Sacramentum Gladiatorum (Machiavelli & Andronica)

[Fiadh]

Walking down the white stone halls of the spacious, airy villa brought a smile to Livia's face every morning. The sun was still low enough to not be unbearable and the air was kissed with the remnants of a crisp night. A pleasant breeze flowed through the home and along it carried the voices of a few women chatting as they walked through rays of pale sunlight streaked across the floor.

"Are you certain he is here?" one of the women asked, a slave girl swathed in cream coloured linen that barely contained her feminine form. Another collared slave nodded beside her with a giddy smirk as they exchanged lascivious whispers about whoever spurred their interest so keenly.

"Doctore brought him in at dawn. Dominus purchased him the night before and wants to have him tested," the second young woman answered. "I heard he is wild like a caged animal and stronger even than the dominus' own champion," she continued to explain as her words weaved a mixture of truth and rumour. "He's very handsome," the slave continued to say. This time her gaze slid over to a well dressed woman between them as she grinning intensified.

Livia, domina of the house, felt the corners of her full, soft pink lips tugging upward in a lopsided grin despite her attempts to remain uninterested. A third slave woman, noticeably a bit older than the others, spoke up and gave the younger girls a stern gaze. "Silence! Keep mind to your tasks, not these useless thoughts," the domina's body slave, Iona, insisted in a distinctly Germanic tone. The girls quieted their chattering as demanded by the superior slave but it was the sound of their dominus that truly brought the women into obedience - even Livia's grin faded in a heart beat.

Cassian struck an imposing figure, still fairly in shape despite being older than his wife by at least fifteen summers. His dark hair was cut short and greying at the temples, and his gaze was dark as onyx. The way he looked upon his beautiful young wife was hollow at best. "There you are. Sabinus and Cato will join us presently. Wear something appropriate," he ordered Livia in a stern tone, as if he were giving orders to one of their slaves. Then he turned his gaze upon them. "Fetch the good wine."

The humbled girls were both staring at their feet as their dominus spoke. Whether it was out of fear or respect was unclear, though he seemed to prefer not having such inferior chattel look him in the eye.

"Yes, dominus," both women said in unison. They bowed and stepped back several paces before turning to hurry and help prepare for the arrival of the guests. Cassian did not bother watching them go. Instead, he remained staring at Iona and Livia until the women also bowed their chins similarly and went to get ready.

---

A short while later Livia appeared on the balcony overlooking the training grounds below. Her auburn hair was gathered up with golden pins accented with pearls, and a few thick locks of her curls were left down to drape her right shoulder. A teal tunica, gathered at the waist and boasting a low, sloping neckline that hinted at the curvature of her breasts, was accented with golden embroidery down the middle of her dress and along the hem. Around her neck was a heavy necklace inlaid with turquoise that Cassian no doubt purchased with winnings from a bet. He enjoyed giving Livia beautiful things so he could parade her around his friends, rather than as gifts of affection.

Cato and Sabinus were present on the lounging chairs next to her husband as they overlooked the ludus with cups of honeyed wine already half emptied. The men spoke boisterously about their many victories in the arena and despite having pitted gladiators against one another, they appeared unaffected by their lost fighters so long as their egos were repaired in those fatal transactions. So they were keen to see if Cassian's new purchase was truly the killer the slaver claimed him to be.

When Livia stepped into their view, causing the sunlight to briefly bring a glow to her porcelain skin and for a hint of red to shine in her dark hair, Sabinus and Cato drew their attention to her. They regarded their friend's wife with outwardly respectful smiles and nods but something else lingered behind the facade.

"Livia, lovely as ever," Cato said and raised his cup in greeting. Livia smiled warmly. Her lithe fingers reached out and a cup was handed to her without a word.

"Fortune was truly generous that such a woman agreed to marry you, Cassian," joked Sabinus with a chuckle. His words only caused the faintest tick of Cassian's upper lip into an awkward smirk. It was well known that Livia had not borne him any children yet and some of his friends often teased that it was a waste to have a young wife if he barely touched her.

"Apparently fortune does not favour you, Sabinus. I heard your man Rexus was felled four days ago," Livia's husband retorted. Sabinus huffed, causing his stockier frame to jostle while he waved his hand. Sabinus was soured by Cassian's sobering response and urged the spectacle to begin so he could be distracted from his shame.

