‘Typical of Sorina to publicise it.’ Lysandra said derisively.
‘She has told no one but me. She knows that if word of this gets to Balbus, he will put paid to it. That he let her fight Eirianwen was one thing but he will not permit a contest between the two of you. You are his rising star; she a tried and tested champion.
He will not risk you both in a match so soon after Eirianwen’s death and well Sorina knows it. She will keep her mouth shut.’
Lysandra flinched at the mention of Eirianwen. It was not that Catuvolcos was being cold but that there was an awful finality in what he said. She pushed sadness from her mind and considered his words for a moment. The thought was bitter, but she decided that Sorina had the rights of the situation. ‘She can train as much as she likes,’ she muttered. ‘Your friend she may be, Catuvolcos, but she has little time left. You can tell her I said so.’
‘I’ll do no such thing! I’ve had my fill of these little wars between you. I like you both and wish there was an end to it.’
‘You can blame her for all of this.’ Lysandra did not raise her voice, but merely thinking of Sorina brought her to anger. ‘If she had held her peace in the first place, none of this would have happened. Her blind prejudice is the cause of the trouble. Her hatred of me sent Eirianwen to an early death, and Sorina must pay in full for her crime.’
Catuvolcos raised his hands. ‘As I say, I wish there was an end to it. But you are both set on your course, it seems.’
‘Quite correct.’ Lysandra wanted to say more but knew it would be superfluous. Catuvolcos had made an effort, and apologised to her as was right and proper. But Sorina was his friend, however misguided he may be in that choice and she saw little point in aggravating what must be a difficult situation for him.
That would be beneath her. She scrambled into the back of the cart to retrieve one of the new books she had taken from the shrine, indicating that the conversation was over.
It took several days to travel to the ludus, and the journey had been for the most part pleasant enough. They had skirted the issues of Sorina and Nastasen, confining their conversations to the mundane. Lysandra considered that, if not completely repaired, their friendship was patched up somewhat.
Catuvolcos, of course, did most of the talking, extolling the virtues of his new lady friend. That someone else had caught his eye caused Lysandra to feel a stab of jealousy. Intelligence told her that this was unwarranted and indeed unfair, as she had no interest in him whatsoever. However, inexplicable as it was, she was slightly put out that another now ruled his affections. She masked her initial fit of pique well and soon, the feeling passed.
Indeed, she found Catuvolcos’s inept attempts at using poetic terminology to describe his cheap little tart amusing.
‘It’s not the most glamorous of professions of course,’ he said, as though trying to defend whoring as an acceptable career choice ‘but it’s an honest one. She’s no beggar, I can tell you that.’
‘Certainly not,’ she said levelly. Inwardly, she seethed with the desire to take the rise out of him, but decided that it would be unfair to do so. Catuvolcos was probably trying to be delicate as he knew that she was a former-priestess of a virgin goddess. The fact that his woman made her living on her back evidently did not bother him in the slightest.
‘You’d like her, Lysandra, I’m sure,’ he went on. ‘She’s Greek, like you, and very intelligent as well.’
Lysandra could well imagine what sort of intellect Catuvolcos’s paramour was versed in. Her lip curled in contempt but she saw the Gaul waiting for a response so she turned it into a half-smile, remaining silent till the wagon passed through the gates of the school.
‘Well, here we are then,’ he said.
Lysandra climbed down from the wagon and looked about, drinking in the familiar surroundings. The clatter of the practice swords, the grunts of exertion, the shouts of the trainers that made the music of the ludus were sweet to her ears. It was, she decided, good to be home.
‘Lysandra!’
She turned to see Varia running towards her, arms outstretched.
Before she could protest, the little slave girl had embraced her enthusiastically, the dark curls buried in her chest. Somewhat awkwardly, Lysandra patted the girl’s scrawny shoulders.
‘It is good to see you!’ Varia exclaimed.
Lysandra’s smile was somewhat forced; such a display of emotion in public was unseemly and there was indeed quite a gathering to watch the reunion in progress. ‘Yes, well, quite,’ she said, disengaging herself. ‘It is good to see you as well, Varia.’
‘Let me show you your new quarters.’ Varia took her by the hand. Feeling somewhat helpless, Lysandra could only follow.
She was impressed.
Certainly, her new domicile was far superior to the tiny cell she lived in before the Games of Aeschylus. Varia had also given the place a homely feel, adding flowers, whatever furniture she could scavenge and some dubious artwork, painted by her own hand.
Lysandra decided that it would be hurtful to the child to throw the hideous stuff away. Overall though, there was little in the way of luxury and this was in keeping with the Spartan way.
‘I hope you like what I have done,’ Varia said, interrupting Lysandra’s train of thought. ‘All of this,’ she indicated the furniture, ‘is from Eirianwen’s place. I know she was your friend and thought you would want her things. Sorina tried to stop me but I managed to get this much away first.’
Lysandra sighed, fighting back her emotions — the wound she had thought nearly healed was still raw. She picked a blanket from one of the couches and held it to her face, breathing in the scent. She imagined she could still taste Eirianwen. ‘That was very considerate, Varia. My thanks.’ The child positively glowed under her praise.
There was no time for more discussion, as the Hellene women appeared, wanting to greet Lysandra themselves. They were enthusiastic, but she noted they were not the same women who had departed with her to Halicarnassus. There was a hard look behind their eyes, a look that had been won in the arena. They were the better for it, no longer slaves but warriors. Though they would never be able to match her in skill and natural ability, Lysandra recognised the change in them. Tempered by blood, they could at least be worthy companions.
It was a pleasing thought.
XXXIX
Lysandra trained lightly in her first days back at the ludus.
Her body was not used to strenuous exercise and to push too hard, too soon would only result in injury and another lay off.
She was content to let the Hellene women exercise in their accustomed manner for the time being. Though Balbus had given her the right to train them, she would not have felt comfortable giving instruction if she could not match and indeed exceed her students. Instead, she concentrated on her own fitness, running and strength-building routines designed to bring her to full vigour in as short a time as possible.
As she worked on herself, she found her eyes wandering to what had become the barbarian section of the training ground.
The Tribeswomen had grown increasingly insular since returning from Aeschylus’s games, mixing less and less with the other women. The effect on the ludus was palpable as each gladiatrix, whether novice or veteran, began to keep to her own ethnic group. Lysandra saw this more keenly than most; Eirianwen was lost to them now and much of the connection she had with the tribal peoples was severed. Of course, there was still Catuvolcos, and even Hildreth, who was in her opinion a decent sort.
Sorina, Lysandra noted, was indeed pushing herself hard. The older woman was first to the grounds in the morning and last to leave when the trainers called for the evening rest. However, as she had told Catuvolcos, let the barbarian train all that she wished; the result of their fight would not be in doubt. Sorina was old: she herself was young — and such was life.