Come Away To The Water (heroinebigbang part i)
I can't believe this is finally here!
Title: Come Away To The Water
Rating: r
Word Count: 6,291 (1/4)
Summary: Come away, little lass, come away to the water. Away from the light you always knew. We are calling to you...Naevia was born, and then lived her whole life.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Notes: Oh, this has been a labor of love. And I would be remiss in not thanking quite a few people. First of all, this all began to really form after a conversation with selonbrody where we both thought that Pietros and Naevia had been brother and sister during the first few episodes of Blood And Sand, and I swear, I only meant to write a prequel. lexiesloan took a look at this and offered such wonderful encouragement. And abvj has been invaluable, with hand-holding, suggestion and support. You will notice key lines of dialogue from the show, and my own tweak on certain scenes, and it is all a respectful homage to Stephen DeKnight and his writing team. And of course, a very special thanks to kymericl, who did the lovely artwork (link in master post).
It was a curious thing that, when Naevia had been a child, she had known happiness. Of course, all children are happy enough, when they know nothing outside of their small, little worlds. She would play with Diona and Pietros in the kitchens with pots and pans, and Diona’s mother (Esyilt she was called, one of the kitchen servants) would cluck at them tenderly, warning them to not get underfoot and then bake three extra honey pasties especially for them. Melitta was a few years older, and she worked in the kitchens then too.
Naevia’s own mother had worked in the villa, attending the domina, though such words were unknown to the children in those early years. She would be gone long hours through the day and night and crawl onto the thin mattress she shared with her daughter and son when the world was very dark, smelling of the lady of the house’s perfume. When her children would stir, from nightmares or hunger when the house fell on hard times, she would sing softly, lulling them back to sleep, to safe dreams where children ran and played in open fields, running as long and as far as they wished. Sometimes the son of the master of the house would appear at their doorway just as she had dropped down with her children and would summon her again. She would kiss Naevia back to sleep and smooth her hand over Pietros’s brow and follow her dominus.
Her mother was very beautiful, dark of skin and hair, and she walked so gracefully, always one foot perfectly in front of the other, toe to heel. When Naevia was alone, as she was so often, she would practice walking in the same way.
She was five years of age the first time she knew what she was, and learned to be afraid.
She and Diona were given white dresses to wear, matching, and Melitta looked a bit afraid and sad when she instructed them to follow her, up to the villa. The little girls had not spent much time upstairs, and Naevia stared at the wonder around her. The house of Batiatus was very rich in those days, when Marius was their champion, and the walls seemed to glitter as though the sun touched them. There were two great fans of ostrich plumes lying on the domina’s divan and Melitta quietly whispered that when the ladies came into the salon, she and Diona were to keep them cooled with the fans and not to make any noise.
But she smiled kindly, and Naevia thought it all a game. They waited for a time, far longer than Naevia was used to standing in one spot. Diona also grew impatient. “Are we to-”
“Hush,” Melitta hissed, more curtly than either of the little girls was used to hearing.
And finally their purpose presented itself.
The domina entered slowly, arm-in-arm with a younger woman, and they seated themselves on the cushions. Melitta moved to bring them food and drink and she motioned for the little girls to pick up the fans.
The younger woman was wearing a gown of green silk, so cool and light and shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the skylight. Naevia had never seen such a garment, and neither had Diona. Her friend was mesmerized and reached out a little hand to brush her fingers across the fabric, but Naevia knew that would be wrong. “Do not-” she began, but then felt a sharp cuff on the back of her head.
She had never been struck, and it stilled her for a moment, but Melitta caught her eye, all fear, and Naevia lifted the fan again.
*
They spent most of their days on the balcony, watching the gladiators train.
Marius was cut down soon after Naevia had come upstairs, and there was a new champion- stronger, quicker than the rest of the men. He was a large man, black of skin with one terrible scar across his face that did not diminish how gentle his eyes could be. Naevia’s heart stopped beating once when she saw her brother - so small on the ludus sand - stumble into the path of one of the mighty swinging blades and the new champion stepped in his way, blocking Pietros from harm.