"Bring our your man or I'll expire before you cease prattling about victories in the arena. Let us see if laurels continue to fall into your fucking lap."

The smug look Cassian gave him was all that was needed to cut their minor spat short. Dominus rose from his seat and walked to the balcony. He made a slightly gesture with his hand that prompted doctore to approach and begin to announce the little spectacle he had planned.

 

[Machiavelli]

Maximus Aelius might have had a relaxing life of relative luxury within the borders of Rome, if not for the Gallic Wars. Eight years of harsh battle had broken his mind from the comforts of civilization. He'd returned a shattered man, a man who could not maintain a normal life of socials and parties and polite talks over fruit and wine. After he nearly broke a man's neck after a drunken argument, the judex sentenced him to fifteen years of gladiatorial servitude.

That, as it happened, offered him the perfect opportunity. He proved himself in combat time and time again, a ruthless killer who would slay any beast or man at a command. It was a new life, and in some ways, it was better than when he had been a free citizen of the city. The downfall was only in serving the pompous young men who had never seen combat, who knew only the soft comforts of home.

He'd served two years of his sentence now, and the man who had purchased him originally had decided it was time to turn a profit on his most prized fighter. He had been sold to a new household, and escorted by their doctore to the private ludus of his new master. As expected, he was instantly prompted to prepare for a bout, in order to prove his worth to the assembled nobles, and to prove that he was money well spent.

He was prepared for combat by a series of attending slaves who helped him into the leather armor. He fought with two siccae, a curved, wicked sword, forgoing the usual shield carried by many traditional gladiators. His weapons had already been prepared and waited on a wooden table across the room as oil was applied to his arms and legs, a linen loincloth concealing his groin. His feet wore only sandals.

From the room just off the ludus, he heard the doctore begin announcing the coming show:

"Noble masters, today I present to you Maximus Aelius, a fighter of known strength and speed, competing to prove his worth to you. I have selected only the best to test his mettle - Lucius Armicus, a veteran of this ludus."

As the doctore spoke his name, Maximus crossed the room, taking up his swords and stepping through the doorway, out into the sunlit arena, spinning the weapons in his hands with the ease of a trained warrior. It was showy, flashy, but also a testament to his skill. From the other side of the field, a man stepped from another preparation room, suited in a similar leather armor. He carried a trident in one hand and a small, round shield in the other, a helm hiding his face from view. Maximus resisted the urge to spit a curse. The trident was long enough that it posed a difficult issue - how to get close enough to use his own weapons.

"Fight on!" The doctore proclaimed, and the fight was indeed on.

The other fighter clearly knew his advantage well, circling him, but keeping a safe distance. While he used the trident carefully, poking and prodding at Maximus' defenses, the space in the ludus allowed him plenty of room to dodge or parry the blows. The third time the trident jabbed out, Maximus decided it was time to stop playing safe.

His left sword spun up to knock the stab aside, stepping into his opponent, his right sword cutting toward the man's shoulder. Up came the metal shield and the clash of metal on metal rang out as the trident-fighter jumped back, narrowly dodging the follow-up strike from the left sword. Now Maximus had the upper hand, sword flashing as he followed his opponent, keeping himself solidly inside the range of the man's longer weapon.

Realizing the danger of his choice, he ducked away, skirting around the dual-wielding fighter to the other side of the area. The trident was hurled in his direction, a dangerous but ineffective throw as Maximus stepped aside, letting the weapon clatter against the wall. One tip left a little scrape on his upper arm as it sailed past, a wound that the man simply ignored. From behind his hip, the veteran fighter produced a gladius, and charged.

A flurry of blows were exchanged, swords crashing together or against a shield as the weapons flashed in the sun. Each fighter took hits - Maximus dealt several cuts across the man's arms and shoulders, but sustained a hit to his ribs (the leather deflected the cut, but the bruise would certainly linger) and one across his forearm, a long cut that dropped blood to the sand.

After his opponent took a step forward to take advantage of that blow, Maximus turned the tables on him. Darting to the right side, he kicked at the fighter's knee, dropping him to the ground. In a swift response, Maximus laid a foot down on his wrist, pinning the sword in the sand. With a flourish, his right sword spun in his hand and he raised it above his head, poised for the killing blow.

