Roma Victrix (34 page)

As with all things, at first it had been hard. But she found that this particular task was fast becoming her favourite part of her regimen. There was something calming in this work, the rhythm of the axe and the satisfying thud going up her arms as the head buried deep in the wood. ‘Almost as good as sticking your blade into your opponent,' she commented one day, as a huge tree crashed to the ground.

Cappa and Murco exchanged looks but did not comment. Lysandra supposed that they had different views to her on the matter of slaughter. She chose to fight, whereas for soldiers it was part of their job – and an unpleasant one at that. It was the same for some arena fighters too, she realised, those slaves that were forced onto the sands. But she had long since reconciled herself to the fact that she liked to win; and to win, more often than not, meant to kill.

It was a simple as that. She turned to the Romans. ‘It is time for me to fight again – I am ready.'

‘You've not beaten that hill yet,' Cappa commented.

‘I do not need to climb a hill to know that I am ready!' Lysandra snapped. ‘I am
Gladiatrix Prima
. It is time.' Her tone broached no argument and she was pleased that neither man chose to make an issue of it.

The
ludus
in Paestum was hardly a grandiose affair; situated at the western end of the town, it was surrounded by a rude wooden stockade of sharpened posts that were lashed together with thick ropes. A platform ran all the way around the perimeter allowing the interested or bored to climb up and watch the gladiators at the training. At Balbus's
ludus
this had been a rare occurrence, largely because the compound was so far away from the city proper. Here, however, the
ludus
was within easy reach and the platform had more than a few citizens watching the proceedings within.

Flanked by Cappa and Murco, Lysandra approached the main gate which was guarded by two shifty-looking men who were busy with a dice game they had set up on a makeshift table. As the trio approached they stopped their game and got to their feet, not neglecting to pick up their cudgels. ‘What can we do for you?' the shorter of the two asked.

Lysandra stepped forward. She was excited – the disjointed clack of the practice swords coupled with the shouts of trainers and fighters floated to her on the breeze, reminding her of the old days when she had been a novice with Lucius Balbus. She felt like a child on a festival day, anxious to get in and see what was happening. ‘I would like to see the
lanista
,' she said, resisting the urge to crane her neck to look over their shoulders to catch a glimpse inside.

The two looked her up and down for a moment. ‘You don't look like his usual type,' the shorter one commented. ‘He likes the big fat ones. Mind you, his taste is improving if you're anything to go by. When you're finished with him, do you fancy earning a bit extra? I get off shortly and I've got a right sackful.'

It was, Lysandra supposed, a fair enough assumption, but it was still irritating. However, she was determined not to let her temper get the better of her and smiled at the two. ‘I'm not a whore,' she replied. ‘I'd like to sign on as an
auctorata
here.'

‘Would you now?' the man replied. ‘Fair enough – but what about these two geriatrics with you?'

‘They won't be signing on,' Lysandra said quickly as she could feel the annoyance emanating from both men at her side.

‘Hang on a moment, Carbo,' the taller one broke in. ‘I know this girl – she's the one I've been telling you about – the one that was running around with the chariot.'

‘Really?' Carbo looked a little dubious. ‘Why would you do that?' He directed the question at Lysandra.

‘It is good training,' she replied. ‘Discipline and fitness are your first weapons. How many times have you seen fighters falter when tiredness sets in? If I am fitter, more prepared, I will survive. We have all seen people die in the arena, choking on their own blood.

That could be me. I can never have too much stamina. To go the extra lap is everything in life, not only in the arena.'

The two guards glanced at each other and shrugged. ‘Sounds like you know what you're talking about,' Carbo admitted. ‘You'd best come with me.'

‘A moment,' Lysandra turned to her friends. ‘Cappa… Murco,' she began. ‘Thank you for all your help. I have enjoyed working with you both.'

‘Likewise,' Murco smiled at her.

‘We won't be far away,' Cappa added, throwing a glance in the direction of the guards. ‘And we'll drop in from time to time to see how things are going, won't we, Murco?'

