Capua's sweltering summer heat had become nearly unbearable by midday. Octavia fanned herself and glanced over her shoulder at the two men who accompanied her. Both looked as cool as if they were relaxing in the shade of the villa, snacking on chilled raspberries and milk.
"Barca," she called softly, and the taller of her guards stood at attention. With a small hand against him, she gave him a light push to the left. Barca moved easily at her will until his head finally blocked the sun from her view. "Stand right there and do not move," she commanded.
"Domina," he answered with a curt nod of his head.
Octavia returned to examining the shopkeeper's wares. Soaps and perfumes were her desired product of the day. The heat and low water supply had begun to make the stench situation back at the villa dire. She and her parents were always kept well bathed, and the body slaves bathed once a week, but nothing could contain the stench radiating from the ludus down below.
She wished the gladiators would ask to be bathed in reward for their victories, but they never did. They were always for wine and cunt. How the women stomached the stench of the men grunting over top of them, she would never know.
Octavia handed the man a bagful of soaps she had chosen: a handful of floral scents, a few that smelled of honey or apples, and a few that simply smelled like soap. She knew her father well enough to know he would choose to smell like shit before smelling like flowers. She handed the man two denarii for her purchase, a price much steeper than it had been before the drought, before handing the Syrian her purchases. "Domina," said Ashur, before putting his hand upon her.
She didn't have the time to be offended before understanding his movements. A slave was attacking one of his masters not more than ten feet from them. She glanced to Barca, wondering if she should dispatch the Beast of Carthage to subdue this wild animal. She realized quickly that there was no need for her assistance when a handful of other handlers surrounded the man. He fought on, bravely or foolishly, depending on your perspective, until one managed to sneak a blow in that knocked him from his feet. "Fucking cunt!" the first man hissed, blood dribbling from his nose and mouth from the slave's attack. He raised sword to spear the man in the neck, striking him from this world.
"Stop!" she heard herself shout. When the man hesitated, she stepped around Ashur to approach. "I would make purchase of this slave."
The savage looking man on the ground gave her a curious look, but she ignored him. Focusing instead on the confused look of the man with the sword. It was apparent that he was not the slave's true master, but rather hired help. "This slave belongs to Marcus Crassus," he argued.
Octavia hesitated for the briefest of moments. It wasn't every day in Capua that you did business with the wealthiest man in the Republic, even if the transaction was absent the man himself. "I do not suppose Crassus became so heavy with coin by killing slaves he could yet sell," she replied calmly, grateful to Barca's towering presence behind her as the gladiator approached. "Ten denarii for the man," she offered. "A fair price for an untamed stone layer." She could sense the man's hesitation and knew she had to act quickly. "And five denarii to weight your own purse."
The man chuckled at that, his entire demeanor changing. He sheathed his sword and offered out his arm to her. She clutched it and winced at the strength of his grip around her forearm. "A bargain well struck!" he agreed before turning to the rest of his men. "Raise the bastard up!"
Octavia watched the slave rise as she dug in her purse, pulling out fifteen denarii. Her stomach churned at how light her purse suddenly felt. She could only pray her purchase had not been in vain, or father would be displeased. "Let your master know I appreciate doing business with him," she said with a smile before turning on her heel, gesturing for Barca to grab the slave and help him along.
His consciousness came and went. The first time it came he was still being led through the streets, dust and dirt flaring up around him as he struggled to maintain any sort of footing in place of being dragged. He was accustomed to the beatings and had suffered far worse than this before. Such was the life of a slave with an affinity to fighting when his pride was bruised too much.
The second time he was in a villa, or approaching one, not like his master's, no, this one was more modest … though things that were too close were blurry, he could make out the shapes of people, just a few of them, and hear a bit of muffled conversation before his vision went black once more.
He was lying down when he began to stir a third time. Gentle fingers were brushing against the parts of him that hurt the most; above his eye, his cheek, his lip, even at his ribs, something grazed him, gentle as feathers, then a voice as sweet as honey spoke out, "Will he be alright?"
"Previous scars would suggest he is accustomed to this, Domina," another one replied.
"He hasn't woken yet," the voice was closer, he could feel breath hot on his cheek and the smell of apples filled his lungs. "I pray my fifteen denarii did not purchase a corpse." Crixus's eyes opened, vision still blurry but rapidly clearing up. "Bring some water."
"Your father will wonder where you are, Domina. If you are down here with the slaves—"
"It was water I asked for, Ashur, not-ah … he lives." Her blue eyes were kind, expectant but gentle as they looked down at him, her smirk a welcome sight and for a moment, he did not believe her. Surely she was the goddess of mercy here to take him to the underworld. She ran a cool cloth across his head as he tried harder and harder to focus.
"My master—" Crixus tried, suddenly remembering he had actually been tasked with something before the altercation.
"Is me now," she interrupted, pressing him firmly down. "I do hope you'll be more obedient under my ownership than you were with your previous master?" She pushed his hair back off of his sweaty forehead and he found himself staring up at her in awe. He must've died for this was something beyond life. Why would the gods bless him, though, with such a radiant sight?
"Water, Domina." Octavia looked up to Ashur, who had a disapproving look on his face, as if wanting to say more, but resisting the urge to. She gave him one last warning look before bringing the drink to the new slave's lips.
"Drink," she insisted, and he did, without a moment's hesitation, he would obey whatever command she gave.
The man spluttered and spit up more water than he took down, but he grew stronger with every drink he took. By the time the cup was empty, he seemed able to sit on his own, though Octavia kept a gentle hand behind his head to make certain he remained so. The last thing she needed was for him to pass out and crack his skull. Fifteen denarii and all she would get were his brains spilled upon the ludus. "What is your name, slave?" she asked when he seemed coherent enough to answer.
