After a hard week at work, there wasn't much P. Iunius Brutus liked more than a trip down to the chariot races or gladiatorial games. If his week was a stale, week-old loaf from Lucia Barbarata, then the games were the small raisins embedded therein and the water than soothed his dry mouth and sore teeth after. The only fly in the ointment was that, for a few weeks now, no Romans had won any game played against the Greek.
It wasn't as if this generation of gladiators and charioteers was subpar. Really, they were some of the best. Recent campaigns against the barbarians produced both excellent slave fighters and soldiers who hadn't had enough of combat. The problem was more that the Greek no doubt had the blood of heroes in her, because even aside from never having lost, Iunius couldn't even remember the last time she'd gotten hit.
Oh, and she was a woman. That didn't help.
Iunius walked down from his home on the Esquiline, dreaming of the spiced wine he would have with dinner that night and scratching himself. He was still fit from his days as a soldier, to say nothing of the nights when he would wake up sweating and run through a few of the old drills just in case. He might have only been a middle class lawyer, but he had dinner with a senator once a week—he was no small man in the city, and the greetings he got from other pedestrians proved it.
Most days this trip would have been relaxing for Iunius, even with all the thieves waiting for drunk plebs coming out of the Colosseum. He would watch the Greek lay waste to the pride of Roman men everywhere, booing her vigorously. Then he would go home, lay with his wife, pet his dog, and go to sleep. But today it would be different, because today he was going to talk to her. Women, Greek or Roman, were mostly the same, he reasoned. If you offered them a smile bright enough, they would reveal the secrets of their hearts.
The Flavian Amphitheater stood tall and proud before him, and he walked in. Games were always free, and consequently packed. He took a spot close to the ground with the plebs. He could have gotten away with sitting much higher, but he wanted to make sure he could get out quickly once the battles were done and pursue the Greek. He knew when she was coming onto the field both by the shock of her bright red hair and the shouts from the stands:
"Graeca! Graeca!" The Greek lifted her spear into the air to cheers and a few thrown nuts that she blocked with her shield. The Greek never smiled, even though she was beautiful—for a Greek. She just paced back and forth, blocking apples with her shield and waiting for her opponent to come out.
The match was an embarrassment to the Empire. Typically the Greek was given three or three or four enemies in a row just to make it fair, but today they were going for a gender thing, so they sent out a single woman to fight her. The Greek's opponent was no slouch, either. Good Roman stock, from one of the colonies judging by her brown complexion. The Greek disarmed her in seconds.
And then she left. Just dropped her spear and shield and walked out of the ring, to boos and thrown food that she completely ignored. Iunius was out of his seat and walking toward the exit before he even saw the Greek leave. A few minutes' lurking outside later, he saw her stalk away from the Amphitheater in a perfectly normal stola and walked quickly to catch up.
"I'm not seeing fans right now," she said, before he could say anything. "I'm not interested in your bed or your money." The sentence was carefully enunciated and polished enough that he knew she'd practiced it. Iunius saw an opening and took a stab.
"How about company? You look upset. Let's talk." He spread his hands wide as a gesture of goodwill, and she relented, sighing.
"Let's talk then. What's your name?" The Greek had passable Latin when it was a real conversation, but now that her practiced rebuff hadn't worked she was much more invested in every word she chose. Iunius took the moment to deploy his most fetching smile.
"Publius Iunius Brutus. But my friends call me Arcus." She raised her eyebrows a little at his pompous recitation of his full name.
"A freedman?"
"The son of one. And you, what's your name?" She looked at him for a moment, with something like surprise, then said, "Pyrrha." Iunius formed the name in his mouth, sculpted the shape of it with his lips and tongue.
"Pyrrha. What's your secret in the pit?" He tapped the side of his nose, conspiratorial.
"I'm better than them," Pyrrha said.
"I don't understand," Iunius replied, rubbing the back of his head.
"There is neither trick nor illusion to the things I do. I don't win because I am the cleverest cheater. I win because I'm the best fighter. And if you don't believe me..."
Iunius felt a hand on his back, then a shove. He stumbled, but not before feeling hands snatch away his purse. He heard two thuds, and then two boys fell to the ground. He got up, but it was over. Pyrrha handed him back his purse and spat on the ground at the two thieves, who were clutching their stomachs.
Man and gladiator made eye contact, and burst out laughing.
"Okay, it's not a trick," Iunius said. "But that was so well-timed you might as well have hired them to make your point!" Pyrrha nodded, but her face was grim.
"I don't like criminals, or tyrants. People like those theives prey on the hapless and helpless." She spat on the ground. Iunius felt a little bruise developing where his ego had once been.
"I wouldn't call myself helpless," he said, rallying what remained of his pride.
"You are a cub in Lupa's mouth," Pyrrha said, and stifled the laugh his expression dragged out of her. By now, the sun was setting, and they had almost made it to his house. Iunius stopped walking and turned back to her, clasping her hands in his.
"Pyrrha. Come, have dinner and wine with my household." The lines of worry came back to her face. "No, don't question it. You Greeks might have your statues, but hospitality is the Roman way."
"Iunius, I can't. I have to get back to my apartment."
"Those things are death traps!" Pyrrha smiled, showing all of her teeth. It threw Iunius off with its force and glee.
"Iunius, there hasn't been a building built yet that could kill me."
"Don't joke like that. And call me Arcus. We're friends now, yes?"
"Yes, I think so. Good night, Arcus!" she said, and turned to walk down the hill, leaving Iunius's palms the faintest trace of warmth left behind by her hands.