Vestalis spoke with Domitiana and paid his wife no attention at all.
Severina, therefore, turned her entire focus on me. She rested her hand on my scarred arm.
“I have so enjoyed meeting you, Leonidas. You must come to my house for a feast.” She leaned to me to whisper under cover of the music. “A much better one than this. My mother has forgotten how to be indulgent.”
I glanced at Vestalis, who was deep in discussion with Domitiana about a proposed tax being debated by the senate. Herakles, annoyed at being shut out, moved restlessly and emitted a loud belch.
Severina tightened her grip, her pointed nails creasing my flesh. “Never mind my husband. He lets me do as I please. Say you’ll come. I’ll pay that stingy old Aemilianus plenty for you. I don’t care.”
“I no longer fight for the ludus,” I said. “I’m alibertus.”
Severina’s mouth quirked into a cold smile. “All the better.” She dragged a nail across my forearm hard enough to break the skin then lifted her finger to her mouth and licked it.
Her eyes were bright and glittering, lined with kohl, her cheeks touched with rouge. The coloring on her mouth had been enhanced by the blood-red wine.
A hunger lurked inside her, I sensed, one she barely kept contained. I’d been the guest of a number of women who’d wanted to be bedded by a gladiator—eager wives of patricians, Equestrians, or plebs, who believed they wanted to make themselves vulnerable to my strength. It excited them.
I saw that in Severina, but something more, something predatory.
The wine I’d drunk suddenly tasted sour. Was she truly the hunter of Ajax and Rufus—had she lured them to her and enjoyed watching them be killed? Conquering the strongest and ablest fighters in Rome?
I could discover this by accepting her offer, however dangerous it was. If she proved simply to be a woman who wanted to sate herself with novelty, then I would leave her and seek the murderer elsewhere. But if the slayings had happened at her home, then I would expose her and leave her to Nero’s mercy.
I leaned to Severina, keeping my voice low. “You humble me with your invitation, lady. I will accept.”
“Good.” Severina’s smile deepened as she lifted her wine. “Mother, why don’t we have our guests demonstrate their fighting skills? Leonidas has been given therudis, and we won’t see him fight in the amphitheaters any longer.”
Domitiana beamed at her daughter. “An excellent suggestion. Herakles, Leonidas … please.” She waved a hand to the open space in front of the tables.
The exchange between the two women emerged like lines spoken in a play. They’d rehearsed this, had probably mouthed a similar request many times before.
I rose, knowing I wouldn’t be allowed to refuse. I put aside my wine and joined Herakles, who’d jumped readily to his feet, moving to the area cleared for us.
One of the hovering servants handed me a wooden sword and a small shield, and another brought Herakles a net. He smiled as he tested it—the weight must be to his liking.
Instead of a spear, he was given a long pole with no point. No one was meant to die in this bout, I understood, but we could batter each other with the blunt weapons for our watchers’ amusement.
Herakles was a talented retiarius. He had a wicked hand with his net, which could entrap and render an opponent helpless while Herakles finished him off with a swift jab of his spear. In earlier days certain gladiators would only fight certain others—a retiarius against a myrmillo, for instance—but the lines had blurred now, and the audience was happy to watch any pairing.
I would have to keep away from the strangling lines of the heavy net—once I was tangled in it, I’d be hard-pressed to defend myself. I’d only been felled by a net once, managing to roll free because the net had been torn and the retiarius who’d thrown it hadn’t used his advantage quickly enough.
Domitiana acted as referee, holding up her hand and saying in a loud, clear voice, “Let the game commence.”
“The prizes are worth it,” Herakles told me, even as he began to glide around me.
I held my sword and shield ready. The way to win against Herakles was to put myself behind him before he could turn, or make him throw the net and miss me. Once the net was gone, I could deflect or break his spear and bring him down.
Herakles was too experienced to throw early. He stalked me on light feet while I backed away, watching for my opening. The wooden shield had a point on it, with which I could catch the net and fling it away if I could. However, the shield could also snag the net and trap my arm.
Herakles grinned, his light hair gleaming in the candlelight. I kept my face straight, concentrating.
It didn’t matter who won this bout. Domitiana would take Herakles to bed with her this night, and I would depart with Cassia and go home. I had nothing to win, and nothing to lose.
As soon as I held the sword and shield, however, my training took over, and the fighting man I’d once been stepped forth.
I saw, not the dining room with its decadent wall paintings of food and sensuality, but the spear and net coming at me in a vast arena. I felt the sand grating beneath my bare feet, smelled the blood and sweat of those who’d fought and died in earlier matches.
My bouts usually were the last of the day, the populace of Rome on their feet in the Circus Gai or the Saepta Julia, chanting for Leonidas the Spartan to win once again.