Then his face lifted to the balcony.

He was as handsome as the slaves had rumored, dark hair framing a chiseled face marked with a few scars. A rough stubble coated his jaw and chin, and dark eyes waited for the signal of death or mercy. There was no emotion in that gaze, just a waiting patience, the look of a man who cared not if he took another life. It would be one of many.

Now that the oil had mixed with the sweat from the fight and his skin no longer shone so brightly in the sun, it was easier to note his darkened skin tone, cultivated by hours under that sun. His arms ripped with muscle that flowed as he moved, and he was a towering man. Clearly, he was a killer.

Exactly what the doctore ordered.

 

[Fiadh]

Livia's attention was held when the doctore announced the fighters, and shortly thereafter the new acquisition was brought out against one of their best men, Lucius. It was no secret that Lucius had been trained into a honed weapon by the skilled doctore's guidance, taking him on as something of a favourite who showed much promise - and he never disappointed. The doctore's methods led Lucius to many victories in the arena which curried favour for Cassian beyond his wildest dreams. Such was the grandeur he aspired to ever since marrying her and acquiring her late father's ludus, along with his men and his most valuable asset: the doctore.

Admittedly the young domina had grown bored of her husband's fascination with the ludus, how hard he trained the men to the point where even the good doctore had to step in humbly on many occasions to curb Cassian's appetite for gold. Anything to feed the habit he poorly hid, be it expensive wine, whores, or simply leaping at the chance to shove his rival's face into any little victory he believed he could have over them.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, this left little time for Cassian to bestow his wife with attention. Livia did not mind after a while yet she had begun to feel the cravings of heated passion....

When the newcomer came out she spied him and felt that sensation tenfold. Physically he was in top form, and the darkness of his hair and dishevelled appearance gave him a rustic, almost barbaric handsomeness that many of the noblewomen fawned over privately. Livia was no different in that regard. Yet she could see beyond that, too, and noted the darkness in his eyes told he was a fighter whose hunger for blood could not easily be satiated.

As the fight unfolded, Cato, Sabinus and Livia were all enthralled. Cassian merely smirked as if the outcome had been foretold. It seemed evenly matched for an uncomfortable duration until at last the new gladiator proved his value by taking Lucius down and pinning his arm into a useless position, while he poised for a killing blow. At once Livia's eyes widened and she leaned a bit against the balcony. Her auburn hair was like a reddish halo around the soft features of her face as she peered down at the men, then imploringly at Cassian.

"Spare him!" she begged quietly, watching as her husband's smugness turned to a cold, calculating stare. Lucius was at the edge of his prime and would surely be ousted by another champion soon, if not the very man who held him down.

Agonizing silence followed Livia's plea, to which Cato quirked his brow and turned his round face toward Cassian, then shared a look with Sabinus. Surely he was not going to let Lucius die out of spite for losing the match? Finally, Cassian's hawk-like eyes moved to the doctore who also waited with baited breath and stood nearby at the ready. If one looked closely enough they could see his moorish hand clenched on his whip to combat the roiling emotions in his chest at Lucius' defeat. It had been a fair fight, and both men did well - but there was always an advantage in younger, stronger bodies. Or those who had long since stopped feeling remorse.

"Very well," Cassian murmured. He turned his hand subtly toward doctore, fingers poised then flicking up to signal Maximus should step aside and Lucius would be helped to his feet.

"You fought well, Maximus. Far better than expected," the dominus observed aloud. His smirk returned as he praised the man. Not a single look was thrown toward Lucius, however, as he had fallen from his capricious master's favour. Lanistas were not known to be so careless with their slaves that they would have them killed or sent away at a whim of their moods, but Cassian was known to be cruel and fickle.

Livia beside him looked worried still, though it was not overly apparent. She held her tongue and her rosy lips remained tight at first, while her chest rose and fell as if she were trying to calm herself from some frightful event. The redhead looked toward doctore, who had not yet moved as dominus' orders fell short of what to do with Lucius.

"Get him up. Take him to the medicus to have his wounds tended!" she ordered the man. He served her father faithfully for years and heeded his domina just as readily as he did Cassian, though she did not speak up often lest she earned her husband's ire. In that moment though, she worried Maximus was a caged animal liable to lash out if left unattended too long. She then looked over to Cassian as she pushed off the railing of the balcony to walk away.

