III.
The initial training for the new recruits was an activity that Flavius
never failed to attend. Once the recruits had started their training, Flavius'
trained eye would quickly sort the crop into three parts - auspicious fighters,
average material, or fodder - but only rarely had he faced the first day of
training with such an air of eager expectation.
The recruits had been given a light breakfast before being herded
together before the cross, the menacing sight of which was bound to make
Calixtus' opening remarks all the more intimidating. It was a full cross, made
of timbered wood, with its perpendicular wooden beams permanently lashed
together. It normally served as a whipping post, with its crossbar attached at
a level just out of reach of the unlucky soul being flogged. But it differed in
one respect from the normal cross used by Romans for executions - a good many
delinquents who had stood with their faces against the stout upright, writhing
under the whip, had wondered about the purpose of the two slots which had been
bored into the upright, as did the newcomers who cast an anxious glance at it.
Flavius' gray eyes blinked against the light of the early morning sun as
he surveyed his fighters, before coming to rest on the stunning silhouette of
the Gaul's perfectly proportioned body. She stood in majestic profile, her
figure bathed most attractively in the warming light of Aurora, goddess of the
dawn. His broad chest swelled with pride - this blonde beauty would surely be a
worthy addition to his exquisite crew of female fighters. And leaning against
the railing of the balcony, admiring her figure, Flavius Autronius felt another
swelling too...
He couldn't believe his good fortune at unearthing this rough but
indisputably precious stone in the unlikely ore of the Ostian wharf. He was
pleased with his cleverness at having gotten the better of Balbinus - he would
have been willing to offer the corpulent flesh merchant almost any price for
this woman. Once she had passed the basic training successfully - and he had
little doubt that she would - the blue-eyed Avernian had the potential of
becoming one of the most popular fighters to take up arms in the arena since the
first woman had picked up a gladiatorial sword.
Her pride, her demeanour, and her stoicism during her branding had
convinced him that Taleena had a spirit to match her beauty. He pictured her in
the amphitheatre, moving gracefully through the scarlet-streaked sand, her blue
eyes fixed alertly on her opponent, her golden hair tossed lightly on her
shoulders by an afternoon breeze, her magnificent body bedecked in brown leather
and his favourite Flavian blue, her bare thighs gleaming with the sweat of
combat, while thousands of male eyes watched enthralled from the tiers... The
purses this beauty would bring in could easily amount to many times the paltry
five thousand sesterces that he had paid for her. Yes, once more the Fates had
smiled on Flavius Autronius.
Taleena returned Flavius' gaze with unblushing dignity, almost as if she
could read his thoughts. But she was unaware that there were other, more
surreptitious eyes on her, too, in that sunlit moment. Younger eyes, restless,
and probing, which pictured her, not gliding confidently through the sand of the
arena like Diana the huntress, but lying helplessly in that same warm sand, a
Diana debauched, squirming under his virile body...
* * *
"As master Flavius said yesterday, your basic training will consist of
six training units, each lasting six days," Calixtus barked at the assembled
novices in his intimidating stentorian voice. On the seventh day of each week
you will be given a day of recreation." The burly ex-centurion began to walk up
and down the line, swishing his gnarled vine cane across the open palm of his
other hand with each step, a gesture whose meaning was not lost on the attentive
recruits. "The morning will usually be spent doing exercises to improve your
power and stamina, while the balance of the day will be devoted to swordplay."
"Some of you no doubt think that you know all there is to know about
fighting, don't you?" the balding ex-centurion asked in a grim voice, as he
looked out over the candidates, a few of whom smirked self-confidently. "Some
of you were warriors, and have known the bloody clash of battle. But in the
arena, unlike the battlefield, there will be no one to assist you, no comrade to
save you. That is the first of many lessons you have to learn here," Calixtus
growled, as his eyes, devoid of sympathy, swept coldly across his audience.
"And make no mistake about it - the more you learn here, the longer you will
live! So when your instructors speak, mark us well!"
"Every exercise has a certain quota which must be fulfilled. At the end
of each day, your entire performance will be judged by us trainers. If you do
not achieve the daily target, a demerit will be scored against your name."
Calixtus raised a wax tablet showing a roster of the recruit's names, even
though he doubted that any one in his audience could even read. "Three demerits
during any training unit will earn you a whipping at the end of the sixth day!
The usual sentence is a dozen lashes, but it may well be more if your
performance warrants it. Any disobedience, any opposition or contradiction will
also be severely dealt with! Always remember that you are nothing but slaves, so
comport yourselves as befits your status!"
"And one thing more - there is no hope of escape, not even in your
dreams. Fugitives will be hunted down and crucified like the cowardly deserters
they are! Those who attack an instructor or one of the guards, will also find
themselves there," Calixtus added in a gravelly voice as he gestured toward the
stark wooden cross whose dark shadow stretched ominously across the training
ground.
