Seduced by the Gladiator(2)

I did not like the reminder of what I had just done.

“Fierce as always, Lilia.” Darius shook his head at me as I handed him the pouch of denari that I had been presented with minutes earlier, while the blood of my opponent stained the golden sand at my feet. “And foolish. You should not trust others with your coin.”

“I do not trust others. I trust you.” The genuine happiness that my friend gave me began to dissipate as I caught sight of several of the other men from my ludus who had gathered in a herd not far from where I stood with Darius. My fingers moved involuntarily to the bloody sword that lay sheathed at my hip, hanging from my balteus—my sword belt. Though I doubted that I would need it—I had long since proven that I was more than willing to fight back—my first horrific months as a slave in the ludus still haunted me.

“Lilia.” Darius’ words were a warning. He was not overly concerned that I would be harmed—he knew that I could take care of myself—but there was supposed to be honor among the brotherhood, a level of respect.

I was reprimanded time and again for my lack of this same respect. I always reminded our doctore—the trainer at our school of gladiators—that, as a woman, I was not one of the brothers.

Darius did not actually expect me to show respect—he knew how deep my true feelings ran. More, his words were a warning, a reminder to me that I needed to keep some modicum of peace.

If I pushed too far, Bavarius might strike back, just on principle. He was not a man who had taken well to being bested by a female. The threat of retaliation had been percolating in the background for years, and I was ever aware of it.

I was highly ranked in the ludus, and Bavarius’ skill hung somewhere in the middle of all of the men. This was like a festering wound to him, an ever-present source of anger.

“Darius, take that coin and secure our pleasures for the evening.” I heard the man sigh behind me, but he did as I asked. He hesitated, and I knew that his thoughts were aligned with my own.

Any one, or even two or three, of the men who were watching me and muttering would not pose a problem for me, for I was strong. However, if they were to attack me in a group, and they had before, then I was in trouble.

But for Darius to offer me help at that moment would have shown those men that I was weak, that I needed help. He knew better than that—he knew how savagely I fought to keep my reputation strong and untarnished.

With another sigh, he removed his worn cingulum—the leather belt that we all wore to protect our waistline. Swinging it from his arm, he cast a last look at me to make certain that I was okay.

I nodded, furrowing my brow at the unnecessary protectiveness, then listened to the padding of Darius’ feet, shoed in soft leather, until I could hear his steps no more. His aggravation over my need to jump straight into a fight would fade later in the day when he had a belly full of mulsum—that sweet mixture of honey and wine—and a hot man or two sucking his cock.

“And what of our pleasures, little Lilia?” called Bavarius. He was a Gaul like Darius, but unlike my kind friend he was a bloody brutal fellow who could have been champion if he could have but learned to rein in his base desires for food, fighting, and of course, fucking. “What shall you provide for our entertainment?” The men surrounding him—the vilest of brothers in our ludus—laughed as well, following his lead, as they always did.

My skin crawled as the man addressed me, and as the group of men eyed the expanse of skin that showed in my worn leathers. I refused to let any of them see that they still had an effect on me, and instead I rolled my eyes to the heavens. Bavarius never tired of pushing at me, and the conversation grew irritating, for I would never again be weak enough for him to lay a hand on me.

I supposed that, without Bavarius, I would not be the warrior that I was today. I did not feel as though I owed him thanks—I could never scrub the images of the abuse that I had suffered at his hands from my mind—though I was stronger now. I had to be. And so, to cut off the exchange at the start, I drew my sword from where it rested at my hip and began to polish it clean with the hem of my subligaculum.

I was not stupid enough to voluntarily take on a group of trained warriors at once. But my blood was heated from my win, and I was angry that he could still affect my thoughts and feelings. I longed to teach him a lesson, to humiliate him again as he had done to me so many times.

Part of me dared him to make a move.

From the corner of my eye I saw Bavarius staring at the blade. He was the one that I had to pay attention to—none of his cronies would lift a finger to me unless he did so first . . . and I had demonstrated to him in the past that touching me again would be bad for his health. Because of this, I was unprepared when, perhaps finally tired of being forever bested by me, or perhaps just wanting his onetime plaything back, he lunged forward and made a grab for the polished metal.