"I trust you will want to keep an eye on your pet, lest he stray too far."

She was not angry with Maximus, not exactly anyway, but something about him and that black void of a gaze had unnerved her. Handsome, yes, but what depth was beyond it if all that was left was a shell of a man who killed as effortlessly as he breathed? It was no wonder Cassian purchased him on the spot despite their mounting debt.

 

[Machiavelli]

Maximus quickly tired of holding the threatening position, blade raised. His muscles tensed, itching to finish the fight. Then, finally he got a signal, the signal to stand aside and spare the man on the ground. With a soft hiss of displeasure, he held the position for one more second, glancing down at the prone warrior. With pursed lips, he gave him a curt nod. Then, swallowing his desire for the kill, he uttered two words:

"Bene pugnavit."

Dark eyes rose to Cassian, master of the house, dominus, as he commented on Maximus' capability in the fight. With just a nod, Maximus acknowledged the praise quietly. His eyes then snapped to the attractive woman as she ordered the losing fighter to the medicus annd the doctore instantly followed her orders. Those dark eyes lingered on her for just a moment, before she pushed away the balcony and strode away. Peculiar.

He too was soon dismissed by the dominus, clearly satisfied with his service for the afternoon, and he returned to the small room off the ludus to be tended to. He was stripped down, the oil and sweat scraped from his body carefully, and as he returned the swords to their place on the weapons rack. They would be attended to as well, at a later time. His role today was done.

He integrated into life in his new household with relative ease. There were glances passed to him by the household staff, knowing his reputation, but he cared little. He'd found a place in life, and while he wasn't necessarily happy, at least he still had a role to play. Any of those staff whose eyes lingered long were quickly frightened away when his eyes reached theirs, frightened away by his dark gaze.

Every day, he trained in the ludus with other fighters. He was a rough opponent, not holding any blows, thought they fought with wooden weapons. His opponents were left bruised, and he took a few blows, but ultimately stood strong. He fought on a battlefield - he knew how to survive, to fight, to kill. Training was merely a safe alternative, one that bored him. Instead, he entertained himself by berating his opponent, teaching them the errors of their ways with sharp strikes to exposed ribs, arms, shoulders. Those strikes often came with curt, mocking "Watch your guard, stultus."

The fourth day of the week, or perhaps the fifth - there was little to be gained from knowing the date when it did not affect your life - training proceeded as usual. But this time, the domina watched. She was present on the balcony, her husband absent. This too was unusual. It seemed that the man of the house found no other way to spend his time than observing the fights, as if his only business was violence. Maximus cared little, of course - he was a tool for the man, and he had no delusions otherwise. He'd already seen how easily praise could be garnered from the man, and how quickly it could leave.

On this day, he was paired with a younger fighter, a fresh-faced youth. Clumsy and slow, in comparison. One who had never seen real combat. The training began, and Maximus began to beat him soundly.

One quick flash of a wooden sword cracking across the young gladiator's ribs, and he dropped to the ground, Maximus standing over him, clearly bored. "Stand. Guard your ribs." He mocked. His opponent staggered back to his feet, squared off, and they fought again. Over eager, the fool quickly overextended and left his guard down. A wooden sword cracked over his skull, dropping him again.

"You're dead. Now get up so I can kill you again." Maximus almost spat. "I'm going to kill you eventually, the least you can do is make it interesting."

 

[Fiadh]

Livia tried not to put any thoughts toward her husband's new acquisition. The dark haired man fought like a caged animal and seemed always at the ready to lunge for anyone's throat, with a quiet sort of anger that was hard to detect. She was a bit frightened of him to be sure yet she also was... curious. Where did one find such a creature, thrown into the Abyss and pulled back a changed man? She never asked of the men and women her husband found in the market when they arrived in their service, aside from a few of the body slaves who she became close with.

Their stories were often the same: prisoners of war spared harsher masters in their homeland, women forced to repay debts of their male relatives, or the rare girl who was born a slave. Maximus's story, she suspected surely followed one of those sad veins, be it war or impoverishment or both.

