Free Last Gladiatrix, The by Eva Scott Page A

as long as they gave her a good sword and she could move about freely enough, they could dress her up as they liked.
    The ugly woman called out in a voice that would do a fishwife proud and moments later the squat little man appeared. He carried a purple cape edged in gold, which he gestured for Xanthe to put on. She fastened it about her shoulders, and he smiled his satisfaction.
    ‘ Festino !’ the man said, gesturing for her to walk with him, her grand cape swirling about her legs.
    ‘Where are we going?’ she asked of no one in particular. The squat man gave her a push, and she stumbled forward before regaining her balance on the uneven cobbled floor. Xanthe hurried after him as he disappeared into the gloom ahead of her.
    An escort of guards awaited them. A goodly number of other gladiators, similarly attired, also waited. Xanthe looked for Titus and spotted him standing grimly, facing towards the back of the group. She shouldered her way to him. The sight of her centurion lifted her heart and her extremities tingled.
    ‘What is going on?’ she whispered.
    ‘Good to see you, too, Scythian.’
    Xanthe nudged him in the ribs. ‘Of course I am delighted to see you, Titus. I will be even more delighted once I work out if I am walking to my death tonight or not.’
    He chuckled. ‘I admire your spirit. We are simply going to dine at our sponsor’s house.’
    Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Dine? Sponsor? What sponsor? Not the General?’
    ‘No, tomorrow’s games are sponsored by a great politician of the Senate. It is his feast to which we go. He is staging this dinner, as is customary, so the paying public can watch us eat.’
    ‘What?’ The group moved forward, surrounded by the Senator’s guards.
    ‘Many of these gladiators are famous in Rome, and the good people will pay to see them up close. Of course, for some this may be their last meal.’
    ‘Not for me,’ she muttered.
    Titus reached out and ran his hand lightly over her head, in a gesture so tender it brought tears to her eyes. ‘Fear not, Xanthe. You are blessed by the Gods.’
    She laughed bitterly. ‘If this is the favour of the Gods, I must seriously reconsider to whom I pray.’
    It was his turn to laugh, a great belly laugh that drew attention from the other gladiators. ‘Perhaps that is something we can discuss over dinner tonight.’
    They arrived to discover some gladiators already seated and the feast clearly under way. Members of the public stood about the walls, watching the gladiators eat and drink. The Senator’s servants escorted each newly arrived gladiator to the remaining seats, and Xanthe found herself separated from Titus, much to her disappointment.
    ‘Look, everyone!’ Klara cried. ‘It is the great Scythian warrior woman come to join our feast. Let us raise a toast to her last day in the mortal realm.’ Some gladiators raised their cups with a mocking gesture; the others clearly could not understand what Klara had said. Xanthe made her way to a seat next to the prickly Hun.
    ‘I am Sarmatian,’ she hissed.
    Klara offered a shrug of indifference and gestured with a chicken bone at the heavily-laden table. ‘Eat. It is expected. Another part of the great Roman spectacle. The people like to watch us eat our last meal.’ She shrugged. ‘The Romans are barbarians at heart.’
    Xanthe couldn’t argue the fact. Her stomach was clenched in knots, and she did not think she could force a single morsel of food down her throat.
    She looked down the table at the men and women assembled there. Some ate like it was indeed their last meal, and perhaps it would be. She scanned the faces, searching for Titus. She spotted him down the other end of the table, sitting, looking morose, and not eating.
    Xanthe bided her time until many of those gathered had drunk more than they should, before slipping out of her seat and walking nonchalantly down the length of the table. Titus noticed her long before she reached him, and his eyes lit up at