VII.
When Taleena, nude and battered, staggered painfully into the infirmary
a few minutes later, the men on duty there were taken aback by her appearance.
None of the three could recall having seen a candidate, much less a female
candidate, in such deplorable condition after a mere training exercise. Some
time elapsed before the trio overcame their shocked disbelief and they
remembered their Hippocratic Oath.
The infirmary was a small but efficient medical station, with a seasoned
medicus and two young orderlies who qualified as unctores. While his assistants
tended to the day-to-day cuts, bruises and sprains - of which there were many -
it was the physician's job to mend the serious wounds. Athenodoros, the eldest
of the three men, was Greek, like so many renowned physicians, and he professed
to be a student of the art of the famous Asklepiades. He was well versed in
surgery and a skilled herbalist whose salves and ointments had cured many
injured fighters. A number of senators and other patricians had tried to lure
him away from Flavius' employ with lucrative offers, but to their surprise he
had always declined.
It was true that Flavius paid him well, but wealth was not his
incentive. He stayed to work with the gladiators, because, save for the
battlefield itself, the arena was the finest school of anatomy in the world.
Where else could one find chests and abdomens ripped open, so that the processes
of the heart and lungs and digestive organs were visible to the naked eye?
Where else could one find skulls so crushed that the lining of the brain might
be studied, or limbs half torn apart so that the relationship of ligaments and
muscle, sinews and bone, might be examined in such minute detail? Athenodoros
was a man of science, more interested in understanding the functioning of the
organs and the other structures of the human body than in caring for patients
per se. Even so, countless gladiators owed him their lives - or at least a
prolongation of their worldly existence. For, in the long run, not even Apollo
the Healer could save them from the mortal injury that would eventually strike
down all but a glorious few.
While Taleena sat apprehensively on a stretcher in the wound-dressing
area, the unctores spent quite some time examining her naked body to determine
the relative severity of her numerous injuries. Athenodoros observed their
thorough inspection in near silence, nodding his gray head approvingly now and
then, and only occasionally interjecting to point out an unusual feature of a
particular gash or bruise. When he had determined that the injuries to her knees
were among the most serious, a worried-looking Athenodoros instructed one of the
unctores to place a thumb-thick wooden bit-gag in Taleena's mouth.
Once the trembling blue-eyed Avernian had clenched the dowel tightly
between her teeth, the other medical assistant tentatively applied a pungent
disinfectant to her abraded kneecaps, causing Taleena's naked body to shudder in
a frightful paroxysm of pain. Only by biting down hard on the wooden bit was
Taleena able to suppress her unvoiced cries of suffering. Without the gag, she
felt sure, her screams would have been audible back on the waterfront in Ostia.
A cooling herbal essence soon eased the sting of the liquid fire that
enveloped her knees, but as bad as that treatment had been, it paled in
comparison to the shame, discomfort and pain that ensued when the caregivers
turned their attention to her strap-ravaged pubic area.
Athenodoros directed his assistants to lash Taleena's bare, wide-spread
thighs tightly to the sides of the stretcher. Then the old man signalled to the
younger of the two unctores that he was to hold Taleena's shoulders down to keep
her from thrashing around. It had taken all of the young man's self-control to
press Taleena's bare shoulders firmly against the stretcher, his fingers only
inches from the beckoning softness of her opulent breasts. But despite his
attempts to maintain a dispassionate professionalism, the touch and sight of her
magnificent body caused his manhood to swell against his tunic, until
Athenodoros, who was bent over his patient, noticed his assistant's excitement,
and gave the young man a glance so withering that his erection melted away in
seconds.
Taleena had been oblivious to this byplay, her blue eyes having been
riveted apprehensively to the slender spatula that Athenodoros held between his
deft fingers. She winced in pain as he applied a numbing ointment to the
painful abrasions on the inner surfaces of the tender folds of her sex. Behind
Athenodoros, the other unctor looked on, with barely-suppressed excitement, as
his mentor was about to treat the once-secret place between the Gaul's shapely
thighs.
Taleena watched with trepidation as the medicus shook his head in
disbelief as he began his work. Although surely he was no stranger to the
female genitalia or the full range of gynaecological disorders, he seemed aghast
that training methods could cause such physical damage. As he leaned forward to
swab a particularly raw area, Taleena's agony soared to a higher pitch, even
though his touch was meant to mend, not to exacerbate, her suffering.
Taleena's naked body reared so violently against this onslaught of pain
that she nearly overturned the stretcher to which her long legs had been bound.
The perspiring young unctor who was responsible for holding her shoulders down,
wrestled valiantly to restrain her writhing torso as Taleena screamed into the
stifling bit-gag again and again. Despite Athenodoros' earlier admonitions, his
aide was unable to tear his eyes from the pink-tipped mounds of flesh which
shuddered on her chest each time a fresh wave of pain-induced convulsions surged
through her supple body.
