Free Arena by John Jakes Page B

off the bull’s back, my left foot struck the earth at a bad angle. My leg buckled. The leopard lunged for my chest.
    Over and over I rolled. The leopard jerked up short on the line, spitting and hissing when the bullock stupidly decided to stand his ground. I climbed to my feet.
    Fabius trotted up. Behind him, Xenophon glared at me. The scarred lanista surveyed me head to foot:
    “All in one piece. Lucky. That was a pretty escape, Cassius. Unfortunately, it was altogether unnecessary. Why do you always do something out of the ordinary when we have important visitors?”
    I squinted through the blowing dust. “Who? I see only that matron under the parasol. Roman ladies out to watch a few slaves get mangled aren’t strangers here. They enjoy the sport.”
    “Enough of your impertinence!” he cried. “Mind you do the maneuver more skillfully next time, so I won’t be embarrassed. That’s a lady of some reputation. Next man!” With an impatient crack of his whip he returned to teaching.
    I wandered back to the group of students. They squatted dusty and perspiring in the sun. I watched Xenophon dodge the bull and leopard and privately sneered at his clumsiness. Then I felt a curious prickling on my scalp.
    I turned my head. The Roman lady who sat surrounded by eunuchs under her parasol was paying no attention to the burly Greek. She was watching me.
    At a distance it was impossible to tell much about her age or features. Her gown was splendid, shimmering like the silk brought from the mythical land of Serica far eastward. It was dyed a rich shade of green. A high pile of curls emphasized the glittering redness of her hair. Her body and breasts looked well-formed and generous.
    I grinned to myself. At least I’d fared better than most. Students were constantly plagued by the attentions of fat, lovesick old cows whose husbands had long since stopped touching them, for obvious reasons.
    As the afternoon wore on the lady paid little heed to the lesson. I felt her eyes on me almost constantly. When it was once more my turn to bait the animals, I came off well, receiving Fabius’
    commendation, as well as polite applause from the lady. I bowed to her. Fabius was all smiles.
    The sun sank and the day ended. The lady’s retinue assembled and she left the stands. Fabius dismissed us. Xenophon walked over, smirking.
    “There’s a real match for you, Cassius.” He indicated the departing woman. “But you might not be so skillful evading her peculiar brand of menace.”
    “I didn’t see anything peculiar about her,” I growled. “To the contrary. She plainly has an eye for a man with talent, and feet that aren’t made of marble.”
    He flushed at the reference to his repeated stumbling during the lesson. “One day —” he began.
    Then he choked off the threat. “Why should I bother with you? Let Locusta get her hands on you, and you’ll never trouble me or anyone else again.”
    I was startled. “Locusta the poisoner? The woman who supposedly helped Agrippina murder her husband Claudius?”
    “So they say,” replied the Greek. “I hear she has an interest in many things. Business properties.
    Gladiators who gain the public’s fancy for a moment. The cult of the Great Mother of Pessinus, Cybele, of which she’s a priestess. People say their rites would make even a satyr’s eyes pop. Best of all, she’s an expert with deadly roots and herbs.” He laughed coarsely. “That’s why I Page 28

    congratulate you, Cassius. Good luck on your new friendship.”
    I returned his laugh. “You’d like nothing better than to have some woman feed me a bowl of poisoned mushrooms, wouldn’t you, Greek? Then you’d have no competition in the Imperial games. No one to show you up for the clumsy lump you are.”
    He lashed at my head. I ducked under the blow and he went purple in the face.
    “I’ll out-score you in the games, Cassius, and watch you bleed on the Circus Maximus sand when you die!”
    A pitiless hate