Gladiatrix, p.45
Gladiatrix, page 45
It held two crocodiles.
Oh God. Oh God. No …
The water became a screaming pool of snapping jaws and blood.
I shut my eyes, unable to watch the water, but equally unable to turn to check where the lion was.
This was the end for me. I couldn’t save anyone but myself now. I leant, neck first, into my hands and worked the transponder.
Press three times, then hold for three. Then three more presses.
I waited for the surge. I’d take my chances with the Isiacs.
Five deep breaths. But nothing.
Ice-cold panic.
I tried again. Nothing.
Claws clicked on wood. I lifted my head.
The lion was climbing up to the rear deck.
The crowd above me was urging it on to finish the job. I was the only one left alive.
Bang.
The barge, drifting out of control, crashed end first into the arena wall, smashing the rudder. The heavy jolt wrenched my wrists and shoulders, as I struggled to keep my feet.
The lion, having just eaten, was now taking its time. Watching me, looking up at the crowd, sniffing the deck.
Someone above began cursing it. It was too slow and they were bored. Missiles rained down, trying to herd the lion in my direction.
This was it. This was the end. This was my Field of Reeds. It would all end there.
A rock bounced off the lion’s nose, and skipped across to my feet.
It snarled, mouth wide, teeth bared, and sprang towards me. I closed my eyes.
A whoosh of air, and the sound of claws digging into wood.
I opened them again.
Incensed, the lion was climbing the arena wall to get to the person that had thrown that rock.
But it landed in the front row, and tore into the Vestals like an out-of-control blender.
The first two were swiped, and fell past me, dying as they hit the water. It herded the rest into a white marble corner, and ripped them apart.
The crowd screamed its anguish, while the Praetorians killed it in a rain of spears. The lion lay, head back, jaws bloody, in amongst the mound of white-robed bodies.
The silence was total.
The Vestals were the sacred heart of Roman religion. Their personal link to their gods. Whispers started. This was a very bad omen. A dire omen.
An angry rumble erupted, and the crowd lunged up to stand shouting for death. Death to wipe away the blood curse that was staining the side of the arena, and the soul of Rome.
Someone yelled, ‘The Praetorians did this! They released the lion.’
The crowd turned on Augustus, and began calling for the death of the Praetorians responsible.
Rocks fell out of the sky pelting the Praetorian ships close to the walls. They scattered in surprised fury.
While the crowd had stirred into a violent frenzy, the battle in the middle of the arena had completely collapsed. With their hostage queens so brutally murdered the faux navies were clustered in the middle. Consulting, no doubt, on how best to take revenge.
An agitated Augustus stomped to his feet. The Roman spectators and her captured enemies had joined as one. To wish death to his own personal guard! He made a swift hand movement to his attendant, and the trumpets blared out again.
The Praetorian boats moved into the cluster of faux battleships triggering a mechanism set into their sides.
In a matter of minutes the two fleets had caught fire, and were sinking. The slaves still chained to the oars screamed as they went down, while the surviving captives tried to fight their way onto the Praetorian craft. A few captives made it, only to be thrown back into the water after a short fight. Most were forced to hide amongst the debris, while they were hunted down with spears and arrows.
The water turned brown with the blood.
Above me the crowd howled its displeasure.
They hated the Praetorians for cursing them, and so every time a captive managed to prevail, the crowd cheered and taunted the guards with their failure. But soon nearly all the captives had been killed and the crowd was tired and disillusioned.
Then the Praetorians came for me.
So many bodies floated in the water that a soldier had to stand at the bow and push them under with an oar.
Now I understood why fundamentalists can still hold onto an Old Testament god. Something, or someone, should destroy this place, before the scar could set itself too deep inside the Earth.
Like me, Lurco’s gladiator, Vonones, was being rowed towards the place where we’d fight. It was a tethered raft, constructed to look like a temple altar. It sat right in front of Augustus and his mates.
