She pulled her skirts up at the waist, a fruitless action, as she placed a sandaled foot into the sands of the ludus. She had waited for hours to be able to do so. She had waited for her parents to rise, for them to leave, for them to disappear from vision into the streets of Capua. She knew her father would never allow her to step into the ludus amongst the men. He had only permitted her to do so by his side a handful of times in her youth, and he had never allowed it when she was on her own.
This was, of course, not to say she had never done so despite his forbidding. Sometimes propriety had to make way for necessity. Sometimes her will grew a mind of its own and there was little that could stop her. How many times had she snuck into the ludus in her youth? After all had fallen to sleep. All but one.
He was always up the latest. After one of his countless victories. He spent his time in his private room, doing things Octavia had never let herself think on, before taking wine to the sands of the empty ludus. How many times had she joined him? How many firsts had she experienced at his calloused hands? Her first sip of wine, then her first bottle … her first time holding a sword, and her first cut at the end of one. She swallowed hard as she remembered his panic, his concern. The way he had clutched her thigh as he inspected the tiny little cut that still bore a scar beneath her dress.
How many other firsts had she dreamt of him taking?
She forced the thought from her mind, as if the gladiators could hear her thoughts as plainly as the wind. They would at least, she thought, be able to read the reddish hue to her cheeks. "Doctore," she called needlessly. All men upon the sand had frozen upon detecting her presence. "I would speak to Gannicus."
Gannicus followed Octavia to a shaded area of the ludus, near the wooden men. "Domina," he said, looking her over curiously as he waited to hear what had brought her to the sands.
"How does Crixus fare?"
"The man never held a sword before I placed one in hand," he informed her.
Octavia bit her lip, closing her eyes in silent frustration. "I don't suppose he has a natural talent," she murmured.
Gannicus didn't understand her concern for the new recruit. He'd never seen such attention be paid to a man absent the test. Was she merely concerned about her investment finding profit? Or had she given the Gaul a reason for his affections? "Something resembling skill could be carved from the man," he offered. "In time."
"You have less than a week before he fights in the games," said Octavia, biting the tip of her thumb as she looked past Gannicus to where Crixus sparred with Barca. He was not faring well against the spear.
"The games?" demanded Gannicus, his voice rising. "The man has not yet earned the mark!"
"Choice has been removed in the matter," she said, returning her attention to him. "All I ask is you prepare him the best you can."
"He will not last the fucking oration!" he exclaimed, his mounting frustration more evident than he ever would have let it become were Batiatus present. He stepped away from her, needing a moment to reel his anger in, but she caught his hand and prevented his easy escape.
Gannicus looked down at their hands; tan, slender, soft little fingers held a gentle grip on his bloody ones. "Words from the champion may improve chances," she said softly.
"Words from you would carry greater meaning," he replied, his eyes still focused on watching the tips of his fingers curl around hers.
"On how to combat a spear?" Octavia laughed.
Gannicus lifted his eyes to meet hers. "On reason to prolong life," he corrected.
Her heart fluttered in her chest at the look he was giving her, it was gentle, and so full of … honesty, "And … is that what gets you through a fight?" she asked with bated breath.
The smile flickered on his face in amusement and he leaned in slightly, "My Domina gives reason enough," he said. "If a week is all we have, your words would sooner benefit him than later." He nodded towards Crixus, who had fallen again and been left to wipe the blood from his lip as it seeped down his chin.
Octavia nodded, giving him one last look, wishing now, more than ever, it was only them upon sands, that the skies were dark enough to hide whatever secrets they wished to share. Alas, it was not so, she was his Domina, and he her slave, and none of the Gods in the temples could change that.
She went to Crixus as he moved himself to train with the wooden men. Octavia assumed he had not taken it upon himself to do so by the sour look on his face, but that his partner had merely grown bored and went to find an actual challenge, "Crixus," she said and he seemed to freeze for a moment before turning to her.
"Domina," he managed after a moment before scrambling up. She tried not to smile at his eagerness. That was good, she thought, perhaps it would encourage him even more.
"How goes your training?" she inquired, regardless of its necessity. He faltered and searched for the words to defend himself, but none came. "So well it leaves you absent words?" she asked, giving him a smile. He looked to her in surprise before the gentle smile crept across his face until hers faulted. "I need you to succeed."
"Yes, Domina," he said, his brow furrowed. Of course she needed him to succeed, that was why he was here in the Ludus, it wasn't to fail, it wasn't to embarrass her.
"Can you do that?" she asked. "For me?"
His eyes widened slightly at her request, "Yes, Domina," his tone was more hushed, but more eager and she pressed her lips together. Did she tell him his life was on the line? Could he feel it in the air between them?
"Yesterday against Gannicus you showed something resembling promise," she stated, willing herself not to look over her shoulder to where she knew the Celt had returned to training. "And yet today against Barca, who is, you should know, an inferior gladiator, you have spent much of the morning on your back."
