Seduced by the Gladiator(20)

By the time Bavarius knelt on the sand, Christus’ wooden sword at his throat, many of the men had brought their bowls of lumpy porridge and hunks of hard army bread outside, and were jeering and cheering in equal measure.

Bavarius looked up at Christus, and I could see the hatred in his eyes. Christus stared back with complete calm, allowing the other man time to think that their match was done, that Christus would leave him be now.

It hit me in that moment, a thought that sickened me. Christus, in that moment, appeared to dominate the ludus, and he did so in a way that I never had.

It forced bile to rise in my throat, but I wondered momentarily if allying myself with him, of all the men, could finally bring me the security that I was forced to fight for daily.

I entertained the notion for no more than a moment. To throw myself at Christus for the strength that he displayed—no matter how attracted I was to it—would make me no better than a whore. With that decided, I knew that that same dominance was a threat to my well-being.

What if he were to become the top-ranked gladiator in our ludus? Would I be thrown into quarters with the other men? Would I again be seen as weak, a target that could easily be taken advantage of?

I did not like the idea of relying on a man for security, and knew that, should Christus ever leave this ludus, it would fall back upon me tenfold. But at that very moment, the thought of just being left alone, blessedly at peace, to live my life as a gladiator, was more than I could turn away.

Striding purposefully across the sand, I moved behind Christus and placed a hand on his arm. The gesture was meant to show solidarity, but I felt the heat generated between our flesh, a heat that made my breath catch.

“You little cunt.” Something wild flashed through Bavarius’ eyes when he saw me, something that I had not anticipated. I knew that I brought out a deep anger and resentment in the man, but in that moment the resentment seemed like something darker and more dangerous. With these feelings clearly displayed on his face, Bavarius seemed to snap at the sight of me. Though I tensed and crouched defensively the second that I detected movement, the man had his sword in hand and landed a blow before I managed to again bring him to his knees.

“You ignoble fuck.” My ankle throbbed where he had hit it. I suspected a sprain, or at the very least a strain of the muscle. Damn the gods, this would set me back a week in training.

Turning baleful eyes to Christus for a moment, I clenched my jaw. I should have expected it from Bavarius the traitor, but somehow all of my emotions whirled together and decided that it was Christus’ fault.

I turned back to Bavarius, who now glared up at me from under the tip of my sword. It might only have been wood, but in the right hands, it could cause a lot of damage—even death.

“I should just kill you and end the suffering of anyone forced to be near you.” Angry as I was, repulsed as I was, I did not feel like killing anyone. I felt like being carried off the sands and laid to bed—my ankle was swelling rapidly, and throbbed like a heartbeat. And I was unused to the surge of emotion—over the years I had learned to tamp them down.

Instead I continued to glare, trying to make a point. I would not be able to hold the pose for long—my ankle was paining me greatly.

“Go find the medic.” Surely Christus could not be speaking to me in that tone—not in front of all of the men. From the corner of my eye I saw Darius in the crowd, and he grimaced, knowing my thoughts exactly.

I turned to Christus, and could not keep the hint of betrayal from my eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was exasperated.

“You could kill the bastard now; not a man here doubts that. But your ankle needs immediate attention if you are to be fit for the arena anytime in the near future. Go.”

His tone was not one to argue with, and I supposed that I had not hid my injury as well as I had thought. I should have been grateful—he had given me an out.

Instead, as I turned back to Bavarius with hatred in my eyes, all I felt was confusion.

“Gratitude for your kind thoughts.” I made sure to keep emotion from my face as I nodded to Christus, then hobbled across the sand, away from the crowd of men. Damn the gods, but I was in pain.

I hesitated on the edge of the sands, not sure of what to do, and loath to leave the scene behind me. With a quick decision I opted for the mineral steam baths instead of the medic. Before disappearing inside the building and down the long hall that led to the baths, I looked back over my shoulder.

I watched as slowly, very slowly, Christus scraped the wooden sword down the side of Bavarius’ throat, pressing hard enough that the grain of the wood scratched the skin. A trickle of blood welled up from the shallow cut, and Christus swiped the worn wood through the scarlet liquid before stepping back.