Murco nodded. ‘I've seen some good inns around her. Good wine, probably.'

‘You should write a book on wine,' Lysandra observed.

‘I've been thinking of it, but who has time to write? Priests, politicians and the very rich – not the likes of me, that's for sure.'

‘Perhaps you will be rich one day, Murco?'

‘Not the way he spends money, lass,' Cappa chuckled. ‘You go on now…' he jerked his chin at the
ludus.
‘It's your time.'

Lysandra offered both men her hand in the warrior's grip, first Cappa and then Murco who surprised her by pulling her close in an embrace, patting her back in a brotherly fashion.

‘Good luck,' he said, sounding a little misty. He stepped back, looking somewhat embarrassed by his sudden display of affection.

Lysandra was genuinely touched. She was surprised at how close she had grown to the two ex-Praetorians in the short time they had spent together. ‘I expect,' she said, ‘that I will be fighting soon –

I am certainly fit enough, thanks to you two. I hope that you will come and watch me when I step onto the sands.'

‘Count on it,' Cappa promised. ‘I told you – we'll still be keeping an eye on you. Right then,' he switched his attention to Murco.

‘Let's away! I want to see which of these inns you've marked out for us. Take care, Lysandra.' With that, the two turned and ambled off, breaking into an argument almost at once about what kind of lodgings they ought to take up.

Lysandra shook her head and then moved towards Carbo who, to his credit, had kept quiet during the farewells.

‘This way,' he said, and led her into the
ludus.

Lysandra breathed in deeply through her nose as she stepped over the threshold, her senses drinking in the sights and sounds of the gladiators at their work. It was a similar setup to Balbus's school, a central training area enclosed by small dwellings that would house the gladiators and the
ludus
workers. Of course, the interior was tiny compared to Balbus's, but still Lysandra felt that this was like a sort of homecoming for her. It had been different at the
Deiopolis
.

There she had been first
Gladiatrix Prima
and then matriarch of the temple. Here she would be just one fighter among many.

Seeing so many men at their work was markedly different, however. Balbus's
ludus
had been almost unique in that he trained only women: everywhere else, women were a minority, a sideshow attraction to the ‘real' gladiatorial events. As she walked past, Lysandra noted a few of them stop and glance in her direction, but her arrival caused no more of a stir than that.

‘
Lanista,
' Carbo raised his hand to a powerfully built bald man that Lysandra had assumed to be one of the trainers.

He turned to reveal an astonishingly ugly, broken-nosed and pockmarked face. He squinted at them in the late afternoon sun.

‘What, Carbo? I'm busy here.'

‘An
auctorata
wants to sign on,' Carbo gestured at Lysandra.

The
lanista
eyed her for a moment and then ordered the two fighters he was working with to continue. ‘Does she?' he wiped sweat from his gleaming pate. ‘We'll see,' he chuckled. ‘We'll see.

Come on then, girl, come with me.' He made off, not bothering to check if she was following. Lysandra could not resist a half smile; it had been a long time since she had been treated in such a manner and a part of her rather enjoyed it. Thanking Carbo, she strode after the
lanista
who lead her to a small building set away from the rest.

Inside it was dark and cool. Lysandra's ice-coloured eyes flicked around the room – it was heavily shelved, cluttered with scrolls and a few cheap busts of the gods. The centrepiece was a rude wooden desk and bench covered in papers and wax tablets. With a grunt, the
lanista
sat down and appraised her once again.

‘I'm Hister,' he said.

Lysandra arched an eyebrow. ‘Hister the
lanista
?'

‘Funny,' Hister's sigh was tired. ‘I've never heard that one before.

Maybe you should consider a career in the theatre.'

Lysandra did not respond to that, knowing that she had already irked the man and it would not do to antagonise him further.

‘What's your name?'

‘Lysandra of Sparta,' she replied. ‘I have fought before under the name Achillia in Asia Minor. Perhaps you have heard of me?'

