Lucretia looked surprised at the sight of her daughter as she entered her chambers, and Octavia was equally startled by the sight before her. Her mother and a blonde woman lay strewn out upon the day beds, Crixus and Spartacus standing before them both, their hands bound. Lucretia was quick to jerk her head, indicating her daughter should leave, but Octavia had not moved quickly enough to avoid detection from their guest. Ilithyia's eyes widened at the sight of her and she quickly swallowed the remainder of the grape she had been chewing to be able to speak. "The daughter," she greeted, a smile upon her lips that could wilt flowers. "What a wild little thing you are."
Octavia tugged at her hair self consciously. She had not been expecting guests, and wore her hair down in thick curls that resembled a lion's mane. To a woman of Ilithyia's standing, she could only imagine how she appeared. "The wife of the Legatus," she said, stepping further into the room now that she had no out for a stealthy escape. "I presume."
"Ilithyia," the woman confirmed, sitting up straighter on the daybed to make a spot for Octavia, tapping it lightly with the palm of her hand to beckon the girl. "You are not at all what I expected to find upon hearing of Caesar's affections for the daughter of a lanista." The forced smile slipped from Octavia's lips. How many ghosts had Spartacus brought back to the ludus to haunt her? "Perhaps travels abroad forced him to develop a taste for the … exotic." Ilithyia popped another grape in her mouth as she scanned the girl appraisingly.
Try as she might, Octavia could not force the smile back to her face and could do little but stare at the woman as she insulted her. "He was not the first man enamoured by my daughter's beauty," her mother said, rescuing her as she floundered. "Nor the last, to be sure."
A nondescript sound rumbled in the back of Ilithyia's throat, begetting neither agreement nor quarrel to the comment. "A wonder," she said, her fingers gripping Octavia's jaw as she rolled her face from one side to the other, noting the rather flat profile of her nose when compared with the sharper profile of most Roman women. "where the girl obtained such beauty."
Lucretia's face fell at that, if only for a moment. The dark skin and hair were not entirely uncommon among Roman citizens, but it was true enough the girl did not resemble her nor Quintus, save her eyes, as blue as her own, as if Juno herself had blessed the girl with just enough to make her heritage believable. "From her mother, of course." Her voice was calm when she spoke, not betraying for a moment the nerves in her belly. Ilithyia glanced over her shoulder at her and the two exchanged a smile. "We mustn't keep the girl, let us return mind to purpose."
"The girl is certainly old enough to join us," Ilithyia said with a giggle, her attention returning quickly to the daughter. "Your mother and I were just examining the wares this fine ludus has to offer."
"They are the finest gladiators in Capua," replied Octavia, her face blank as she tried to avoid getting dragged into whatever was happening.
Ilithyia pursed her lips, deflating slightly at the lackluster response. But then another thought entered the woman's head, a crueler one, and she reached her hand out to a slave, demanding her goblet of wine. "Tell me," she said, bringing the cup to her lips. "Would you sooner invite a Thracian or a Gaul to your bed?"
"Neither," answered Octavia without missing a beat. "Both are slaves."
"That hasn't stopped you before, has it," Ilithyia giggled again as Octavia's stomach plummeted. Over Ilithyia's shoulder, her mother looked horrified. How far had news of that night traveled that the wife of Claudius Glaber knew? Glancing toward the Thracian proved a mistake, as Spartacus stood with a smirk upon lips, not even trying to hide his amusement as Crixus stood stony faced beside him. "You mustn't be shy, you're among friends."
Octavia had little time to ponder if less true words had ever been spoken. The woman would demand answer, and she had to think of one that would please her quickly. Her true answer was simple: of course she would sooner have Crixus in her bed than Spartacus, but she feared the repercussions of saying such things in front of her mother. The alternative, however, to declare her preference for Spartacus in front of the man himself, was something she could not do. "Thought of the Thracian's hands upon me is enough to turn stomach," she answered simply, watching as Spartacus's smile only grew. "I would sooner part the man from his cock than have it inside me."
Octavia's face grew hot as Spartacus openly laughed, catching the attention now of both her mother and Ilithyia. "Or bury knife in chest," said Ilithyia, surprising Octavia. She had thought the woman to enjoy her continued humiliation, but she looked mutinous.
"A welcome thought," Octavia mumbled to herself, but Ilithyia's eyes snapped to her as a smile slowly spread across her lips.
"Guard," the woman called, summoning her own guard to her side and extending a hand. "Your blade." Confused, the guard slowly reached for his sword before Ilithyia cut him a dark look. Soon he placed dagger in her hand and she placed it in Octavia's. "See it so."
"Ilithyia …" her mother began hesitantly, before Octavia could formulate a protest.
"The man stands gladiator, does he not," replied Ilithyia. "A cut dealt by hand of loving daughter should be a thing of little note." Crixus, Lucretia was certain, would patiently receive a thousand cuts from Octavia's hand without complaint. But Spartacus … she was not certain the man would tolerate even one without her husband there to keep him in place. "I would see the smile wiped from lips."
