The Last Gladiatrix by Eva Scott

Author:Eva Scott
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780857990396
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises Pty Ltd, Australia
Published: 2013-03-13T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Lucius Pulus enjoyed his job, but especially the women. He took a moment to appreciate the Scythian woman’s curves as she slept, unaware of his lurking presence. He found her tattoos strangely attractive and wondered what it would be like to bed her. Some other time, perhaps.

The squat man shouted and banged on the cell doors. The Scythian opened her eyes and peered up at him through the gloom.

‘Come! Get up! It is time for the feast. Your sponsor is waiting.’ Lucius rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘Quick, girl. We haven’t got all night.’ He unlocked her cell as she scrambled to her feet, straw sticking out of her hair.

He grabbed her arm and manhandled her out of the cell, enjoying every minute. ‘I hope you’re not as dim-witted in the arena tomorrow as you’re being right now. It will make for a tedious event. Now hurry along. We have to get you dressed.’

‘I don’t understand you,’ Xanthe said, as she craned her neck to see if the Hun woman was asleep in her cell. Was it tomorrow already? How long had she slept?

The ugly little man muttered something before dragging her along the corridor to a small anteroom.

A fat, greasy woman waited for her, mumbling unhappily to herself. The horrid man said something, making the woman shout back what could only have been an insult, before withdrawing.

The woman tugged at Xanthe’s dirty tunic, indicating for her to remove it. Xanthe disrobed, standing naked in the cool evening air. The woman led her to a bucket of cold water and gave her a sponge, her meaning clear.

Grateful for the opportunity to rub the layer of grime off her skin, Xanthe found herself enjoying the sponge bath immensely. How nice to be clean again. She looked down, admiring her tattoos as they gleamed wet in the half-light.

The fat woman said something and poked at one of them with a fat finger. Xanthe instinctively recoiled, baring her teeth and growling, more for effect than with any real intent. The gesture had the desired result, though, and the woman leaped back out of her reach.

A bundle of clothes lay across a chair, and the woman gestured for Xanthe to put them on, too nervous to come closer. A short skirt made of soft leather, a breastplate of stiffened leather and a strange little cap that would offer no protection in the ring made up her new attire. They fitted well enough and at least the breast plate would offer some defence.

Xanthe turned this way and that, trying to see what she looked like. So this was how Romans imagined Scythian warrior women dressed? She wouldn’t know, never having encountered one, but 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.

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