Lifting my head high, I stepped back onto the rough sand that was our training ground. My stare was drawn to the man who had begun to fill my thoughts. As I met his eyes over the heads of the men, many of whom had stopped to watch, I saw his eyes flicker over the sanguine stain on my clothing. The small wound had bled more than the pain warranted, but then, I was used to pain, having suffered my share of blows in the arena.
I did not think that Christus would care that I did not consider the wound to be major. His lips pressed together until the skin around them grew white. He gestured ever so slightly with his head to our quarters, the chamber where I could rest and have a private meal and wine, if I so chose.
But if I did not take a stand now, I risked losing the position that granted me those very privileges.
After the encounter with Bavarius I wanted nothing more than to run as fast as I could, back behind the door that separated me from these fierce men. I brushed a hand over my breast, trying to wipe away the unwanted touch.
I would not fail. So, with my eyes still on Christus, and his ever more frustrated ones on me, I set my chin and stayed still for a moment longer, staring defiantly out at the men, just long enough that I felt I had made my point.
The men could bully me, could push me down and threaten me, could beat me and even rape me. But they would not break me.
As I strode out onto the sand, I kept my eyes on Christus’, hoping to see a smidgen of respect on his face, respect for my strength.
Instead he looked ready to pick me up and haul me from the entire city of Rome.
It hurt, though I could not imagine why it should, to not see pride in the face of the one whom I inexplicably wanted to impress. I felt as though a blow had been landed in my stomach.
Inhaling deeply, I crossed to where Darius stood, steps beyond Christus, ignoring the other man entirely. Though my good friend shook his head at me, he joined me in the drill, allowing me to attack him loudly and with as much rage and strength as I possessed.
It was as if Christus no longer stood there.
That was the way that it would have to be.
The scene with Bavarius had worked its way under my skin like the prickles of a million tiny needles, and everything—the insufferable heat, the deafening silence, the cloying feel of my long wheatish hair sticking to my damp shoulders—was an annoyance.
I bit on my tongue and tasted metal as I drew blood. Irritated with myself, I slammed my wooden bowl down onto the table. The porridge inside was thick enough that it did not move, and I wrinkled my nose with distaste.
“Water?” Darius offered me his cup, not commenting on my foul mood, though I knew that it was quite apparent. Silently I accepted the cup, then slid the bowl with my rations across the table toward him.
Being touched by Bavarius had stolen my appetite.
I saw the man watching me from across the dining hall. I made a show of appearing relaxed, willing my muscles one by one to release their strain.
From the cocky grin on the other man’s face, I had not succeeded in convincing him.
“Ignore him.” Though Darius was my closest friend—my only friend—at that moment I did not want company at all. What I wanted was to secure myself in the baths, alone, to scrub away the taint of Bavarius’ touch. I did not want to be fussed over, not even by Darius. If the big man had had his way, he would have tried to coax me from my mood by joining me in the bath for the sole purpose of splashing me and making me smile. He would have insisted that I wash away the grit and grime of the sun and sand, and that I then go to the ludus’ medic for a massage with scented oils.
This, I knew, was my due, as the highest-ranked gladiator in the wealthy ludus. Truly, at that moment the only benefit that I wanted was to be left alone.
I did know where Christus was at that moment, and I tried to convince myself that I did not care.
It rankled that, despite my best efforts, I did care. Angry at the thought, I nodded curtly to Darius, then shoved away from the table, leaving my cup behind. I could not stand even being in the same room as the other men, the ones who had once used me like a common whore.
Pacing, tense, I made my way outside, to the training yard. Despite the long day that I had spent in the sun, I shivered.
The setting sun nearly blinded me, its rays streaming in white stripes straight into my face as it began to descend for the evening. I had spent even longer in its light today, and my skin was singed. I felt the heat suffuse my flesh but ignored the sting.
I had felt worse.
Most of the men had gone inside the dining hall of the gladiators’ quarters, upon which the great stone house that the pater familias inhabited was built. It was time for our evening meal, porridge and army bread, which to outsiders seemed like very little after our fierce work all day but was, in fact, our recommended diet.