Vonones, tall and heavily built, was dressed in a white and gold tunic, his hair dyed yellow-blond to fit into his role as Augustus. Or rather Augustus in disguise as his favourite god Apollo.
I still had the black wig and kilt on, but had lost the crown. The rock that’d knocked it off had affected my vision, and I was stiff and wounded, and trembling from shock.
But worst of all, I was drained of any desire to go on. Not after what I’d just lived through. I’d not expected to survive this long. Now I had to find a way to rouse myself. To fight.
High above the floating altar, Augustus and Livia sat with their family and guests, men on one side, women on the other. Augustus was frowning. He knew how this fight was going to finish, but he had to be concerned with whether my death would be spectacular enough to turn the tide.
At this point the crowd openly reviled the Praetorians. And from the sullen faces turned in his direction — they also hated him.
Livia was watching me intently, but her expression was difficult to read. She had to be unsure whether she wanted my claims to be proven true or not.
I swung back to watch Vonones. The fight was fixed, and probably in a dozen different ways. I already knew that my weapons would fail me. In the guise of Apollo, Vonones had a bow and quiver of golden arrows slung over his back, and a Roman short sword at his side.
I had a long-handled scythe and a small shield. The scythe was so blunt it wouldn’t even break my skin if I stabbed into my leg, and it was partially sawn through in three places. The shield seemed solid, but then I was sure that they wanted me to die by the Roman short sword, not at a distance from the arrows. As long as the final outcome was certain, they wanted the fight to last a little while at least.
My main problem was my right hand. The guards wanted to make sure nothing else went wrong today, so before they’d uncuffed me, they’d broken my index and middle fingers. Snapped them.
Now they hung useless and bloated, two centres of throbbing pain taking up my remaining strength and concentration.
Vonones and I reached opposite sides of the raft at the same time. We stepped on, and the two small boats pushed away. A fleet of boats containing more guards moved in to completely surround the platform. They all carried long spears. No more slip-ups allowed.
Trumpets sounded loudly to announce the final display. The sullen crowd became completely quiet.
We both turned and saluted Augustus with our weapons, and he nodded curtly. I dropped the useless scythe, and pushed my right forearm through the shield strap. I needed to keep my good hand free.
Vonones began to circle me — carefully. He was not going to dive straight in like Lucius, he must have been warned.
He fitted an arrow to his bow and fired at my legs. He must want to disable me first, then take his time cutting me up.
Dizzy when I moved my head, I miscalculated dodging his first arrow. It sliced through the side of my left thigh, just above the knee, and then dropped into the water behind me. The wound was superficial, but the sudden pain cut through the haziness, jolting my survival instincts back into action.
As the second arrow flew, the crowd still didn’t respond. No-one really cared any more; they just wanted to go home.
When I dodged the arrow, it flew past me to hit one of the Praetorians. The crowd gave a shout of derisive laughter, as he fell back into the water. He was wearing armour, so his friends had to pull him out before he drowned.
Vonones looked up at Augustus, he wasn’t pleased.
When Vonones fired another arrow and I ducked that as well, some of the crowd gave a weak cheer. Vonones and the Praetorians looked embarrassed.
I was tired and he was fresh, and I was only a woman after all.
A spectator yelled out, ‘Get your bloody sword out, dickhead.’ That gave the crowd a belly laugh. They sat up in their seats again.
Vonones scowled and threw down his bow. He drew his sword and taunted me. ‘Where’s Alexander now, whore? Lurco said to tell you he’ll buy him when you are dead. First he’ll use him, and then we’ll torture him to death.’
I growled. The strength began to flow back into me. I could do this. I would do this!
Vonones moved into me, slashing and stabbing, but I slipped by, moving in unison with his swings.
As the blade swept past me for the fourth time, the crowd began to realise that it was not just good luck that was saving me.
The next time he missed, someone in the crowd yelled out, ‘Five.’
After that, every time he slashed at me the crowd shouted out the number of misses. That made Augustus even more disgusted, and Vonones started cursing with frustrated rage.
