Seduced by the Gladiator(7)

He gurgled, spittle dripping from his mouth grotesquely. Caught up as I was in the moment, a movement in the crowd caught my eye—one man in particular.

Dressed in a toga that told me he was a patrician, the man exuded intelligence as he studied me. I had the distinct sensation that here, finally, was someone who saw me as a person, an individual, not just one of a herd of filthy slaves.

Fascinated by the thought, I allowed my hands to fall from the fat man’s neck. He fell away from me, clutching his throat and shouting, but I paid him no heed, my attention focused on the strange man who continued to watch me.

I snarled at him, simply to see what he would do. Rather than chastising me for looking him in the eye, he allowed his lips to curl into a slight smile, nodding with satisfaction.

“You worthless cunt!”

Old, gnarled hands shoved me into the ground. The slave trader’s breath was hot and bitter on my face as he stood over me, straddling my legs, the whip raised in one hand. “You’ve made a fool of me, girl! Because of you, no one will buy my slaves today. You are more trouble than you are worth!” Behind him, the fat man still clutched at his throat, a look of righteous indignation on his face.

A frenzy lit his eyes as I curled into a ball to protect myself from the angry kick of his feet.

I knew that my time had come. He was going to kill me.

“How much do you want for this one?”

My body tensed as the words were spoken directly above me. When the expected blows did not come, I dared to sneak a glance upward.

The man who had truly seen me was staring calmly at the slave trader, a small leather pouch of coin in his hand.

Surely he could not be . . .

Was he . . .

Was he offering to purchase me?

As the men haggled, I rolled to the side, hindered from moving very far because of my chains. Though I did not know this strange man at all—for all that he could be purchasing me to beat me and rape me every day of the rest of my life—I still felt something that I had not felt since I was a young, innocent child.

I felt hope.

“Unchain her.” The slave trader cackled at the man’s words, but the man stared him down, his face a mask of calm.

“You do not want to unchain this one.” Despite his words, the slave trader did as the calm man bade.

The trader muttered words about stupid patricians, words that he could not say any louder, for fear of upsetting someone higher in class than he. When my chains fell away, I stretched hugely, rotating arms that had been weighed down for days.

“Stand up.” This from my new master. Slowly, cautiously, I did as I was told. I stumbled, my legs weak.

I could not have run, even if I’d had a chance of escape.

“You will not run.” The man seemed to know my thoughts without needing me to say them. Seemingly disinterested, he passed the pouch of coin to the slave trader, who seemed amazed at his good fortune.

I wanted to kick him, the bastard who had made us sit in our own shit and piss for days.

“Follow me.” The man turned, expecting fully that I would follow him. I did, curious and trying to suppress my joy at being free of the slave trader. Weaving through the people who crowded the market, we reached the edge of the stalls, where it was a touch quieter. It was here that the man turned to face me, studying me intently, perhaps wondering if he had made a mistake. He had already shown more interest in me than my former dominus had in the entire time in which I had been a part of his household.

“What is your name?”

I tried to speak, and my voice was thick and scratchy.

“I . . . I am just called slave. Or girl.” I wanted to look at my feet with shame, but the man’s stare compelled me to continue looking him in the eye.

“Were you born into slavery?” I shook my head. “Then you must have had a name once. What was it?”

I had once had a name, one that my parents had given me. That name seemed to belong to another person, another life. But I pulled it from my memory to my lips, and when I spoke, it again seemed to fit.

“Lilia. My name is Lilia.”

Satisfied, the man nodded, then gestured with his hand down the road that led to and from the market. “My home is not far away, a short walk down this road.”

I nodded. I did not know what else to do or say.

“I own a school for gladiators. Do you know what gladiators are, Lilia?”

Wide-eyed, I rasped out an agreement. I had never been to a match in the arena, but all Romans knew of gladiators. Those with prowess in the arena were famed in the Empire, worshipped and respected.

I could not imagine being regarded that way by others.

“Female gladiators are very rare, Lilia. Right now there are none in the city, have been none for years.” I cocked my head, that wild hope springing free inside of me again.