Gladiatrix

LVI

They had all come to see her as she lay on the surgeon’s palate: Catuvolcos and Doris, Thebe, Stick and Titus, Telemachus and, of course, the adoring Varia.

Lysandra mumbled her thanks, aware only of her own pain and the bitter taste of failure. Despite it all, all the training, all the preparation, all the desire, she had failed. Sorina lived.

The gift of Trajanus was a hollow one; for though she was now nominally free, she knew that in her heart she could never be so. Not whilst Sorina lived. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes when her visitors had left. In the silent darkness of the surgery, she wept. Wept for her failure.

‘Lysandra.’

It was Balbus. He hovered by the door for a few moments before sitting by her side.

‘Lucius Balbus,’ she acknowledged.

‘What you did today…’ He trailed off, looking at his hands, thumb working over thumb. ‘What you and Sorina did has never been seen before. Not here. Not in Rome. Did you know that they are going to make a frieze of your fight? Amazona and Achillia, immortalised forever in stone. What a thing.’ He shook his head. ‘This has never been done for women before,’ he added, ‘nor do I think it will happen again. You two are the best that there will ever be.’

Lysandra tried to compress her lips but the pain merely caused her to grimace. ‘I failed. I was not good enough to kill her.’

Balbus shrugged. ‘You are free now. What does it matter?’

Lysandra raised herself up slowly. She opened her mouth to explain but found she had no words. How could Balbus feel what she had felt? How could he know that freedom was empty without Sorina’s death? Without Eirianwen. ‘I suppose you are right,’ she said after a while.

The lanista cleared his throat. ‘What will you do now?’

Lysandra almost smiled at that. Typical of Balbus to always be thinking about his purse. With his two best fighters freed, he could never again hope to receive the gates and interest of the past two years. His dream of staging the grand battle for Domitian’s birthday was over for, without her, she knew it would turn into farce. Balbus knew her too well. She could not and would not abandon those women already trained. She could not leave Thebe and Varia alone, bereft of her leadership.

‘I shall stay with you,’ she said quietly. ‘This is what I am now, Balbus.’

‘I thought this would be so.’ His voice sounded strangely thick, as if a hard, dry crust was lodged in his throat. ‘But it will not be with me,’ he added softly. ‘These past two years, with you, Sorina and, aye, Eirianwen, have taught me that I am getting too old for this game. It’s all…’ He trailed off, gesturing with his hands. ‘It’s all too much.’

‘You are to retire?’ Despite herself, Lysandra was stunned.

‘Oh, yes. Eros and I shall go to Greece, where our situation with each other will not be frowned upon. Hellas, I mean,’ he amended, and was rewarded by a wan smile. ‘Of course, that leaves the matter of my ludus. I have spoken with Titus, Stick and Catuvolcos on this, and they agree — it truly has become the Ludus Lysandra. Thus, I leave my school in your hands for you to do with it as you see fit. The women are now truly your responsibility. You can free them all, fight your battle or even sell the place. Or you could remain in the arena, though I hope you do not. He sighed. ‘You have taught me much about myself. This is the only gift I can give you.’ He leant forward, and kissed her softly on the forehead. He rose and went to the door. ‘Goodbye, Lysandra of Sparta,’ he said, and was gone.

There was only silence in the room then. Lysandra felt tears spring to her eyes as the enormity of Balbus’s gift washed over her. What could she do? She had once said to Frontinus that she would not return to Sparta to become a priestess once more.

That part of her was dead.

All that remained was the gladiatrix.