The crowd began to boo and hiss him. He’d failed to uphold the honour of Rome.
Now they hated him too.
Augustus signalled with his hand, and the boats rowed closer. The Praetorians tried to prod me with spears to make me engage with Vonones.
He laughed and beckoned me nearer. ‘Come on, you slut, you can’t run forever.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the soldiers lunge forward with a spear, aiming to pierce my left leg. I threw down my shield in time to deflect it.
The crowd, enraged by the cowardly intervention, stood and screamed, ‘Leave her alone!’
Trying to get me while I was still off-balance, Vonones brought his sword up high, and began to slice it down, straight onto the top of my head.
He meant to cleave me in half, head first.
Fenced in by spears I had no choice, but to use a move I’d been taught against samurai swords. I swung my two arms straight up to meet the downward-arcing sword, my palms slapping together to halt the naked blade, and twist it down and away. I had to choke back a scream, as my broken fingers jarred against the other hand.
At the sight of my defensive move, two hundred thousand mouths drew their breath. It sounded like a giant bird had flapped its wings in the air over my head.
While Vonones stood for one second with his mouth open, I grabbed the hilt of his sword with my left hand and kicked him savagely in the balls.
I held the hilt while Vonones shot backwards, directly onto the blade of one of the guards’ spears. It spiked him right through, blood spurting out of his chest, and over me.
The guard, propelled by Vonones’ momentum, fell backwards into the water. Vonones landed on the floor pushing the spear even further through his chest.
He lay looking up at me, choking up blood in the middle of a widening pool of red.
Sword in hand, I looked up and around.
The crowd was still on their feet, but completely silent, unsure of how to react. Livia sat rigid with tension, obviously uncertain of her part in this upset. Augustus was outraged, mouth open.
The Praetorians moved in closer. I threw the sword to the floor. Augustus would never allow me to live unless I could turn the meaning of this defeat around.
I moved to the centre of the altar, and stripped off my black wig and kilt.
A wave of whispers moved across the stands. Suddenly I was blonde — the colour of Apollo.
Naked and dripping blood, I bowed to Augustus. ‘Apollo has slain the impostor. Long live Augustus!’
Apollo was a sexually ambiguous god, so it could work. If not, that was it. There was no other comeback.
Then a bold spectator yelled into the silence, ‘Let her live.’
Augustus looked around, obviously trying to gauge the feeling of the crowd.
A particularly drunken part of the crowd started chanting, ‘Let her live.’
The rest took it up, and the shout, ‘Live! Live! Live!’ resounded across the arena.
Augustus rose to his feet. ‘She shall live.’
38
TRUTH, THE DAUGHTER OF TIME
Livia was waiting for me on the lap of winged Isis, seated on her stolen pharaoh’s throne. She was plucking at the folds of her robe with anxious attention. Now she believed she’d tested the wrong woman. Was Isis angry?
I limped towards the dais, wearing only the black Egyptian kilt, and covered in dried blood and purpling bruises. The arrow wound to my left thigh was still seeping, and I was carefully nursing the black and broken fingers of my swollen right hand against my bare breasts.
Livia motioned to a waiting guard, and he stepped forward with a man’s grey tunic. I took it, but my shoulders were so stiff and sore I couldn’t get it over my head one-handed. At Livia’s bidding the guard helped me slip it on, carefully avoiding any contact with my right hand.
‘Gladiatrix.’ This time she addressed me with the faintest tinge of respect. ‘You have proven yourself, and your requests have been carried out in full. You and your slave are free. But first, I want …’
I cut in. ‘Where’s Alexander?’
She wanted to know how, why, and God knows what else, about my link with Isis, but I had no energy left for dissembling. Better to get out of here while I was winning.
She blinked once at the abrupt interruption, but kept to the point. ‘Your slave is waiting in your apartment.’
How did she know about that place? I shot her a look.
