‘I will not deny that if you came to me willingly, I would be honoured, for you are extremely beautiful… not to mention intelligent, which is rare amongst women.’
She pulled the chiton back into place too relieved at being wrong to be offended by his unconscious arrogance. As she adjusted the dress, she realised it was not she who had erred; Balbus had misled her. Certainly, had the lanista kept his peace, she would not have been so fraught with worry. And, she thought angrily, she had now embarrassed herself, due to him. Had she been given the opportunity to judge the situation for herself, the evening would have passed without incident. Now, as it stood, she felt intolerably foolish. She cleared her throat, now thankful for the make up the slave girls had applied. Frontinus would not know that beneath it she was as scarlet as a Laconian war-cloak.
‘Why did you ask me here then?’
‘Because I admire skill at arms and I think you have the potential to be great.’ Lysandra nodded; it was not the first time she had heard this, and she believed it was the truth anyway. ‘Certainly, I am an enthusiast of the games,’ he went on, ‘and my eye is well practised. But I wanted to see if there was more to you than merely a good sword arm. And,’ he grinned, ‘governor I may be, but like everyone else, I am star struck by you warriors of the arena. And luckily for me, my position affords me the opportunity to meet those I admire.’ He raised his cup to her. ‘There is indeed much more to you than a good sword arm, Lysandra of Sparta.’
She lifted her own drink. ‘An astute observation, Governor,’ she said. ‘I salute you.’ Placing her cup on the table she rose to her feet. ‘I bid you good evening, Sextus Julius Frontinus. Vale.’
‘ Vale, gladiatrix.’ Frontinus smiled and watched her depart. She was indeed a marvellous creature, he decided. The perfect catalyst for his plans, in fact.
XXVII
‘I won’t have it.’ Balbus glared at Sorina, his tone heavy with finality. This was not what he needed. It was early morning, the sun only just creeping across the desk in his rented Halicarnassus office and already there were problems to deal with.
‘You have no real choice in this, lanista,’ Sorina responded evenly. ‘We will fight, regardless. But it is my hope that one of us will survive. And that, in this, you may profit.’
‘It’s not a question of profit.’ Balbus slammed his fist onto his desk. ‘It’s a question of hierarchy. I’m the owner of this troupe, in case you had forgotten. You can’t just go arranging your personal feuds because it pleases you to do so.’
For a moment, sadness flickered across the harsh, weathered features of the Amazon. ‘It does not please me to do so,’ she said.
‘But nevertheless, I must fight Eirianwen.’
Balbus raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure you two can work it out,’ he said placatingly. ‘You’ve always been so close, there must be a way to extricate yourselves from the situation without blood-shed.’
‘You do not understand the ways of the Tribes, Balbus.’ Sorina sighed. ‘This is not a contract we can negotiate, or a court in which we can argue. I have been challenged and that challenge must be answered.’
‘This is preposterous,’ the lanista spluttered. ‘What am I running here?’ he implored, eyes flying to the heavens.
‘I am Gladiatrix Prima; Eirianwen, Gladiatrix Secunda. These games have brought your ludus to prominence. Was Lysandra, a novice fighter, not invited to the seat of the governor himself?’
Balbus noted the distaste when she mentioned the Spartan but waved her to continue. ‘I admit this match is not planned but it could show you, lanista, as one extremely willing to please the crowd… and the editor. By offering your two best fighters in a death match you show your generosity, risking your greatest assets. Your gladiatrices have, on the whole, outclassed those novelty fighters from the other schools. The crowd will love it. Think of the money in side-betting alone. And I am sure that you and Falco can squeeze some more coin from Fat Aeschylus for this…spectacle.’
‘You have a point,’ Balbus conceded, all too aware that avarice was getting the better of him. Then again, he soothed himself, everyone had to make a living. ‘I’m not promising anything, mind,’ he admonished. ‘But if the terms are agreeable, you shall have your fight. Fair enough?’
The barbarian got to her feet. ‘Fair enough.’ She nodded briefly. ‘I thank you for this, Balbus.’ She turned to leave.
‘Sorina,’ he called out as she put her hand to do the door.
‘Who should I bet on?’
‘I will walk away alive, lanista,’ Sorina said, her back to him.
‘Eirianwen is young, strong and fast. But she is not Clan Chief and never will be.’ She left before he could phrase another question, slamming the door behind her.
Balbus sat back heavily in his chair and mulled over the prospect.
The barbarian was correct, he could make a fortune from this bout. The aging veteran facing the young lioness; the strength of youth versus the wisdom of experience. It had all the makings of a classic confrontation.
‘Nikos!’ he screamed, calling a scribe to him. The skinny Greek entered in a rush, looking somewhat dishevelled.
‘Master?’
‘Get a messenger to Septimus Falco. Tell him that I require his presence with all haste.’
‘At once, Master.’ He bowed and left, leaving Balbus to contemplate the money he would soon be counting.
Lysandra arose early, filled with a desire to see Eirianwen, but her Hellene compatriots were not sensitive to her needs and quizzed her mercilessly about her evening with the governor.
When none of the details were as lurid as had been expected, they soon lost interest. She could not help thinking of Penelope, and this brought a sad smile to her face. The fisher girl would have been most disappointed by the lack of carnal excesses.
‘I do not expect you to understand,’ Lysandra finished disdainfully. ‘We spoke mostly of matters tactical and military. Whilst you are all competent fighters, I fear that such stratagems would be beyond you.’ This was greeted by ironic chuckles from the women. This, Lysandra reckoned, was to cover their own embarrassment. She was only speaking the truth.
Nevertheless, when they realised there was no gossip to be had, they let her be and she made her way from the cell. The passageways were mostly deserted at the early hour, the fighters still sleeping off their excesses from the previous evening. Lysandra could not get to grips with the need to drink oneself into insensibility after a bout but she had noticed it was the norm for almost everyone else.
Eirianwen, she knew, was an early riser and, though a prodigious drinker in her own right, she could normally be found in the baths at daybreak. This in mind, Lysandra headed straight for the small facility in the grounds of the amphitheatre, and her heart leapt when she saw Eirianwen sitting by the pool, her feet paddling.
Lysandra moved behind her and sat, her legs scissoring Eirianwen’s hips, and wrapped her arms round her belly. Eirianwen started slightly, but relaxed as she kissed her neck and shoulders.
‘Good morning,’ she whispered, breathing deeply the scent of Eirianwen’s freshly washed hair. ‘I missed you.’
‘How was your night?’ she let her golden head fall back to Lysandra’s shoulder, but there was an edge to her voice.
‘Not what I expected,’ she answered quickly, keen to allay any fears Eirianwen may have pertaining to her fidelity. ‘The governor is an admirer of the games,’ she explained. ‘He had no interest in anything else. He merely wished to talk, that is all. I think he is enamoured of us female fighters.’
‘A pity he wasn’t enamoured of keeping the Silures free. Roman bastard.’
Lysandra bit her lip, desperate to appease her. ‘Please do not be angry with me, Eirianwen. I had no choice in this. But I swear to you that nothing happened. We just talked.’ There was a silence, punctuated only by the gentle dripping of condensation and the distant roar of the furnace that kept the waters hot.