As the days passed, the redheaded domina heard many whispers from her slaves in the villa. The women did not venture into the ludus save for a small alcove between the two buildings used for storage. Yet a few foolish girls went to the cells, or lingered in the storage house long enough to catch a glimpse of the fabled dark haired creature, Maximus. He was known to be strong with thick cords of muscle and sinew forming a godly figure beneath taut bronze skin. His dismissive though fearsome glances sent many into a fearful scurry when he was passed, though some of the girls would whisk themselves away and giggle or squeal in delight.

On more than one occasion she even caught her own Iona taking a liberal glance at Maximus, only to quickly avert her gaze upon being discovered.

---

Four mornings proceeding Maximus' introduction to Cassian's wealthier friends, he left to go to Capua with them on business and would be gone for two days hence at least. Normally she revelled in her time without her fickle husband, who either showed her attention when inebriated and groping her without care of skill save his own pleasure, or he ignored her aside from the usual social niceties he had to grant his wife during their many parties or outings at the arena.

Without Cassian's quick-to-anger presence looming over the balcony, the ludus seemed to have a more quiet and peaceful air that morning - if not for Maximus beating a poor new gladiator. This was not Lucius who could shake off the blows after visiting the medicus. This was a fresh faced lad, a stranger to battling for his life. Livia disagreed with the bloodsports yet it was her family's living, and all she could do was ensure there was no unnecessary cruelty borne upon the men before they died, or lived long enough to win freedom.

Thwack.

Thwack.

A scuffle again and the boy's face was in the ground, likely tasting his own sweat in the fine sand and surely a bit of blood if the second blow of the practice sword struck true on his brow as the echo indicated. Livia had been standing idly by the balcony edge overseeing various small groups of fighters who were paired together at the doctore's command, either with a sparring partner or wooden target. What possessed doctore to send the boy to Maximus was beyond her, and before the beast could raise another blow and mock the boy, she peered down at him.

"Maximus, stop." Her command resonated over the din of wooden impacts. A few of the men paused in their routines to sneakily catch a glance at him, though a crack of doctore's whip set them straight. The scarred Carthaginian, sans one eye that had been plucked from his skull during his glory days in the arena, continued to shout orders at the training men while he made his rounds weaving between them. Though he walked toward Maximus and loomed nearby to ensure Maximus didn't strike again.

"Gaius, to the medius at once!" she ordered the boy. Her tone was decisive and stern, though laced with concern as the boy peeled his face from the ground. Short blonde locks were coated in sand and a string of blood oozed from his nose, likely from having landed in a poor position on his face. He sniffed hard and stood up as quickly as his disoriented head would allow and went toward the medicus whose room was just below the balcony.

Livia watched him go until he was out of sight, then turned with burning eyes upon Maximus. "You are not here to take out your frustrations upon the others. There is no honour in beating him when he has already fallen," she stated with evident irritation at his cruelty. Perhaps she was worried this was why Cassian purchased him.

"Your life continues because you have been spared the mines. You are given food and shelter in exchange for laurels in the arena. Do not forget that. And do not raise your weapon to any of the men in jest. One day you could be fighting with him at your back, to find your only ally would see you dead just as readily as your opponent," Livia coldly reminded him. Her cheeks were a bit flushed from anger though it could easily be dismissed as the heat of the morning sun, or the honeyed wine she drank from in a polished cup.

"Now stop acting like an animal pr you will be caged like one," she concluded firmly. Livia cared little for how she chastised him in front of the others, whether it would bring him embarrassment or anger. She need only make an example of him to show that despite Cassian's absence, she was not going to tolerate his actions and revel in seeing one man beat the other to a bloody pulp, into someone new took the victor's place. It was not proper or right.

She paused after speaking, her breathing even and controlled, while her eyes were surely trying to burn holes through him on the sands below. Livia looked toward the doctore then.

"Take Maximus to his cell. He is of no use here today," the domina ordered and brought a swift end to whatever semblance of routine he'd grown to know in the days since his purchase. Livia felt an odd sensation of adrenaline coursing through her body at that point. Never before did she had the opportunity or courage to speak out harshly. Liberal platitudes never poured from her mouth as they had in the previous moment but without Cassian's yoke on her shoulders that day, she found her voice.

