Typhon Page 4

  I felt the disappointment down to my toes, and tears pricked at my eyelids.

  I had been so sure they would set upon my sack like ravenous wolves as soon as they saw it. Instead, they stared at it in much the same way I had stared at the revolting remnants of their feast the week before.

  Huffing out my offence, I swept up my sack again. “Very well, if you do not want it...”

  Talos, who seemed to be the hungriest of the four, stood and grabbed the other side of the sack. “Not so fast. You took us by surprise. You sounded like a stampeding boar coming at us. It’s likely the whole estate heard you coming. Typhon was just being... Typhon. Of course we like apples. Not that we’ve eaten many in the last few years. They’re a treat usually reserved for autumn.”

  I grinned in gratitude and tried not to think about all the noise I made. I had been just so excited to be seeing them again.

  When had that happened? Why had that happened? I did not even like them. They were boys and they were slaves. I should not like them.

  Yet I had been looking forward to seeing them all week. Now I was here and they were behaving like I was an invader again. Had I not been told I could come again?

  “Sit. We have two rabbits tonight. The first has just finished cooking. Do you want some?” Asterius asked, smiling his disarming grin that made my heart do a little dance in my chest.

  He looked like a young Greek god... Eros, for instance. I tried not to let his charm influence me, but it required work. The fact he knew he had charm made that work easier.

  I sat down on the rock I had used as a seat last time and took the proffered leg from Asterius, trying not to notice his filthy hands, which were covered in bloody juices from tearing the creature apart.

  The sack remained closed the entire time we ate the first rabbit. I knew on some deep level that I needed to share their food before they would be willing to share mine. And so I nibbled at the hot, barely cooked flesh and... realised I liked it. No, it was more than like. I found it delicious!

  Of course I had eaten rabbit before, mostly in stews. But that meat had never tasted this good. After one nibbling bite I took another. Then I began taking big bites and chewing them down hungrily. Juice dripped down my fingers and my chin. Embarrassed, I did not know what to do about it. In the end, I did what they did: licked my fingers and wiping the mess off my chin with the back of my hand. At least my hands were reasonably clean. Or had been.

  The boys watched me smugly before returning to their share of the rabbit. The conversation resumed wherever it had left off before my thunderous arrival.

  “Lucullus is a dick,” Talos said amiably enough. “You just have to realise that and work with him.”

  Typhon growled and, as he was biting into his own leg right then, he reminded me of a dog warning someone off the bone he was eating.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. How could the Master employ someone like him as a doctores?” Typhon said after he swallowed the mouthful he was eating. His almond eyes glittered with fury.

  “He was a replacement after Herakles died. The Master was too preoccupied with his upcoming trip to look too closely at who he was buying. When he gets back he will realise his mistake and get rid of him. Until then we have to put up with him.” Orion sounded patient and resigned, although I could tell he was no happier than Typhon about this Lucullus.

  “Half a year? We have to put up with him for half a year? We could be broken piles of crap by then!” Typhon snarled, throwing his leg into the flames that danced merrily in the firepit.

  “What does he do that is so wrong?” I asked, not even considering I was intruding and that this subject was none of my business.

  Talos turned to me and smiled politely, though I could tell he was not happy with my interruption. “We are used to being worked hard, but Lucullus treats us like we are men grown, over-working our muscles. We have heard the assistants grumble as much. The ones who have been training lads like us for a long time. But he won’t listen to advice from any of them. We have all been suffering from strained and torn muscles.”

  He extended his leg and showed me an angry cut that ran the length of his calf. It had been stitched together with black thread. “And he has us practicing with sharp weapons. One of the lads’ muscles failed him and he dropped his dagger. It sliced me up.”

  I was kneeling in front of him, studying his injury up close, before I realised what I was doing. Talos tried to drag his leg away from my curious gaze, seemingly embarrassed by my interest.

  “What a neat job. Did our physician sew you up?” I asked, lifting my gaze from his calf to meet his dark eyes.

  Mollified, he let me look at it more closely. I realised he thought I wanted to mother him over his injury. I suppose a mother might cluck in distress over injuries like this. But I was not a mother, and I certainly did not cluck with distress over someone’s injuries.

  I remembered the time I stood on a piece of broken pottery and cut my foot open. There had been so much blood. Ariaratus, the physician for the estate, had come immediately and sewn up the cut. For the next week I had been forced to stay in bed. During that time, I had wondered how the capable Ariaratus had managed the feat so well. Up until then, he had seemed only to offer herbal tinctures to sick slaves, or to my mother when she lost another babe. This sewing had seemed a miraculous thing to the young girl I was back then. Who knew that you could sew up skin like you sewed up fabric!

  After that I had stolen carcasses from the kitchen, before they were skinned, and practised my own sewing skills on them. The cook became so used to finding meat missing that before she berated a kitchen slave for stealing, she would come looking for me. With a huff, she’d snatch back the missing creature and stomp away without a word, often times with needle and thread still dangling from its skin.

