XVII
The train included around twenty women from the ludus.
As they were herded aboard the prison carts, Lysandra noted that the majority of this number had been taken from the novices. Evidently, Balbus wished to try out his new stock under the most testing of circumstances and would doubtless be hoping that the weaker ones were culled early.
The women were grouped together by rank and nationality.
Lysandra found herself in one of the rearmost carts, along with Hellene women. As she settled onto the straw-covered floor, she saw Eirianwen making her way to the front carriage. The beautiful Silurian stopped and walked up to the Hellene cage.
‘Good luck to you,’ she said. The comment was made to the group, but her eyes did not leave Lysandra. She smiled in response, her heart beating wildly, full of guilt over her illicit fantasies involving the tribeswoman. Eirianwen’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer and then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd of fighters.
‘You’ve made a friend,’ Danae commented as Lysandra settled back in the corner of the cart.
‘We have spoken once or twice,’ Lysandra acknowledged carefully. ‘She is affable enough for a barbarian.’
‘Dangerous too.’ Danae affected a sagacious expression. ‘An excellent fighter.’
Lysandra gave her a half grin. ‘We are all dangerous fighters, Danae.’
Soon after, the carriage lurched and the caravan got under way. Conversation was sparse for a time, which pleased Lysandra.
She had asked for and been given permission to carry her bucket of books with her on the journey to Halicarnassus. As the train wound its painfully slow way towards the city, Lysandra certainly had no desire to reacquaint herself with the featureless, sun-blasted Carian landscape, and so she entertained herself by reading Gaius Marius whilst the other women chatted amongst themselves. However, as the sun reached its zenith, the initial gossiping ceased.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Thebe wanted to know.
Lysandra grimaced, as she hated to be interrupted whilst she was studying. She bit down a waspish response to the intrusion and looked up. ‘A manual of tactics,’ she answered shortly.
Thebe wrinkled her nose. ‘How dull. Why would you want to read that?’
Lysandra sighed and placed the scroll in her lap. ‘At the temple, we were taught tactics as well as martial skills. Gaius Marius was a military genius and his book makes interesting reading.’ Danae did not look convinced. ‘I have Homer in here, if you would like to read that,’ Lysandra offered.
‘I don’t read very well,’ Danae said. ‘You know, I did when I was a child, but my husband made me stop. He said reading was for hetairai.’
‘That is absurd,’ Lysandra snorted. ‘Reading is not only for courtesans!’
‘I can’t read either,’ offered Thebe. As she spoke, the other women nodded in agreement.
‘I suppose if you have never read, books are unimportant.’
Lysandra turned her eyes back to her scroll. Despite her intention to raise the general level of education amongst the women, at this time she was more interested in reading for herself.
There was a heavy silence in the cart, broken only by the groaning and creaking of the wood. She looked up once again, and saw all eyes upon her. She sighed. ‘Do you want me to read to you?’
The women nodded.
‘Well,’ Lysandra said, ‘this book details the structure and tactics of the Roman army from contubernalis to a legion entire.’ Faces fell at this comment. ‘But I suppose you would rather hear the Iliad,’ she added. Again, every head nodded. She rolled Marius up for digestion at a later stage. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, as she knew the text by heart. ‘ Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus…’ she recited, her voice lifted in song.
For the rest of the journey, Lysandra narrated the great works to the women, deciding that oratory was perhaps the best way to introduce them to literature. It was not tiresome, as she enjoyed singing. A good voice was prized in the Temple of Athene and Lysandra reckoned hers to be of excellent quality. As she sang she offered silent thanks to the goddess for endowing her with so many gifts.
These tales helped the days pass quickly for the women but, as they drew closer to the city, Lysandra noted that there was less chatter amongst her companions, a tension and gloom falling upon them. The caravan halted some two miles from the walls of Halicarnassus and the guards began to pitch camp. As the sun was still high in the sky this seemed ridiculous in the extreme, a fact Lysandra pointed out to the Macedonian guardsman she recognised.
The guard paused as he walked past her cage, and grinned at her. ‘Have you any idea of the hubbub the arrival of a gladiatorial famillia causes?’ he asked her.
‘Obviously not.’ Lysandra gave him her most imperious stare.
It was demeaning to seek knowledge from such an imbecile.
‘Well…’ The Macedonian stooped and plucked a blade of grass to chew on. Lysandra thought it befitting as it gave him the appearance of a hayseed, which all Macedonians were. ‘It’s mad,’ he said after some time.
‘Your powers of description are epic,’ Lysandra sneered.
Irony was above the man. ‘What I mean is the people go mad.
It’s like the Emperor himself has arrived. Causes all sorts of traffic chaos, as you can imagine. People crowding round the carriages, nothing can move for hours. You’re new, you’ve never seen the furore — they absolutely love gladiators. And gladiatrices,’ he added quickly. ‘So we go in at night.’
‘I see.’ If that was the case, then it was wise to avoid attracting undue attention. There was nothing worse than people acting in a disorderly manner.
‘We cover the carriages in cloth, too, just to be on the safe side.’
‘How considerate.’
‘See you then, Lysandra.’ The man smiled, and she noticed with distaste that he had a gap in his front teeth. He ambled away, still chewing his stalk of grass.
Lysandra relayed the reason for their journey’s interruption to the other women. She told them the tale of Orion the Hunter to while away the time, and soon the day dimmed to twilight.
With little else to do, the women laid out their blankets, seeking to catch a few hours’ sleep. Resting when the carts were on the move would be impossible.
‘Thank you for the stories,’ Thebe said as she lay down.
‘It was nothing.’ Lysandra sounded slightly lofty, even to herself.
‘It kept our minds busy, at least. We are all scared, aren’t we?
Of the arena. Of what might happen.’
‘Spartans fear nothing,’ Lysandra intoned, her response instinctive.
Thebe snorted derisively. ‘Horse dung. You know, Lysandra, none of us believes this impassive act you put on. You’re like us and we are all scared.’
Lysandra sat up, coming to a decision. These women were not as she. Despite what they thought, they needed leadership and were incredibly fortunate that she was among them. Again, she realised the truth of Telemachus’s words; indeed, there was a divine purpose to her being here. ‘Gather round,’ she said.
The Hellene women formed a circle, cross-legged. They could hear the soft sounds of the guards’ chatter, the crack of the fires lit around the caravan and, somewhere, the mournful sound of a flute being played. In the dim twilight, Lysandra fancied that this must be akin to the eve of the Battle of Thermopylae, when Leonidas had gathered his warriors about him.
‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘Fear is a thought, not a feeling. It exists only up here.’ She tapped her head. ‘Forget fear. It stiffens the limbs and numbs the sinews, and if it takes a hold of you, all that you have learned in the ludus will be for naught. You all know that I was a priestess, trained since youth to fight.’ She paused, looking around the dim, frightened faces, holding each gaze for a few moments. ‘I can tell you this. I have seen you train, and all of you could hold your own in the Temple of Athene.’ This was a blatant falsehood but Lysandra considered it a necessary one. These words had the desired effect and she felt a measurable lapse in the tension around her.