
, the gladiators who fight animals, will take care of them. By the time you get out there the arena floor will be stained with blood.”

“You are making that up!” Desperation edged Xanthe’s voice as she instinctively looked up towards the noise.

Klara laughed low and dark. “Did I not tell you the Romans are barbarous? Having said that, they have some wonderful music between fights, the Coliseum musicians are amongst the finest in Rome.”

“What kind of a place is this? I have found the gates to Hades, surely!”

“Life is cruel. You must know that by now. Don’t worry about the blood. There are attendants who will rake it over and spray the area with scented water. You won’t notice. You will be too busy.” She’d learnt that the hard way in places where no one had thought to warn her of what she was about to face.

“Thank you, that is of great comfort. And what if I refuse to fight?”

Klara took pity on the young woman. At least she had the benefit of time in a
luda
. Who knew what skills Xanthe possessed and out in the arena you were on your own. “You cannot. There is a man they call the ‘instructor’ who will tell you what to do if you know not. He will yell strike or slay. If you refuse to fight he has a whip and a hot iron to help you change your mind. Refusing to fight is a sure way to die.”

“Have you ever been wounded in a fight?” Xanthe asked.

“Of course. But do not worry; they have good physicians who will take care of you. We are considered valuable property, Scythian. Our owners want to get as many fights out of us as possible.” Klara had been lucky. The odd cut, a twisted ankle but nothing to threaten her life. She hoped this fight wouldn’t be the one to kill her or see her maimed, not before she had a chance to win the
rudis
.

“I have no understanding of the events of today. How will I know if I have won or not?”

“You will still be alive” Klara chuckled. “If your match happens to end in a draw you have a chance to appeal. Throw your weapon aside and raise your left hand in supplication. The Senator will then decide your fate. Of course the crowd has a say in the final decision so fight well and honourably. If they like you it increases your chances of survival.”

“And if I do not win?” Xanthe’s nervousness was apparent in her voice even though Klara could not see her face clearly.

“No doubt you will be carried out through the Gate of the Dead. No one comes second here. Draws are rare. Only the great gladiators are spared, mostly because they are too valuable to their owners. Perhaps, today, you will impress the dignitaries enough they will present you with a
rudis
.” Her own
rudis
was not certain even though the Senator had promised Lucius he would award her one. If she fought poorly or became injured he would not give it to her, not against the tide of popular opinion. Of course he could go back on his word too. Something she hoped Lucius had factored into his plan.

“What is a
rudis
?” Xanthe asked, hope apparent in her tone.

“It is a wooden sword given to favourite gladiators by the sponsor. It means you are freed from the obligation of fighting. It is what we all desire. Today I intend to win it for myself.” Klara stretched cat-like as a trumpet sounded in the arena.

“What does that mean? Are the gladiator matches starting?” Xanthe pressed herself against the bars of her cell.

The familiar clench of nerves and excitement invaded her belly. “You catch on quick Scythian. They sound the trumpets at the beginning of the match, and when a gladiator falls. You will hear them all afternoon. But first we must parade around the ring for all to see us. Those trumpets you hear are merely heralding the beginning of the afternoon’s events.”

As if on cue Pulus appeared to collect them. He unlocked Klara’s cell and gestured for her to step out. “Come! I don’t have all day.”

Pulus stopped at Xanthe’s cell and undid the lock.

“Are you ready?” Klara asked her as they fell in behind Pulus.

“Yes,” Xanthe croaked by way of response. Klara remembered her first fight and how hard it had been to focus on anything other than the fact she was about to face mortal combat so she did not press the other woman further.

Pulus handed them cloaks edged in gold, gesturing for them to put them on. They then took their place in line with the other gladiators, ready to parade around the ring for the enjoyment of the spectators. This ceremony of showing off the gladiators before the games truly began was enacted everywhere yet nowhere else had she worn such a fine cloak. The hand of the Senator, perhaps?

As Klara approached the gateway into the arena she squinted in preparation for the blinding sunlight after the dim netherworld of the Coliseum. Slowly opening her eyes to allow them to adjust she kept her eyes on the cloak in front and kept marching. The high walls towered above them separating the blood and body fluid from the spectators. Klara never looked at their faces. They all looked the same to her. The wealthy always sat in the best seats, those closest to the fight. From there Roman society was laid out in all its glory until, at the very top, sat the women. Klara didn’t need the seating arrangement at the Coliseum to tell her women in Rome came last in the affairs of men.

She kept her eyes down and studiously ignored the catcalls from the crowd as they performed the two laps of the arena as required. Other gladiators waved and played to the crowd, hoping no doubt to win favour which may count later if their bouts did not go so well. Klara saved her energy. Somewhere above her sat the Senator and Lucius. She didn’t dare look not wanting to distract her heart from the cold-blooded business at hand.