Taleena's horrendous suffering slowly began to subside as the numbing
nature of the salve took effect. A short time later, after Athenodoros had
completed his ministrations, the somewhat rattled unctores, their hands still
shaking slightly, released their beautiful patient from the straps that had
bound her bare thighs to the sides of the stretcher. Taleena rose, unsteadily,
and gave the heir of Asklepiades a grateful but questioning look.
The old Greek seemed to understand what she was about to ask and smiled
benignly. "You are in amazingly good condition considering what you have been
through," he said, which was difficult for Taleena to believe inasmuch as she
still felt the dreadful effect of the Scythian Strap between her legs. "You
will continue to feel pain for a few days," the old man said gently, "but it
will lessen from day to day. The passage of time, child," he explained in a
grandfatherly way, "is Apollo's greatest gift to those who practice the healing
arts. You will see. Just in case," he added while handing her the vial that
contained the numbing ointment, "I shall give you this. Apply it in the evening
after you have bathed. It will soothe the pain, and help you to sleep."
* * *
When Taleena finally emerged from the infirmary, the setting sun had
followed Phaeton's celestial chariot down behind the walls of the arena. The
western sky was ablaze with reds and oranges, as if in sympathy with the lurid
marks Breaca's wooden sword had left on her body. Since there was still some
time before the cells were to be locked for the night, Taleena decided to make
her way to the abandoned bath house, in order to retrieve some fresh garments
from her locker, and to wash away the grime, sweat, and blood that were visual
reminders of her harrowing afternoon.
Taleena longed for the cold water of the frigidarium to ease the
throbbing in her knees, but chose to avoid it lest the used water should infect
her wounds. So she went straight to the fountain in the tepidarium and took a
sponge, glancing briefly at the black marble statue of Mars which seemed to gaze
sternly down at her misery as she began her cleansing.
"Be sure to thank him," a voice roused Taleena from her silent
self-absorption. The flaxen-haired Gaul turned to see who had spoken and
discerned the graceful figure of the twin who had so outclassed her in the
sword-ring. Breaca the Celt was lying leisurely in one of the basins, enjoying
the restful solitude of the bathhouse. "You are still alive," Breaca
continued, gesturing in the direction of the stone image of the gloomy god of
war. "So apparently he has spared you, as he has me since I chose him as my
protector."
Taleena gave her ginger-haired conqueror a blank stare, wondering
whether the Celt was serious or just mocking her. Thanks to the tales told by
her mentor Eudocles, she was familiar with the deities of Rome, but it had never
occurred to her to choose one of them, least of all the war-like Mars, as her
tutelary. Yet she knew that the Romans viewed their bellicose deity as not only
as Mars the Warrior, but also as Mars the Healer - a natural corollary, inasmuch
as it was incumbent upon the grim god of the battlefield to help to mend the
wounds of soldiers, if they were to re-enter his lists as soon as possible.
After her long ordeal the cool water felt so agreeable that Taleena
purred sensuously as she held the sea-sponge above her bosom and squeezed the
soothing water out so that it trickled down over the lush upper slopes of her
breasts, which were still woefully aching from the day's tribulations. But her
soft murmur of pleasure grew into a scarcely stifled groan when rivulets of
water ran down her torso to the ravaged place between her smooth thighs. Breaca
watched in silent sympathy as tears intensified the azure brightness of
Taleena's eyes as a trickle of water found the entrance to the sore pinkness of
her swollen slit, causing the innocent brooklet to turn into a thin, seething
stream of fire. Gasping softly, Taleena pressed her hands firmly between her
legs as if the pressure of her gentle fingers could somehow ease the fiery pain
left by the barbaric strap.
"I hope you bear me no grudge," Breaca addressed her again, her voice
showing honest regret. "It was not I who put the strap on you."
"No," Taleena sighed wearily. "I should be grateful to you for not
cutting me to pieces, as you might have done."
"Not at all!" Breaca retorted, a bit condescendingly, and again they
fell silent for a while before Breaca resumed the conversation. "I too have
fought on that marble floor when I was a recruit," she added sympathetically.
"Not many would have endured it as long as you did."
Taleena was pleased that her fellow gladiatrix had remarked on her
stamina, though it didn't alter the fact that she felt like she had spent the
afternoon at a threshing floor - being the threshed, not the thresher.
"When the basic training is over, you will only have to fight there as a
punishment," Breaca continued. "We call it the Pit of Pain. If there is a
brawl, the quarrellers are bound to sort out their differences with small
whips."
