The Gladiator's Touch Read Free Page A

and their grace. I
missed the ministrations of my husband, the one who had once stroked my skin
and whispered in my ear sweet words of wooing. I had not received one of those
whispers in a long while, and had been deprived of his touch for even longer.
    Shaking Drusilla off, knowing that she
knew my feelings well and would not take offense, I stepped into the sparkling
pool unaided. The cool water clung rather than refreshed, sucking at me,
pulling at my skin.
    Though I tried to stop them, thoughts
flooded my mind.
    They were all thoughts of Marcus.
    ***
    Sometime later,
the slight shuffle of worn leather on stone alerted me to a new presence.
Assuming that it was simply Lucius, I took my time opening my eyes, hoping, as
always, to lure him into the bath with me, if for nothing else but
entertainment’s sake.
    I was incredibly bored. I had nothing to
complain about, since my every need was cared for and my every desire granted,
but I had no purpose. Nothing with which to fill my day but leisure.
    Leisure was tedious, the feeling of
uselessness unpleasant. I was also suffering the inattention of my husband, and
was beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d become dull, or unattractive. And here
was something new, something bright.
    Something burning into my skin with its
embarrassed yet entranced stare.
    “I beg pardon, Domina.” It took me but
the blink of an eye to place him.
    How was he here, in front of me, as if
the gods had suddenly willed it so?
    With a noise of distress, Drusilla moved
to cover me. I should have let her, but the gorgeous beast of a man who stood
before me threw my thoughts and wishes into turmoil. And so instead I cast a
look at Drusilla, communicating without words to leave me be. Though she pursed
her lips in disapproval—something I would not have tolerated from anyone
else—she removed the towel and stepped away.
    “What are you doing here?” I made sure
my voice was sharp, though in truth I was not at all upset by the appearance of
this magnificent-looking man. Clad in nothing but his subligaculum ,
leather briefs worn to preserve modesty, and cheap leather sandals, his muscles
were sculpted and raw from what I knew was incessant training, and his gleaming
honeyed hair was a delicious contrast to shadowy depths of the eyes that
stared.
    My husband had summoned him upstairs,
eager to show off his newest prize to the visiting noble with whom Lucius was
meeting. But his visitor had fallen ill in the dreadful heat of the day,
and Lucius had chosen to escort him home, through the streets of Rome, with the
help of Justinus.
    It would not do for anything amiss to
happen to the man, not when it had been known that he was in our home.
    In the confusion, no one had thought to
show Marcus back down below, to secure him behind the iron gate that separated
the quarters of the gladiators from our upstairs lives.
    He had wandered, or so he told me,
admiring the beautiful things that were displayed in our home: the artisan
vases, the rich, finely woven hangings of silk; the gladiatorial galley, where
the stone busts—and cocks—of our former champions stood.
    This has brought him here, coming upon
me in the bath, looking curiously through the arched doorway, while Drusilla
rubbed scents into the long coils of my ebony hair.
    I was inclined to believe him, since it
was a rare thing for a gladiator to wander, unaccompanied, through the halls of
our home. I knew that I should have Drusilla escort him back downstairs
immediately, back behind the iron gate—knew that that was what Lucius would
have me do. Knew from watching Drusilla shift anxiously from foot to foot that
that was what she would have me do, too.
    I also knew that Lucius would have him
punished for coming upon his wife in the bath. I was also more than a little
upset that a gladiator would know the contents of my husband’s meeting while I,
his wife, did not.
    Though I did not want the man punished,
still I could not say where the boldness that