know who were actually interesting?
They compared notes on the same stories and philosophy texts. He challenged her on her knowledge of history, and she regularly had to remind him that everything he had been reading had been written from a Roman point of view, so it wasn’t as if it were unbiased.
And then, somewhere in the midst of all that talking and close-touching (for the cell was small, and the best place to sit was on the cot for the both of them) she ended up kissing him again. Or, he ended up kissing her. Either way was perfectly acceptable, and completely demolished any headway she made in ending their affair.
This happened again and again as the days went on and coalesced into weeks.
The trick was to leave the cell after ending things with the man, she knew. But because she knew that was definitely the way to solve the problem, she absolutely did want to go out of her way to do it.
Each time it happened, they risked Publius's wrath. Both had little doubt that the Dominus would approve of a coupling between his personal assistant and the gladiator he disliked more than any other. If even Septus disapproved of the heavy implications of their cross-class coupling, they surmised, then Publius would have a fit.
Her schedule was largely static. In the mornings she trailed the older house servants, doing whatever they required. Often this was cleaning and arranging. Sometimes she would look after little Marius and ensure that he did not break his neck by climbing a tree in the garden.
One trick she found out was that Marius loved watching the gladiators train, albeit for an entirely different reason than Leda was learning to. He was at the age of many boys where everything that involved fighting was wonderful, and everything that was glorious was even more glorious for the fact of its glory.
Some Romans, judging by the nation's many wars over the course of their long history, never grew out of this phase in totality. But, because Marius loved to watch the gladiators, that meant that Leda could take him down the steps and encourage the young man to watch as they trained. His favorites were the murmillos. He loved their heavy armor and the wild helmets they wore.
“And what do you think of the dimachaerus?” she had asked him one day.
“They are not as good as the murmillo,” he said. His voice was solemn. Fighting was a serious business. “But they are good. So long as they don’t fight the murmillo.”
She had made no secret to him of her own preference for the dimachaerus. Sweet boy, this was how he tried to keep her included in the list of people that he liked. What he liked was better, but hers was fine so long as it did not interfere.
Another phase, if she knew anything, of which men often did not grow out.
Publius was much the same. Probably it was no secret to him, her affair with Conall. And the second that it became a nuisance to him, he would order it forbidden. Until that point of interference, there was no trouble.
Such was the life of a slave.
Chapter 27
––––––––
T he grand gathering Publius had planned for House Varinius began without a hitch. All the guests arrived on time. As they entered through the gates, the gladiators received them in two columns. They held torches which lit the walkway between their bodies. Every man and woman was greeted with the sight of rippling, masculine muscle as they entered.
The gladiator was a symbol of virility and strength, and even to be in the presence of one was said to make most men more capable in bed and most women more fertile. It was long thought that even parts of the gladiator—as if he were some statue or religious relic—could be used to create mystical effects such as longevity of youth or sexual endurance.
The display was a strategic one. Everyone knew that the ludi all over Rome were having difficulty keeping their ranks full. If the first thing guests saw when entering a ludus were two long lines of gladiators
They compared notes on the same stories and philosophy texts. He challenged her on her knowledge of history, and she regularly had to remind him that everything he had been reading had been written from a Roman point of view, so it wasn’t as if it were unbiased.
And then, somewhere in the midst of all that talking and close-touching (for the cell was small, and the best place to sit was on the cot for the both of them) she ended up kissing him again. Or, he ended up kissing her. Either way was perfectly acceptable, and completely demolished any headway she made in ending their affair.
This happened again and again as the days went on and coalesced into weeks.
The trick was to leave the cell after ending things with the man, she knew. But because she knew that was definitely the way to solve the problem, she absolutely did want to go out of her way to do it.
Each time it happened, they risked Publius's wrath. Both had little doubt that the Dominus would approve of a coupling between his personal assistant and the gladiator he disliked more than any other. If even Septus disapproved of the heavy implications of their cross-class coupling, they surmised, then Publius would have a fit.
Her schedule was largely static. In the mornings she trailed the older house servants, doing whatever they required. Often this was cleaning and arranging. Sometimes she would look after little Marius and ensure that he did not break his neck by climbing a tree in the garden.
One trick she found out was that Marius loved watching the gladiators train, albeit for an entirely different reason than Leda was learning to. He was at the age of many boys where everything that involved fighting was wonderful, and everything that was glorious was even more glorious for the fact of its glory.
Some Romans, judging by the nation's many wars over the course of their long history, never grew out of this phase in totality. But, because Marius loved to watch the gladiators, that meant that Leda could take him down the steps and encourage the young man to watch as they trained. His favorites were the murmillos. He loved their heavy armor and the wild helmets they wore.
“And what do you think of the dimachaerus?” she had asked him one day.
“They are not as good as the murmillo,” he said. His voice was solemn. Fighting was a serious business. “But they are good. So long as they don’t fight the murmillo.”
She had made no secret to him of her own preference for the dimachaerus. Sweet boy, this was how he tried to keep her included in the list of people that he liked. What he liked was better, but hers was fine so long as it did not interfere.
Another phase, if she knew anything, of which men often did not grow out.
Publius was much the same. Probably it was no secret to him, her affair with Conall. And the second that it became a nuisance to him, he would order it forbidden. Until that point of interference, there was no trouble.
Such was the life of a slave.
Chapter 27
––––––––
T he grand gathering Publius had planned for House Varinius began without a hitch. All the guests arrived on time. As they entered through the gates, the gladiators received them in two columns. They held torches which lit the walkway between their bodies. Every man and woman was greeted with the sight of rippling, masculine muscle as they entered.
The gladiator was a symbol of virility and strength, and even to be in the presence of one was said to make most men more capable in bed and most women more fertile. It was long thought that even parts of the gladiator—as if he were some statue or religious relic—could be used to create mystical effects such as longevity of youth or sexual endurance.
The display was a strategic one. Everyone knew that the ludi all over Rome were having difficulty keeping their ranks full. If the first thing guests saw when entering a ludus were two long lines of gladiators
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