Taleena envisioned the bare, sweat-drenched bodies of two aggrieved
fighters lashing each other bloody in that pit as she reached behind her to
sponge the sand and sweat from the soft curves of her buttocks. Her dripping
body shuddered in revulsion, but there was no disputing the fact that the
dreadful venue of cruelty had been well named. Her stomach balled into a knot at
the thought that one day she might have to fight there once again - against an
opponent less inclined to mercy than Breaca.
"But I wonder that they strapped you with the cords at this early
stage," the Celt mused. "The leather bindings are used as a chastisement if you
remain too dependent on your right hand. But surely it is unfair to expect a
novice to forsake her favoured hand completely on only her third day." She cast
a furtive glance in the direction of Taleena's golden-fringed mound of Venus.
"If you haven't ripped yourself raw, you've done rather well," she added
bashfully.
There were no lacerations, but that seemed to be a cold comfort to
Taleena when she thought of her sore sex. "How can one endure this for six
weeks?" she asked with chagrin, feeling comfortable unburdening herself to an
apparently sympathetic comrade. "I have only been here for three days and I am
nearly at the end of my tether."
"The first days are the worst," Breaca reassured her. "They try to
discourage you by piling one torment upon another. But once you've come through
the first half, you've made it! Exertion remains our constant companion, though,
and fatigue is our closest of confidants," she added pensively. But then she
brightened and added, "But do not become disheartened! The harder they work us,
the stronger we become!"
It was comforting to hear that the second half of the six-week
initiation period would be less onerous than the first, although it struck her
that the Celt's words of encouragement implied that the next three weeks of
training would be increasingly demanding, if not brutal. And in her present
condition she didn't see how she could possibly endure such a regimen.
Fortunately at least some of her comrades seemed to be decent fellows, and she
was pleased that her endurance had apparently proved helpful in establishing
herself among them.
"The word is out that Byrria has it in for you," Breaca said,
reiterating the Nubian's comment of the prior evening. "Take care of yourself!"
"Oh, I can handle her," Taleena retorted in a burst of bravado, as if
trying to reassure herself. But her unease returned when she saw Breaca's
doubtful look.
As if intent upon proving a point, the fair-skinned Celt suddenly stood
up in the waist-deep basin, so that the surface of the bathwater lapped gently
at the coppery wisps of pubic hair. Taleena did not mean to stare, but it was
hard not to look at, and admire, Breaca's dripping nude torso, now free of the
leathern armour which had hidden her charms during their combat.
Breaca's creamy-white complexion gave ample testimony to her northern
origin, but the milkiness of her lightly freckled skin could not disguise the
well-toned physique which gave her nudity a healthy yet sensuous glow. Her
torso tapered to a slim waist before swelling into womanly hips, and every part
of her upper body appeared lean and hard, notwithstanding the resilient softness
of her perfectly round, water-glistening breasts - beautifully self-buttressed
by strong pectoral muscles, their gravity-defying fullness capped by a pair of
large, rosy nipples. But the most conspicuous features were the prominent
streaks of puckered scar-tissue that showed on the Celt's freckled skin. The
scars covered her flanks and extended part-way across her ribcage, and the
disturbing sight became downright appalling when Breaca slowly made a full turn,
displaying her slender back, which was criss-crossed with a lattice of scars
from her beautifully- shaped shoulder-blades to the tops of her ripe-rounded
buttocks.
"Yes, this is Byrria's artistry," Breaca said in a caustic voice. Seeing
how the golden-haired Gaul had gasped in horror at this evidence of the
Thracian's vindictiveness, the Celt continued, "But do not be too alarmed. You
won't be given such a flogging for merely failing a training unit. This was my
punishment for daring to confront her last winter."
When she saw the questioning look in Taleena's azure eyes, she
explained. "You see, that accursed Thracian had sentenced my ailing sister to
stand outside in the courtyard in the wintry air, stripped to the skin, because
she had attended the morning lessons in her tunic instead of our skimpy training
attire. When I tried to take Byrria to task for her cruelty and became violent,
she ordered me to be crucified, but Flavius intervened, reducing the sentence to
fifty lashes."
Breaca drew a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. "Only
fifty," she laughed with bitter irony. "Byrria ordered me to undress in front
of the entire company, and as a reminder that I had been spared crucifixion I
was made to carry one of the heavy cross-pieces on my shoulders." The green-eyed
Celt paused for a moment as if the memory of her cruel Calvary had purged every
thought from her mind. "Byrria marched me around the perimeter of the compound
twice, flogging me with that accursed braided whip of hers every step of the
way," she continued with a strained voice while tears of sadness welled up in
her sparkling eyes. Breaca was no longer the confident gladiatrix who had
thrashed Taleena in the ring; she was, for the moment, the suffering young
beauty whom Byrria had thrashed within an inch of her life. "Three times I fell
beneath the weight of the crossbar, and three times that Thracian serpent
whipped me until I crawled back to my feet."