Calixtus paused to let the import of his words sink in, and then
continued. "To begin with, all of you will undergo an initial test of your
staying power. "You are to circle this track until you can run no more, like
that brave soldier Pheidippides."
Most of the recruits regarded Calixtus with stares as blank as the
Tarpeian rock, but Taleena knew to whom the grim chief-instructor was referring.
Eudocles had recounted more than once the story of the fleet-footed soldier who
had raced like the wind across the countryside of Greece, carrying the news of
the victory at Marathon to distant Athens, living just long enough to announce,
"Rejoice, we are victorious!" before his heart burst from exhaustion. Would the
recruits be tried so sorely, she wondered, that some of them would share the sad
fate of the heroic messenger even before the training had run its course?
Calixtus then stepped aside to let Byrria offer her own introductory
comments. The dark-eyed lanista gave her listeners a scornful glance as a sly
smile crossed her sunlit face. "But sadly you are not as fortunate as this
Pheidippides; for he had nothing heavier to carry than good news! Guards!"
The Thracian looked intently in the direction of the staff building
toward a dozen or so attendants who were aligned in front of a large pile of
wooden beams. The attendants turned and seized the beams, along with some
leathern straps of various sizes, and proceeded to haul them across the yard
toward the assembled recruits.
The beams looked exactly like the one that formed the patibulum of the
cross, about five feet wide and half-a-foot in diameter. They even bore a notch
in the middle to be fixed to an upright post, and as with the cross-piece, nails
projected a hand's width out of the ends, nails which could be used to attach
ropes or chains - or to be used as handles.
The attendants placed one of the beams and three straps before each of
the recruits and then stood aside.
"Put one of the thick straps around each ankle!" Byrria ordered, and the
recruits stooped down to do as they had been told.
As Taleena grabbed the first strap, she was surprised by its weight.
Although it was no thicker than a man's thumb, it weighed about five pounds, and
after probing it with her fingers she noticed that there were leaden pellets
sewn in between the layers of leather. It was about four feet in length and thus
could be wrapped five times around her slender ankle, then tied up by the
tapering ends which contained no lead. Once strapped on, they fit so snugly that
they couldn't slip, and although the leather was smooth, they felt uncomfortable
around her ankles which had been scored by the leg irons she had worn for so
long.
When Taleena rose from her crouch, she suddenly had the uncanny sense,
as she had had once or twice before that morning, that she was being watched.
She glanced around at her fellow-recruits, but the men all seemed busy with
their own gear. Then, looking out into the distance, she saw a figure peering
out furtively from behind a corner of the guardhouse. The figure quickly
withdrew behind the corner, but not before Taleena recognized the pock-marked
youth who had assisted during the branding. Intent on quelling her own fears at
the time, she had paid little attention to how the skinny lad's hands had roamed
rather freely over Selia's body while he had forced her down over the anvil.
And later her own agony had distracted her from how his fingers had lingered on
her own thigh. Taleena shuddered briefly, remembering his slightly clammy touch,
but then relaxed. He was only a boy, after all, and she had more important
things to worry about, now that the training was about to start.
"Everything, I repeat, everything you do during training will be done
with those weights around your ankles," Byrria went on. "They will hamper you in
the beginning," the olive-skinned beauty added with a sneer, "but you will get
used to them." She paused for a fraction of a second before adding. "Or
perhaps I should say that you'll get used to them unless you want to spend some
time hugging the whipping post! Now, on your knees, all of you!"
When the recruits had taken up the required position, they were burdened
with the wooden beams. Two attendants grabbed Taleena's wrists, and two other
men laid the bulky cross-piece upon her narrow shoulders like a yoke, securing
her arms to the wood with the remaining leather strap. When they were ordered to
stand, Taleena had difficulty struggling to her feet and balancing her load,
while the small Spanish girl seemed dwarfed by her oversized yoke.
Having been brought up as a peasant's daughter, Taleena was not unused
to weighted walks, for carrying produce for sale to the market place had been
one of her regular duties before she had been sold into slavery. But running
around a cinder track with such a burden would quickly become an exertion
difficult to endure, and she began to wonder how long the trainers would expect
them to continue such a daunting exercise.
The recruits were quickly prodded into motion, and once they were on the
move the men in front set the pace, with the giant German leading them all,
while Taleena and the Spanish girl fell behind. As Taleena watched the leaders
begin to jog at a slow pace, it struck her that they resembled a grotesque
crucifixion party, one that couldn't arrive at the execution site quickly
enough, but the grim humour of that picture failed to cheer her spirits.
As she and Selia came around the turn closest to the guardhouse, Taleena
once again spotted the gangly youth. He was furtively looking out of a window
of the building as if hoping to escape notice, but his eyes, his beady probing
eyes, followed her every stride. Taleena suddenly became conscious, as she had
not been before, of the skimpiness of her attire, of her bare thighs and
unveiled midriff and she flushed slightly as she continued on down the track,
quivering nervously at the thought of the guard's lecherous gaze.
