"Mira," she called softly. She wasn't certain she could speak in any other way at the moment. How long had it been since she'd eaten a proper meal? When had her last full night's sleep been? Mira stepped forward eagerly, attentive to her work but clearly uncertain about what her domina was requesting. With a sigh, Octavia lifted her goblet, waiting for her to fill it. Melitta, she thought, would not have needed further clarification.
Even in removing the woman from her services, she could not escape her. Absent her presence, her mind was filled with comparisons instead. "Domina," said Mira for what had been the third time. Octavia's mind was elsewhere. Mira had been promoted to the girl's body slave nearly a fortnight prior and she had not yet begun to understand her. The pair had not shared more than a handful of words during her service, though Octavia had always been popular among the servants for being by far the kindest of their masters. Mira wondered what she had done for the young girl to already dislike her so. "Your father has summoned you," she explained when Octavia finally shifted her attention to her. "Several hours ago, in fact."
"To what end?"
"I was not made privy to the details, domina," she replied, sighing when Octavia turned away from her again, clearly not eager to speak with Batiatus. "I have heard, however," continued Mira, hoping to solicit any sort of response. "That he had returned from the Pits covered in blood and cursing the name Spartacus."
Octavia perked up now. "And Spartacus? In what state did he return from the pits?" She prayed he had not returned at all.
"Shall I investigate?"
Octavia was quiet for a moment, assessing Mira in sincerity for the first time. "Yes," she answered with a nod. "I should like to be well informed before I speak to my father."
With a curt nod, Mira left to make herself useful, hoping to endear herself to the girl enough that she be treated to the relative luxury Melitta had been living in for years as her body slave. As the door closed behind her and her footsteps faded, an agonizing silence fell over Octavia's room. Even the ludus below was silent as training made way for dinner. All Octavia had left was the thought of how spectacularly alone she was.
She didn't have long to ponder on her solitude before her door was opening again; Octavia marveled at how quickly Mira had returned before realizing it was her mother who had entered and she looked positively enraged as she scanned her daughter's bedroom. "Where has that little cunt gone," Lucretia finally demanded after realizing Mira was not present.
"What momentous task gives you need of my body slave?"
"She was sent to summon you hours ago," said Lucretia. "Even such a simple task is beyond-"
"Mira informed me of father's desire to speak with me," said Octavia, interrupting Lucretia mid-tirade.
Lucretia waited for her elaboration, to hear the reasoning behind why Octavia was still sitting idly in her room when she knew Quintus had need of her. Octavia offered no such clarification, choosing instead to simply stare at her mother with a look that Lucretia did not particularly like. "Get up," she finally snapped. "Get up or I'll have the guards drag you there."
There was a long moment where Lucretia thought Octavia might actually call her bluff, but finally she rose, leisurely, as if she were Juno herself descended from the heavens to deign mere mortals with her presence instead of the disobedient daughter of a lanista. Lucretia grabbed her by the wrist as she passed but Octavia pulled away just as sharply. "I don't expect to need your guidance, mother," she drawled. "I have been there before upon a time."
There was a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach as she approached the room her father most often did business in. She wished Mira had left sooner; she hated facing her father so unprepared. At least if she knew what he wanted she could try to work up a defense against it, though it had never worked in the past. "Jupiter's cock," her father groaned as she stepped inside; a handful of slaves attended a fresh wound in his side and Ashur was present, as well. "Finally she arrives."
He offered the chair across from him to her, but she remained standing in spite of how dizzy the act made her. "Has dog finally bared teeth to master?" she wondered.
Quintus looked surprised for a moment, but only a moment, before gathering her meaning. "A dog, yes, but not ours," he answered with a laugh. "I'd be halfway in a grave if not for Spartacus." Octavia's brow shot up in surprise; she had cycled through a great many potential scenarios in her head, but none had ever painted Spartacus the hero. "That's why you're here. His presence has been requested in the primus of the upcoming games."
"From the pits to the primus," Octavia remarked. "How quickly the man rises."
"I find there is no limit to how high the man will rise given proper motivation." There it was, thought Octavia. The reason she was there at last. "I fear he may not find such purpose given his companion in the match. Crixus and Spartacus are to fight alongside each other."
"They are at cross purposes," said Octavia. "He would fight better with Varro, or Crixus with Barca."
"And yet Crixus and Spartacus were requested," her father replied. "Ashur believes you to be at the center of their differences."
Octavia's eyes cut to Ashur with a look of resentment he had not yet witnessed from the girl. "There have been a number of … disputes with our fair domina as the source," he confirmed with a smile.
"What a blessing to have such a keen eye in the ludus," said Octavia.
"I would have you broach subject with both," her father said. "Perhaps gentle word can set them to matching purpose."
"Of course, father," she replied with a smile. "I live to serve the great and noble House of Batiatus." With a flourish of her hands and a bow for embellishment, she turned and left the room before he could suggest she offer gentle touch along with word.