The ginger-haired girl sank back down in the basin, sliding entirely
below the surface of the soothing waters for a long moment, as if to wash away
the dreadful memory. After some ten seconds, her head and shoulders emerged
from the water again, and when her slender fingers had wiped the wet strands of
hair from her face, her emerald eyes reflected once again the confidence of the
bold-spirited Celtic warrioress.
"So do not be so certain," concluded Breaca, "that you can 'handle'
Byrria. She is as vengeful as a goddess scorned."
Breaca's sarcastic conclusion was intended to ease the awkward
atmosphere, but its ominous overtones prevented it from doing so. The two women
continue to sponge their nude bodies rather listlessly for another few moments,
but Breaca's narrative had swept away whatever feeling of relief that Taleena
had experienced earlier, leaving her once again in a state of agitation over
what the morrow might bring.
* * *
Back in her cell, Taleena had just crept under the blanket of her bed,
still troubled by the story Breaca had told her in the bathhouse, when she heard
the flute begin its plaintive play. The tune was different from the one of the
prior evening, but equally nostalgic, and again the nocturnal music took her
troubled mind off her sorrows. Taleena drank in the soul-soothing sounds, and
in a short time she was soundly asleep, freed from any disturbing thoughts for
the following hours...
VIII.
The fourth day of training began shortly after dawn with an obstacle
race. Even though a light morning fog had blown in off the sea, Taleena could
once again see fresh evidence of the trainers' wealth of invention. What she saw
made her think of yesterday's race as an easy walkover, and the prospect of
being chased around this parcours tightened her stomach. But not only did the
obstacles fill her with awe - with every stride she felt her loin-cloth chafing
against her sore crotch. That discomfort, together with her bruised knees, would
aggravate the running no end.
Some ten square, lattice-like obstacles were positioned around the
track, each of them comprised of six horizontal and six vertical bars, roughly
the thickness of a man's arm, which had been lashed firmly together at the
crossing points.
Some of the lattices were aligned parallel to the ground, propped up to
knee-height by large stones positioned at their corners; others had been set
upright, buttressed by massive supporting beams that had been driven into the
ground; a third type were configured so that the were tilted across the track at
an oblique angle to the ground, forming treacherously precarious ramps of wood
and cord.
The recruits were not matched against each other as they had been on
earlier days. Rather, they began the course in a staggered start, one at a
time, according to Calixtus' signal. The bald lanista had not announced a
target, so each competitor set foot on the track without knowing the duration of
the 'race'.
Taleena was the fourth recruit to start down the track and she began
rather tentatively, but even at the modest pace she set for herself, she was
reminded of the soreness between her legs with every stride. The first obstacle
had been laid flat across the track and she slowed as she approached it. She
stepped carefully onto the nearer edge, noting that the morning mist had made it
somewhat slippery, and then, balancing herself skilfully on the narrow bars, she
manoeuvred across them without incident.
As the long-legged Gaul continued down the track with her blonde hair
trailing in the breeze, she noticed that some of the men who had proceeded her
onto the track had had some difficulty maintaining their footing on the lattice;
had it not been for the bruises of the prior day, particularly to her aching
knees, this 'event' would have been a sporting discipline much to her taste,
depending, as it did, on balance and agility rather than size and strength.
Taleena soon found herself confronted by one of the vertical obstacles,
which stood upright like a broad ladder, blocking the entire width of the track.
She saw quickly that each runner would need to scale the front side, ease his
body over the top, and then climb down the back. The blue-eyed Avernian
negotiated the first of the vertical lattices fairly well, managing to ignore
the throbbing pain in her knees. The fierce tingling in her groin flared up
briefly but painfully when she threw a well-toned thigh across the top of the
wooden barrier, before beginning the tricky descent.
Slowed a bit by her injuries, Taleena continued doggedly around the oval
until she came to the first of the inclined obstacles. Climbing the
fog-moistened lattice was not particularly difficult, but its farther end was
higher than Arminius was tall, and when she reached the top of the incline
Taleena quickly saw the risk involved in jumping. The force of the fall could
easily cause an ankle to turn or even break; but, having no alternative, and
knowing that her every move was being watched, she gritted her teeth and leapt
forward into space.
As soon as her feet hit the ground she realized that her ankles were not
the worst of her problems - the force of the fall gave her swollen knees a
terrible jolt. She cried out in anguish as she slumped to the ground,
momentarily immobilized by the pain. She rolled to one side and lay there
motionless, trying desperately to catch her breath, while one trainee after
another fell successfully to the ground alongside her and continued onward to
the next obstacle.
