It was not often that the gladiators were brought out of the ludus and up into the villa, but it happened upon occasion over the years. Crixus was the only of the gladiators to remain unbound. His loyalty to the House of Batiatus was without question, and he was trusted to be on his best behavior among the guests, especially after the events of the previous night. Those present for the event stood before him now, the blonde woman bearing fresh and angry looking bruises on her neck, but she was absent the scowl she'd worn the entire evening now that her eyes gazed upon him. "Was there ever such a man," she wondered aloud, her cold fingers trailing gently across his chest.
It was meant to arouse him, Crixus was certain, as her fingers went lower and lower, but nothing within him stirred. If anything, it caused irritation to have to focus on her while he knew Octavia hovered just out of his peripheral, her dark hair styled more intricately in the Roman way than the loose curls she often wore when the villa was absent guests. The bruises that had grazed her own neck had all but faded now, looking as little more than a shadow cast by the flickering candle lights. "He stands tall above all others," said Lucretia. "In many regards."
Crixus felt his irritation grow as the women shared a conspiratory giggle, before Ilithyia bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes resting at his subligaria. "The heart quickens at the thought of … exploring such regards," she said, before casting a side eye at Lucretia. Crixus feared the woman had mistaken intent when he'd ripped Spartacus away from her. It had little to do with an urge to protect her. The Thracian could've bashed her skull into little pieces on the floor for all he cared.
"Crixus is to fight in the primus in the morning," a familiar voice said. The simple sound of his name upon her lips caused more of a stirring within him than either woman before him was capable, and he was grateful for an excuse to look in her direction. Crixus had never cared for the pinkish pale skin and yellow hair the Roman women seemed to favor, but he could not be certain if his preference for honey brown skin had started with Octavia or before her. All he knew was that the golden dress she wore would make it rather difficult to force his eyes back to Ilithyia when the time came he must. "He must be well rested. We wouldn't want him to disappoint the crowd, would we?" Octavia asked the two women who were giving her rather unpleasant looks. "Perhaps another slave may suit your interests, one fighting in such a minor match the crowd will take no notice. Spartacus, perhaps?"
Octavia spoke loudly enough Crixus suspected it was for the benefit of the man standing behind him, and sure enough he could feel Spartacus twisting around to cast her an annoyed glance. The only thing that surprised Crixus about the situation was the rather mischievous smile she sent him as Ilithyia stormed off, grumbling something angry under her breath, Lucretia chasing behind her, and the way her fingers wrapped around his own for just the briefest of moments before she moved away from him and toward a different slave.
"You appear of a fine mood," said Melitta, sounding entirely suspicious of the smile on Octavia's face. It was not often that the girl smiled at all in recent years, and certainly not when in a room filled with Romans she must impress.
"Then reflection holds truth," Octavia replied, taking a sip of wine and looking as if it was the sweetest thing to ever pass her lips. Her eyes, Melitta noticed, had not left Spartacus and the rather large group who fawned over him, men and women alike eager to put hands upon him.
"It is the Thracian who pleases you so?"
"Yes," said Octavia, catching a brief moment where Spartacus was alone, and choosing then to walk past him.
Spartacus was quick to call out to her, the smug look upon his face that he always wore when interacting with her. "The crowd may take more notice of the earlier matches than you suspect, domina."
Octavia took pause, looking him over thoughtfully for a moment before approaching. Her eyes raked over his gleaming chest and down to his abs; it was rare for the gladiators to be clean, and to smell of anything but shit. In her heart, there was no denying that freshly bathed and oiled, Spartacus looked nearly perfect. Nearly.
Her fingers brushed against the scab on his side where she'd stabbed him in the bath, before trailing delicately up to the fresher wound in his chest from the night before. She could see her father out of the corner of her eye and glanced at him; Batiatus gave her an encouraging nod in return, pleased to see her working so quickly to fulfill his will. "A shame the purse is only half a coin for your match," she said thoughtfully, glancing up at Spartacus through thick lashes. "How many years, I wonder, will it take you to earn your wife's freedom at half a coin per game?"
"Half a coin?" asked Spartacus, too surprised by the sum to offer witty retort. He had not considered the difference in purse between the primus and a match in the early day.