His eyes found the sand again and she was beginning to wonder if she was being too harsh on him. She spoke with a gentle enough tone, yet every word of criticism seemed to hit the man like a whip. "The spear is not known to me," he admitted, gesturing to where Barca wielded his with deadly expertise.
"Then remove spear from equation," she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. The man truly did not have a head for the games and that was nearly as important as skill with a sword. He had to have a sense for it, of what to do, of how to move, of what his opponent would do next.
"Yes, Domina," he murmured, still examining the details of her sandals.
Octavia sighed, taking the opportunity to assess the man. He looked more animal than man, with wild hair and a beard that covered half his face. It would not last long, she was certain. Gannicus seemed to be the only one able to get away with such a hairstyle, and that was likely to his status as champion. "Heed Gannicus's instructions," she commanded. "I would not have you fall from this world." By the time Crixus managed to look up, Octavia was already halfway across the ludus and Gannicus had taken her place, forcing sword back in hand.
Octavia stared through the sheer curtains that surrounded her bed in lovely lilac, as a sweet rose scent wafted through her room. It was hot, as were most nights, and even with the thin robes she wore and the lack of fabric on her bed, she felt as if she were drowning in fire.
There was no breeze, not even with as late as it was, as clear as it was, why she could even see the stars out the window, a thousand eyes staring at her and a name in them …
She rolled over to her other side and let out a sigh, forcing her eyes closed, trying to empty her mind so that she could fall asleep at last … before being shaken awake by a voice. A distant voice, but it was there, filling the silence all the same. Singing; loud, drunk singing. Irritated, she rose from her bed, grabbing an even thinner robe to throw on over her small clothes and forgetting her sandals as she stormed through the halls of the estate and towards the voice … hesitating for a breath once she realized she was heading towards the ludus.
She bit her lip before stepping through towards the sands, flexing her toes before digging them in. It was still warm from the sun beating down upon it all day, she could hear the singing more clearly now, it had really taken her no time at all in her fury, it was coming from the cliff, one of the slaves was standing before it and for a breath of a moment, she thought he meant to jump off, "… my cock rages on! My cock rages on!" she pursed her lips as she stepped closer, a touch too loudly, causing him to spin around and quiet immediately upon the sight of her.
The smile was quick to creep across her lips, "Gannicus," she greeted.
"Octavia …" he said, still seeming stunned at her presence, but that didn't stop the half grin from forming. "Apologies, Domina—"
"It is only you and I upon these sands," she said, unwilling to admit aloud how much she liked the sound of her own name when falling from his lips. "What has caused you such loud and joyous celebration that you must pull me from my bed?"
"Were my words so effective as to raise you from your slumber?"
"Sleep was not involved, it is only my bed I am parted with," she corrected.
"I would prefer to have joined you than parted you from it," he said, his smile lazy as he sauntered closer to her, stumbling only slightly in his drunken state. "You are without shoes."
"And you without shame," she said, pressing her fingers to the center of his chest in an attempt to push him away. She thought his mind slow, but did not take into consideration how quick he would move, especially now, as his hand grabbed hers quickly and pressed it closer. "Gannicus …"
"Octavia," he said again, his other hand reaching for her cheek. "Is this yet another of my dreams?" She took a sharp breath, reveling in the rough texture of his hand, years of calluses were like the finest silks at that moment. He dreamt of her?
"How often do I visit your dreams?" she inquired, studying his handsome features. How was it fair for such a man to exist so far out of her reach. If only he had been born Roman, if only he did not wear the brand of the House of Batiatus …
"More and more frequent," he admitted, stepping closer now, should she breathe too deeply, her chest would graze him. "I am sorry I have stolen you from your sleep," he muttered, moving his fingers to her temple and pushing heavy curls away from her face, and gripping the side of her head.
"I am not," she said looking up at him with big, blue eyes, pools of the cleanest water, so pure, he felt as if he would fall into them … no, not into them, but against her, he dipped low, bringing his lips gently to hers. He let a sigh slip out at how soft, how sweet she was, and even sweeter the way she tasted, more so than any wine. Her name on his tongue had always been enough until now, and even now, he knew, nothing else would ever come close.
Her tongue was hesitant, but made an attempt to part his own lips, surprising him, but pleasantly so as he deepened it even more, feeling her go weak against him. He wrapped his arms quickly around to support her, refusing to let her break away, not yet, not so soon. Her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly, were he a weaker man, he would think she meant to remove it. Her chest heaved against him, as did her hips, whether it was his doing or hers, he felt himself grow aroused at the mere thought, thoughts that only grew wilder as she whimpered.
He forced her away, "Octavia," his voice was rough and he looked down in time to see her eyes open blearily. "Apologies, I cannot … I will not—"
"I will," she insisted, attempting to wrap her arms around him again, pulling him down, attempting to kiss him once more, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and kept her hungry lips at bay. "Gannicus," his name was music on her tongue and he bit his lips with a grunt. "I see … the night grows darker by the moment … perhaps … I should get back to bed."