The two women completed the first lap in fair style, but the strain had
made Taleena's heart pound faster. Her breathing gradually became louder and
more laboured and then degenerated into panting gasps for air, made even more
difficult by a fierce pain in her side that resulted from running with her arms
upraised. Sweat began to drip from her body, soaking the cloth of her strophium,
which she was thankful to have since otherwise the bouncing of her breasts would
have added greatly to the rigours of the run.
If nothing else, the strain of the run took her mind off the voyeuristic
adolescent whose eyes had never left the curves so poorly concealed by her
muslin breast-bandage when she had made her second pass by his vantage point.
The boy had vanished by the time she passed the guardhouse for the third time,
and Taleena wondered idly for a moment if the young guard had wandered off to
some secluded spot to satisfy his depraved desires, but soon the unrelenting
pressure of the beam on her shoulders required all of her concentration.
After five and a half circuits of the track, Taleena had managed to pull
considerably ahead of her female companion. As she came out of the curve at the
far end of the oval she looked over to her left and spied her Baetican comrade
on the other side of the track just entering that curve, being overtaken by
several of the male runners. Taleena winced as she watched Byrria lash at the
backs of Spanisg girl's thighs with her crop to spur her on, before her own
progress down the track took the ugly picture from her field of vision. But as
she struggled on under her own burden, panting for breath, she heard a series of
crisp cracks cut through the air - the unmistakable sounds of a crop hitting
bare flesh. By the time Taleena entered the curve at the other end of the oval,
she was in a position to see that the badly beaten girl, unable to continue, had
been dragged roughly off the track and relieved of her burden.
Unfortunately her concern for Selia, as evidenced by numerous appalled
glances at the red streaks emblazoned across the Baetican's back, slowed
Taleena's own gait to the point where Byrria stepped forward and lashed her
sharply across the shoulders as she passed the point where Selia had gone down.
"Keep your mind on your own pace, Gaul," the blue-clad lanista snapped.
Half-blinded by her own perspiration, her back smarting from the
stinging blow of the crop, Taleena was soon in danger of falling herself. The
force of Byrria's blow caused her to stagger to and fro across the width of the
track like a drunken sailor. The Thracian watched her struggles closely, but
Taleena just managed to remain upright, groaning audibly with strain as she
attempted to lengthen her stride again. From her mincing shamble she eventually
was able to quicken her pace to a faster walk, and then, finally, to a semblance
of a jog, and once having gotten her second wind, she managed to keep up a good
pace for the following rounds.
She nearly collapsed again on the sixteenth lap, when she stumbled and
went to the ground, but she forced her numb legs to lift her body upright so
that she could move forward again. The wood by now scored her shoulders with
every step, and her breasts were aching terribly from their constant bouncing;
by now the thin fabric that supported her breasts was soaked with sweat, and her
tender nipples were chafed continually by the constant friction of the rough and
sweat-drenched cloth. But worst of all were her feet and ankles which shrieked
silently from the constant strain - and still and to her own amazement she felt
that she retained sufficient reserves of energy to continue.
In fact she was stronger than she knew, for she carried on even after
some of the leaders had collapsed from the exertion. A little more than an hour
later, during which the leading competitors had circled the track twenty-two
times, only Taleena, along with Arminius and one of the Numidians, were still in
the running. Those who had dropped out were doing some stretching and other
gymnastic exercises along side the track, under Byrria's watchful eye. Taleena
longed to join them, if only to ease her cramping muscles and rid herself of the
excruciating yoke.
But she did not allow her will to yield to that yearning and plodded
along, swaying slightly in the extremity of her suffering. The burdensome
ankle-weights made it difficult to lift her feet fully off the ground, and the
coarse-grained cinders abraded the soles of her feet, as Taleena tried to
concentrate on anything other than the pain and exhaustion that racked her. She
thought of the unexpected fortitude that had allowed her to endure the branding
iron, and the determination to impress the others with her stamina surfaced once
more, forcing her screaming muscles to carry her further. She passed the
Numidian who had given way to the strain, and saw Arminius passing the starting
line for what must have been the twenty-fourth time. The giant man stopped,
utterly exhausted, and dropped to his knees to be relieved of his load. Half of
a lap to go yet, she thought, and she would reach the line as the last remaining
runner, achieving a feat that was sure to win her great esteem from both her
comrades and the trainers!
Calixtus, his bald head gleaming in the morning sunlight, stood at the
starting line nodding approvingly at the tireless performance of the last
contestant on the track. As she crossed the finish line for the final time,
Taleena collapsed into the arms of two waiting attendants. Calixtus gave orders
to the young water-slave who had just served Arminius that she was to be watered
generously, too.
Squatting on the ground, Taleena drank gratefully from the large
water-skin the boy offered to her, and although the water seemed to revive her a
bit, she felt so groggy that rising any time soon seemed unimaginable.
