Typhon_An Ancient Roman Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  It was late and close to supper time. Nobody would be in the tutor wing at this time. What was this bastard about?

  “I’m not allowed,” I said evenly, polishing the breastplate in my hands a little harder.

  “I’m allowing you. Now come with me,” Lucullus ordered, turning on his heels and heading away.

  Lately, I’d noticed him looking at me a lot, and it made my skin crawl. It was more than dislike for my oriental heritage, though he clearly looked down on me for that. It was as if my existence here in the barracks was a personal affront to him. It rubbed raw my own insecurities in that area. I had never believed I belonged in the barracks with the properly bred boys.

  I glanced at the others, my heart pounding loud in my ears. Whatever the bastard had in mind, it was not going to be good. And separating me from my pack made me even more vulnerable.

  “Don’t go,” Orion ordered. “We’ll take him down here if we have to.”

  I shook my head. We could likely defeat him, even if he was a seasoned gladiator and bigger than any of us. But we were four and we’d been developing ways to fight as a pack. We could take him down.

  But what then? We’d avoided the beating promised in the field last week, but who knew what would happen if we injured or killed Lucullus? Being removed from the barracks was the least we could expect as punishment. Sold off after being branded was the more likely end result.

  No, I wouldn’t let my pack-mates suffer for me.

  I stood and left the armoury without a backward glance. Asterius called after me, the fear in his tone so potent it made my legs wobble under me. I’d wanted a chance at the bastard for a long time. Now it was here I was terrified.

  At the entrance to the tutor’s quarters I balked, looking around for another adult who might be able to intervene. But this was the evening meal time for most of the men on staff. Lucullus had timed his approach perfectly. I just didn’t understand what he was about. Even in his madness, his goals were always clear.

  If he was interested in young boys then I was too old. And there had been no whispers of him taking any of the younger boys to his room. But what other reason would there be for this blatant disregard for the rules?

  “Get moving boy, I haven’t got all day,” Lucullus called back to me impatiently when he realised I was no longer following him.

  I began trotting to catch up, fisting my hands at my side to control their shaking. This was torture, plain and simple. Not knowing what was coming was worse than any beating. If Lucullus had plans for me then I was going to see what they were, sooner rather than later. Cowardice was the worse sin a gladiator could display, and I’d be damned to Hades if I let this bastard undermine my courage.

  Lucullus threw back the door to what I assumed must be his room. I glanced inside and saw a tiny cell with as few comforts as we boys had in the dorms. A narrow pallet lay on the stone floor, a small table with a lamp and wash bowl stood beside it. A trunk sat against the adjacent wall. Votive candles and small statues of the gods Lucullus worshipped sat on top of it. The only advantage it had over the dorms I could see was its privacy.

  It was also spotlessly clean and tidy.

  “In you go,” Lucullus said with a lecherous grin.

  He was missing one of his front teeth, a common enough occurrence for gladiators, but it made him look... older and uglier somehow. In this moment, and with that grin, I was reminded of my namesake, who was said to be fearsome in his ugliness.

  “Why?” I asked, lifting my chin in challenge.

  “You know why, boy. I used to have a little slant eye like you when I was young. Sweetest arse I ever fucked. I bet yours will be too.”

  This blatant statement of intent was like a physical blow. My face began to burn and my heart wanted to jump right out of my chest to be gone. I couldn’t seem to draw enough air into my lungs. Dizziness overpowered me, so I focused on my breathing while I attempted to gather my wits. The worst thing I could do was give in to the terror. It was exactly what Lucullus wanted.

  I lifted my gaze to meet Lucullus’. “No.”

  I didn’t yell. I didn’t whisper. I spoke in the tone I would have used if someone asked if I wanted another serving of stew. Although, given the shortage of food in the barracks, that was likely a poor comparison. I was going for indifference not enthusiasm.

