Adel stepped into a room crowded with green-clad fighters, stretching, pacing, clustered around the barred gate that blocked a short tunnel leading to the arena floor. The limited view offered several laquerari armed with a sword and lasso, each pitted against a secutor. Though not half as popular as the net-wielding retiarius, the laquerari were entertaining in their own right. Sharp-eyed and quick on their feet, they tossed spinning loops of rope toward their opponents in an effort to entangle them before engaging with blades.
The costumers descended upon them like birds, poking and picking and tugging. Adel’s long gown was transformed into a knee-length hunting tunic, easier to move in, but still resembling the parade costume. Dreda, Berit, and the other Hilda were wrestled into green tunics and blue trousers, oddly reminiscent of their own attire back in the war camp. Would they be part of the battle then? Even though their scores from the preliminaries made them candidates to face the andabata?
“There.” The costumer stepped back with a satisfied nod.
“And my armor?”
“None for this.”
Icy dread wrapped around her chest where her breastplate should have been. “What do you mean, none?”
“My notes say no armor.”
“No armor, or no helmet? This is idiocy. Ignacio!”
The costumer threw up his hands and stepped back, gaze darting for the guard. “I’m only following the orders I was given.”
“Orders?” And then it struck. Of course. She’d thwarted Jovan and Blandus Albus at the Ludus Magnus and they’d lost a fortune. If they’d bet against her today, they would do all they could to ensure she did not win. But weren’t they sending her out with Felix? Or would they send her out against someone else dressed as Felix?
A racing panic thrummed through her chest. She scanned the room, hoping to see Felix, find reassurance that all was going to plan. But he was nowhere to be seen. Had he abandoned her? Found a moment to escape and taken it? Were they all on their own now, taking whatever chance presented itself? She could hardly blame him and yet, he’d promised. He’d promised to be there for her. See this through to the end. The familiar weight of betrayal crushed the breath from her lungs.
Beyond the barred gate, one of the secutors from the Ludus Gallicus went down, tangled in a laquerari rope. She turned away before thedispatching blow, feeling everything inside her on the verge of crumbling. She could not break. Not now.
“Find them!” Ignacio’s voice thundered over the hum of voices as he burst back into the room and made for Adel.
“Why am I not allowed armor?”
Ignacio ignored her. Sweat dampened the front of his tunic despite the Ianuarius chill. An angry tension tightened the line of his jaw. “I don’t have time for this, Amazon. The order of fights keeps changing and I can’t find Tilla.”
“You can’t send me out without armor.”
“You are Thisbe, and Thisbe doesn’t wear armor. She also doesn’t fight a man but—”
“What?” A growing dread built in her gut, but Adel forced her face to remain stoic. She couldn’t have heard right.
Ignacio shook his head and muttered something about imbeciles. “Everything’s messed up and—” He twisted to shout over his shoulder, “I’m doing the best I can, Magnus!”
“A gladiatrix does not fight a gladiator. It isn’t done.” Clammy chills prickled her skin. For centuries gladiators had been carefully paired and armored to balance strengths and weaknesses. It made for thrilling matches, unreliable outcomes. But men and women never fought each other. Unless...
“Well, it is done today.” Ignacio strode away, jostling between a slave and a secutor before he turned back and met her gaze. “You will have to be strong, give it all you have. He’s a thief and a murderer. And you must be on your highest guard.”
Her mouth went dry. She should have known they’d change the rules. Sending her and Felix out as ill-fated lovers to battle lions would only win the love of the crowd, perhaps their earlier performance had already done that. Her mind ran. So, she would not be sent out with Felix. Perhaps he had already escaped and this was the mess-up Ignaciospoke of, or perhaps his punishment had run its course and Jovan had mercifully pulled Felix before he could be injured. Her pulse thundered.
“Ignacio,” Adel elbowed her way after him, hating the pleading whimper in her voice. She grabbed his arm before he twisted out the door. “Ignacio, give me armor.”
“These are the Victory Games, Amazon. Great risk. Great reward. You beat the Strix without a sword; you can beat this man without armor. Rome loves you.” He gripped her shoulder, bending to look her in the eyes. “Keep that in your mind and fight for your life, for your freedom.”
Adel gave a single nod. There was no point in arguing. Whatever Blandus Albus and the game master decreed would be done. She was never meant to leave the ampitheatre alive. She would face her opponent, and win.
Or die in the attempt.
There was no other option.
Felix paced another length of the cell and paused once more at the gate, peering out at the slaves cleaning the sand. The morning beast hunts were done, as well as the mediocre fighters spent during the noon hour when most of the spectators left to seek refreshment at the food stands glutting the plaza around the amphitheatre. He could only hope the plans were in place, that his father and Telemachus had succeeded in putting liberators in place of guards and medici. There was an uneasy thrum in the pulse of the amphitheatre, as if the heart were not quite as strong as it ought to be. And that hitch in the rhythm gave him hope.
The sun was high in the clear winter sky, signaling the end of the noon break and the beginning of the afternoon gladiator matches. Unease tightened his muscles. He’d half expected to be thrown into the ring with the beasts earlier. The wait might kill him before the fight did.
“Medicus, you’re next.” The costumer beckoned him to the mound of stained linen and furs. From the stands they would appear bright and new, but up close they were nothing but secondhand rags stripped from the bodies of men long dead.