* * *
From his vantage point on the balcony, Flavius had watched Taleena
finish her last round - being at the end of her tether, she had covered the
final yards driven by sheer willpower. He searched his memory, but could not
remember another occasion in which a female recruit had prevailed over the men.
It was remarkable, he thought to himself, that a luscious, lissom body like hers
should harbour such an uncompromising spirit, and he could well imagine how the
tenacity with which she had borne her stint at the oars had made Balbinus livid
with rage.
Flavius was quite sure that she had all the potential needed to make her
one of his rising stars, and yet he felt a twinge of uneasiness concerning the
powerful pride which fuelled Taleena's dogged persistence, a strange premonition
that her pride might one day prove her undoing. But this was only the first day
of training, and great stress and strain lay ahead for all the recruits. His
trainers would surely relieve them of their rebelliousness. He would definitely
need to have to have a word with Byrria. Knowing the Thracian Tigress's
penchant for ferocity, he would need to make sure that Byrria took the Avernian
to the limits of her endurance, but not beyond.
* * *
When they assembled for their midday meal, Taleena joined the others who
were sitting on benches which had been placed under a long, narrow roof in front
of the main building. One by one they had collected their food one by one from a
hatchway and were tucking it in heartily. Posca, water mixed with vinegar, was
served along with the meat - chopped pork, seasoned with pungent garum, wrapped
in flat, unleavened bread - and it truly did them good after the backbreaking
drill that had made them sweat so profusely all morning.
Taleena enjoyed this hour of recreative leisure. The trainees had been
granted only a short period of time to recover some strength after the torturous
run before they had had to join the circuit training the others had already been
engaged in. After more than an hour's continuous running around the cinder
track, it had been difficult for her to even tackle the circuit - a series of
chin-ups, press-ups and sit-ups, rope-skipping and log-lifting - but at least,
the women hadn't had to bear the same rigours as the men. Despite her
exhaustion she had fulfilled the women's quota without much difficulty, although
her success had accomplished little more than earning her the opportunity to
repeat the entire series. During her back-breaking months at the oars, Taleena
would never have dreamt that she would one day be grateful to Balbinus; but she
had to admit that in the brutally competitive atmosphere of the arena, the
physical conditioning she had developed pulling the oar would stand her in good
stead.
She looked around, her gaze wandering from one grim face to the other.
The recruits were not allowed to speak with each other, especially not in any
foreign tongue, neither during the training nor during the break, but even if
they had been, few would have wanted to waste their breath in conversation. The
Spanish girl sat slightly to one side, hardly able to hold herself on the bench,
staring into her bowl with dead eyes. Taleena felt sorry for her, for this was
definitely no place for a girl like her. Actually, it was no place for any human
being whose self-respect demanded a minimum of regard or consideration, but she
doubted that the Spaniard would ever become inured to the heartless drill.
Then her eyes roamed out over the arena itself, half expecting to catch
a glimpse of the skinny young guard she had seen spying on her, but then she
chided herself for her sense of unease. Why had she let him upset her so much?
He was just a boy, sneaking a peek at a pair of scantily-clad young women - or
so she kept telling herself.
"Time's up!" Calixtus shouted, scattering her thoughts. "Get back to the
training area, all of you!"
The fighters rose from the benches and walked back over toward the racks
in which the training weapons were stored. The men and women among the newcomers
were segregated before beginning their first lesson in swordplay, whereas the
more experienced fighters continued to work out against each other with a
variety of different arms, in different match-ups and combinations, as they had
done before the midday break.
Byrria went over to the rack and came back with two wooden swords,
throwing them at the feet of the two female novices.
"Take up the swords!" she commanded.
They stooped down and picked the swords from the ground, looking at
Byrria for further instructions. The weapons were formed like the spatha, the
Roman cavalry sword, longer and narrower than the gladius, made more for
wielding than for stabbing. The Thracian was unarmed, but this seemed to bother
her not in the least.
"Want to attack me?!" she scoffed incitingly, toying with a ringlet of
her dark hair. "Might be your best chance - two against one, swords against bare
fists!"
Taleena and Selia stood still, making no move to raise their swords. The
swords were fashioned from wood, but had a leaden core, and therefore were
heavier than the ones used in the arena, but hardly harmless. The increased
weight of the swords owed its genesis to the same logic that had conceived the
ankle weights; when freed from these burdensome impediments in the arena, those
who had trained with them would fight with a quickness and agility that even
they could not have imagined.
The dark-eyed lanista smiled at their passivity. "At least you are not
fools," she stated. "Drop your weapons!"
The two young women did as they were told, and once again looked
attentively at their trainer.
"Well, this is lesson number one," Byrria said, drawing the crop out of
her belt, "the next time you seize a weapon, do so with your left hand! You will
be taught to fight left-handed, because most of your male adversaries will be
thrown off-stride by a left-hander. Many gladiatrices owe their lives to that
fact!"
She looked at the novices, and her steady gaze bore into Taleena.