  Lucullus erupted as if I’d spat in his face. He sideswiped me with the back of his gnarled hand before I had a chance to defend myself. The blow was so powerful that I was sent flying across the corridor into the bars that separated the complex from the training field. The next thing I knew I was on the tiled floor, my ears ringing.

  Lucullus aimed a kick at my gut, but I rolled out of the way just in time. Scrambling hastily to my feet, I looked down the hall the way I’d come. The field was tantalisingly close but the bars kept it out of reach. There was a gate leading onto the field, used for emergencies I assume, but it was not close enough.

  No, if I wanted to escape I needed to go back the way I’d come. Or dodge into one of the other rooms and hope I could find a wedge to keep the door closed.

  “Boy, you don’t want to cross me,” Lucullus hissed.

  I glanced back at him and saw that he held a long dagger in his hand. He was pressing the tip to the top of one of his fingers, drawing blood. My heart sank in defeat. I might have a chance against an unarmed man, but an armed one, trained to use such a weapon? I knew I was outclassed and out of luck.

  But I’d be damned if I’d let this bastard rape me without a fight.

  I began limping past him, as if giving up and going where I was told. My eyes were level with his shoulders. At the very last moment, I swung around, lifted an arm high and knocked the blade aside with all my strength. Before he recovered, I rammed the top of my head up under his chin like an upper cut punch.

  Lucullus fell back a step, but it wasn’t enough. In the next instant, I felt the pain burning my side. I didn’t need to see the blood to know what had happened.

  “Lucullus!”

  I heard the shout.

  As I reached for my side, my vision already starting to darken, I saw boys streaming onto the field and running in our direction. But the cry hadn’t come from any of them. It had come from Orion, who was flanked on either side by Talos and Asterius. They were heading down the corridor in our direction.

  “The little bastard attacked me!” Lucullus yelled, seeing the number of eyes on him now.

  I felt momentary satisfaction. My pack had come for me.

  Chapter Nine

  ACCALIA

  My body ached almost as much as my brain did, and that was a lot. My poor head was so packed with information about healing that I could barely remember my own name. And every muscle in my body screamed its complaints at me.

  Relieved that my destination was finally in sight, I staggered with Master Ariaratus’ bag—which felt as if it had been loaded with more and more bricks the farther up the hill I trudged—over to the bench beside the front door to his hut and collapsed in a heap onto it.

  The old Persian smirked at me as if he had won. Over the last week and a half he had been doing all in his power to convince me to give up this foolhardy scheme. But the more he threw my way, the more I dug in my heels. It had become a matter of pride to me now, not to give in. And even if there were certainly aspects of the healer’s trade I found unpalatable, or boring—or both—I would not be deterred.

  “We will go to the breeding compound at dawn. Make sure you are here in time,” he ordered.

  Although the breeders used the midwife for deliveries, the general health of the women and their offspring was left in Ariaratus’ hands. Like all the other compounds on the estate, I had never been inside it. Even my exhaustion could not keep me from feeling instantly curious about the breeders and their home. It was, after all, where my pack had grown up. And everything about them had become endlessly fascinating. I might even meet their mothers, I thought with stars in my eyes.

&nb
sp; I heard the sound of running feet and turned at the same moment Ariaratus did. One of the older boys—a young man, in fact—from the barracks was racing up the track toward us.

  “We have a new patient, it seems,” Ariaratus said, walking quickly toward the man. I hefted the bag tiredly and would have groaned if it would not have given my master fresh ammunition to use against me.

  “Lucullus has stabbed one of the boys,” I heard the olive-skinned giant saying.

  My heart sank. Gods, not again. I had been on tenterhooks ever since the near-revolt last week, expecting worse to come. Now it had happened.

  Surely my father would send word any day now. He must have received my missive and would reply to it quickly. This couldn’t go on!

  “Cassius, give that to him and go home,” Ariaratus said, turning to see me trudging his way.

  I handed over my burden gratefully, but stuck my chin out, ready to argue.

  “This might be very bloody and disgusting,” I pointed out.

