‘Dignity.’ The cruel mask hardened over her face once more.
‘I have none. This place has stripped it from me. It is better that I go to a life of drudgery than continue on here. Can you not see that wielding weapons is making a mockery of me? I have dishonoured my people,’ she added softly. ‘No Spartan would submit to slavery. I am Spartan no longer. Without that, I am nothing.’
‘You are wrong, Lysandra’ Catuvolcos began, but she jerked her chin up, her pale eyes locking with his, causing the words to die on his tongue.
‘Good evening to you, Catuvolcos.’ She turned and walked away.
He watched her as she made her way to the kitchens, his heart in turmoil. It was only then that he realised that it was the first time he had heard his name spoken from her lips.
XI
The brief conversation with Catuvolcos stayed with Lysandra over the next days. Again she wondered why the trainer was concerning himself with her. Certainly, there were other women more in need of his guidance. This became even more evident when the trainers had them begin sparring sessions.
Weeks of hitting sacks and straw mannequins was one thing, but putting the lessons into practice against a living opponent was a somewhat different matter. For her part, Lysandra found her mind not really on the task at hand, hating the mockery of herself that she had become. Her opponents were trying hard, but their attacks were slow and clumsy to her experienced eye and she was able to dispatch them with a ‘killing’ strike almost at will. Long years in the agoge had taught her body to respond, even if her heart was not in it. Hildreth too, she saw, was cutting a swathe through all set against her. The German was evidently enjoying herself, whooping and shouting with each victory.
In the midst of one of Hildreth’s celebrations, Titus gave the order to cease work. The women stopped, confused. It was nowhere near the noon break and they had only just begun to work up a sweat. Even the veterans had stopped their training and were making their way over to the novices’ area. They sat on the ground, watching as some of Greta’s women brought up some chairs and several long benches. More of the scrubs, including Varia, were marking out a ring in the sand with ropes — Lysandra estimated it was about twenty feet in diameter.
She saw the little slave pause in her work to wave at her, and she inclined her head in greeting. They had seen and spoken to each other often during the second period of the training and the child had come to regard Lysandra as a confidante of sorts.
If she was honest with herself, Lysandra enjoyed the girl’s company too, as it was a diversion from her own thoughts.
‘Today will be different,’ Titus shouted. ‘Today you will fight for the crowd.’ He indicated the veterans. ‘And you will be judged.’ Even as he said this, Lucius Balbus, approached with Eros, his catamite. The lanista sat on one of the chairs and Titus continued.
‘You are fighting for more than practice from now on,’ he said.
‘You are fighting to stay in this ludus.’ The women gasped. This was unexpected. They had had no time to prepare themselves for this test.
‘Those of you that perform well in this arena,’ he gestured to the roped area that Varia and her fellows had marked out, ‘will stay and take the Oath. Those of you that slacken will be gone.
We are looking for effort,’ he went on. ‘Fight well and, even in defeat, you may be spared.’ He thrust his fist towards his chest.
‘That is the sign for the missio, meaning you will have survived.
This,’ he thrust the fist out, his thumb held horizontally, ‘in the arena would mean death. Here, it means you are to go to the blocks. In defeat, to entreat mercy, you turn to the lanista and hold up your finger. It is his decision if you go or stay. He may be influenced by the veterans if they think you will be worthy to take the Oath. That is all. First to fight will be Decia and Sunia.’ The two women looked at each other, stunned by this pronouncement. ‘Next will be Thebe and Galatia. Stay warm,’ he advised them.
On stiff legs, the first chosen stepped up. Nastasen placed helmets upon their heads and moved away.
‘Begin!’ Titus’s voice was sharp. The women moved together, and the cheering started.
Lucius Balbus settled comfortably into his seat, and took a sip of wine from his goblet. Eros stood behind him, holding a shade over his head to shield him from the sun. Balbus always enjoyed these contests: it was good to see first hand which of his acquisitions were worth keeping and which were a bad investment.
Experience had taught him that giving the women time to prepare for these bouts was detrimental to their performance. It was better to thrust the news upon them before they had time to dwell on it and allow nerves to set in.
The first two combatants had begun awkwardly enough but, roared on first by the veterans and then their fellow novices, they laid into each other with gusto. Their high-pitched cries of effort punctuated the air, mixed with the clacking of their wooden blades as the two attacked and countered. After a furious flurry of blows, Sunia struck home with a vicious thrust to Decia’s sternum, knocking the wind from her. She fell back, tearing the helmet from her head, gasping for breath. Balbus had already made up his mind: the two had fought well and, as soon as the girl’s finger went up, he signalled the missio.
The watchers cheered and the next two women made their way the fighting area.
Lysandra watched the combats with a sick feeling of dread welling up inside her. Now, it became apparent why she and Hildreth had not been paired together before. The trainers had planned it all along. They had kept them back, knowing that they were the superior warriors amongst the novices.
Despite the heat of the day, Lysandra felt a cold sweat break out on her brow. Her stomach churned and, on inspection, she found her hands shaking. It was one matter to defeat those who had never held a sword before setting foot in the ludus; but a blooded killer like Hildreth was a different proposition entirely.
Her spat with Sorina had proved that all her training was nothing compared to the hard-won savvy of a battle-tested warrior. Her own desperate struggle with Stick’s men on the beach, and the subsequent bout in the arena of Halicarnassus was the only real experience she had. It was nothing compared to the years Hildreth had spent battling the Romans on the borders of her savage homeland.
At least, she thought, she would go down to a foe who would finish her quickly. From then, it would be up to the Fates where she ended up. She glanced about, her eyes seeking Hildreth in the throng of novices. The German was looking directly at her, her eyes alive and sparkling. She too had guessed they would be paired against one another. Her fierce smile told Lysandra that she was relishing the opportunity to test herself. She looked away quickly, unwilling to hold her gaze, and instead let it fall on those women who Balbus had already singled out for the blocks. Soon, she knew, she would be among them.
The day wore on and the novices fought with a passion that overcame their inexperience. Lysandra realised that, for all their loathing of slavery, many of them believed what Titus had told them to be true. To live and fight for freedom was preferable to an existence that held no hope of such. For them, perhaps it was acceptable, for the sword and shield were new to them. They had not disgraced themselves or their ancestors the way she had done.
The girl next to her nudged her and she glanced up once more to see Titus looking at her expectantly. ‘You and Hildreth are to fight next,’ the girl told her. ‘You’d better get your kit.’