"Extend your hand, Gaul, the right one!" she commanded. "Palm up!"
Taleena hesitated, sensing what was to come, but obeyed. Byrria glanced
at the delicate hand that had been made rough by months of rowing. "You must be
glad that you escaped the galley," she stated referring to the calluses that
bespoke Taleena's past, and then, after having turned toward Selia, Byrria
whirled around and brought the crop down across Taleena's palm with the
swiftness of a viper.
Taleena had half-expected a blow a moment earlier but had relaxed
slightly when Byrria had moved in Selia's direction. "Aaaghhhh!" she cried out
in surprise, as her arm fell to her side, while pain radiated upward from her
hand. But it was not so much the burning pain in her hand that bothered Taleena
- it was her anger at herself for having squealed and giving the lanista the
satisfaction of knowing her suffering.
She straightened up again and glared at the Thracian, but Byrria was
unmoved by the reproachful look. "Hopefully that will serve to remind you of
lesson number one. Welcome on board the Ludus Flavianus," she added with a
scornful smile.
IV.
At the end of the first day of training, the recruits were given an
opportunity to visit the bathhouse. The fighters had finished their training
earlier, and since their evening meals were waiting for them in their cells,
most of Taleena's comrades had confined themselves to washing the sand and oil
from their bodies, or skipped the bathing routine completely. Taleena was
hungry, too, but had decided that the food would have to wait, so that she could
take advantage of one of the few amenities of her new home.
She was familiar with the role baths played in Roman culture and it was
one of their few customs that she had come to appreciate. Romanization had
brought bathhouses even to even the most remote parts of the provinces, and she
had always liked those facilities, private or public, but had never before seen
such an impressive example of architecture. The former owner of the estate must
have had a strongly developed sense of luxury because the bathing facility he
had built would bear comparison with the finest anywhere.
The well-known Roman desire for symmetry, as much as the dictates of
decency, required that there be separate entrances for men and women on either
side of the front of the building. Inside, however, the segregation of the
sexes was practically foregone since all of the fighters would have to use the
baths within their limited time of leisure. In the women's changing room a few
discarded linen towels were scattered here and there along the benches, not far
from the lockers which held fresh, folded garments for the recruits.
Leaving the changing room through the door to the right, one reached the
frigidarium, the cold room. On the far side of the room, one came to another
door that led into the massage and rest room which granted access to the core of
the three-piece bathing suite - the large tepidarium, or tepid room. Several
small marble basins were set into the ground there, framing a square pool that
was large enough to be used for swimming. The formerly rich paint of the huge,
stuccoed walls was fading, and the old-fashioned Neptune medallion that was set
in the mosaic floor of the pool was incomplete, but that hardly affected the
splendour of the place.
A grand marble fountain separated the tepid room from the third and last
constituent part of the bathing area, the small steam room, or caldarium. The
basin of the fountain was framed by a knee-high marble border which measured
almost six feet in diameter, and on a massive pedestal in its center rested a
marble bowl half the size of the basin from which crystal clear water cascaded
down into the collecting tank beneath. An enormous, larger-than-life sculpture
of Mars, the god of war, rose from the middle of the bowl, looking a bit out of
place since a Nereid or another Neptune would have been more appropriate for a
bathhouse. It occurred to Taleena that Flavius might well have replaced the
original statue with an image of his own protector god.
Taleena shed her sparse clothing in the changing room, and when she had
undone the rough muslin strip she wore wrapped around her chest, she let her
slender fingers slide under her breasts, weighing their fullness briefly in her
hands. Her breasts didn't really hurt, but the faint ache of the tender tissue
which she felt in the aftermath of her first day of training made her thank the
gods that the female recruits were granted those breast-supporting strophia.
Taleena unbuckled the broad belt that held her loin-cloth around her
slim waist, and dropped it on the floor before she stooped down to remove her
ankle-weights, assuring herself that her body had sustained no serious injury
during the day's physical ordeal. Her feet were sore from all the running on
the coarse-grained cinder of the track, and the ankle-weights had left her knees
and ankles throbbing from her exertions, while her upper arms and shoulders were
nearly numb from fatigue. But the net effect on her body was probably no worse
than that of a hard day on the galley - and there had been no baths on board the
Thetis.
Deciding to bathe in the normal sequence, Taleena went to the
frigidarium first, while the others headed straight for the warmer areas.
Taleena gasped at the shock when her heated body slipped into the cold water,
but once she had become accustomed to the low temperature, she lingered in the
refreshingly cooling water, relishing its salutary effect on her aching limbs,
until at last she began to feel too cold, at which point she hastened,
shivering, into the tepidarium.
There she came to relax in the warm water of one of the small recreation
basins - having been used by others, the water of her basin was hardly fresh,
but this was the last thing any exhausted trainee was likely to complain about.