"Crixus," came his reply.
"Do you know where you are, Crixus?" she asked.
He had forgotten her question by the time his name left her lips. Had his name ever sounded so sweet? His eyes found their way to her lips, pink and plump and pursed expectantly as she awaited his answer. "No, Domina," he answered, forcing his eyes back to hers.
"You are in the House of Batiatus," she informed him. "My father is a lanista. He trains gladiators," she explained needlessly. Crixus knew what a lanista was. The clashing of steel he heard just outside was beginning to make sense. Did she mean for him to become a gladiator, he wondered. He looked to her with imploring eyes, and suddenly the hand at the back of his head found his cheek, clean fingers brushed against the dirt that had been caked on for weeks. "You are capable of much more than laying stones," she told him. "I see it in your eyes, your potential, your strength ..." Crixus nodded in agreement, though his head was growing cloudier by the second. But then his mind was clear as she took a step back, releasing her hold, fading into the shadows of the dimly lit room. His mouth fell open in silent protest as he reached a hand toward her, before quickly forcing it back to his side. "Or was I wrong to place my faith in you?"
"No, Domina," he answered, with more conviction than she had thought his weakened form capable of. "I will not disappoint you."
Octavia smiled as she stepped toward him again. "No," she agreed. "I do not expect you will." She extended a hand to him and Crixus stared down at it. "Can you stand, Crixus?" His gaze shot to her again upon hearing his name. He gave a curt nod and proved himself by pushing off of the stone tablet and standing. He wobbled only slightly but was pleased he could show he was still strong enough to stand without assistance. After all, what use would he be to her as a gladiator if he was weak? His domina looked him over from head to toe, and he was relieved when she seemed pleased. "Come, then," she commanded, stepping toward the light that was coming from the only exit.
Crixus followed his new domina out into the blinding sunlight. He shielded his eyes for a moment, waiting for them to adjust, as the clashing of steel subsided. When he opened his eyes again he saw two dozen gladiators before him, heads all bowed in silent respect as Octavia crossed the ludus. "Gannicus," he heard her call, her voice barely above a whisper.
Crixus watched as one of the gladiators approached, a smirk playing on his lips. "Domina," he greeted the girl, less formally than Crixus had heard from the other slaves. In fact, everything about the man seemed oddly familiar when Crixus considered that one was a master and one was a slave. He stood closer than the other gladiators had, he smiled where the others had been somber.
What vexed Crixus even more was that his Domina did not seem to mind. "I would have you train the newest recruit," she informed Gannicus, whose eyes shifted to Crixus upon hearing the command. "He is a purchase of my own and I would see him as skilled as possible before my father lays eyes upon him."
The smirk on Gannicus's face grew to a grin. "And so you come to the Champion of Capua," he said, swaying slightly where he stood.
"Who happens to be a drunken fool," said Octavia, though there was no bite to her word. "Forget it. Oenomaus will handle things, as he's always done," she said, turning on her heel.
Gannicus caught her wrist with a gentle grip, bringing her to a stop. Octavia hesitated where she was, staring down at the hand on her wrist, wondering why it's placement was making her head feel light. It lingered for another short moment before Gannicus realized his mistake and flexed his hand, bringing it back to his side. "Apologies," he muttered, looking to the ground now, his face absent its usual smirk.
"I should think so," Octavia answered. "Where is Oenomaus?"
"I would do it, Domina," Gannicus said firmly. "For you." She smiled and Crixus stared between the two, confusion etched in his features, he could feel it there. His head hurt as he tried to make sense of the interaction, the looks between them.
"Crixus," she called, and it was like a song. "I want you to listen to Gannicus, he is the champion here, so he must be doing something right," she smirked at the cocky man again. "Heed his training, and learn your skill quickly. I'd hate to disappoint father. Wouldn't you?" she asked them both.
"Yes, Domina," they answered in unison. She smiled and nodded at them in approval. "As you wish," Gannicus added.
"Bring glory to us and I'll make sure you are heavily rewarded. Disappoint me and, well," she giggled sweetly. "I'm certain you know what awaits you should you fail."
"The only reward I request is to see your smile, Domina," Gannicus said, his arrogance rising and falling quickly. Crixus gritted his teeth as he looked after her, she nodded and left, her soft curls swaying behind her in the dry wind. Her dress swayed and stuck to her body in such a way, he was mesmerized until he felt a sharp shove from behind.
"You heard our Domina," Gannicus grunted. "Collect your sword and shield, or I'll start without you." Just like that she was gone, disappeared like a dream he'd awaken from too soon. He wanted her back, longed for her gaze, her scent again. When would he see her again?
He suddenly fell forward to the ground, his mouth filling with dirt and the pain in his back was excruciating. "What the fuck did I just say?" Gannicus laughed from above him before a sword landed in the dirt beside him, a shield soon followed. Crixus cringed before reaching for the sword and shield and rising to face his assailant.
It didn't take long for the rest of his body to hurt, but for every mistake he made, he did not make it again. His only fortune came from the fact that the swords they fought with were wood, and not steel. He would not disappoint her, he thought to himself as he swung and ducked, dodged the strikes from the man with ten times his skill.
A/N: Damn I doubt anyone is actually reading Spartacus fanfiction anymore … if anyone ever did … I really wish that show had been more popular so there would be more fanfics for me to read. Anyway, author's note in case anyone does read this:
Please don't take this too seriously. Everything I post on this website is something written years ago with a friend for fun. I am taking the time to go through and edit old stories I miss or enjoyed to post them on here, not for reviews, but so that I can come back to them and read them later at my convenience.