Herakles, with his maniacal smile, wanted to best the champion.
I had an advantage tonight, no helmet. The bronze helmet that protected my head from blows also limited my eyesight. I had to keep the retiarius in front of me at all times or figure out where he was by sound and the change in the air at my back.
Tonight, I could turn my head and keep him in sight.
Herakles likewise was unhampered by arm guards or heavy leg greaves. He danced sideways on the balls of his feet, sizing up his opening, enjoying himself.
I moved out of his way without running, slowly drawing him to me. Herakles watched me carefully, not falling into little traps I set that would bring him too close to me to use the net.
He lunged abruptly, and I just as quickly sidestepped, dancing out of the way. At the last moment, Herakles stopped himself from throwing the net, knowing it would be a wasted toss.
The two ladies gasped and laughed, beating the table to show their appreciation. This became the noise of the crowd as I fought for my life.
My heart hadn’t been in my finals bouts—I’d long grown weary of the life, fighting only because I had no choice. Even so, I’d won every time. My body had become a machine as mindless as the cranes that lifted massive stones onto new wings of Nero’s domus. Once the machine was set in motion, it operated with grim efficiency.
Herakles wanted me to let him win, to impress his lady, and I could have. But my body and my training refused.
Pretending to retreat, I led Herakles quickly across the small floor, my feet brushing a mosaic of nymphs reclining at a fountain. I paused for a moment near a corner of the wall, as though pinned there, out of breath, and Herakles, with a triumphant expression, threw the net.
It hit empty air. As soon as I saw his wrist bend for the throw, I jumped a length sideways, the heavy net brushing my foot as it fell.
I shifted my weight so the cords wouldn’t trip me and charged Herakles. He desperately brought up his spear, trying to make me impale myself with it, but I whirled past the spear and spun behind him, knocking my shield hard against his hand as I went. Herakles’s weapon wavered, and then I rammed into him with my entire body.
As he staggered, I threw down my shield, grabbed Herakles’s head with my free hand, and shoved my sword against his throat. He could do nothing but try to hit me with the side of his spear.
I bore down on his throat, cutting off his air. “Yield?”
Herakles choked out a foul word, eyes full of rage.
“Shall we grant him mercy?” Severina asked in delight.
“He will have to ask for it,” Domitiana observed. Her voice was calm, as though she had no interest in whether her lover lived or died.
Herakles snarled, but he held up his forefinger, the signal that he wished to stop the fight and beg for clemency.
I waited, Herakles dragging in strangled breaths. In this room, the two ladies and Vestalis were the sponsors of the games, with the power of life or death over us. Domitiana thoughtfully chewed on a grape.
“I suppose we could let him live.” She finished her grape as her daughter laughed.
“Mitte!”Severina called.Spare him!
Herakles continued to growl, furious with me for besting him. I glanced at Severina’s husband, but the man had slumped down on the couch, head on his chest, eyes closed. He’d nodded off while Herakles and I battled in front of him to the death.
* * *
Herakles did not losehis anger at me until Domitiana took him to her side and pretended to fuss over his wounded body. His next look at me was smug, as though he considered this a victory.
Tertius Vestalis snorted awake, blinked at the room, then rose and wandered out. Severina beckoned me to her, but a manservant appeared and deferentially whispered a message to her before I could reach her.
Severina screamed through her teeth and slapped the manservant hard. He came up, the red imprint of her hand on his face, bowed, and fled.
“My tiresome husband needs assistance home,” Severina snapped at me. “Or so he says. He is only trying to prove he has power over me. Stupid old fool.” A maid hurried to Severina’s side and helped her to her feet, straightening her stola until Severina pushed her away.
Domitiana peered up from where Herakles lay with his head on her chest. “And you will be a dutiful wife and go to him. Good night to you, daughter.”
Severina glowered at her mother but conceded to let her maid wrap a palla around her. Without returning the good night or saying a word to me, she swept from the room, the maid rushing after her.
Domitiana returned her attention to Herakles. He’d snuggled in closer, ever so slowly and subtly twining himself around her.