Even Selia passed her without difficulty, having cleverly drawn a lesson
from Taleena's violent spill. The slender Spaniard clung to the top edge of the
lattice, and let herself hang down from the highest bar, easily dropping down
the remaining two feet. Without exception, each of the men that followed her
adopted her technique, leaving Taleena to feel rather foolish.
When the wrenching pain in her knee finally subsided, Taleena managed to
rise and once she was up and running again, she strove to catch up with the
others. Cursing herself for not having solved the problem of the incline as
Selia and the others had done, she adopted their practice and spared her knees
any more of those bone-jarring jolts. She gradually moved up on the field, and
even managed to pass the heaviest of the Germans, thus avoiding the indignity of
coming last in the field.
The two vigilant lanistae kept the recruits running until mid-morning,
by which time the fog had finally lifted. When the race was finally stopped,
each of the exhausted competitors slumped to the ground where he stood,
regardless of his position on the course. Nevertheless, for the first time it
had been a rather well-balanced competition between the male and female
contestants; what the women lacked in speed and strength, they made up with
dexterity, and even Selia had given a good account of herself against the men.
* * *
When the now brightly-shining sun reached its zenith, the lunch break
rescued Taleena from the exhausting exertions of the circuit-training which had
followed hard upon the completion of the race. After that restorative
interlude, the recruits assembled for another session of swordplay training
In a businesslike fashion, Calixtus showed the recruits how to crouch in
a proper warrior's stance and how to move on their feet. "Watch my movements" he
said, giving a smooth performance of the most basic motions. Taleena was
surprised by the stocky lanista's agility as he proceeded to run through a
series of attacking and defensive positions.
As he did so Calixtus kept up a running commentary. "Try not to dwell
too much on the details - the stance, the angle of the wrist, the
follow-through. The important thing is coordination and fluidity. Think of
each part of your body as a soldier in a century - each has a job to do, and all
must work in harmony."
The former centurion, no longer in the best fighting trim, was soon
puffing and perspiring from his exertions, but his experience and expertise was
evident in his every feint and thrust and parry and the recruits hung on his
words. "Don't forget," he continued, as he gave the well-muscled German recruits
a meaningful glance. "Many gladiators with the strength to inflict blows that
could have fallen an ox have choked on their own blood in the arena, because
they lacked the footwork to deliver them; countless others have crossed the Styx
because their prowess in attack far exceeded their skill in defence. Now, show
use what you have learned!"
At this juncture Byrria took the women aside and repeated Calixtus'
lessons in mirror-image, so that Taleena and Selia could see how left-handed
fighters might best adopt these tactics. Then she made them repeat her own
performance. Taleena was grateful that the Thracian had spared them the painful
pinioning of their right arms, the uncomfortable spreader bars, and the agony of
fighting on their knees. Even so, she had to admit that the prior days'
exercises on their knees - as painful as they might have been - turned out to be
quite useful, for that training routine had taught them how to use their upper
bodies in defence. Now that the two women were on their feet, their upper-body
agility seemed to have increased three-fold, and they were much more aware of
the various possibilities for both attack and defence.
After watching her charges drill for a while, Byrria armed herself with
a wooden sword and proceeded to demonstrate how to integrate attacks and parries
with the proper footwork. "You will never be a match for the men in regard to
strength," she said, and for once there was no reproachful tone in her voice.
"If you wish to live to celebrate the next Solstice, you will need to make the
most of your best weapons - quickness, flexibility, and agility."
Once she had demonstrated an entire sequence of crouching, lunging,
ducking and dodging in slow motion, Byrria ordered her charges to repeat her
series of motions like shadow-fighters, again and again until they were able to
perform the exercise with sufficient fluency.
It was both daunting and strenuous to go through the most basic steps
over and over again, but for the first time Taleena began to see that there was
a purpose to the gladiatorial training beyond that of the punitive. As she
drilled she saw that she needed to work on integrating all of the various
movements of arms and legs and hips until the complicated techniques of attack
and defence were as smooth and as natural as walking or running. To survive in
the arena she would need to become a swift-moving fighting animal. That insight
prompted her to practice the shadow-fencing with renewed interest and energy
until it was time for the water break.
Taleena gave young Larius a gentle smile when he came by with the water,
in an attempt to make him understand that she did not hold him responsible for
the pain he had caused her earlier. The boy seemed greatly relieved to see her
clothed, if only in the skimpy strophium and loincloth, and he returned the
smile shyly while she and Selia drank their fill. When he continued on to the
contingent of Rhinelanders, the two women picked up where they had left off,
duelling their own shadows under the warm afternoon sun. After carefully
watching to see whether they had mastered the sequence of motions she had been
trying to teach them, Byrria directed the sweat-sheened apprentices to square
off against each other once again. "Now, show me what you have learned," she
ordered.