Taleena was the last of the recruits to finish her bath, and no one had
disturbed the surface of the pool recently, so the water shimmered with slight
movements, undulating gently, but not so forcefully as to cause the water to lap
noisily against the side of the basin. Taleena leaned back against the edge of
the basin dreamily, letting her thoughts drift back to the events of the
afternoon...
She and Selia had spent the entire afternoon practicing their swordplay.
They had begun by practicing basic strokes and thrusts against the straw figure
to accustom themselves to the left-handed motor activity. After an hour or so
spent in that fashion, Byrria had pitted the two young women against each other,
requiring them to fight on their knees while their right hands were pinioned
behind their backs. The former condition had reduced their mobility, while the
latter, forcing them to use only their left hands, had impaired their agility.
They had fought clumsily at first, and just when they were finally beginning to
get in the flow of fighting left-handed, a sea of fatigue washed across their
arms and shoulders. But the dark-eyed Thracian had given them no respite -
stating coldly that there would be none in the ring - and had not been sparing
in her use of the crop to spur them on to greater efforts.
Unlike the unlucky Spaniard, Taleena had given a good account of
herself, but her exhaustion was manifest after nine hours of ruthless drill. On
the galley, she had been able to row for twelve hours at a stretch on those
occasions when the pace-drummer's gavels had established a bearable pace. But
the more varied stresses and strains of the day's exertions, with all of their
peaks and valleys, were in some ways even more taxing.
However, the warm, soothing water of the bath did assuage her fatigue to
some extent, and lying there, she had fallen partway into the arms of Somnus,
the beneficent god of sleep, when a voice roused her from her dreamy
contemplation.
"Beware of the Thracian," the low voice said, and Taleena opened her
eyes half-expecting to see the sullen-looking, pock-marked guard, who, in her
dream, had concealed his angular body behind a post and watched her as she
bathed. Or had it not been a dream? Taleena looked around the tepidarium
anxiously, but found no one save for the tall, handsome Nubian woman whom she
had seen fighting with trident and net earlier in the day. She was just about
to reply, when the African retiaria, or net-fighter, slid silently away from the
basin, heading in the direction of the massage room. Still trying to clear her
head, Taleena rose, and heaved her aching body out of the basin, knotted a towel
hurriedly around her waist, and, still dripping, followed the Nubian into the
adjoining room.
* * *
As Taleena entered the massage room, lingering odours of body oils
welcomed her, mingling with damp air and sweat, giving the room a strange, but
not unpleasing scent. The black woman lay prone on a bench that was covered with
a towel, and her tall, slim figure contrasted exquisitely with the white linen.
As her eyes took in the sight of the Nubian's shapely posterior, Taleena
became more conscious of her own nakedness, and felt uneasy when she saw two
masseurs sizing her up. Judging from their looks and peculiar hairstyle, the
masseurs were Egyptians whose inscrutable visages were as expressionless as the
death-masks of their long-dead kings. The linen towel which Taleena had wrapped
around her hips, just managed to cover her loins, but in doing so it only served
to accentuate her water-glistening nudity. Taleena felt the Egyptians' dark
eyes, as hot as the sands of the desert that surrounded their ancient monuments,
on her tawny body as she strode quickly past them, eager to recline on the bench
adjoining that of the slim, dark Nubian, so that she might lie down and conceal
her bare breasts from their view.
She had not forgotten how ashamed she had felt the day before when she
had been examined by the unctores, and even more so when the tonsores had taken
care of her. She had managed to maintain her outward composure, then, as she did
now, but inwardly she could hardly cope with the men's lecherous gazes without
experiencing a kind of internal degradation. She had learned, during her time as
a galley slave, what fate might befall a beautiful young woman in a world of
ruthless men, and she was fearful that her female charms might provoke similar
predatory behaviour at the Ludus Flavianus, even though such assaults had
apparently been proscribed my its master. It was that recurring fear which had
caused her to shiver slightly each time she had seen that stealthy young man who
seemed to haunt the compound like a hungry jackal haunts the night.
"Relax," the Nubian murmured as if she could read her mind. "They are
slaves much lower in hierarchy than we are. They may be hard-pressed to keep
their hands and minds on their business, but they would not dare to prey on
you." She raised a hand signalling to the masseur to cease his manipulations,
as if to prove her superiority of rank with that single commanding gesture.
"Calixtus probably told you that we have strict regulations here," the Nubian
went on, "and any man who has a sense of self-preservation will adhere to the
rules - or risk finding himself flat against the cross outside!
Taleena was impressed by the self-confidence with which the African
handled the situation, and the presence of the tough-minded Nubian and her words
of reassurance were comforting. Indeed Calixtus had outlined that any relations
between male and female members of the personnel, no matter what their rank or
status, were strictly forbidden, on pain of severe punishment. By way of
compensation for that enforced continence the men would be offered the chance to
take prostitutes from time to time, and those who found favour with the crowd
would have no lack of devoted female admirers who prized their pleasure more
than their virtue. Calixtus had not mentioned any such perquisites for the
female fighters, but if she knew Rome and Romans, the choice of lovers would be
theirs not hers. However, this was nothing to concern herself with at the
moment.