Octavia glanced to her mother, waiting for the out, until her mother nodded her confirmation. Crixus was there to put Spartacus in his place should he forget it, and the good favor of the wife of the Legatus was important enough for the risk. Octavia rose to her feet slowly and approached the pair of gladiators hesitantly, an annoyance forming in the pit of her stomach upon realizing even advancement with a blade was not enough to wipe the smug look from the man's face. She could not be certain if the man doubted her resolve or feared the cut she would deal him so little, but both options proved equally frustrating.
"You would embarrass yourself further, little mouse?" asked Spartacus, softly enough that only she and Crixus could hear. "Your mother does not know you are absent claws?"
"My mark upon you tells a different story," she replied, her eyes trailing to the small scar on his side where she had pierced him in the bath.
"And what of my mark upon you?" he wondered, and her fingers instinctively ran to her throat, where the remnants of the bruises he'd left upon her remained. Spartacus's hands moved to mirror her own, but had not reached halfway before a flurry of movement halted him, guards drawing swords in the distance, but Crixus looming beside him the more pressing concern. Octavia raised her hand and all motion ceased, even her breath caught in her chest as Spartacus lifted his chained hands the rest of the way, his bruised and calloused knuckles surprisingly gentle as they brushed against her throat. Startled by sudden affection, Octavia felt frozen in place as his knuckles trailed up her throat and to her jaw, his thumb brushing against the fullness of her bottom lip as the room felt still, aside from the seething energy radiating off of Crixus beside them. "I had thought my hands upon you enough to turn stomach, domina."
Dagger pressed to belly was Octavia's answer, the man's knuckles still resting against her cheek as she pressed it into his abs. Her face was full of stony resolve, but her fingers lacked the follow through, pressing the blade too gently to draw blood. It was an easy thing, she told herself, to punish an errant slave. She had seen her father do it a thousand times during her life in the ludus. But Melitta was also a slave, often at the mercy of her mother for punishments. Crixus was only a slave. Oenomaus, no matter how high he had risen, was no more than a slave. Even Gannicus had been only a slave. It was harder than she had anticipated to separate the punishment of one chained and helpless slave from the others, and her hand faltered until resolved by another.
"A dog must be reminded of its master's heel from time to time," Ilithyia whispered in her ear, her hand wrapped around hers as she guided the blade higher on Spartacus's chest and pressed with the conviction to draw blood immediately. It was hot on Octavia's hand and she may have pulled away had Ilithyia not held her there. "Lest he forget himself."
Spartacus had not minded the daughter of Batiatus putting her hands upon him. The girl filled him with little more than amusement, but the hands of Glaber's wife upon him was something that simply would not do. His jaw was firmly clenched as the pair dug the tiny dagger into his chest until he could stand it no longer. With one hand he threw Octavia out of the way, sending her sprawling to the ground several feet away while he shifted attention to Ilithyia, his hands wrapping around her throat for only a moment before Crixus was upon him, taking him to the floor and grappling with him as guards surrounded them and the women were pulled to safety.
It was an hour later when she was summoned to her father's office. He looked exhausted, though from his trip to market or from the chaos he returned home to, Octavia could not be certain. She slipped into the chair across from him, the room silent for a moment as he looked her over. "What happened," he asked at last, though she was certain he had already spoken to both her mother and Ilithyia, and likely Spartacus, as well.
"Spartacus is a dog," she answered simply. It was likely what her mother had said, and she couldn't deny the truth in it. "I fear him untamable."
"Ilithyia and the man must be kept separate," her father replied. "The two inflame each other beyond reason." Octavia pursed her lips, unsure of what to say or why her father had asked her there. "But the man bears gentle touch for you."
"Mother mistakes intent."
"Were his hands upon you not more favorable than when upon Ilithyia?"
Octavia opened his mouth to tell him she had received similar treatment, but stopped herself short. She could scarcely imagine what her father would do upon learning of what transpired in the baths. She had felt Spartacus's blood on her hands already that night and had no taste for it. "He considers me no more than meek child."
"He would not be the first man to hold an affection for delicate things," said Batiatus. "An affection I would see exploited."
"I would stay far removed from Spartacus."
Batiatus gave her a slow, appraising look, but she could not read the thoughts behind his eyes. "Spartacus has been a venture of exceeding cost," he replied. "One I would not see wasted."
"I do not-"
"I will not have fucking subject broached again," her father's voice boomed, cutting short any protest she may have ventured.
The pair sat in strained silence for a long moment. "Yes, father."
Author's Note: Hahaha a year and a half since my last update … while my updates may be sporadic, my love for Spartacus is eternal. I sat down and started and finished this chapter in about two hours. I'm not sure if that bodes well because I am so inspired or if the speed run has made this chapter not very well written, but I figure anyone still reading will be happy to receive a crumb of story after so long and I'm happy to have felt so much inspiration writing it.
As always, thank you for all of the reviews on the last chapter, and if anyone is still here a year and a half later, thanks for that too. :)