Hister shook his head. ‘No. This is Italia – we don't take much notice of what goes on in the provinces. Fighters there are all second rate. That's
why
they're in the provinces. All the best fighters are in Italia. Even the female ones.'

Lysandra was affronted by the man's presumption but held her tongue; he was probably testing her and she was not going to give him the satisfaction of gauging her that easily.

‘You've had some experience, you say?' Hister queried. ‘How many bouts?'

‘Thirty-three in six years.' Her response was prompt and delivered with not a little pride.

‘How many
missios?
'

‘None,' Lysandra permitted herself a half-smile. ‘Thirty-two victories, one draw.'

That
got his attention. Hister leaned back in his seat and looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. ‘No defeats?'

He tried to add a little incredulity into the question, but his eyes told her that he knew she spoke the truth.

‘None. I really am surprised you have not heard of me,' she added.

‘To my knowledge I am the only gladiatrix to have a stele commissioned in honour of my career.'

‘Commissioned by whom?'

‘Sextus Julius Frontinus. Perhaps you
have
heard of him?'

‘Oh. Ho-ho!' Hister laughed with genuine amusement. ‘You're a cocky one, aren't you, Lysandra of Sparta?'

‘I prefer to think of it as confidence. I have no cause to doubt my abilities.'

‘There's a difference,' Hister noted, ‘between confidence and arrogance. You would do well to remember that.'

Lysandra refrained from comment; she had a fair idea of what would be coming next and decided that she had spoken enough.

‘Anyway,' Hister went on. ‘Talk is cheap. I want to see what you are made of before we talk about signing any deals.'

‘Naturally.'

‘Ever fought a man before?'

Lysandra assumed he had posed the question to unbalance her, but she did not allow her gaze to waver. ‘In the arena – no,' she said, thinking it pointless to detail the unarmed bouts she had fought on behalf of Euaristos's soldiers. ‘I was scheduled to fight a man once,' she continued, pushing away the vile images of Nastasen that were spreading like cancer through her mind as she recalled the attack on her. ‘It was cancelled. I have trained for it, but I will admit that was a long time ago. However, male or female, big or small, I can match anyone. I have never known defeat and I do not plan to start now.'

‘We'll see,' Hister grinned. ‘What do you fight as?'

‘
Dimachaeria
or
thraex.'

‘All right.' Hister rose to his feet. ‘You talk a good fight. Let's see if you can deliver.'

‘I will need time to warm up,' Lysandra said.

‘You can do that outside. I'll go and find someone worthy of your prodigious talent.'

‘Thank you,' Lysandra replied, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘It would not do for me to demonstrate on an amateur.'

Hister's laugh was genuine. ‘You Spartans. You're all the same, aren't you?' He shook his head with mock dismay.

Lysandra thought that it was ignorant in the extreme to be portrayed with such a broad racial stereotype: all Spartans were not the same of course, but then she surmised that the uneducated masses of Italia were hardly to know any better. ‘I shall go and prepare myself.' She turned abruptly and made her way outside.

She began slowly, calming her breathing and going through some gentle stretching exercises to loosen her muscles. As she worked, she realised that her heart was beating faster than normal and her palms were damp. She was nervous. Despite all she had said to Hister, the truth of it was that she had not fought a professional fighter in a long time. Still – she had bloodied her sword recently and her tally in the pirate attack had been more than decent, even if that had been more of a frantic brawl than anything else. This, she knew, would be different.

Loose now, she pushed herself harder enjoying the feeling of sweat tingling on her skin as her body began to thrill at the exertion. She thanked Cappa and Murco silently, thinking of the hard paces they had put her through. That would pay dividends now.

‘Lysandra!' It was the gravelled baritone of Hister. She turned about to face him, keen now to see who she would be pitted against.

Her opponent was indeed a man as Hister had hinted before.

Thickly built and tall, his skin was dark brown and his features gave him away as an African. Lysandra stiffened at the sight of him, again reminded of Nastasen: but this man did not have the same demeanour as her former tormentor. His gait was easy, his expression open, friendly and handsome, and he smiled a greeting at her.