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T he dining room had reached a level of frenzy not unlike the crowds in the arena earlier that evening. Spirits were always high after a win, and the gladiators celebrated the only way they knew how - food, drink and sex. I wandered through the tables, clearing away empty mugs and plates as the gladiators celebrated, Drusus and his investors among them. Almost as if he had predicted the outcome, Drusus had laid on a celebration feast, and I couldn't help but smile as I watched them celebrate. I may have been forced into this life, but as much as the arena was my prison, it was also my home, and these people were my family.

The room, devoid of grandeur, exuded an undeniable charm. The worn wooden floors bore witness to countless footsteps, each one leaving an indelible mark of resilience and perseverance. The sturdy tables, polished by the touch of many hands, offered a sense of stability in a world that seemed uncertain and ever-changing. The tantalizing scent of rustic fare wafted through the air, mingling with the warm desert breeze that swept in through the open windows.

My stomach rumbled a little at the sight of the feast Drusus had laid on. Apparently he had come out of the battle rather well, having laid several large bets with the tabularii in the town. He and the investors sat at one table, drinking, and talking loudly, his booming laughter filling the room many times. Three of the investors each had one of the female slaves kneeling between their legs, as did Drusus, whereas another had one of the male slaves, his mouth working furiously as the investor pushed his head down further.

I picked up my tray and made my way towards the kitchens. As I neared the door, I spotted Octavia sitting astride Vaius. Her tunic had been pushed down off her arms, and she was bare from the waist up. Vaius pressed his face into her neck as he caressed her breasts with his hand and she caught my eye with a sly wink, reaching down to pinch a morsel off his abandoned plate. I fought back a grin, and went to deposit my tray in the kitchen.

On my return, I paused by the door, scanning the room for Marcus, but I didn't see him. Withdrawing before anyone could spot me and demand my attention, I moved quietly down the hall to where the gladiators’ rooms were. Marcus's was at the end. There were three trainers and each had their own rooms. Tonight, I was glad of it. It would make this easier. There was no glow of candlelight spilled out from under the heavy wooden door, and I paused. Nerves were starting to get the better of me, and I needed to be calm now.

Taking a breath, I reached out and tapped on the door.

"Enter," came Marcus's deep voice from inside. I pushed the door open, slipping inside, and pushing it closed again behind me. Light flooded the room as Macus struck a spark on his flint to light the oil lamp by his bed. He was sat on the bed, stripped down to his braecae. The loose fitting trousers hung low on his hips and my eyes travelled over the dark contours of muscle that delved down into a v just above where the fabric ended.

He had clearly cleaned himself after the battle, but the night was warm and his dark skin gleamed in the lamplight, golden highlights showing the relief of his shaved head and the defined muscles of his body.

"Livia," he said, making me jump. "Does Drusus require me?"

He knew my name. I hadn’t realised that. For some reason, my heart gave a little jump at the thought.

"No, I just... wanted to see if you needed anything. I saw you weren't in the dining hall with the others. I brought you some wine." I held out the bowl and he took it from me.

"That was very thoughtful, thank you." He took a drink and then set the bowl on the floor next to the bed.

"Will you not come and join the celebration?" I asked, feeling shy, and not sure how to make things proceed the way I wanted them to.

Marcus shook his head.

"I have celebrated many things in this life. I will not celebrate death that is needless."

"But this wasn't needless death," I said. "It was glorious, and it was your honour that brought it about."

Marcus smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"I am a gladiator, Livia. All death I cause is needless and there is no honour in it. I am an entertainer, nothing more."

"Come down," I said. My heart thudded as I moved forward and put my hand on his bare shoulder. His skin was warm and smooth where I touched him, though now I was closer I could see the scars the years of fighting in the arena had left on him. "Come down and celebrate with us, Marcus."

He looked up at me, a small smile on his lips.

"Why are you so determined for me to come and celebrate?"

"You're always so set apart from everyone," I said. "Except for training, you're always on your own. The slaves say..." I trailed off, not sure I wanted to say more or give away that I'd been listening to gossip.

"Oh don't stop there, Livia," Marcus said, raising his eyebrows, looking amused. "What do the slaves say about me?"

"Nothing bad," I said quickly. "Only that you don't ever... seem to want...attention. From women, or men."

"I see." His face was blank and I was worried I'd offended him.

"I'm sorry," I said, withdrawing my hand, and turning away. "I've offended you."

With arena fast reflexes, his hand shot up and captured mine, stopping me from escaping.

"Not so fast, my little gossip. Come, tell me more." He tugged me to him, so I stood between his legs looking down at him.

"I'm not a gossip," I told him. "I just...listen."

His dark eyes moved over my face, studying me.

"Mmmm. You listen... and watch too, don't you Livia?"

"I don't know what you mean," I said, hoping the candlelight hid the blush in my cheeks.

"I've seen you watching the training sessions, Livia. You can't deny it. You're always there, like a mirage cat, fading into the background, but seeing everything that goes on in this arena. Why is that?"

"The women say you've been too badly injured. That you can't perform," I blurted out, desperate to change the subject.

Shock crossed his face and I regretted it for a moment, until he burst into laughter, his deep voice rumbling and filling the room. At first I was embarrassed, but I had rarely heard Marcus laugh, and it was infectious. A grin spread over my face.

"Do they now?" he asked, letting go of my hand to reach up and wipe tears from his eyes.

"I take it that isn't the case?"

Marcus's smile faded, but he didn't look annoyed. Instead, he stood up suddenly, bringing us so close we were almost touching. He looked down at me, and wound one of the loose strands of my hair around his finger. I suddenly found it rather hard to breathe evenly.