The smaller of the two Egyptian masseurs applied some oil to her back,
and as soon as he did, a strong aroma tinged with hints of mint and eucalyptus
filled her nostrils. The Egyptian dug his fingers into the muscles of her neck
and shoulders, and although the oil burned the fresh welts she bore from
Byrria's crop, Taleena began to relax while the masseur worked to lessen the
awful aching in her left shoulder. She had to admit that his skilful fingers
felt good on her body, and she couldn't help mewing softly as he worked the oil
into the pliable flesh of her lower back.
Taleena was bursting with a desire to ask the Nubian to expand on her
remark, but did not dare to in the presence of the Egyptians. The one who
attended her had poured another half ounce of the fragrant oil into his hands
and proceeded to rub it deeply into the backs of her tense thighs, while Taleena
considered the possible reasons for the Nubian's warning.
"We can speak," the black retiaria reassured her in her low voice, again
reading her mind. "These two are new here; they barely understand a word of
Latin."
"So why should I beware of the Thracian?" Taleena burst out, eager to be
told more.
"Just a feeling," the Nubian replied, and rolled over to offer the front
of her lean, dark body to the masseur's practiced hands. Again Taleena was
impressed by the nonchalance with which the Nubian exposed her breasts, although
she noticed that there wasn't too much to expose. As befit her slim, wiry
figure, the African girl's breasts were small, but well-shaped and of an
enviable firmness, capped with dark, up-tilting nipples.
"Byrria is a slave just as we are," the black woman went on, while the
Egyptian dripped a rivulet of massage oil in a thin liquid line that ran from
her throat to her deep-notched navel. "But she shares the bed of master Flavius
and imagines that every attractive newcomer here wishes to replace her in that
... position"
"Do you think I desire to take her place?" Taleena retorted indignantly,
but the seriousness of the Nubian's implication was unmistakable - the idea that
Byrria might consider herself a rival did not bode well for her future. "Why are
you telling me this?"
A faint smile formed on the African beauty's face as her masseur spread
the oil over her ebony breasts, giving them a delicious glossy finish. "I
thought that you should know," the Nubian stated meaningfully. "Byrria is a good
fighter - Flavius calls her his Thracian Tigress, you know, - but she's cruel
and vindictive, and her enmity might well prove fatal. So take care."
And with those words the black woman closed her eyes and fell silent
under the Egyptian's skilful touch, leaving only her languorous smile and the
thrusting stiffness of her dark nipples as clues to her thoughts.
Her warning was troubling indeed to Taleena, and intensified her
misgivings about the days to come. But nothing could be done at the moment
about Byrria, and, copying her African benchmate, she decided to relax under the
stroking hands of her masseur rather than dwell on her increasingly bleak
prospects. There were two, she deemed, at the Ludus Flavianus, whom she had
reason to fear - Byrria, the Thracian tigress and the skulking pock-marked
jackal whose gaunt shadow seemed to lurk behind every corner...
* * *
The masseur had begun to use a chopping motion on the backs of her
gracefully-curved calves, which he kept up as his practiced hands made their way
slowly up the sleek columns of her bare thighs. Taleena wondered if the male
recruits were recipients of such lingering attentions, but the hands felt good
on her aching body, and she made no protest. At last the Egyptian abandoned the
chopping strokes and removed the towel which she had knotted around her trim
waist, baring the thin, sinuous crease which separated the firm,
enticingly-contoured cheeks of her buttocks. Deprived of her last remaining
vestige of decency, Taleena bit her lip as the man turned his attentions to the
newly-exposed part of her body, kneading her tense butt cheeks with diligent
devotion, before he finally gave her to understand that she should turn over.
Taleena hesitated briefly, torn between the need to remain in command of
the situation and her natural reluctance to expose herself fully to the man's
inscrutable stare, but in the end she decided to comply with his invitation,
while trying not to reveal the anxiety it had caused her. She could tell that
the man was hard-pressed when she rolled over and revealed her breasts, but
aside from an almost imperceptible intake of breath, and a subtle flicker of
indecent interest in his dark eyes, the masseur remained impassive. He
continued to rub the soothing oil into her smooth thighs, showing the same
dispassionate pretence he had shown all along, while she closed her eyes as if
shutting him out of her sight might ease her insecurity
His hands clenched her sleek thighs above the knees, and then glided
slowly upward along her faintly trembling flesh, with such purposefulness that
Taleena was reminded of the ancient story of the quest for the Golden Fleece.
She winced nervously as the thumbs of this Ptolemaean descendant of Jason
reached the junction of her tawny legs, where her neatly trimmed triangle of
blonde pubic hair embellished, but did not conceal, the base of the protruding
folds of her mound of Venus. She was just about to squeeze her legs together
defensively when the questing hands began a slow, sensual retreat back down her
supple thighs. Blushing furiously, Taleena thought that she detected an amused
reaction to her sexual tension cross the Egyptian's hitherto impassive face.