Taleena quickly gave a good account of herself, but her slender
opponent, after a fair beginning, soon became as clumsy as a puppet as Taleena
pressed her. More than once Selia lost her footing in the face of her taller
and stronger opponent's spirited onslaught.
In spite of the poor performance by the Spanish girl, the dark-eyed
Thracian was, for once, uncharacteristically sparing in her use of the crop.
When Selia slipped and fell for the third time, Byrria took the opportunity to
give them another lesson.
"For you," she addressed the resigned Spaniard with biting sarcasm, "the
most important exercise will be how to get back on your feet!" The Thracian let
herself roll backwards until she lay flat on the ground, then, giving the first
impressive example of her skills, sprang swiftly back to her feet without using
her arms.
"Try to copy this," she challenged, "It's all a matter of the right
coordination!" She went back on the ground and repeated the stunning performance
more slowly to let the novices follow the motions. "Draw up your legs, then
thrust them forward and let the momentum help your stomach muscles to sit and
straighten up." She followed her own instructions and leapt to her feet again.
"Go ahead!" she snapped in the same breath as if her performance hadn't
cost her the least effort.
Both of the girls reclined on the ground and tried to follow Byrria's
instructions, but it took them a great deal of practice before they were able to
replicate the tricky exercise. But once they had performed it well, the
Thracian called it a day.
As she headed toward the baths, exhausted from another long day of
training, Taleena felt quite satisfied with her performance. Her body was still
aching from the torment at the pit and the rigours of the run, but for once she
had come through a day without having tasted the bitter fruit of Byrria's
vindictiveness.
* * *
The fifth day took a similar course to the fourth, although the recruits
were spared another obstacle race - if two hours running at a stretch could be
considered being spared. Apart from that, the day's work was filled with the
usual gymnastics, stamina training and fighting practice.
Then, at the end of this day - since the training had started on the
second day of the week - the assessment of the first training unit was due. The
recruits were directed to line up in front of the staff building, facing the
cross, insecure and uneasy about which of them might have to go to the post
right after the calling of the roll.
The veteran fighters watched them from the lunching area where they had
taken their seats on the benches, each relieved that his own initiation was long
since behind him, but curious as to which of the newcomers would be singled out
for discipline.
Calixtus and Byrria carried small wax tablets on which they had made
notes of the recruits' daily achievements and failures, and four armed guards
were standing in the background, ready to deal with anyone who dared to resist
the imposition of the decreed punishments.
Calixtus began with the men, but only called upon one of the Numidians
to step out of the line. Having been preoccupied with her own performance all
week, Taleena had taken little note of the Numidian's failures; but it seemed
unlikely that his errors had occurred in one of the races, since both of the
Africans could run like a gazelle.
However the lanky African did not protest when he was led to the cross
and tied with his arms stretched straight up over his head, rather than spread
to the outer ends of the crosspiece. Calixtus' face was impassive as he took a
coiled whip from the hook at the rear of the post, and planted himself left
behind the cross and unfurled the whip - a supple, tightly braided leather thong
of about six feet in length, tapering to a thin tip, and well greased to insure
maximum suppleness. Used with full force, this dreadful instrument was capable
of tearing a victim's flesh to ribbons; and even at half strength it would leave
welts that would last for days.
Even in the short time she had spent at the Flavian arena, Taleena had
learned that the guards treated the veteran fighters with a mixture of fear and
respect which they did not evince for the recruits - except for Arminius, whose
very appearance was rather intimidating. Most of the guards seemed to regard
the punishments - of the males at least - as rather sordid affairs, during the
course of which it was best to play no active role. One could never know if
today's deplorable delinquent was going to repay one for one's henchman's
services once there might be an opportunity...
But Rutilius had no such inhibitions. Taleena watched with ill-concealed
contempt as the cowardly jackal eagerly volunteered his sycophantic services
when it came time to lash the Numidian to the post. The skinny youth seemed to
strut with self-importance as he prepared the miscreant, although it was not up
to him to administer the flogging himself.
It was a special mental cruelty for the two girls to watch all this not
knowing if one - or both - of them should follow the Numidian. As Rutilius
finished binding the Numidian to the post, Taleena noticed that Selia was
trembling with fear, clearly sensing that her back, too, might soon be bared for
the lash. Though she felt that she had performed well, Taleena was also on edge.
She had been warned twice of Byrria's capacity for capricious cruelty - was
today the day when the Fates would align themselves against her?
