His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with something dangerous and electric. Then he smiled, sharp as a blade.
"Of Marcus? Please. I just hate to see talent wasted on someone who can't appreciate it."
"Tonight then," I said, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. "Try to keep up."
"Just remember," he called as I turned to leave, "the dead don't care about revenge, Livia. But the living?" He paused, and I could feel his eyes on me. "The living care about more than they should."
His words followed me across the courtyard, and I had to resist the urge to look back – to see if he was still watching. Gods, but he was insufferable. That smug smile, the way he looked down at me like I was still the same foolish girl from our village. As if he hadn't spent the last ten years teaching me to fight in hidden corners of the ludus.
I rubbed my arm where a bruise from our last session was finally fading. Septimus never truly held back, despite what he claimed. Each night ended with new aches, new bruises, and that familiar mix of frustration and grudging respect. He was good – I'd give him that much. Years in the arena had honed him into something deadly, all controlled power and fluid grace. But he didn't need to be such an ass about it.
I kicked a loose stone, watching it skitter across the packed dirt. The way he'd talked about Marcus made my blood boil. As if he had any right to judge, to question my choices. As if he knew anything about Marcus.
Still... I needed him. At least for now. Marcus might have been my original plan for getting into the arena, but I had a backup. I just really didn't want to use it. It certainly wasn't a guarantee, but on the chance it did work, I wouldn't need to train with Septimus anymore. Not on our own, anyway. The thought should have brought relief. Instead, it left an odd hollow feeling in my chest that I refused to examine too closely. Pushing the thought away, I headed into the main quarters and towards the kitchen. I might have sat up all night with Marcus, but now I needed to show up for my duties the same as every other day. Then I'd make sure Marcus was fed and comfortable before training with Septimus tonight, and after that, I could sleep.
I was back up and out on the sand before the sun rose. My body ached from training the night before and to be honest, it had been pretty difficult to haul myself off my blankets. Everything was stiff and in pain and I'd had to go through an extra round of stretching before I even considered picking up a sword.
I began running through the nine sword forms, starting with the easiest one and moving through each form until I reached the hardest ones. From an untrained spectator's eye, it might seem as though the sword forms were a kind of dance. To move with your blade, attacking, blocking, giving and regaining ground against imaginary opponents, but at full strength and against opponents, each form, or section of it could prove deadly. I'd often wondered if the legionaries used them in actual battle, or if there were more appropriate tactics, but no one would tell me. As far as I was concerned, the forms were a series of sword and body movements that had been used for generations, and they were not to be questioned.
I very quickly fell into the rhythm of the forms, my body remembering every step. As I moved, I began to lose track of time. No other gladiators were up and about yet, and as the sun rose higher in the sky and I moved through my forms, my pain forgotten and replaced by an almost trance-like state. It was a pleasant feeling, being in the moment, moving with the blade, feeling the sweat drip down my face. My clothes were soaked with it, and as I began to run through the more difficult forms, I really felt as though it was just me and the sand, and the air.
I lost myself in the movements, just as I had been taught to. In a way, I suppose I did feel as though I was truly free. I wassweating and aching and my muscles were screaming, but there was a part of me that was happy. I knew I was a slave, that my life was not my own and that I was totally owned by Drusus, but when I picked up a sword, I didn't see myself as an object, or the property of Drusus. I was just me, Livia.
Today though, there was a tremor of nervousness that even the sword forms couldn't shake from my body. Today I was going to face one of the other gladiators in the arena. Today I was going to prove I belonged with them. Sadly, I needed one of the trainers to agree to take me on. Marcus had repeatedly refused me, so that left me Cato, and I really wasn't looking forward to being in his debt.