  From then on, whenever Ariaratus was called to heal an injury or sickness, I was there in the background, trying not to be noticed. If I was, I would be shooed away. A patrician did not show undue interest in something as disgusting as bodily functions and ailments. Yet I was interested. Far more than I was in the daily running of the estate or in spinning and weaving. The only other thing I was as interested in was the breeding program. And that was more because it was Pater’s passion.

  “Master Ariaratus did that,” Talos announced with pride. “We’re lucky to have such a fine physician to tend to us.”

  I nodded. “He is the best. My pater...” I caught myself quickly, trying to remember my lie. Would a scribe say what Pater had actually said? I decided he would. “My pater said that he was trained in Persia, worked on our soldiers for many years, and cost the Master more gold than any slave before him.”

  The boys nodded enthusiastically. We had found something we had in common.

  “I would love to be a physician,” I gushed, tentatively touching the stitches, my braid brushing across the dirt without me noticing. My knees would be filthy, I knew. But I did not care.

  “A girl can’t be a physician. She can only be a midwife,” scoffed Typhon, crossing his arms over his chest. Why did he always have to needle me?

  I lifted my chin and sneered. “What would you know? You are just a slave boy who might become a gladiator one day. And everyone knows you do not have to have brains to be a gladiator!”

  “That’s not true,” Orion said, before Typhon could fire back at me. “The best gladiators are more than just brutes. They have to be able to think, as well as be strong and skilled.”

  Sitting back on my heels, I stared up at the leader. I had already decided he had brains. And I knew he was right. My father said the same thing. It was only fury that had me parroting off what the house slaves said about gladiators. They called them dumb oafs, all brawn and no brain.

  I pouted. “That does not make him smart!” I pointed at Typhon. “If he was, he would know women can do lots of things. And if I want to be a physician I can be!”

  Asterius leaned down and tugged on my braid. “If anyo
ne could, you could. But what about the fact you’re a slave and a handmaiden? Mightn’t that get in the way of your plans?”

  He was teasing, I could tell, and I yanked my braid from his hands. “I do not let anything get in my way.”

  Four pairs of eyes stared widely down at me. Their expressions were as shocked as the moment I first crashed into the clearing tonight. What had I said?

  Chapter Four

  TYPHON

  It had been the worst week of my life. And all because of Lucullus. At first he’d felt his way, especially in the weeks before the Master left. But since then, he’d become steadily more demanding. I’d say he was one of those who enjoyed inflicting pain if it didn’t seem more likely he was just a bullying fool.

  Though I was loath to admit it, Accalia was partly right. Some gladiators were dumb, and some were made dumb by too many blows to the head. Whichever category Lucullus fell into, he was too dumb to realise that boys weren’t capable of the same physical regime as men.

  This week had been the worst. He’d doubled our time in the arena, replaced wooden swords with metal ones, and expected us to fight for hours without a break. It was amazing that the only serious injury had been to Talos. It could have been far worse.

  I wished I could get the bastard alone for a while. He wouldn’t be putting my pack at risk again. But I couldn’t and that was the frustrating part.

  So I was already pretty mad when we heard the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth toward us. My first thought had been that Lucullus had had us followed, and we were about to be taken back to the barracks and crucified like my father. I had almost wet myself, I’d been so afraid. What made me even angrier was that I should have been able to tell from the sound that it was only one small child, not a group of men, coming towards us. But fear makes you stupid. And I hated to be stupid.

  When the little girl broke from the shadowy undergrowth and into our campsite, the relief was intense, as was the embarrassment at how wrong I’d been. And I blamed her. What kind of fool crashed around in the woods when they were trying to hide a secret? She might not care about her own skin, but we cared about ours. And not even her sack of food from the master’s table made up for her crime.

  If I had my way I’d have sent her away for good. She was trouble, and sooner or later she was going to bring her brand of trouble down on us all.

  But Talos and his stomach won out. And curiosity made the others go along with him. When she started spouting off about wanting to be a physician I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. Did being the friend of the Little Mistress make her addled? Or had the Little Mistress taken pity on her because she was addled? Maybe they weren’t friends at all. The Master’s daughter might simply feel sorry for the poor mad girl.

  Just as I was trying to work out the truth behind Accalia’s tales, she said something that stopped us all in our tracks.

  “I do not let anything get in my way,” she had snarled at us so fiercely I saw why she might have been named she-wolf.

  And all of us recognised those words. At one time or another we had all used them. It was what had brought us together.

  Back at the beginning, when we’d been taken from our mothers and brought to the rough barracks we knew would be our home for the next ten years of our lives, we had been so scared. We’d stared around at the comfortless surroundings—rows of thin, straw pallets lining either side of the long, windowless room—and the other older boys, all of them eyeing us like fresh meat, and we wondered what fate had brought us to.

  We had known some of those boys before they left the breeding compound, even played with them. But that day they appeared nothing like the carefree boys we’d known. They seemed like wolves waiting for the rabbits to make a break for freedom.

  Orion, who I’d only known by name back then, had been the first to be targeted. The older boys, those who were almost thirteen summers old, crowded around him because he likely looked the easiest mark. They’d told him he’d be crying like a baby before the night was out. They’d said he couldn’t expect to make it as a gladiator because he looked like a little girl. They’d played with his slightly-too-long blonde curls and called him a girl in sneering taunts.

