Lysandra gave him a rare smile. ‘Thank you, Stick. I know.’
The Parthian looked down for a moment, seeming to come to a decision. ‘Listen,’ he said, approaching her. ‘I’ll make no secret of it, I urged Balbus to send you to the blocks. But I was mistaken, I think. I know you are talented. But curb your arrogance. It rubs people the wrong way. And more, you’ve made an enemy in Nastasen and he gets crazy at times.’ Stick whirled his finger at his temple.
Lysandra cocked an eyebrow. ‘Nastasen is the one who needs to be careful, Stick. If he touches me again, I will kill him.’
Stick sighed. ‘You are still a slave. Remember that.’
‘Am I?’ Lysandra jerked her chin at the Gate of Life, from where the chanting of her arena name could still be heard. She spoke no more but turned on her heel and made off.
Lysandra did not spend long in the infirmary; the surgeons were well skilled and well practised. A bitter-smelling, stinging unguent was applied to her wounds, which were bound swiftly. After a brief instruction to keep the wounds clean, she was given a small pot of the stuff and told to apply it three times a day. Thereafter, she might as well have ceased to exist as far as her jaded carer was concerned.
On her way back to the Hellene cell, she encountered Hildreth clanking her way towards the Gate of Life. The tall German was clad as secutorix, heavily armoured with helm and shield.
‘You fought shit again,’ Hildreth commented as she saw Lysandra.
‘But at least you won. You should watch me now, you will learn how a true warrior fights.’
Lysandra felt a brief rush of anger. If Stick was going to give speeches about encroaching arrogance, he would do well to direct his comments to the barbarian. She was not about to let Hildreth ruin her good mood, however, so she bit down a catty response, settling for giving the German an expression that was half grin; half sneer. She doubted if the thick-skinned warrior would even notice.
The women in the Hellene cell were still chattering about Lysandra’s victory as she entered.
‘What was it like?’ Penelope wanted to know.
Lysandra sat on her bunk. She thought before responding, but the truth was undeniable. ‘It was good,’ she said simply. ‘Of course, I was not afraid before the combat. A little tense perhaps,’ she acknowledged. ‘But when you are out there…’ she trailed off, reliving the battle in her mind. ‘I have never felt so exhilarated. It was as if I had finally found a purpose. I will tell you this…’ — she met the gazes of her companions in turn, ‘you have nothing to fear.’
‘You enjoyed it?’Thebe seemed both incredulous and disgusted.
‘Yes,’ Lysandra admitted. ‘I did.’
Further conversation was curtailed as an arena slave appeared in their doorway. He referred to a scroll he was carrying. ‘Is there a Heraclea in here?’
All eyes turned to Thebe, who had won the argument to use the august name. ‘That would be me,’ she said, raising her hand.
The slave nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why they can’t keep these rosters in some sort of order. I’ve been running about all over the place looking for you. It’s more complicated today, because there are many schools here. You know what it’s like. Each show has to be bigger and better than the last. Not that anyone ever thinks about the organisation that goes into this whole spectacle.’
‘You were looking for Heraclea,’ Thebe broke in as the man paused for breath.
‘Oh,’ he was evidently disappointed that his captive audience was not willing to listen to more of his problems. ‘You must prepare,’ he said. ‘You are to fight next.’
‘Thanks,’ Thebe said shortly. She glanced over at Lysandra who grinned at her. ‘Well then,’ the Corinthian murmured. ‘Let’s be about it.’
It was only once the combat had begun that Lysandra truly understood why the gladiatorial games were such a huge and compulsive phenomenon to people all over Rome’s Empire. It was utterly thrilling to watch two people fight when the stakes were highest. The excitement was, of course, different when one was not participating in the battle, yet it was no less compelling — perhaps even more so. Now she realised why people supported certain fighters, following their careers to the point of obsession.
Though she saw herself as reserved by nature, Lysandra found herself screaming encouragement and advice to Thebe along with the others. She parried each cut, winced at every near miss and yelled at each hit that Thebe made.
Thebe was fighting as a Thraex, matched against a thin Egyptian retiaria, armed with net and trident. It was a contest of speed, both women lightly armed and able to skip over the sands, unhampered by heavy armour and encumbering helm. The contest was disputed with furious rapidity, the women’s limbs blurring as each fought to mark the other.
The Egyptian cast her net early in the match, but Thebe had avoided the entangling ropes, and pressed close to the other woman, forcing her to use the trident as a staff not a stabbing weapon, thus negating the advantage in reach the pole arm was supposed to give.
It proved decisive.
In the midst of a vicious exchange, Thebe succeeded in breaking through her opponent’s guard, and plunged her sword into the other woman’s chest, ending the contest abruptly. The Egyptian fell back, dead before she hit the sands.
The crowd erupted at the clean kill, hailing ‘Heraclea’ loudly, though, Lysandra noted, not as loudly as they had hailed herself.
That was not surprising, she thought, as she knew she was the superior fighter. Still she screamed in delight along with the rest of them.
On visibly shaking legs, Thebe walked back through the Gate of Life, her face ashen.
‘Well?’ Lysandra asked jubilantly.
Thebe’s response was to be suddenly sick.
The contests continued into the afternoon, with Balbus’s fighters performing well, suffering no fatalities. As dusk began to fall, torches were lit around the arena, signalling the end of the female combats, and the real business of the male gladiators began. The Hellene women took no interest in this. They had had their fill of excitement for the day, which was exhausting both for those who had fought and those who had watched.
Lysandra had expected that she and her companions would be confined to their cells, but was surprised to find this was not the case. Since the arena and its adjoining gaol complex was heavily guarded by legionaries and hired ex-gladiators, both the editor and the owners of the different famillia’s were content to let their warriors wander about the enclosed areas.
Thebe recovered from her bout of shock with some care and attention from Danae. The Athenian was fast becoming the soft ear for the Hellene women. Whilst Lysandra considered that her own presence was an inspiration to her comrades, she was not as sensitive as Danae to the more emotional needs of the gladiatrices.
It was hardly their own fault that they had such weaknesses — not everyone could be Spartan.
With little else to do, Lysandra decided to go in search of Eirianwen. Though the initial rush of victory was beginning to wane, the nearness of death had awakened other needs in her and she knew that the Briton’s touch would sate the slow burn of sexual desire she now felt. She threaded her way through the crowded corridors of the gaol, noting that despite the lenience the organisers had afforded the fighters, the male and female competitors had been separated. This would be frustrating to Penelope, she knew, as the fisher girl had not ceased to elucidate all and sundry on the erotic prowess of her gladiator, who, for lack of knowing his name, she had come to call ‘Horse’.
‘Lysandra!’ Catuvolcos’s voice rang out from the throng. The Spartan stopped and looked about, seeking the friendly face. The handsome Gaul was shouldering his way through the crowd of gladiatrices, smiling and laughing as he was groped and propositioned outrageously by the women. As a trainer, he was not subject to the segregation rules and that he was walking around bare-chested only added to the attention he was receiving. As he approached Lysandra, she was regaled by insults from the gladiatrices, as they now believed that she was to be the object of the big man’s much sought after attentions.