“You know you could probably make good money selling that hair to a wigmaker.” She’d only ever seen this shade of hair on the heads of patrician ladies, but they must get it from somewhere.
He made a dismissive gesture. “Tried it. Took too long to grow, and I couldn’t stand looking like some sort of barbarian while it was growing out.”
“Fair enough. Do you have any fighting experience? Army?” She tore her gaze from his shocking hair and evaluated the rest of his physique. He was tall but skinny. That was workable. Height couldn’t be changed, but muscle could always be built.
“I’ve won some tavern brawls,” he said, a defensive jut to his chin.
“What sort of work have you done?”
He shrugged. “Been on a few construction crews, that sort of thing.”
That elucidated why he sought to become a gladiator. Despite the risk, it was probably more tolerable than a life of physical drudgery. Of course, training as a gladiator was also grueling, but it offered a chance at fame and fortune that menial jobs couldn’t.
All in all, he seemed promising, which excited her. This scarlet-haired man could be her first step toward her goal.
“I want to see him fight,” she announced to her uncle, who stood off to the side, watching as she questioned the man. “Can I have one of the others spar with him?” Though fighting techniques could be taught, she’d learned the best gladiators had an innate spark of talent even as complete novices.
Lucullus shook his head. “They’re busy. You’ll have to figure out another way to evaluate him.”
“Fine.” She thought for a second, then beckoned the volunteer to follow her to an unoccupied spot on the sunny training ground.
She assumed a stable stance. “Fight me.” Months ago, she had wheedled Penthesilea into teaching her the basics of hand-to-hand combat, in case she should ever need to defend herself.
The man’s coppery eyebrows shot up. “I’m not going to attack agirl.”
“I want to see how you move,” she pressed. “I won’t take on a gladiator without knowing if he can throw a punch, at a bare minimum.” If she was going to assume the risk and expense of training him, she had to believe her investment would pay off.
“What do you mean,you’regoing to take on a gladiator?” he demanded.
Velia realized Lucullus may not have explained the situation fully to him, but that could wait. She darted forward and stamped hard on the man’s sandaled foot.
He let out a yelp of pain. She aimed a punch at his face, which he dodged. Before she could do anything else, his fist drove into her stomach, forcing all the air from her lungs.
Wheezing, Velia dropped to the ground, curling in on herself as she struggled for breath.
The volunteer stumbled back, raising both hands. “She made me do it!” he protested to Lucullus, who watched the exchange with his usual cool oversight.
The training gladiators around them had paused to stare at them. As she fought to draw air into her lungs, Velia noticed Ferox had risen to his feet from the bench on the edge of the space, his eyes fixed on them.
She lifted a hand. “It’s—fine,” she croaked. A smile rose to her lips. That punch had been worth it, for it had revealed a very valuable piece of information.
She labored to stand. “You’re left-handed,” she said to the volunteer.
He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I am.”
A left-handed gladiator was extremely useful, as he could more easily get behind his right-handed opponent’s defenses.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Calvus,” he replied.
“We’ll be changing that.” She’d have to think of a suitably impressive name for him. “Here’s how this will work. I’ll cover your food, lodging, equipment, training, and any medical care you require. If you die, I’ll cover your funeral arrangements. I’ll keep the fees from your appearances, but any winnings are yours.”
He narrowed his eyes, glancing between her and Lucullus. “You’re a woman. What do you even know about gladiators?”
“More than you, I’d wager.” Velia had never expended much energy worrying about how unconventional it was for a woman to manage gladiators. She knew several women who ran businesses, everything from operating market stalls to running workshops to renting out properties throughout the city. This wasn’t much different—only in that her wares would be gladiators.
The volunteer made an unconvinced noise.