  Ariaratus studied me for a moment and then threw up his hands in defeat, a reluctant smile crossing his lips. “You’ll be the death of me. All right, if you haven’t had enough today already, come and see what we can do for this lad.”

  We jogged back down the hill, and it surprised me how quickly the physician could move when he needed to. I was worried about the stab wound, though. All day Ariaratus had been struggling with his swollen fingers, his pain obvious. If he was expected to stitch this injured lad up, I was not sure he would be up to it.

  In the time I had worked with him, I had seen him sew a few cuts, but nothing serious. His face had, in each instance, been a picture of torture and the stitches had been poorly executed. I had even offered to take over for the last one and, surprisingly, Ariaratus had agreed.

  It had been the first time I had ever worked on a living being—a field hand who had cut his foot on a hoe. Even though it was only one stitch, I had been euphoric afterwards. If my master expected me to fall apart at the man’s cry as I stuck the sharp, curved needle into his skin, he was disappointed. And I hadn’t even batted an eye at the amount of blood I was forced to deal with.

  As I ran to keep up with the two men with longer legs, I had to wonder if Ariaratus was going to be up to working on this injury. We did not even know the depth of the wound or where on the body it was. I assumed it would be to the torso, but a stab wound could be anywhere. And even though a stab wound to the extremities was not as bad as to the torso, it might have severed tendons which might leave the patient with a useless limb. Or arteries that would quickly drain the blood from the body in minutes. I could not stand to think of one of the boys I now knew, at least by sight, ending up seriously damaged or dead.

  I was panting when we reached the barracks, and so was Ariaratus. For a moment, we paused to get our breaths back before hurrying in the direction of the infirmary, which was next to the kitchens. The physician, in his pragmatic way, had chosen its location so boiling water was readily available. The kitchen slaves were used to Ariaratus commandeering their pots and fire for just this purpose.

  The first moment of true fear came when I saw my pack milling at the door to the infirmary. Not my whole pack, I realised. Typhon was missing. My eyes opened wide as the realisation set in. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, all excitement gone.

  Each boy looked at me and then away into the infirmary, faces stricken and pale.

  Gods, no! Not Typhon!

  I followed Ariaratus into the small room that was used to dress wounds. On the table lay Typhon, a bloody bandage against his side. Trying to bring moisture to my suddenly dry mouth, I swallowed repeatedly.

  Gods! How bad? My head felt light and my hands had begun to shake. I couldn’t lose Typhon. But the blood-soaked bandage was being pressed close to the stomach, and any wound to the stomach, I now knew, could be deadly.

  “Boil the instruments, Cassius,” Ariaratus told me.

  I had done this every time we used the collection of bronze and steel instruments in his pack. Those tools had been developed on campaigns across the expanding empire. Ariaratus had regaled me on more than one occasion about his triumphs over death on those far-flung battlefields in his youth. But now... now I knew good instruments would not be enough.

  The physician was very particular about the cleanliness of bandages and sterility of his instruments. It was not enough to wash the instruments clean after every use. They had to be dipped in boiling water before being used again. I thought this was unnecessary, but Ariaratus had instructed me in the cleaning and stressed its importance as being as great as any other part of the healing process. Poisoned blood and putrefaction were too often the results of unclean instruments or bandages, he said.

  And yet, oddly enough, I had seen him pack moss into a gaping wound. Surely moss was filthy. It made no sense.

  But I was not going to give Ariaratus any reason to turn me away. So I followed all orders to the letter.

  As I hurried into the kitchen, Orion and Talos were close on my heels. Boiling water was already there for me, and I began lowering each instrument into the water before resting it on a spotlessly clean piece of linen I had given Orion to hold out for me.

  My brow was streaming with sweat as I worked, but my hands were steady. I had to get this done fast if I was to help Ariaratus heal Typhon.

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  “Not sure. Lucullus told Typhon to go to his room and clean it. The boys aren’t allowed in the tutor’s wing, but Lucullus was determined. We got the word out to the others, knowing whatever was going to happen needed witnesses. And then we followed.