"A pity you could not secure your place in the primus with Crixus," she lamented. "A victory there is worth ten denarii. Ample coin to make purchase of your wife and her transport to Capua."
Spartacus glanced from Octavia to Batiatus, the wheels turning in his head. Sura could not afford years. "Perhaps you could speak with your-"
Octavia's laugh interrupted him and stopped him short. "Perhaps you could ask the crowd who favors you so for their help," she suggested, taking a sip of her wine before stepping away from him to allow more guests to approach the man.
She need only wait a few moments before Spartacus did exactly what she hoped he would.
"It is a difficult thing to procure men for these minor games," Magistrate Calavius lamented. "Good Solonius was already engaged with loftier arrangements."
Octavia watched as something sinister flashed behind her father's eyes, though his smile remained firmly in place. The strong prey on the weak and the weak prey on the weaker, she thought to herself. On and on the cycle went. She wondered if it were different elsewhere, far removed from Rome. "Perhaps next year he will be available," replied Batiatus.
"We can but pray," the magistrate drawled, moving to take seat beside his wife in the front of the pulvinus, near where she sat beside her mother and Ilithyia, the latter of the two's hands constantly fluttering up to touch the skin of her bruised throat.
Ilithyia looked positively wretched as Melitta offered her wine, raising a sharp hand to refuse the offering. "Perhaps some water then," her mother suggested.
"There is little to sate my current thirst but the blood of Spartacus," replied Ilithyia. It seemed the only reason she had chosen to have attended was to see the man's head parted from chest in the games.
"Crixus shall see to that," Lucretia assured her. "A finer gladiator there has never been."
Finally, a small smile tugged at the Roman woman's lips. "Your tongue speaks true," she said. "I fear we have barely scratched the surface of his worth."
Lucretia opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself short of Calavius and then her husband's oration to introduce the primus. Spartacus was first to the sands, with Crixus short to follow. Both Lucretia and Ilithyia sat taller in their seats at the sight of the man, a motion that did not slip Octavia's notice. Neither woman made effort to hide their favor for him, though they found themselves in good company as the crowd ignited at the sight of their champion.
Octavia herself felt a stirring in her breast at the sight of him, though she could not be certain of the cause. Was it the warmth of the familiarity of the man? His ever reliable and steady presence in the ludus had been a great comfort to her over the passing years. It was also true that she sat in equal anticipation for whatever punishment he may deal the Thracian. But another part of her could not help but wonder if the stirring within her had similar cause to the women at her side. Many Roman women had developed keen interest in the Undefeated Gaul since becoming champion, and even before. Perhaps popular opinion of the man had made a home within her own heart.
She had little time to ponder matters of the heart as Spartacus let out a warcry, charging Crixus though her father had scarcely begun his oration. She tuned out the angry complaints of those with her in the pulvinus, far too invested in the fight below her. It looked to the untrained eye as if Spartacus were the better man, constantly on the offensive and leaving Crixus with little room to do anything but defend himself. But she had spent all her life in a ludus, and she knew Crixus well enough to know the man was not pressed.
The resounding crack of his shield against Spartacus's back as he sent him toppling into the sand confirmed her suspicions. "Capua," he called to the crowd, removing his helmet. "Shall I begin?"
It was Spartacus who scrambled now, narrowly avoiding one killing blow and then another to the roar of the crowd. Octavia felt herself smile now, the first genuine one in months, if not years, as she watched Crixus circle Spartacus's bloody and battered body laid out upon the sands. It was the end of the troubles the man had brought to her life. Perhaps even thoughts of Gannicus would leave her upon his death.
But as Crixus placed blade to throat, Spartacus did the one thing she thought him too prideful to ever do: beg for his life.
It had not been Spartacus to draw her into the depths of the ludus, but sight of the man looking so … defeated proved difficult to walk away from absent word. He had not yet taken notice of her presence, too preoccupied with his own thoughts, she imagined, his bruised and bloody face buried in equally wounded hands. "I have never found pleasure in the suffering of slaves," said Octavia. Spartacus raised his head sharply, startled by her voice. "But for you …" A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I may make exception."