‘Yes, I know a lot about you,’ she said, with spiteful resentment. ‘Now.’ As though it was my fault she’d underestimated me. As though I should’ve come with a warning label.
‘Why is he there, not here?’ I demanded. Livia seemed to be cooperating for the moment, but I didn’t trust her to stay that way. Not for too long.
‘Don’t question me!’ she raged, then remembered herself. She said, placatingly, ‘Your slave is safe and waiting for you with my other gifts. But the man you wanted, the one who stole the dagger, is here. He’s in the next room.’
‘Fabius is here?’ Finally!
She leant forward, anxious to get to her own personal punchline. ‘So, gladiatrix, I have done as you desired. Do you acknowledge you are paid in full?’ She waited, tense with avarice.
‘As long as Alexander is safe and sound. Then you have my solemn word, Livia. The future will be as I showed you.’ That was the truth.
Livia gloated, lost in her fantasies of power and revenge. Rome, look out! Then she refocused on me. She had what she wanted from me now, so my usefulness was gone.
After all, I was just a vehicle of a higher power. She gave me a long look, sharpened with hatred. I knew too much, and worst of all, I’d made her cower. She couldn’t forgive that, but was afraid to dispose of me. Isis might not like it.
Livia settled for saying dismissively, ‘This man, Fabius. Will you deal with him now?’
‘Yes.’ I wasn’t waiting a second longer. Exhaustion and the throbbing pain from my swollen fingers were making it hard for me to stay upright. I had to keep moving.
Livia motioned to the guard poised at my side, and he led me through the rear archway and back into the black and red sacrificial chamber I’d been marched through this morning.
Fabius was lying spread-eagled on a wooden altar, in front of the ebony statue of Isis. His hands and feet were chained to each corner, and he was staring up at the statue’s bloodstained mouth. I told the guard to leave us alone.
‘Well, look at this.’ I loomed over Fabius. ‘All laid out like dinner.’ The bruising across his broken nose and cheekbones was now a dull, yellowish grey.
‘What are you doing here?’ He was petrified.
So much for the ruthless murderer who’d slit Argos and Caractacus from ear to ear, kidnapped Victoria, and tried to feed me to a crocodile.
‘You mean, why aren’t I dead yet?’
‘What’s going on? Where’s Livia?’ His eyes darted past me to the archway.
‘What? You think you can do a deal with her? Don’t bet on it, Fabius. And it doesn’t matter anyway, you’re mine now. I get to choose your fate.’
A fox-like expression lit his face. He was searching for another angle, another way to save himself. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Information. Where’s Victoria?’
Fabius scanned my neck as though searching for something, then said in English, ‘I’ll tell you everything if you help me get my right hand free. Just my hands, that’s all I need.’
Dizziness washed over me. I knew he was speaking English, but I just couldn’t take in why or how. ‘What …?’
‘You heard me.’ He actually spoke with a twangy American accent, possibly Texan.
Instinctively I checked his neck for a necklace like mine, but there was nothing there. I checked his hands. Yes, there it was, on his index finger. A man’s ring, much broader than normal, with a flat face and a clearly defined infinity symbol engraved on it.
‘Yes.’ He read my shocked expression with satisfaction. ‘If you help me get free, so I can use my transponder, then I’ll tell you anything you want.’
I shook my head once in confusion and denial. Then halted from the pain.
He was smug. ‘You had no idea, did you?’ The words ‘stupid bitch’ remained unspoken.
Then he got down to business, ‘Who sent you here? Was it Washington? How did you get through the portal?’
‘Shut up.’ Anger took over, set me back on target. I bent in. ‘If you want to live, I want the answers to my questions! Is Victoria still alive?’
Fabius returned to grovelling. ‘Yes. Yes, she is.’ He wasn’t so tough chained to a sacrificial altar. ‘She’s fine.’
I was willing to believe him. I drew in a deep breath and let it out. And straightened. Slowly. Leaning forward was making me see spots.
‘What’s going on? Why are you here?’ I demanded.
