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‘Your women gladiators. Your guard was most impressive… Perhaps I could teach her the Persian fighting style.’
‘That’s my sister,’ boasted Cassius.
‘You said, yes,’ said Darius, amused.
The tension in her shoulders returned. All was well and yet the bad feeling continued to plague her, rolling her stomach in waves. It was nearly time for her speech, conveniently sandwiched between the gladiatorial combat and the chariot races.
‘Is it too late to persuade you to change your mind?’ asked Damocles, in a low voice. ‘I really would advise it.’
‘Unfortunately, I am very stubborn,’ she said. ‘Besides, the deed is done. The banners have already been embroidered, as they say. It’s in the hands of Fortuna and the Fates now.’
‘Then on your head be it, Empress… preferably not mounted on a spike and paraded around the Forum.’
‘And now, you will hear a proclamation from the empress herself,’ announced the host. ‘Please rise for Claudia Imperia Caesaria.’
Thousands of soldiers saluted in perfect unison as the crowd took to their feet, applauding dutifully. It wasn’t exultant applause, but it was convivial enough.
When the host gestured, Claudia stepped onto the golden stairs provided for her and addressed the vast audience in their enormous ring, her voice amplified by servants holding bone bullhorns.
‘Happy Meditrinalia!’ she began, to raucous cheers.
Claudia wore her most ostentatious regalia, draped in purple silk, with gold and jewels covering every expanse of skin, her hair sculpted around the imperial victory crown.
She delivered a short prayer in Latin dedicated to Meditrina, during which a casket of wine was tossed on a ceremonial fire.
Claudia could feel the energy of the crowd flowing through her. Their sound, their smell, the endless wall of faces. The people sitting on the other side of the stadium were merely a blur. She smiled fixedly, waiting for the noise of the crowd to die down before continuing.
‘Today marks not just a new festival in our calendar, in honour of Meditrina and the healing powers of wine…’
Several attendees raised their chalices in cheers.
Claudia paused, looking up at the grey sky. She had hoped the deity might appear to cement her reign, as Victoria had done before her, but the clouds did not part, nor did the sun’s rays shine through.
‘… but also, the dawn of a new era for Rome.’
A lone heckler yelled something she couldn’t make out. She took a deep, steadying breath, trying not to lose her nerve.
‘A great empire should not be left behind to the sands of time,’ Claudia roared, channelling the lioness on her heraldic shield. ‘It must keep moving, rolling forwards like the wheels of a chariot.’
The crowd eagerly cheered this mention of a chariot, keen to move on to the races.
‘We must not fear change, but embrace it,’ she said. ‘We must not fear new ideas, but build upon them.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Claudia saw that Gia had finally made her way up to the imperial box, standing in position behind her. Claudia paused, momentarily losing her thread of thought as her heart surged and tilted, but her presence gave Claudia the courage to go on. She took a deep breath, clenching her hands at her sides.
‘As ruler of Rome, I will serve every soldier and senator, just as he serves me. But as the first empress, I also carry the hopes and dreams of every woman in the empire.’
A distant shout preoccupied her. Claudia gazed out at the blurry crowd, unable to pinpoint the source of the sound.
‘I have a responsibility to all of them, and to all of you,’ she said, looking straight ahead. ‘I intend to improve the life of every citizen of Rome, beginning with the rights of women. The right to serve, the right to fight, and the right to rule.’
The men in the audience rumbled with concern and disapproval but Claudia was sure that almost every woman in the audience was listening attentively, no matter what they thought of her.
‘As I speak, our men are fighting overseas. Some will come into combat with warrior women, just like the gladiators you’ve seen today.’
‘What about the missing legion?’ someone yelled.
‘Where are our men?’