  “I’m going to be a gladiator!” he’d yelled at them. “Because I never let anything get in my way.” And Orion had chosen his mark, the biggest of the boys crowding around him, and punched him hard on the nose.

  The blood had surprised us all, and the boy had covered his face and cried out in pain. He’d been head and shoulders taller than Orion, but he’d whimpered like a baby.

  His friends had looked at him and then at Orion, faltering. Then their eyes had turned our way. There were seven of us, including Orion. And as one we took a slight step back.

  What got into me, I don’t know. Not even now, after all this time.

  Instead of doing what the others did and taking yet another step back, I lifted my chin, met the next biggest bully right in the eye and said, “I never let anything get in my way either, so you better get out of it fast.”

  That’s when I’d lowered my head and barged right into the boy’s belly. All hell broke loose.

  The assistants had to come in and break up the full-scale battle. I ended up with a black eye and a split lip, but we never had the same problems again. And the four of us banded together because we all believed the same thing: that we never let anything get in the way of what we wanted. And we wanted to be the best gladiators in the ludus. In the world!

  So when the skinny girl, who didn’t seem to have the brains she was born with, spouted off that she was going to be a physician and nothing was going to stand in her way, we all suddenly felt a kinship with her. It had started the week before when her curiosity brought her to our fire—she’d stood up to us, though she was outnumbered by bigger and stronger boys—and it finished with that statement. Crazy as she may be, Accalia was now well and truly one of us.

  “Why are you all staring at me like that?” she demanded cautiously, flipping her long braid over her shoulder.

  “Do you mean that? Or is that just something you say when you get mad?” Orion asked carefully.

  “What? That I am going to be a physician? I have never said that before. To be honest, I have never considered it possible before. But being here with you, doing this... this impossible thing... makes me think about what else I could do. And becoming a physician is one of them.” She looked flustered and about to burst into tears.

  She was a few years older than we’d been when we’d first entered the barracks. But in her way, she’d stood up to us just as surely as we’d stood up to those bigger boys that first night. There might not be any bloodied noses, but we’d all cut her with verbal knives. Me more than the others, I was sorry to admit. And she gave as good as she took. I respected her for it.

  “Not that. You said you never let anything stand in your way,” Orion answered, lifting her up off the ground bodily and plunking her back on her rock.

  She frowned, uncertain. Then she lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. “My pater is the best man I have ever met. He respects those who have spirit. I want to have spirit. Coming here strengthens your spirit, and I think it does the same for me. I want him to be proud of me as he... as the Master is proud of you four.”

  Although she hadn’t exactly answered the question, we were all too caught up by her reference to the Master to notice.

  “What do you mean about the Master?” Asterius demanded, as astonished as I was.

  She looked from one to the other of us with a deep blush in her cheeks. “Pater says the Master talks a lot about the young Wolf Pack he has in his barracks. How they are the biggest and best he has ever bred. That he wants to make sure their spirit is never broken. Because spirit is the difference between a good gladiator and a great one.”

  I looked at the other members of my pack. Could it be true? Did the Master even know we existed? After all, there were about sixty or seventy boys split between
the junior and senior barracks at any one time, and even more who had become gladiators and part of his troupe. Why would he know about us?

  She was lying. It was the only possibility. Accalia wanted to be part of our pack so much she was willing to flatter her way in. Girls were good at that, mother used to tell us. While men used vinegar to get what they wanted, girls used honey.

  “Why do you think he’s talking about us?” Orion asked, ever the cautious one searching for weaknesses.

  “Are there any others in the barracks who have the nickname Wolf Pack? The Master does not encourage strong friendships among his boys because one day they may have to fight each other in the arena, and it would make them less willing to put their heart into it if they did. So you four are an oddity formed without intention. That interests him.”

  What she was saying was true. All our lessons had centred around competition. We were to see our peers as competitors and opponents, not as friends. We only had ourselves to depend on. We would always only have ourselves to depend on.

  And we believed that, except where the pack was concerned. Somewhere in the early days we had stopped seeing ourselves as individuals and started seeing ourselves as a unit. The rules we learned applied to everyone but our pack. Those others we saw as opponents and competitors, we didn’t rely on any of them, only on ourselves. I doubt we even thought much about it. It just was. Until this moment.

  Now this girl was pointing out how unusual we were and that, even though we went against the master’s teachings, we were valued above all others.

  I shuddered and stared into the fire, my cheeks burning hot with confusion and pride. How could it be true? And if it was, what did that mean for us?

  “How do you know so much about what the Master thinks?” Orion asked unsteadily. Was he as rocked by this as I was?

  Accalia shrugged. “I told you. Pater is the Master’s scribe. They talk a great deal about the breeding program and the running of the boy’s ludus. The master has been very sad... grieving... since his wife died. Having you to focus on has helped lift his spirits. Huh!” Her face became thoughtful for a moment before she went on. “There it is again. Spirit. Lifting his spirits. There are so many meanings for that word, and yet they all seem to share some similarities.”