She expected to feel nervous as she waited for Spartacus to join her upon the sands; she had never felt comfortable with him, always on edge and unsure of what the man may do. He was dangerous and unpredictable, but she didn't feel anything now, even as she heard his footsteps approaching. "To sit there absent guard knowing who is at your back … your arrogance is insurmountable," he observed from behind her. The two were completely alone upon the sands and she was sitting dangerously close to the edge, looking down at the rocky bottom below that would be a certain death should he simply give her a little push.
"Hardly," she answered, not sparing him a glance. There was something peaceful to the sands in moonlight when the gladiators were asleep. She had been with a very different gladiator the last time she had experienced it. "I know a broken horse when I see one." She glanced back at him now, covered in bruises and cuts, looking as if he'd been to hell and back. "Come," she called, pushing to her feet.
Spartacus followed her out of curiosity rather than obedience and was surprised when they arrived at a carriage. "You're taking me from the ludus?" he demanded. He had left the ludus many times, but never without Batiatus and half a dozen armed guards. But Batiatus wasn't there. They were alone beside the carriage, aside from the driver, who appeared equally surprised to see Spartacus. He had expected to take Octavia alone into the town below.
"Shall I wait entire fucking night?" the young girl demanded from her seat inside the carriage. Spartacus hesitated a moment longer, glancing to see if something nefarious awaited him inside. After determining nothing awaited him but an impatient girl, Spartacus climbed in beside her and the carriage started moving.
All Spartacus could think about was how easy it would be to snap Octavia's neck and disappear into the night. He lacked a weapon but he also lacked chains. He could find a blade easily enough, he would never have a better ticket to freedom than he had right now. But somehow, it seemed too easy. Octavia was young and naive, a meek little mouse in a house of snakes, but she wasn't stupid. There was something he was missing. There had to be.
The girl hummed quietly to herself beside him. His massive frame had pushed her petite one into the side of the carriage, but she didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't mind. He could kill her so easily, he thought. Her neck was no wider around than his wrist, he could kill her naught but a hand. Had it been Batiatus or his woman beside him in the carriage, he would not have hesitated. But Spartacus had no strong desire to kill the daughter. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the tavern," she answered honestly. "They make a delicious roast duck and I fear sleep will evade me yet another night if I do not have it."
The answer couldn't possibly hold truth and yet Spartacus suspected it did. "You want me to run," he guessed. But why?
"No," she answered with a smile. "But wouldn't it be funny if you did?" Spartacus wondered then if she'd gone mad. "They'd have to find someone else to fight in the primus then."
"The primus?"
"You're to fight alongside Crixus in the upcoming games," she informed him, leaning toward him in a conspiratory manner until they were mere millimeters apart. "The purse for winning is the largest of any game in several years. Enough to purchase ten wives and their transport." Spartacus could only stare at her. He had wanted the primus for so long, but he'd thought it forever out of reach. "Get out," she finally grumbled, pulling him from his thoughts.
He moved obediently, stepping out and into the moonlit streets of Capua. Octavia didn't wait for him, brushing past him and into a nearby tavern, leaving him completely alone upon the streets. There was nothing and no one to stop him from his escape.
Octavia smiled as Spartacus approached her table in the tavern. She had a jug of wine waiting for him. "As I said Spartacus," she murmured as he slid into the seat beside her. "I know a broken horse when I see one." He cast her an unpleasant look, but her smile never faltered. "Drink," she suggested.
"Does Batiatus know where we are?" he wondered. Octavia shook her head, black curls bouncing in the candlelight. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Because we're the same, you and I," she answered. "Broken horses in need of a drink."
Spartacus stared at her, resenting the comparison and willing his tongue to speak against it. He hadn't been broken, he needed Batiatus in order to save Sura. But his argument never quite reached his tongue, so he quenched it with wine instead, downing half the jug in one go. "I'm to fight alongside Crixus?"
"Against Theokoles," she confirmed. "You're likely to die."
"A thing often said of me," said Spartacus. "And yet here I sit."
Octavia smiled at him and Spartacus thought this one looked nearly sincere. Her smile was usually little more than exposed teeth, but this one reached her eyes, the corners crinkling and giving her the look of a girl years younger than the woman she was often pretending to be. "Miracles do have habit of shooting out of your ass."
"To the roar of the crowd," he agreed, but Octavia's attention had shifted away from him, to a rather raucous corner of the tavern filled with a gaggle of whores and one extremely drunk man.
They were loud and distracting to be sure, but not interesting enough to be able to hold the girl's attention so unwaveringly. "Domina," he called to her, then again and a third time too. She did not seem to hear him. "Octavia," he tried instead, causing her eyes to snap to his. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she answered. "No one."
Spartacus looked again. The man among the women was certainly the most interesting. He was lean instead of bulky like he or Crixus, but he had the makings of a gladiator, or at least a soldier. There was something in his posture, thought Spartacus, but then the man tripped and fell, too drunk to even stand, and Spartacus quickly decided he could not be a man of worth. And yet, when Spartacus looked back to her, Octavia was still watching him.