A hardness had returned to his face now that she had mocked him, his jaw bone protruding from his cheek in an angry fashion. "Suffering," he repeated, sounding dubious. "A single loss is nothing. I've bested Crixus before and-"
"Who do you expect will give you opportunity to challenge him again?" she wondered. "Crixus is the Champion of Capua. He fights in the primus of every game, and he earns enough coin to wrest half a dozen missing wives from whatever shithole they ended up in. But you …"
"I will fight and earn more than enough coin to earn both of our freedoms," Spartacus assured her, standing now, though with enough difficulty that Octavia's smile grew until she let out a laugh.
"In what arena? Capua does not favor frightened rabbits upon her sands. No one wants to see you fight."
While he looked taken aback by the statement, there was a determination in Spartacus that would not let him accept her words so easily as he approached the metal bars that kept them separated, his hands wrapping around them. "There has to be somewhere I can fight."
"Ever the fool, aren't you?" Octavia asked with a sigh. "You mock Crixus for the affection he bears me, yet never gave thought to why it is so. Crixus was my champion … is my champion," she corrected, glancing toward deeper in the ludus where she knew the man resided, in the champion's quarters where Gannicus had been before him. "I made purchase of him because I could not bear to see him die like an animal in the streets, because I care if a slave lives or dies. A thing of little note, one might think," Octavia smiled wistfully now, "but a rather unique quality in the House of Batiatus. A sentiment not shared by loving father you place so much … faith in." Octavia had not expected Spartacus to remain silent for so long, to let her speak so freely without interruption, but he waited patiently for her to continue, assuming some of this would relate to his own future in the ludus. "There is somewhere for you to fight yet, Spartacus. Shall I tell you how it will be? My father, who is no meek little mouse, I assure you, will tell you how you've lost the crowd and how now, despite his efforts and hopes for you, there's simply not enough coin for him to rescue your wife. You'll plead with him and tell him you'll do anything to hold her in your arms again, and he'll tell you there may be a way … in a place called the Pits, a place with no honor and no law. You'll fight and you'll win and my father will make a great deal of coin betting on the underdog, but after a while, you'll no longer be the underdog and betting on you will no longer be profitable. Soon there will come a point where only your death will fill my father's purse, and so he'll poison your water or give you a dull blade and you'll die down in the pits because my father never cared if you lived or died. He never wanted to reunite you with your wife. And your arrogance will be the reason your wife suffers until she dies a slave in the place your stupidity sent her. And Crixus will live and fight to the roar of the crowds."
"As a slave," Spartacus reminded her.
"Yes, still as a slave," she agreed, before sending him a coy smile. "Though perhaps not forever. Champions who hold my affection have a tendency of gaining their freedom, haven't you heard?"
Octavia felt light as she approached his chambers, her present of wine and a leftover pheasant ready as she knocked on the door, hoping to avoid stumbling in upon any … unfortunate scenes. Oenomaus opened the door with a look of surprise on his face, having expected to find Octavia at his door less than anyone. "Domina," he managed after a moment of staring.
A moment later, Melitta popped her head in the door frame, looking equally surprised at the sight of the young girl in front of them. "You should not be here," she said firmly, grabbing the younger girl firmly by the arm to pull her back to the safety of the villa, but Octavia sidestepped her, brushing past Oenomaus and into his chambers, which were humble, but much larger than any other slave was given. It was filled with burning candles that she knew Melitta had lit in honor of the gods her people believed in. "Domina," the woman insisted, standing next to her husband with an incredulous look as Octavia sat at the edge of Oenomaus's bed, setting down the jug of wine she'd stolen and the leftover pheasant she'd taken from the kitchen.
"I've brought gifts," she told the older woman innocently. "Come," she insisted. "Today I am happy and I would celebrate with my two dearest friends. Well … my only friends in Capua, I will admit, but sentiment remains the same."
Melitta spent most of her time following the girl around the villa, but Oenomaus was seldom offered opportunity to speak with her. He was less committed to her swift return to the villa than his wife, and stepped further into his chambers, accepting the cup of wine Octavia offered him. "And what has brought about this celebration?" he inquired.
"The end of Spartacus," Octavia replied simply, smiling when Melitta seemed to accept her presence as well, though she did not take a cup of wine. "I know it should not please me so, but it lifts spirit to know he will no longer haunt this ludus."