The place was deadly silent, and the assembled recruits watched in awe
as Calixtus briefly measured the distance to the post, then swung back and
delivered the first lash. A sharp crack rent the air as the supple leather
struck the Numidian's bare back, making the onlookers flinch almost as much as
the beaten man who responded with a strangled groan.
Calixtus dealt briskly with him, delivering the lashes in a vigorous but
not unduly harsh manner. None of them cut the skin, except for one occasion on
which one lash was laid diagonally across an earlier one, drawing a thin stream
of blood from the intersection of the two welts. Nevertheless, the whipping
left the Numidian's back a mass of ridged and bruised flesh by the time the
punishment was completed. But Taleena noted that while his groans had grown
steadily more intense, the African had shown commendable fortitude by not
screaming. As the Numidian was released from his bonds, she wondered if she
could have done as well, had she been the one suffering under the lash.
Now that the men's punishments had been meted out, it was Byrria's turn.
She took the whip from Calixtus who had rolled it up properly, and with her
customary flair for the dramatic she planted herself squarely between the two
young women.
"Each of you shall go to the post!" she barked at them, all the while
glaring hotly at Taleena, making it clear that the statuesque blonde was the
primary target of her wrath. "Did you imagine that either of you would escape
the cross after presenting such a poor show this week?"
The Spaniard's sentence came as a surprise to no one; even Selia herself
must surely have anticipated it, and though she trembled noticeably, she was too
resigned to protest.
But Byrria's peremptory inclusion of the Gaul in her verdict brought an
astonished gasp from the assembled recruits. Even though some malcontents among
the men had been envious and resentful about Taleena's impressive performance so
far - she had eclipsed a number of them, after all, and might one day prove
difficult to defeat - there was no question but that the athletic blonde did not
deserve to face the same fate as the slender Spaniard.
As the murmur from the assembled recruits grew louder, Calixtus held up
his hand and stepped forth. "You can't punish her merely for failing the men's
quota!" he stated categorically on Taleena's behalf. "And according to my
records she has fulfilled all of her other daily tasks."
It was nearly unheard of for one lanista to interfere with the
disciplinary measures of another, but Calixtus was the chief-instructor, so his
word carried more weight than the Thracian's. Byrria shot him a deadly glance,
but refrained from disputing with him, and grudgingly complied with his
decision.
Taleena was glad that at least Calixtus had judged her by fair
standards, but was faintly surprised that he had sided with her openly. Despite
her relief, though, she sensed that Calixtus' partisanship had only increased
the Thracian's hostility to her, but for the moment she hoped that Byrria
wouldn't take her wrath out on the poor Spaniard.
"Well, that leaves only you, then, doesn't it?" Byrria snarled angrily
at the Baetican girl. Selia returned her stare with the same air of fearful
resignation that she had shown in the pit on the second day. She knew better
than anyone that she had performed less well than the others, but she knew that
it was appallingly unfair for one of her small stature to have to contend with
the same rigours of training as the men. And not just any men - men who had
been hand-picked for such a difficult and dangerous career.
At a nod from Byrria, Rutilius stepped forward again and seized Selia
roughly by the arm. The slender Baetican beauty stretched a pale hand out to
Taleena and gave her a last imploring glance, a pathetic plea for help which
Taleena could hardly bear to meet. Grinning broadly, Rutilius pulled Selia away
and pushed her in the direction of the cross. There he and a comrade slipped
the nooses that had held the Numidian's arms around the Spanish girl's slender
wrists, and hoisted her sylphlike body up until she stood on her tiptoes.
Taleena's hands clenched into frustrated fists when she saw the
despicable youth assume a position alongside the cross whence he could watch
this helpless girl, who was only slightly older than he, writhe under the lash.
Taleena's anger increased even more as his moist tongue licked his dry lips in
eager anticipation as Byrria undid the ribbon that held Selia's flimsy strophium
in place. The breast-cloth fluttered softly to the ground, where it was stirred
by the soft breeze that swept the courtyard. The piece of fabric trembled gently
in the wind, looking as frail and helpless as the girl who had worn it.
Without that skimpy garment, the smooth and slender planes of Selia's
back were bared to the onlookers - and to the whip. The crop had left its lurid
mark in a number of places on the Baetican's light skin in recent days, but the
crop was a mere plaything compared to the whip which had torn the Numidian's
ebony skin to shreds.
Selia looked over her shoulder in panic, heedless of the fact that her
sudden movement revealed a quivering, dark-tipped breast to the virile
spectators, while the black-eyed Thracian Tigress slowly uncoiled the dark and
dreadful whip. "Please ... please. I will try harder ... I will do better..."