She stood abruptly, surprising Spartacus as she made her way for the door. She had come for the duck, but seemed intent to leave without it. He stood to follow her, not wanting to imagine the punishment he could face if he lost his ride back to the ludus. He was not the only in the tavern to follow her, the drunken fool following more closely behind than he did. "Octavia," the man called for her, seeming as desperate for her to stop as she was to flee.
He had caught her before Spartacus could reach them, holding both her arms as if she might disappear if he let her go. Octavia looked as if she wanted to do just that, her face paler than Spartacus had ever seen it, almost as if she'd seen a ghost. She looked relieved at the sight of him, a look he'd never expected her to have when looking upon him. "Spartacus," she called for him, pleading.
Part of him wanted to leave her to her own devices, but it didn't stop his other half from grabbing the man roughly by the shoulder and pulling him away from her. But the man who'd been too drunk to stand moments before had sobered quickly, rolling his shoulder free and throwing a heavy elbow back and into Spartacus' temple. "Octavia," the man tried again, his desperation evident in his tone.
"Name upon your tongue is enough to turn stomach," she said.
Spartacus had little concern for what happened to his domina, but he was not one to take a hit lying down. The man was distracted, paying him little mind, and offered little resistance when Spartacus hit him in the temple, sending him to the ground and away from Octavia. Spartacus moved to finish the job but found his opponent more difficult to subdue now that he held his full attention, and soon found himself upon the ground beside him, and then beneath a barrage of fists. Drunk as he may be, the man was more of a brawler than Spartacus could claim to be.
"Look at you," he heard Octavia murmur, mostly to herself, though it had captured the man's attention long enough for Spartacus to land a headbutt that sent him back to the ground. "The mighty Gannicus, Champion of Capua … too drunk to even stand."
She watched with disdain as he struggled to his feet, though Spartacus could not be certain if his difficulty stemmed entirely from drink or if the likely concussion he'd just given him was playing a part. "I stayed close to you," Gannicus tried to reason with her. "I tried to find you again."
"It is a wonder you never found me within the depths of a whore's cunt." Spartacus wiped the blood from his nose and chin, taking an eager step forward to continue the fight but Octavia held up a hand to stop him, her eyes remaining on the former champion before her. His eyes, she noted, could barely focus on hers; he swayed where he stood, trying desperately to steady himself, but she suspected a shove from her would send the drunken fool back to the ground. "I am grateful to have found you, to see what you've made of yourself."
"Oct–"
"Domina," she corrected sharply. "You are not worthy of my name, nor of the affection I once bore you. Spartacus," she called, before turning sharply on her heel.
Spartacus needed no further explanation and the next time he hit Gannicus, the man seemed unlikely to stir for some time. A pity, thought Spartacus, to have fought a man so clearly off his prime. He expected the girl to be in tears by the time they reached their carriage, but her expression was unreadable as she climbed inside it. "I can see now why you are so eager to bring me to your bed," he called to her, still standing outside. "You wish to erase memory of the man who came before."
"Another word and I will leave you here," she replied, sounding eerily calm for a girl so prone to tantrums.
He climbed in beside her, with no attempt to make himself smaller as his body pressed into hers. Still, she withheld a reaction from him, staring blankly at the carriage in front of her on their journey back to the ludus. Neither had said a word during the trip, nor as she led him back down into the depths of the ludus, but a smirk had made itself a home upon his lips and he had done little to hide it.
She said nothing even as she closed the gate behind him. The pair stood on opposite sides of the cell for a long moment, Spartacus holding the bars firmly within his grasp. He looked down at her, watching her, but her eyes seemed unable to meet his, instead focusing on his hands. Her fingers hesitated in the air a few inches from his, unsure, before she brushed them gently along his bruised and bloody knuckles.
She had expected him to pull away or to mock her, but he didn't. Instead, he unfurled his grasp on the bars, the pads of his fingers hanging mere millimeters from hers until she closed the gap, her soft fingers trailing along the coarseness of his, down to his palm where they stayed. She expected a trap, for him to crush every bone in her hand with his own, but he didn't. Rather, his touch was featherlight as his fingers moved from her wrist, to her elbow, and up her arm until they came to rest at the nape of her neck.
"You think me such a fool," murmured Octavia, her eyes still incapable of meeting his. She stepped back and out of his reach, and he let her, his hands going back to gripping the bars between them. "Don't you?" She met his gaze now. "Gannicus could fuck every whore from Capua to Rome and it would still be far fewer than the men who've fucked your wife." Spartacus lashed out quickly, but the tips of his fingers could not quite reach her now. "Your wife will die the whore you made her and you will die a nameless slave forgotten by history. To erase Gannicus with you would be to erase piss with shit."
She turned from him before he could answer her, praying the carriage driver had not gone far.
Author's Note: Next chapter … Rome! Away from stinky gladiators and towards handsome blonde men with questionable morals and a god complex … at least for a little while. :)
And for my Crixus fans out there, no I haven't forgotten him. But part of me feels like I shouldn't spread myself too thin with love interests and Crixus still has the opportunity for happiness with Naevia at this point. What are your guys's thoughts on that? Do I take the plunge with Crixus or give him happiness outside of Octavia?
