Seduced by the Gladiator(28)

“Do you know who that is?” The words of my dominus were spoken low in my ear as my eyes met those of the man in the litter. His gaze was a very pale blue, the color of seawater captured in a jar, and were ringed with charcoal pencil. Those eyes widened slightly as the man saw me, and I thought that it must have been excitement at meeting a gladiator outside of the arena.

Many patricians, particularly those who found little excitement in their daily routines of wine, food, and fucking, found it terribly arousing to meet such a warrior. As the sole female gladiator in Rome, I was well known.

I had a brief impression of a man who looked to be not much more than a boy. Curls of hair the color of sunshine were cropped closely to his head. His face seemed attractive to me, but the curtain swung closed again before I could see more, hiding the man from view.

“Did you recognize him?” The dominus searched my face with much more intensity than I cared for, and the answer seemed to be of vital importance to him. I could not understand the reasoning behind the question, and pondered it momentarily.

The dominus raised the dark arches of his eyebrows in both irritation and surprise when, seeing him red in the face, jiggling the jug in his arms, I took it from his hands without him asking me to. The last thing that I wanted was for him to collapse from the effort, for then I would have to carry both him and the jug.

Though the man’s angular face showed displeasure that I had disobeyed his earlier order, I saw that he breathed more easily, and the ruddiness faded from his face. He said nothing, instead wiping the sweat from his palms on the lap of his tunic, so I knew that I had been spared punishment.

He waited, his tall figure casting a long shadow on the ground. I realized that he wished for me to answer his question.

“I do not.” The dominus nodded, his expression troubled. I wished that I knew what it mattered to him—that I knew why he had brought me here, to the market.

What did he so badly need to show me?

Tiring of the game, I lifted my face to stare directly into the eyes of the man who owned me. He might punish me for my impudence, pet or not, but I thought I brought enough coin to his house to be excused my forwardness. “My dominus, apologies for being abrupt, but enough. What is it that you wish to show me?”

He narrowed his eyes at my forwardness, but did not scold me. He did not answer immediately, instead gesturing with his hand for me to follow him, then snaking his way through the vendors of the market.

I followed as best I could, through the throngs of people, the jug of wine clasped tightly in my arms. At the end of the line of vendors was an alley, a slender corridor of rock between homes. Here the dominus turned, walking briskly to the end, where some activity was taking place.

He paused in the group of men, gesturing for me to move to stand beside him. Still puzzled by the trouble that I read on his face, I watched him for a long moment before realizing what he was looking at.

The dominus was staring thoughtfully at a line of slaves who stood against a wall of stone, hands and feet chained together and to one another to prevent escape. Ten men and two women, all were naked, what could be seen of their skin beneath the streaks of dirt the sickly hue of the malnourished. Businessmen strode back and forth in front of the line, looking in mouths, fondling genitals, pulling hair.

It had not been so many years ago that I had stood in their place, a ware to be hawked to the highest bidder. I shuddered when the thought came that, despite events that had occurred when I first came to the ludus, I had been lucky in the man who had purchased me—my dominus.

I could have been purchased by a brothel, where my tits and cunt would have fetched a price. I could have been sold to a master who beat me and fucked me when he felt like it. If no one had wanted me, I could have been taken to the pits, where I would have lived another year, perhaps two, before exhaustion and starvation combined to kill me.

Instead, I was famous in Rome and had plenty of coin to my name. I might have been locked inside the walls of the ludus—I may have been forced to kill in the arena in order to preserve my own life.

It could have been much, much worse.

I struggled to swallow these thoughts, returning my attention to the dominus and the line of slaves.

“Tell me, Lilia. Do you see potential in any of these slaves?” I could barely see over the jug of wine in my arms, but I felt that I must answer correctly, or disappoint my master. Stepping closer to the line of slaves, I squinted at each in turn, taking note of the manner in which the experienced businessmen treated them. All of the slaves looked sickly, and none seemed to be causing excitement or starting a bidding war.

“I do not.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Did the dominus intend to acquire yet more men for the ludus? Our cells were nearly full as it was.