away. ‘I think Nastasen was asking for it, though. He detests her.’
‘And you do not? You are free with the staff when it comes to her. And groping the women is one of your prime humiliation techniques.’
‘I detest everyone, you know that. As for the other, that only happens at the beginning, to let them know they are property.’
Balbus inclined his head in acquiescence. ‘And Nastasen?’
‘I had him put in a cell to cool down.’ Stick shrugged. ‘He took a bit of a kicking but I think it’s his pride that will be more bruised. It’s Catuvolcos that is my concern.’
‘How so?’
‘He has a thing for Lysandra. I think he cares for her.’ This last was said with distaste.
Balbus sighed heavily. Indeed Lysandra was close to becoming more trouble than she was worth. ‘Has he been with her?’
Stick’s cackle was lewd. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she has anything to get into, if you know what I mean. Might as well try to prod a statue. But the way Catuvolcos acts towards her I can tell he’s carrying a torch. We don’t need that, lanista.
There will be more trouble between him and Nastasen over her and next time I might not be around to stop it.’
‘Stick,’ Balbus said heavily, ‘these are problems I don’t need the day before a spectacle.’
‘Maybe we should put her on the blocks.’
Irritated, Balbus waved this away. ‘What’s done is done. She stays for now, Stick, but the punishment stands. I want you to keep an eye on Catuvolcos, however. He’s too soft on the women as it is, and if he’s getting sweet on one of my possessions it’ll be him that goes to the blocks.’
It was an artificial freedom, but it was freedom nevertheless. For the first time since her capture Lysandra looked upon the world without confines. There were guards, to be sure, but no walls enclosed her and it was liberating to see as far as her eyes would let her.
The Macedonian guard had told her that the arrival of a famillia caused a furore but she had been unprepared for the public hysteria that accompanied their parade through the city. The editor of the games had hired several troupes which, though not unprecedented, was certainly a rarity. As such, the interest aroused was spectacular.
The day had become blistering hot, but even the scorching eye of Helios had not deterred the people from thronging the streets to catch a glimpse of their favourites. Thousands of citizens lined the route of the parade, pitching and roaring against the thin dam of legionaries who had been assigned to crowd control by Halicarnassus’s urban praetor. Still, despite the throngs, Lysandra was able to catch small glimpses of the city. To her eye, Halicarnassus had a jumbled look to it, the original architecture of the Carians improved upon by Hellene expatriates, and this in its turn ruined by inferior Roman styling. The great Mausoleum, named for the ancient Carian King, Mausolos, was the city’s centrepiece and a beautiful building, to be sure. Yet it looked sadly out of place amidst the muddled array of architectural styles.
It was, she thought, a place at odds with itself.
Lysandra knew that the women fighters commanded nowhere near the interest that the men aroused, but it did not seem to be so as she marched with the others. Each step of the way, she was deafened by shouts of both encouragement and derision as the crowd saw the fighters they had wagered on — or against.
Like the others, she carried a placard bearing her name, and her arena tally — one victory. Thus, the devotees had a name for a face, and they gave voice to their raw feelings. As well as this, Lysandra heard many marriage proposals on her walk and countless other more intimate suggestions.
She was not the only one to be subject to such interest. At the front of their column, Eirianwen was hailed as a goddess. It was not surprising, Lysandra thought. Certainly, the Silurian would have aroused envy in Helen of Sparta herself. There were calls for Sorina as well: many times the victrix, she had her own solid core of devotees. It was exhausting, but exhilarating. The adulation of so many people was a heady wine, so much so that Lysandra barely reflected on her confrontation with Nastasen. She would bear her punishment and try to put the incident behind her.
The parade ended at the great arena where the traditional pre-games feast for the competitors would be held. The custom was ancient, affording the fighters a last sip of life’s pleasures before the inevitability of combat. Lysandra thought it ironic that this pleasure was to be taken on the very sands that would taste the blood of many of the revellers. Yet, the editor, Aeschylus, had spared no expense and the fare laid out was lavish. Trestles had been arrayed in neat rows, almost groaning with the weight of food and wine. Fruits and sweetmeats, many of which Lysandra could not identify, were in abundance and the air was heavy with the delicious tang of cooking meat. Barrel upon barrel of wine and other alcoholic drinks were also in evidence and it was to these that most of the fighters headed.
Lysandra was amazed to see that the sponsor had even gone to the expense of providing musicians. Flute girls wound their way through the tables and though their tunes were rarely in harmony, the shrill discord somehow seemed to suit the revels. Much thought had also gone into security. Each school had a clearly marked area to keep any over-eager or over-liquored competitors from settling their arranged disputes before the day of competition. Though segregated, the male gladiators were also present, a fact that delighted Penelope.
The Hellene women had found a free table and had gathered together as was now their custom.
‘I’m telling you,’ Penelope enthused, chewing on a chicken leg. ‘It’s been my bleeding time for days. I’m going to get some action tonight if it kills me. No risk fun.’
‘It might kill you,’ Danae commented. ‘You know it’s forbidden.’
The Athenian wrinkled her nose as she bit into a stuffed dormouse, which, they had been told by one of the Italian girls, was a popular Roman delicacy.
‘I don’t care.’ Penelope shrugged. ‘Just because most of you are happy with a licking, doesn’t mean it’s satisfying me. You’ve been snacking for months. I want the whole meal — meat and vegeta-bles.’ The women fell about laughing and Lysandra found that this last comment brought a slight smile to her face.
‘More wine?’ Thebe reached for a carafe. Lysandra’s hand snaked out, and slapped her away. Thebe flushed angrily.
‘Do not be foolish, Thebe,’ Lysandra admonished.
The Corinthian gestured to Eirianwen and her coterie, who were indulging in the foul-tasting beer that they craved. ‘They’re drinking and we should too.’
‘They are barbarians!’ Lysandra snapped haughtily. ‘ We are Hellene. It is enough to take wine in small quantities, with water, especially tonight. I would not see you with a sword in your guts because your head was heavy with wine.’ She felt slightly hypo-critical saying this, as it was well known that she had been carried insensible from the gathering at the ludus. None saw fit to bring that up, however.
At the end of their repast, Lysandra excused herself and made her way to Eirianwen’s table. She nodded at Sorina, who regarded her coldly as she sat. For her part, Eirianwen’s eyes were somewhat glazed from imbibing her vile liquor.
‘Lysandra.’ She grinned. ‘It is good to see you!’ Her enthusiastic embrace caused Lysandra to stiffen a little. She was unused to affection and the barbarian habit of constantly touching one another was unsettling.
‘I came to wish you luck.’ Lysandra’s eyes swept around the table. ‘All of you.’
Sorina took her cup away from her lips. ‘We don’t need it,’ she said shortly. ‘We are not novices like you and your friends.’
That was typical of barbarians. Sorina could not be held accountable for her rudeness, she knew no better.
‘Thank you, Lysandra.’ This was from the Illyrian dimachaera, Teuta. She raised her foaming cup in a toast.
‘You are all drinking,’ Lysandra noted the obvious.
‘Of course, do you want some beer?’ Eirianwen smacked her lips. ‘It’s Egyptian, the best.’
‘No, thank you. I do not think it is wise to drink heavily before a combat.’
‘Ha!’ Sorina ejaculated. ‘This from the veteran of one combat and the model of sobriety. Forgive me for not bowing to your great experience.’
‘Have I done something to offend you, Amazon?’ Lysandra asked carefully. She would not cause another
