We would be permitted to partake in the feast? To drink, to be counted as equals among the patricians for the night?
The notion did not seem right.
But the gong again sounded, and Gaius gestured widely to the room, shouting at his guests to enjoy. His gaze moved unerringly to me, and I snarled in return. Turning to whisper in the ear of the woman at his side, he gestured in my direction. She smiled that strange smile of hers, standing on her tiptoes to survey the long line of gladiators.
Her eyes roamed over me, drinking in the details, and I could tell the exact moment at which she decided that I was beneath her notice. She looked on, looked beside me to where Christus still stood, his muscles still clenched incredibly tight, and I watched surprise wash over her features.
“Christus?” Hilaria’s mouth fell open a bit, and then she smiled wickedly, turning to Gaius to whisper something herself.
“Christus. What is going on? Who is she?” The line of gladiators still stood, a neat stripe at the front of the room, all eyes on us, and Christus shook his head, which I took to mean that he would tell me later. Then one brave soul, or perhaps a very foolish one, depending on how it was looked at, slowly, tentatively approached the line of gladiators.
I saw that it was the dark-haired woman from the small party at the house of my dominus, and I shuddered. The woman moved slowly, but unerringly, toward a man I knew only as the Beast.
He was the largest of us all, standing well over six feet. Though not particularly handsome, neither was he ugly, and I saw instantly where the woman’s intentions lay as she handed him her cup of wine, then took his hand in hers.
Oh, gods. This party was not meant to be a pleasure for us—or perhaps it was, for the Beast followed the woman eagerly enough—it was yet another opportunity for Gaius to gain favor, this time with the patricians of Rome.
Those with wealth were often bored. What could be more exciting than mingling with warriors who were so dangerous? Or eating with them, drinking with them . . .
Perhaps even fucking them?
“What a circus.” As I looked up at Christus, I was glad to see that he shared my thoughts. I supposed that I understood the eagerness of some of our brothers—not every ludus permitted visits from whores, and it had likely been years since many of the men had touched a woman. I would bet money that none of them had ever lain with a patrician woman, one whose skin had been waxed of hair, who smelled of expensive oils, and who wore jewels.
I did not want to be touched. Even if I had not belonged to Christus now, I would not have wanted to feel strange fingers on my skin.
“Come. If they are feeding us, then let us eat.” Christus appeared to be studying what was rapidly turning into a romp of pure debauchery, but I saw that his eyes kept flickering to where the woman Hilaria stood. In turn, she seemed to be ignoring him, but the positioning of her body, the movements of her head, suggested that never for a moment was she unaware of his presence.
Was she . . . could they have . . . jealousy began to simmer in my blood as Christus pressed a hand to the small of my back and nudged me into the crowd. I went, because in among the sea of bodies, we would not be so much on display.
I forced away the strange sensation—never in my life had I been jealous, and now was not the time to start. Besides, what I feared was impossible—Christus was a gladiator, a slave. He had been so for a very long time. Never would he have had a chance to fuck a woman noble enough to be Gaius’ public companion.
Christus nodded once, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders as the crowd swallowed us up. “We need the strength for tomorrow. You especially.” His mood lightened now that the eyes of Hilaria and Gaius were not fixed solely on us, and he smiled down at me and even dared to cup his hands around my waist briefly.
I scowled, but I did not mean it. In truth, his touch made fire burn inside of me. I wanted to touch him, to run my hands over his bare chest.
With the epic Battle of Gaius on the horizon, I did not know if I would ever be able to again.
Christus saw the heat in my eyes, and flame ignited in his own. He banked it, let it smolder a dark blue as he led me to a great table where platters of enough food to feed an army were arrayed.
“You will eat.” Taking a plate in hand, Christus began to pile it high with items that I had never before seen. Other slaves stood by the table, and described the items that we did not recognize, which were many.
Chicken with mallows and some kind of fowl with corn and cress, pork sausage with olive relish and veal crusted in mustard—I had never in my life tasted any of these. A great salad of cucumber, carrot, and cabbage glistened in the dim light, something that was more familiar to me, as were the stone platters full of mashed pumpkin and turnips.