"He will be sent to the mines?" asked Oenomaus, surprised, if nothing else, to hear the news. He seldom understood Batiatus's mind, but it was unlike him to cast a slave of such high cost away when there was still coin to be mined from him, and while Spartacus had been outclassed by Crixus, he was still a capable gladiator.
"The Pits," she corrected. "Or so I expect. The where is of little consequence so long as he goes."
The news did not lift Oenomaus's heart in the same way it had hers; the Pits were a terrible place. He knew so better than anyone. He would speak to Batiatus later to see if mind could be swayed from decision. "I have never known you to hold a man in such contempt," Oenomaus teased.
"I hold all gladiators in contempt," said Octavia. A knowing look passed over Oenomaus's face as he glanced away from her. Octavia recalled only then how close the pair had been; Oenomaus had considered Gannicus as a brother. "Do you miss him? Gannicus," she added, though the clarification had not been necessary.
Oenomaus sent Melitta an uneasy glance. "For my brother to know freedom is more important than my desire for companionship in the ludus," he answered as diplomatically as he could.
Octavia was silent for a moment as she pondered his words. "Perhaps I should feel similarly," she admitted. "It was childish to hope for …" she trailed off, not letting either of her companions share in her thoughts. "I am no longer a child," she concluded. "Though heart still aches to think of how easily he left."
"It was not easy for him," Oenomaus argued, earning himself a rather dirty look from Melitta.
"He told you so?" asked Octavia. "You spoke to him before he left?"
"Only in passing," Melitta spoke quickly when Oenomaus hesitated.
"You spoke to him as well?" Octavia glanced between husband and wife. Neither had ever spoken of the morning Gannicus left, though before now she had always assumed it was in order to spare her feelings. "Did he speak of me before he left?"
Oenomaus hesitated again and Melitta stepped forward, wrapping Octavia in warm, strong arms. "Do not dwell on things so long passed."
There was only one correct answer to give, Oenomaus knew, and his wife's eyes were searing into him as a warning that he should not give any other response. But it was no easy thing to look into your child's eyes, wide and full of hope, knowing that the wrong word would shatter their heart into pieces that would take years to reassemble. "He said you were the heart that beat beneath his chest," he told her honestly, though he suspected he would pay for the answer later. He watched as Octavia blinked rapidly, offering up no other response for several moments. "That he knew your life would be better in a villa being tended to does not reflect upon how he felt for you."
"He told you of our plans to leave only to tell you he would not follow through with them," said Octavia, pursing her lips for a moment as she stared at a spot on the floor. "Did he come to that conclusion on his own, Melitta? That my life would be better within the walls of this villa?" Her stomach churned and she felt as if she might be sick at any moment. "You told him to leave me, didn't you?"
Their hesitance was all the answer Octavia needed as she stood sharply and fled Oenomaus's chambers as quickly as her legs would carry her.
Author's Note: Hey! Only three months this time! You guys can't be mad at me cause you're used to way worse! :P
Honestly, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Probably because it's the first time my baby girl Octavia didn't spend the entire time getting shit on by everyone around her and actually got to have a bit of agency in her rejection of what Batiatus wants from her. Will it last? I mean … probably not. What's Spartacus without suffering? But I hope you guys enjoyed a chapter of Octavia #winning for the first time ever.
Special thanks:
Vikihungerrgame1: Disappeared along with Spartacus's corpse made me lol hahha. I'm so glad you're still here. The character development of you absolutely despising Caesar to missing him is kind of iconic. I miss my boy too. I'd love for him to come back and kill Spartacus for how he treats Octavia and then for Batiatus to kill him and Melitta to kill Batiatus until all that's left is for Octavia to ride off into the sunset with Crixus as the only man who hasn't done her dirty ….. yet. O_O
lolasskicker: My crumbs being gourmet was the best comment I've received on … basically anything I've done in my life ever, so thanks for that.
Minstorai: I love it so much when people comment on every chapter as they're going and seeing all of their different reactions hahaha. Also I'm so happy to have someone appreciate Octavia being a POC. As for her face claim, honestly I change in my head who I picture her as all the time too. I think Jasmine Sanders with dark hair was our original headcanon for her when we started writing years and years ago though.
Everybody else: thank you so much for your reviews and sharing all your opinions and ships with me. It really is what inspires me to come back to this story and keep writing it. :)
