Blood of a Gladiator - Ashley Gardner Page 0,36

support concrete vaulted ceilings until they were dried and cured. I glanced their way, my interest quickening. The mundane sight of builders easing blocks to the tops of walls, the sounds of hammering, and the shouts of orders and questions somewhat eased my anxiety.

A stern-faced man met Hesiodos and led us away from the builders and through a gate to a large inner courtyard.

Mosaics under my feet showed beautiful goddesses offering plates of plenty to visitors, as well as warriors of old flexing their muscles. This entryway, lined with expertly carved friezes, gave way to a courtyard, with a large fountain laid out in four arced shapes with statues on each corner.

We moved past this, the spray chilling the air, and under a colonnade to a wide and quiet room with another fountain. Arched walls soared above us, echoing the whisper of sandals on marble as the functionaries hurried about on their duties.

The stern-faced man bade us to wait and disappeared under one of the arches. Hesiodos wandered from us, as though not wanting to be seen with a lowly gladiator and the woman who worked for him.

Cassia studied the mosaics and carved pillars with interest. The tall marble fountain in the middle of the room featured a nymph pouring water from an urn into a bowl. Cassia’s nervousness came to me in waves, but in spite of that, she paused in appreciation of the artwork.

The stern man returned, beckoning us without a word. Instead of joining us, Hesiodos hung back, gesturing for us to accompany the palace servant. Cassia and I started after the man, but when I turned to look for Hesiodos, I saw him strolling toward the open courtyard.

Cassia and I exchanged a tense glance as we followed the other man in silence.

We went up a short flight of stairs and out into a peristyle garden, its walkway lined with columns of yellow, gray, and red marble. An open end of the garden overlooked the western ridge of the Palatine, probably with a view of the Circus Maximus, though I could not see from where I stood.

A young man with a head of thick dark curls reposed artfully on a bench between two of the columns, one foot on the seat as he leaned against the pillar behind him. He held a lyre that he softly strummed.

The man who’d led us in turned around without a word and stalked out. I noted guards in the shadows of the walkway, thick-hilted swords at their sides, one posted at the end of the garden near the overlook.

The young man on the bench began to sing.

The song, in Latin, was about a beautiful woman in love with a man, the lovers kept apart. They managed to elude those who forbade them to be together, experiencing one night of happiness before dying tragically. To me, it was a cloying and repetitious tale, but Cassia listened with shining eyes.

The piece ended, and the young man sighed and laid down the lyre. He rose, carefully stretching his limbs before deigning to speak to us.

“You liked it,” he said to Cassia with approval.

Cassia instantly sank to her knees, hiding her face on the floor. She, a female slave, should not look upon the highest citizen in the land. I also dropped down, in case the princeps lost his temper and ordered one of the guards to decapitate me on the spot. My right knee throbbed as it hit the floor—it hadn’t healed all the way from the bout that had gained me my freedom.

“Stand up, my friends,” Nero said. His voice was almost musical, smooth and low-pitched. “Within this room, we are friends. You liked my song.”

I helped Cassia to her feet as Nero waited. She nodded, readjusting the folds of her cloak. “Beautiful. Like Limenius.”

“Ah, you understand. You are Greek, Hesiodos tells me. We must not expect the gladiator to think as we do.”

I kept my face blank, like the stupid fighting man I was supposed to be.

“Let’s have another.” Nero resumed his lyre, seated himself, and started to play again.

I made myself not shift in impatience. I’d endured this before—Nero had a need to entertain others before others were allowed to entertain him. Many despised him for this, but not, of course, in his presence.

Cassia enjoyed the song, which was in Greek this time, so I did not understand any of it. I assumed it was good. Cassia did not strike me as a woman who flattered without sincerity.

“Excellent.” She applauded softly