Taleena cursed herself for having followed the Nubian's example and
having put herself in this uncomfortable, vulnerable position. The masseur
hadn't touched her inappropriately, but she clearly lacked the Nubian's
nonchalance at coping with such intimate attentions, professional though they
might be. But to withdraw from his knowing touch now would be a shameful
admission of womanly weakness, so she remained stoic and permitted his male
hands to continue their insistent, but soothing manipulation of her flesh.
She gave the Egyptian a stern look as he poured some more oil into his
hands, but he seemed to remain completely unimpressed by her stare. His hands
spread the oil liberally over her belly, then roamed upward, and Taleena's heart
missed a beat. His fingers, half business-like, half pleasure-seeking, slowly
traced the outer curves of her breasts whose fullness left them slightly sagging
to the sides of her chest, pressing them gently inward, then moved back to her
navel with a soft, downward stroke.
The Egyptian's hands had touched her breasts for only the briefest of
moments, but Taleena felt the tips of her breasts swell slightly in response. A
pale pink in repose, her nipples darkened slightly as they stiffened, as if
blushing at their wantonness. If the masseur was satisfied with this result, he
concealed it well, but Taleena felt a flush of shame welling through her at that
unwanted display of arousal. As she tried rather half-heartedly to convince
herself that her reaction could be blamed it on the cooling effect of the
essential oil, she strove to remain as impassive as the Egyptian, who continued
his ministrations with the same dispassionate demeanour he had displayed all
along.
Fighting to maintain her composure, Taleena told herself that it was her
own attitude which rendered the situation awkward. Or was it perhaps the memory
of the tasker on the galley who had taken such manly pleasure in anointing her
body? Most of the tasker's daylight hours had been given over to 'encouraging'
the rowers with his dreadful nine-stranded whip, but it had been his custom to
spend the hour after dawn on a more humane task. Each morning he gave the bodies
of the galley slaves a cursory sponging with rancid olive oil in order to
protect their skin from the bright rays of the Mediterranean sun. But, at the
direction of Balbinus, Taleena had been singled out for special attention. The
corpulent slave merchant had directed the tasker, a muscular Aethiopian, to rub
the gleaming oil into her flesh with his bare hands, while she sat helplessly on
her wooden bench chained to her oar. Taleena shivered slightly as she
remembered her humiliation and the roughness, the virile aggressiveness with
which the tall African had kneaded the slick, slippery oil into her shapely,
sun-kissed breasts, often spending more time on them than on the entire bodies
of the other rowers.
Taleena's blue eyes blinked twice, quickly, as she tried to put her
desperate days on the galley behind her, and sought instead to focus on the
Nubian whose self-confident behaviour showed that there was actually no reason
to refrain from relaxing and enjoying these pleasant caresses. She closed her
eyes and tried to relax, but a short time later she heard a movement alongside
her and realized that the black woman had risen from her bench. "Take care," the
slim retiaria said over her shoulder as she reached the door, and Taleena sat up
abruptly.
"Wait," she exclaimed, as she grabbed her towel and hurried after the
African beauty, displaying little confidence in the ability of rules and
regulations to spare her from indignities at the hands of the Egyptians. But
when she entered the changing room, the Nubian was gone.
Taleena put on the fresh garments that she found in her locker and left
the bathhouse. On the way back to her cell she continued to muse about the
unbidden sensual pleasure she had felt during her brief massage until her
anxiety about the day to come returned. It took all of her mental fortitude to
fight off doubt and despair and persuade herself that all might yet be well.
* * *
Upon arriving back at her cell, Taleena reclined on her plank bed and
pulled her blanket tightly around her. Despite her fatigue she was at first
unable to sleep, troubled by both physical aches and mental anxiety. She tossed
and turned fitfully for a while, but stopped suddenly when she heard the first
notes of a tune played on a flute drifting gently through the night. The
plaintive melody reminded her of a shepherd's song she had heard occasionally as
a girl, when she had gone hiking through the verdant meadows of her homeland. It
seemed strangely unreal to hear those haunting pastoral tones, so reminiscent of
field and forest, permeating the grimness of the Flavian compound, but the
sweetness of the tune immediately began to soothe her troubled frame of mind.
She held her breath so as not to miss a note, for the only music that she had
heard in recent months had been the cruel, incessant pounding of the
pace-setting drum on the Thetis. In all her days on board that horrible vessel,
she could not remember hearing so much as a single man sing or hum or whistle -
save for the derisive and humiliating whistles leering members of the crew had
occasionally directed her way.
As she listened to the nocturnal flautist, she began to hum along softly
to the simple, nostalgic tune, while her heart filled with memories of distant
home and far-off family. In a short time she was asleep, her eyelids moist with
tears, but her face wreathed in a smile evocative of happier times.