"No, it's not the case," he said softly. He dropped his hands and they settled on my hips. I could feel the heat of his touch through the rough linen of my tunic. Gently he eased me forward until my body was touching his, then pulled my hips in tight against him. I sucked in my breath as I felt his hardness press into my stomach.

"Why..." My voice stuck in my throat. I cleared it, and tried again. "So why haven't you ever asked for...someone?"

"How many times have you been summoned to a gladiator's bed, Livia?" he asked.

"I.. don't know... many times. Most festivals and after every fight I suppose, so..."

"A lot," he finished. "And tell me, since we're being honest with each other... how many times have you gone to someone's bed purely because you wanted to?"

I opened my mouth to say I was always happy to go, but the lie died on my tongue and he saw it.

"That's what I thought. I was a free man once, Livia. And I know the difference between a slave's duty and a woman wanting to be with me. I don't want anyone in my bed who doesn't want to be there."

I swallowed, still very conscious of his body pressing up against mine. He hadn't released me after making his point, and I wasn't sure if he had realised that or not.

"That's a good reason," I murmured.

He looked down at me and frowned.

"Why are you here, Livia? Did Drusus send you?"

I shook my head.

"Then why?" he asked softly.

My eyes fell to his lips as they formed the words. I had never noticed them before. The way they curved, larger than many of the other men. Softer, despite the harsh words they could utter. I wanted him to kiss me, I realised. I’d come to try and seduce him, to gain his favour before I begged him to train me in the arena, but to my surprise, I found myself actually wanting to go to his bed. I looked back up at him, his dark eyes intent on mine, and found myself telling him the truth.

“I want to train as a gladiator.”

Marcus's expression shifted, the softness in his eyes hardening into something unyielding. He let go of my hips and took a step back, breaking the contact between us. It felt like a wall had slammed down, and I had to fight the urge to reach for him again.

"No," he said simply, his voice rough but quiet.

The single syllable hit me like a blow to the chest.

"No?" I repeated, incredulous. “Just like that?”

"You wouldn't last a day in the arena, Livia," he said. His tone wasn't cruel, but it was firm, as though he were stating an immutable fact. "The sand is no place for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling up. "What does that mean? Just because I'm not one of your hulking brutes doesn't mean I can't fight!"

Marcus sighed deeply, running a hand over his face.

"It has nothing to do with size. The arena isn't about strength alone—it’s about endurance. Survival. You think it’s about glory, but it's not. It’s about blood. Pain. Death. And I don't want to see you end up like the others who thought they could handle it."

His words stung, but I refused to back down.

"You don't know what I can handle. You know nothing about me—what I've been through, what I’m willing to do!"

"I know enough," he said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "You're too young, too reckless, and too..." He hesitated, as though the word he wanted to use was caught in his throat. Finally, he sighed again, softer this time. "You're not ready for this life, Livia. And you shouldn't want it."

Anger flared in my chest, and I took a step toward him.

"I don't want it!" I snapped. "I need it. You think I don't know what the arena is? I've watched you, Marcus. I've seen the blood on the sand, the way men die screaming while the crowd cheers. I know what it is—and I still want to fight."

"Why?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Because I have nothing else," I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to hold it steady. "Because the people who took everything from me are out there, and I can’t just sit here clearing plates and watching others fight for their lives. I need to learn how to fight. I need to make them pay."

Marcus's jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But when he spoke, his voice was cold again.

"Revenge isn’t a reason to fight. It’s a reason to die."

I shook my head, desperate to make him understand. "You don’t get it—"

"I do get it!" His voice rose, startling me into silence. He stepped forward, towering over me now, his presence like a storm cloud. "You think you're the first one to want vengeance? Do you know how many have walked into that arena with revenge in their hearts? Do you know how many of them are still alive?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "I don’t care," I whispered.

"Well, I do," he said, his voice softening again. "I care, Livia. I care enough to tell you no. And if you hate me for it, so be it."

I clenched my fists at my sides, anger and despair warring within me. "You don’t understand," I said again, my voice trembling. "You’ve already had your chance to fight for what you believe in. You’ve already had your freedom, your honor. I’ve had nothing. And now you’re telling me I can’t even try?"

“You think fighting for the Empire is about honour? Freedom? That just shows your naivety, Livia. It’s just another form of slavery. Another way of killing and of dying. All you want is some way to take out your rage against those who did you wrong, and I get it, but the arena won’t give you that. Trust me.”

I glared up at him, blinking away tears of frustration and fury.

“I saw my brother killed in front me, saw his blood soak the sand we played on as children. I saw my parents' bodies strung up like slaves, and I couldn’t even stop myself being taken captive, Marcus. I won’t be that weak again. I need to learn how to fight.”

For a moment, I thought I saw his resolve waver. His eyes softened, and his lips parted as though he were about to say something more. But then his expression hardened again, and he shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "I won’t train you, Livia. Go back to the dining hall, or go to bed. But don’t come back here with this nonsense again."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off with a sharp gesture.

"Go," he said, his voice low and commanding.

I stood there for a moment, trembling with frustration and humiliation. Part of me wanted to shout at him, to demand that he take me seriously, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was no cruelty there, no malice—only a deep, unshakable conviction that he was doing what was best for me.

I turned and walked to the door, my heart pounding in my chest. But as I reached for the handle, I paused and glanced back over my shoulder.

"I'm not giving up," I said quietly. "You can send me away a hundred times, but I’m not going to stop trying. One way or another, I’ll learn to fight. I’ll earn my freedom. And once I’m out of this place, I will find a way to make them pay for what they did.”

Marcus didn’t respond. He just stood there, his expression unreadable, as I opened the door and slipped out into the hall.