Cato was cruel and sadistic, and he hated me. When he’d arrived at the arena a couple of years ago, he’d taken Octavia after a fight one night, bending her over the table in the dining hall. We were used to a few of the guys being rough, but he’d choked her so hard she’d blacked out, and had just kept going. I had yelled at him, and then slapped him round the face to make him stop. His returning blow had sent me flying, but thankfully he’d let go of her throat, and able to breathe again, Octavia had come around. My intervention had earned me a flogging and reduced rations at meal times for a month. Cato had been the one to administer the punishment and he’d definitely got off on seeing the blood running down my back at his hand. Since then I had avoided him, but our hatred was mutual.
I had watched him in the arena and the younger gladiators were terrified of him. He was an out and out bully. He liked having power over others and took advantage of it. He was a sadist, no doubt about it. He loved to watch the gladiators sweat and he would get off on their pain. He liked to see them hurt and would often punish them for no reason other than his own amusement. I had seen him beat a gladiator for no better reason than because the man had dared to look at him. This was theman I had to convince I was worth training. I just hoped I lived through it.
I ran through the last form, my body was aching and my muscles were tired, but there was also a strange sense of joy. I'd done it. I'd done all nine of them. I took a deep breath, trying to get some air into my lungs. I was sweating and breathing hard and my legs felt as though they were going to crumple under me. I leaned against the wooden fence, slowing my breathing. I had maybe a few minutes before I'd be needed inside, and I wiped at my face with a clean rag. If I could hurry through my morning chores and be out here after midmeal, I could make it back before the rest of the gladiators made it into the arena for training.
I entered the gladiators barracks, my skin still damp with sweat and headed to the kitchens to pick up my rations. It wasn't much, a small bowl of gruel made with goat's milk and dried oats. It was bland and tasteless, but it gave me energy, and I ate it all. I was working in the barracks this morning, and moved as quickly as I could through the tasks. The gladiators’ beds all needed stripping and remaking with clean coarse linen sheets as they ate their morning meal. I piled the dirty ones in the corner, wrinkling my nose at the stench of sweat and other odours that I didn't want to guess at. I was just thankful that I wasn't on laundry duty. That was hot and heavy work, and the day was already heating up. Even here in the barracks the air was humid and a fine sheen of sweat covered my skin.
I swept the floor, shovelling out the dirty grass, and fetching a sack of fresh, strewing it over the dirt floor to keep it smelling a little better in each room. Water in the wash basins needed emptying, and the seats in the latrines needed cleaning down. I was hot, dirty and tired by the time I’d finished, but I was done.
I headed back towards the arena sand. A few of the gladiators had already arrived, but not many. The general chatter fadedas I approached and Cato turned around to see what they were looking at.
"What are you doing here, girl?"
I held my head high and returned his hard look. "I've come to train."
The gladiators burst into laughter, and I caught sight of Septimus coming out of the barracks out of the corner of my eye. He wasn’t laughing, but he didn’t look happy either.
Cato gave a harsh laugh. "Fight? You? I appreciate the humour girl, but you're holding up my training session."
"I'm not being humorous," I insisted. "I want to train. I want to fight."
Cato narrowed his eyes, sizing me up. "Fine," he finally said. "You want to train? You'll train with me." He gestured to one of the gladiators. "Give her your sword."
My heart sank. I thought he'd pair me with one of the other gladiators, not take me on himself. I swallowed hard, trying to keep the fear from my face. I took up my wooden sword, feeling the weight of it in my hand and stood opposite Cato. I could feel the eyes of the other gladiators on me, watching to see what would happen. Cato raised his own sword and lunged at me. I barely managed to block in time, the impact jarring my arms.
"You're too slow," Cato sneered. "You'll need to be faster if you want to survive in the arena."
I gritted my teeth and focused on my movements, trying to anticipate Cato's attacks. We circled each other, our swords clashing again and again. I attacked back, but he easily deflected my blows. I was outmatched, outclassed, and out of my depth. Sweat dripped down my face and my arms were starting to ache, but I refused to give up.
Cato's next attack was too fast for me to block, and his wooden sword hit me hard in the chest. I stumbled backwards, gasping for breath. Cato approached, a cruel smile on his face.
"Come on, girl," he taunted. "Is that all you've got?"