  He stopped talking for a moment, and I looked up from my task to check his face. He looked as sick as I felt.

  “He was standing in the hall as we ran up, his hands over his side, a look of horror more than pain on his face. He kept looking down at the blood seeping out past his hands. It was like he was trying to press the blood back into his body.

  “Lucullus was holding a bloody dagger and claiming Typhon had attacked him. Then Typhon just dropped to the floor. We didn’t get there in time to catch him. Just a little earlier and one step closer and we could have caught him. And if we’d only followed immediately we could have stopped it from happening at all. But we thought... we thought...”

  I dunked the last of the instruments and then took the collection and the cloth from Orion’s shaking hands. “Do not go blaming yourself. This is all on Lucullus. He needs to be gone! Why has Pater not replied?”

  “Your pater?” Talos looked confused. “What has your pater to do with this?”

  I realised my mistake immediately, but didn’t have the mental energy to cover my tracks. “Do not worry about it. Come on.”

  I could hear Typhon screaming now and my feet almost turned me in the opposite direction from the sound. But I forced them to keep moving on. I could not be a coward. Typhon needed me to be strong.

  Coming to Ariaratus’ side, as he finished irrigating the wound with the vinegar concoction he always used on wounds, I grimaced at Typhon’s agony. It was one thing to see a stranger hurting; it was another to see someone I cared about in such pain.

  When had that happened? When had I started caring deeply about these boys? They were just slaves, after all, if special ones. Yet I realised I cared as deeply about Typhon’s pain as I would if it was Pater lying here in agony.

  I laid out the instruments, including the coil of thread we used for the purpose, on a table next to Typhon.

  “Good, good. Now we can start. As you can see I have cleaned the wound,” Ariaratus told me. “This lad was very lucky. The wound is deep, but it has missed any vital organs. I’m going to put a stitch into the flesh at the deepest point, which will pull the flesh in close so it can bind together there. Then I will stitch the outer skin, which will draw together the flesh close to the surface and assure there is no more blood loss. His greatest danger now is from blood loss.”

  He took the tiny
curved needle and held it up for me to thread. His eyes were not good. I had washed my hands before handling the instruments and I knew my master had done the same before he commenced cleaning the wound.

  “Hold the lad down. This is going to hurt.” I knew he had a sponge soaked in mandrake leaves, black nightshade and poppy seed that would help to sedate a patient. But he only used it in severe cases. This, it seemed, was not so serious. I thought differently.

  Strong hands took hold of Typhon’s shoulders and legs, pinning his writhing body down. My heart ached to see his face twisted into such agonised lines. His dark eyes met mine for an instant before the needle dug into the open wound. In them I saw relief that I was there. I smiled a little in reassurance.

  In the next instant he was arching his back off the table, screaming.

  “More hands!” Ariaratus demanded, and Orion and Talos were there on the other side of the table, pressing down on the right side of his torso.

  I looked at Ariaratus’ face as he tried to keep hold of the needle with the pincers and push it into the flesh. His agony was almost equal to that of his patient. He pressed into the wound, blood oozing around his hands as he worked the needle into the bloody pulp, knotted it, and then laboriously cut the thread off.

  Typhon was panting like a dog, sweat pouring off him in rivulets. I wanted to take away his pain. Gods, if only I could have waved my hand over the wound and just healed it!

  Ariaratus wiped at his sweating brow with the back of his hand and panted. It was not a hot day by any means, and the sun had already set. But in this tiny room with so many anxious bodies it was like midsummer in the kitchens.

  “Can... Can you manage if I direct you?” Ariaratus asked me tentatively.

  I was so shocked my mouth fell open. His hands must be in a terrible state for him to offer me the job. One tiny stitch on a superficial wound was one thing, this... this was something entirely different. And it was on my friend. Or whatever Typhon was to me. I didn’t know what to call him. But to cause him pain by digging into his flesh with a needle? That horrified me.