But the terrified young woman's pleadings were silenced by the sharp
crack of the lash across her bare flesh. Taleena winced at the horrific sound,
and, while she expected the girl to cry out from the pain, she was taken aback
by the volume of the ear-piercing scream which rent the air. No sooner had the
first scream subsided then the second lash of the whip drew another tortured
wail from the poor wretch.
It came as no surprise to Taleena that the opportunistic Rutilius had
chosen a perfect vantage point from which to watch the barbaric flogging. The
young voyeur with the feverish eyes stood at a right angle to Selia, and no more
than two strides away. He had cleverly positioned himself so that he would be
able to take in both the fall of the fiery lash across the back of the girl he
had bound to the post, and the sensuous dance of her dark-tipped breasts that
was sure to follow in its wake. For a moment, Taleena shivered with trepidation
at the thought what narrow escape she had made from a similar fate - without
Calixtus' intervention, she would hang in Selia's place now, her breasts bared
for the leering pleasure of Rutilius' eyes, her back awaiting the stinging fury
of Byrria's whip...
As the lashes mounted, and Selia's cries grew more prolonged, more
despairing, Taleena sensed with dismay that the atmosphere in the quadrangle had
changed. After Calixtus had delivered the first few lashes to the African, the
men had watched his flogging with an almost stoic disinterest, as if it were a
matter of little concern. But now that there was a half-naked young girl
writhing frantically under the lash, there was an air of suppressed excitement
in the compound. Most of the eyes that had turned nervously away from the
Numidian's flogging to look at the sky, or to stray across the arena, were fixed
intently on the slender, shapely body that dangled from the sinister whipping
post.
Taleena recognized another sad reality as well - that the onlooking
fighters were passing an unfavourable judgment on Selia's unrestrained
expression of suffering. She felt deeply sorry for the girl who would not only
have to cope with her torment, but also with the contempt of her comrades ...
"No more ... please ... have mercy!" Selia begged, after the sixth lash,
her voice half-strangled by choking sobs.
But the Thracian Tigress was relentless, wielding the whip with a grace
born of years of practice, and even though she never used her full strength,
Selia screeched out her lungs after every stroke. After the eighth lash, her
strained vocal cords were only capable of a hoarse, high-pitched whimper.
When the pathetic mewing sound finally died away, Byrria shook her head
with disdain, as if personally offended by Selia's undisciplined display.
"Well, since the lashes across your back bother you so much," she muttered
disparagingly, "we shall choose a fresh target. Rutilius! Undo her belt!"
Rutilius sprang forward, trying to conceal his rampant erection while
his eager, shaking fingers fumbled with the belt of Selia's loin-cloth. After a
moment or two the awkward young guard undid the clasp and jerked the skimpy
white garment away, baring the pale half-moons of Selia's tight bottom to the
eyes of the excited onlookers.
The dark-eyed Thracian's ninth and tenth lashes scalded the delicious
curves of Selia's bottom, leaving livid marks across both firm-fleshed buttocks
as the naked girl danced on her toes in a futile attempt to escape the stinging
kiss of the whip. The eleventh lash wrapped around her upper back, drawing yet
another high-pitched scream from her throat, and with the last lash, a cruel
blow that curled around the tops of her hips, Selia fainted and sagged limply
into her bonds.
The poor Baetican's back was a mass of abrasions and looked almost raw
to the spectators, because the bluish welts from the crop had been obliterated
by the twelve lashes which had fallen so harshly on top of them, rupturing the
skin in several places.
The cruel flagellation complete, the poor wretch was released from her
bonds, and carried away to the infirmary. Calixtus dismissed the assembly,
allowing the awe-struck recruits to begin their well-deserved holiday. The
whipped Numidian headed for the infirmary, too, to have his back treated by the
unctores, whereas the rest of the recruits walked away to their cells or to the
bath house.
As she strode slowly toward her cell, Taleena could not purge from her
memory the dreadful sound of Byrria's lash falling on Selia's soft flesh or her
comrade's abject pleas for mercy. To add to her misery she overheard one of the
male recruits, a stocky, black-bearded German, muttering excitedly to his
countrymen how the pretty young body of the Spanish girl had wriggled
suggestively under the lash.
Shuddering in revulsion at his callousness, the golden-haired Avernian
reflected on the savage punishment that Byrria had inflicted on an innocent girl
to whom she bore no particular ill will. How, she wondered frantically,
knowing the enmity the vindictive Thracian Tigress clearly held for her, could
she possibly manage to escape the grim prospect the Fates seemed to have
ordained for her - her own encounter with the lash. The cracking whip, she
knew, would surely bring her cruel accompanists - agony and humiliation - to
that dire confrontation. A confrontation which seemed destined to take place in
the shadow of that sinister cross which dominated the quadrangle of the Ludus
Flavianus ...