Gannicus woke late the next morning, long after the midday sun. A splitting headache was his only companion as he stumbled out into the sands. He spotted Batiatus above them, standing on the balcony, and felt his heart seize in his chest as memories of the night before came flooding back.
Any pleasure at the memory had faded to fear with the presence of his Dominus. Had Octavia spoken word of that night to anyone, he would be hacked into pieces. He turned his gaze from Batiatus and toward the sand, moving quickly to grab sword for practice. He nearly leapt out of his skin when Oenomaus placed hand upon his shoulder. "Has gladiator made way for frightened rabbit?" his oldest friend inquired. A chastisement for his late arousal had been on Oenomaus's tongue, but it had fallen in favor of concern.
"Octavia?" asked Gannicus upon realizing Oenomaus meant him no harm.
"Arrived with the sun," said Oenomaus, his brow furrowed. He had always known the two shared a fondness for each other, but Gannicus had never put words behind it, nor spoken the girl's name so boldly. "With mind towards Crixus."
Gannicus turned sharply, seeking to lay eyes upon the Gaul. When he spotted the man entangled with Barca, he turned back to Oenomaus. "And presently?" Oenomaus hesitated in his response, but the look on his face told Gannicus he had put foot out of line with questioning. "Never mind," he muttered, abandoning his Doctore in favor of the Gaul.
Time had never moved more slowly for Gannicus. A pain he exacerbated by checking the balcony as often as he swung his swords. Time and time again he searched for her presence and came up empty handed. Batiatus overlooked, then the wife, then the wife and a blonde woman, then Batiatus again. But he did not lay sights upon daughter, nor did he see her the next day, though he made certain to rise with the sun.
He was the first to the sands that morning and his brothers seemed surprised to see him there, but still their Domina did not make an appearance. Where had she gone to to evade him so? He could think of no time when she had ever been absent from sight for more than an afternoon.
It was on the third day when she presented herself again.
"How does Crixus fare," she murmured as she stepped beside her father, resting her arms against the balcony.
A resounding crack interrupted Batiatus before he could respond, and both shifted attention to the source. Barca stood overtop of Gannicus, grinning like a madman, with blood sprayed across his shield. Even from such a distance, Batiatus could see the blood pouring from his champion's mouth. "Better than Gannicus," he grumbled, glancing to his daughter to find her oddly disinterested in the Celt's condition. "He has been off form as of late."
"I give no shits towards Gannicus," she answered. Octavia strained to keep her eyes away from the scene where Gannicus was struggling to get back on his feet.
Batiatus laughed at that, watching as Gannicus stumbled and looked toward them again, blood staining his chin. "There was a time when that was the only name that fell from your lips," he reminded her. "Now I see it replaced with Crixus."
"The only name of concern is Crassus," said Octavia. "Will he not be impressed by transformation of rabid dog to obedient gladiator?"
"I fear his passing would be a greater blessing." Her eyes widened as she regarded her father, who had the grace to look mildly sheepish. "The Gaul best serves as an introduction to the man and all the power he has. I fear he will not react as you hope to being proven wrong about the man's potential."
"You want him to die," murmured Octavia, watching Crixus train with more vigor and dedication than any other man upon their sands. An odd feeling passed through her belly that she couldn't quite describe.
"I've made humble suggestion that the Gaul be paired against the spear," her father admitted, having observed Crixus's failings against the weapon with his own eyes. "You look disappointed. Has my daughter attempted to ignite a fire within her new favorite?"
"Purchase does not imply favoritism," she responded. "My only interests lie in the elevation of our house."
Batiatus smiled, looking almost as if he believed her. Truthfully, he knew better where his daughter was concerned. She'd always had favorites. First it had been Oenomaus, much to Batiatus's own irritation, until Gannicus arrived. Nothing and no one had torn her attention from the man in a decade. "I would not forbid such an attempt," he murmured, his eyes shifting to Gannicus, who had spent the past ten minutes looking up at the balcony. Batiatus was not fool enough to think he had anything to do with the man's attention. "Especially with Gannicus. His form fades in recent days and I would have him at his best for Crassus and Caesar."
Octavia pursed her lips, refusing to look down at the Celt below. "I fear I would fail in the task," she admitted.
Her father had a smile on his face when he looked at her, and yet Octavia knew there was little joke to the man's words. If he wished her to make attempt on Gannicus, it would be done. "I would not ask this of you if I thought it beyond your reach."
"I will set mind to purpose and see what riches can still be plucked from the man," she said, forcing a smile, before backing out of the balcony, Melitta close behind.
A/N: Yaaayyy people are actually reading this! How fun!
Special thanks to:
Vikinghungerrgame1: I'm glad you're cool with the change! Spartacus is the best when it has a good (sexy) villain. Hopefully I do the change justice and make it all make sense. Thank you for your review! :)
Amy, Winter Queen 15, and superfaraway: Thank you for your reviews! It's great to know people are still thinking about the best show over and coming to read fanfics for it. :)