gave her strength and her foot lashed out, catching him in the midriff. Nastasen staggered back as one of his compatriots locked his arm around her neck, choking her.
‘Turn her over.’ Nastasen’s voice was thick with lust and fury.
Lysandra struggled, but the strength of the men was too great.
Annoyed at her actions, one of them cracked her head into the stone wall and stars swam sickeningly before her eyes. She felt fingers pulling at the flesh of her buttocks and between her legs, invading her cruelly. She screamed then, and the men laughed.
‘Better shut her up,’ one said.
‘Use this.’
There was a moment of shuffling, then one of the men pinched her nose; after some time, forced to gasp for air, she opened her mouth, and the man shoved a cloth into it. It tasted foul with sweat.
‘Look at that,’ Nastasen crooned, spreading her buttocks wide.
‘All nice and pink. And tight. Really tight.’
She felt him position himself behind her, steadying himself.
Then came a wave of agony as he rammed himself into her. She screamed into the cloth, the cords of her neck standing out.
‘How do you like that, you fucking bitch?’ Nastasen bore her to the filthy floor, thrusting with all his weight. ‘You’ve been asking for it,’ he grunted, taking pleasure from her pain. ‘You deserve it!’
Tears came to her eyes, hot and salty, as he continued and she screamed again, shaking her head, begging for the ordeal to be over.
‘You deserve it!’ Nastasen gasped again. ‘You…’ He trailed off, lost in his pleasure.
Lysandra felt him quicken his pace, his breathing becoming ragged before he collapsed on top of her, sated for now. Moments later, he pulled himself out, and climbed to his feet. She began to shake and he aimed a kick into her ribs. ‘She loved it!’ he chuckled. ‘Who’s next?’
‘I’m next,’ the one who had choked her said. ‘But turn her round and lift her head up. I want her to see my face while I fuck her.’
Lysandra closed her eyes as she felt the next force his way into her flesh. She was lost in a sea of torment, her most intimate parts open for the abuse and pleasure of the Nubian and his gang. All manner of depravities were visited on her, acts that were designed to humiliate as well as cause pain, and all the while they mocked. When the three had at last spent their first issue they resumed beating her, letting their ardour rise again at the sight of her suffering.
Then it began again.
XXXII
‘Wake up, Gaul!’ Catuvolcos looked about blearily.
Hildreth, was pulling him off the table where he had slumped. ‘You can’t pass out!’ Hildreth herself was flushed red from excess, her breath reeking of beer and garlic.
Catuvolcos recoiled, and was sick down himself.
‘That’s disgusting,’ Hildreth observed.
‘Lysandra,’ Catuvolcos mumbled.
‘She’s locked up, idiot.’
‘No, we must let her out,’ Catuvolcos announced with all the conviction of the truly inebriated. ‘It is not fair that we should enjoy ourselves whilst she is in chains.’ He got to his feet, and overbalanced, falling onto his rear. He looked up, and began to laugh.
Hildreth shook her head, offering him a hand up. ‘Come on, I will help you then. You won’t get there on your own, I think.’
Supporting each other, the two weaved towards the catacombs, sniggering.
‘Shussh…’ Catuvolcos put a finger to his lips as they walked through the tunnels, their mirth echoing off the walls. Trying to cease their hilarity only made it worse and the two leant against the wall, shoulders shuddering with repressed mirth.
‘No, stop.’ Hildreth waved her hands, tears running down her face. ‘It hurts.’ She slid down the wall, clutching her stomach.
‘Help!’
Catuvolcos doubled up at her antics. For a time the two were incapable of even moving, both close to hysterics. ‘The thing is,’ he gasped, ‘I don’t know what we are laughing at.’
‘Your face,’ Hildreth exclaimed. ‘Shussh,’ she imitated him. ‘Was so funny.’ She rolled to her knees, and climbed up, using the wall to support herself. The two staggered on, and made their way to Lysandra’s cell. Grinning, Catuvolcos opened the door.
Lysandra lay naked on the ground, her body illuminated by the light of a dying torch. From head to foot, she was a mass of bruises and lacerations, blood oozing from a cut on her head.
‘Gods!’ Catuvolcos rushed to her side, knelt by her.
‘Is she alive?’ Hildreth was stunned by the sight.
He placed a hand to Lysandra’s neck. ‘Yes. But barely. Get help.’
He fumbled with the locks on the Spartan’s chains now cursing his drunkenness. He looked around, to see Hildreth still standing in the doorway, her expression horrified. ‘Go!’ he roared, but Hildreth was pointing at an area of the floor. Where Catuvolcos had moved Lysandra, the true extent of her injuries was apparent.
The floor beneath her lower body was stained with her blood.
‘Don’t tell me this!’ Balbus put his face into his hands. Sunlight fell across his face and made him wince. The hour was early and he had over-indulged in the governor’s hospitality. Stick and Catuvolcos looked like two corpses standing before himself and Titus. ‘Who did it?’ The lanista resisted the urge to curse.
‘We don’t know.’ Stick shrugged. ‘It could have been anyone.
We were celebrating with the others.’
‘You mean you were drunk,’ Titus growled. The two trainers stared sheepishly at the floor.
‘… And it couldn’t have been just anyone, you imbecile!’
Balbus stood up, his stomach lurching. ‘She was locked in a cell, you say. By your own hand! So whoever did it had to have a key.’
‘Keys can be stolen,’ Catuvolcos offered.
‘And has anyone reported one missing?’ Balbus shouted him down. When this rhetorical question was met with silence the lanista threw up his arms. ‘I can’t leave you two alone for one night!’ he blustered. ‘Every night is party night for Stick and Catuvolcos, but when Balbus takes one night off — one — what does he find? The place in disarray and his most promising gladiatrix raped, beaten and stabbed near to death. I’ll bet you’ve not even begun to get the other women on to the carts, have you?
No. And who’ll have to foot the bill to the arena for the over-stay? Lucius Balbus will!’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Catuvolcos mumbled.
Balbus glared at him. ‘Sorry, are you? You’ll be more sorry if I have you nailed to a board for your idiocy,’ he waved a finger, ‘and that includes you, Stick.’ The two trainers said nothing, merely looked down at the ground, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. ‘Damn the pair of you,’ he added in a tired murmur.
A silence hung in the room for some time while Balbus pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to let the anger drain out of him. This was just not fair: not when he was on the verge of the biggest deal of his life, the greatest purse that any lanista outside of Rome could hope to make and the fame that the proposed extravaganza would bring him. ‘What did the surgeon say?’ He decided to ask a practical question. Better to hear the worst, and get it over with.
‘She’s in a bad way,’ Catuvolcos said at once. ‘Balbus, terrible things have been done to her. The surgeon says…’ He paused, and swallowed. ‘The surgeon says it must have been a group that attacked her. It was — he said to me — not like she was just raped — they treated her in the vilest manner they could. There was hatred behind this attack.’