---

Shortly thereafter when things calmed down and resumed their usual pace, Livia left the balcony. The men were in the doctore's trusted hands to grow and hone themselves. It was his guidance she trusted best and her father often deferred to him to keep the men in line, yet his failure to act with Maximus that morning was not something she believed to be blindness to poor behaviours. Rather, a habit to hold his tongue and his whip as per Cassian's orders.

Still, she was not like Cassian, and though she spoke harshly to Maximus in the morning, by the afternoon when the sun was past its mid-peak, she too cooled down. Livia decided it was best to go and visit the gladiator to prevent ill will forming from his dismissal at the training grounds. After all, it was behaviour Cassian would have rewarded, and surely sent to the boy to the mines or his cell for being soundly beaten.

Guards nodded in respect at her going, the domina halted around the corner from Maximus' cell. A row of open barred rooms for the newer recruits led toward a more private wing of cells. These had small windows and wooden doors for privacy, where gladiators who proved themselves were able to have a small room to themselves alone, and even had a view overlooking the landscape of gold and green hills that stretched behind the villa. Iona was always a shadow in Livia's steps, but as the two women rounded the open cells to the expanse of private rooms, the domina stopped.

"I will proceed alone," she told Iona, whose face immediately fell in disbelief. Yet she knew better than to question Livia even though she worried for her safety. He was handsome, but wild too.

"As you wish, domina," Iona replied with a dip of her chin. Livia went on alone to the end of the hall.

A guard posted at his door opened Maximus' cell door and announced her, "The domina is here. Stand up," he told Maximus. Whether or not the man did so was of little concern to Livia, but either way she planned to speak with him, preferably in less harsh tones than before.

 

[Machiavelli]

Before the young welp could stand and square off again, a feminine voice cut through the air, two words. His name was one of them, a curious fact. Rarely was he addressed by name, by anyone, in such a setting. Normally he heard it in the roar of the arena, not spoken like this. Peculiar. There was clearly a note of harsh displeasure in the voice, however, and with a light scowl, he lowered the training sword, yielding. Spearing the sword into the sand, he turned to face the domina on her balcony as she ordered his opponent to the medicus. Was she... concerned for him? Clearly she was, as she returned her hot gaze to him.

The scowl did not move from his face, brow furrowed and eyes dark. Her words more or less slid off him, more stunned by her willingness to speak out against him so firmly and angrily, as well as her... softness? Though he was on the receiving end of her wrath, there was something surprising about her care for his opponent. He hadn't encountered such selflessness in a time. Yet her fury annoyed him. There was no such mercy in the arena. The boy she had spared would learn nothing from her kindness, and was simply given an escape from the lessons of combat. Still, he held his tongue. Much the same, he had nothing to gain from speaking out here, nothing to gain but more wrath.

Her comment that about his acting like an animal struck particularly hard. He was an animal. He was a hunter, a predator, forged by the fields of war and maintained by the brutality of the arena. His civilized nature had been stripped from him in battle, torn apart like his friends and brothers at arms, and left to die on those blood-stained grounds. What remained was the cruel survivor.

She knew nothing of the animal in him.

She dismissed him from the ludus, and the doctore stepped toward him. Leaving his wooden sword in the sand, Maximus spun on his heel and allowed himself to be escorted to the room he was kept in.

There, he spent the next hours brewing. He held little true anger - she had seen but a glimpse of what he was and it horrified her. However could he blame her for that, when he found no pleasure in what he was either? From his seat on his bed, he gazed out the window as the sun sank slowly down toward the horizon, lighting the hills aflame with reddish beams. He was startled as the guard outside spoke up, and he slid slowly to his feet. The domina? What did she want now? Hadn't she been satisfied with the verbal lashing she had already provided?

Nonetheless, he turned, back to the window, to face the door. He wore a simple white robe, which flowed over his masculine form like a liquid, from his left shoulder where it was pinned with a brass pin down to the mid knee. His right side was left uncovered, arm, shoulder, and breast bare. His dark eyes raised up as she entered, taking her in without an expression.

She was attractive, with her hair like fire and lithe form, clearly a woman of wealth and comfort. He;d already seen that she had a kind heart, a most unusual trait for a woman of her stature, but it drew his attention. It was... refreshing. Despite his instinctive anger at the morning's events, he had found a peculiar curiosity there too.