And Naevia saw the way Melitta’s eyes followed the man, shining with something that looked like hope.
Their dominus called him Oenomaus.
*
She was seven when her mother was sold.
Pietros was already working in the ludus fetching water for the gladiators and trying to stay very small, hidden, out of any man’s line of vision. He was not there when she was taken. He did not get to say goodbye.
But then, neither did she.
She was waving the fan back and forth near the new lady of the house (Lucretia was her name, and the old dominus had no love in his heart for his new daughter-in-law) when three men came to the villa. Domina simply pointed. “She’s the one.”
Her mother had been attending to the old domina, and she was bid to put down the heavy carafe of wine, and the men simply began to carry her off.
Naevia gasped and opened her mouth to cry out, but she caught herself before she did. Mother turned around, her gaze meeting hers, and with her mouth closed, Naevia heard her voice.
No. Stay alive. You are my heartbeat now, stay alive.
“Girl, I bake in this heat!” The old domina hissed and Naevia resumed moving the fan back and forth, watching the graceful form of her mother growing smaller in the distance, walking heel to toe.
*
Much later, she heard Domina speaking to her husband, who was the only person who seemed to care that her mother was gone.
“What of the children?” He had finally said, anger already starting to ebb. “Who is to look after them now, they should be sent off to-”
Before Naevia had the chance to gasp in fear, Domina spoke up again, all worry already gone from her mind. “You cannot separate two who have shared a womb, the gods do not look favorably upon such things. Even if they are slaves.”
We are children, Naevia thought. And we need our mother.
But her mother had already given her the most precious gift, since the time she quickened in her belly- her brother beside her to keep her safe and warm. And he was still hers to keep.
*
It was two days before she saw Pietros again. He was already sleeping downstairs, always attending the ludus, and finally he had come up to the kitchen on an errand for herbs for the medicus and Naevia seized her opportunity, pulling him back behind the sacks of flour, to where they had hidden as children. He was angry at first, disbelieving her, but as realization dawned, his face (so like her own) crumpled and Naevia put her arms around him, muffling his tears against her shoulder and allowing hers to fall silently.
“What will become of us?” he whispered. Someone called his name, and he drew back, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “They will not part us, sister. I will not allow it.”
And then he was up, running back to his duties.
*
Weeks passed into months. The old domina died, of a gripping sickness that came along suddenly. Naevia did not mourn her, but while the rest of the household bowed their head in prayer to the gods, Naevia petitioned her mother’s beautiful face. Stay alive.
Naevia and Diona spent most of their days on the balcony with Melitta and the new domina, who was fashioning herself as the lady of the house with ease. She watched her brother on the sands, but he could not lift his eyes to her, many days. He always had to be watching the gladiators. What will become of us?
*
Esyilt’s people were Celts, and she remembered some of the older stories, and a few words of the old language.
“Do you know where my mother came from?” Naevia asked once, and the woman shook her head, smiling sadly.
“She was born in Capua, and never said where her people came from before that.” Esyilt’s voice went softer and she patted Naevia’s arm kindly. “I think that she did not know.”
Naevia turned away so that Esyilt would not see tears form. It was such a small thing that did not matter; it would never bring her mother back.
She was busier in those days, with more tasks and responsibilities, and did not know when she would have another moment alone with Esyilt to ask such questions.
“Please...did you ever know...of our father,” Naevia’s voice was near a whisper.
Esyilt’s face went softer yet. “He was a gladiator. Sold to a lanista of Sicilia before you were born. He was an honorable man, Naevia. But...Dominus favored your mother. And he would not have shared her attentions.”
It was one more thing that she did not have.
*
Months passed into years and Naevia and Diona grew, side by side. Melitta led them by example and kept them out of trouble, out of the domina’s line of notice. She showed them the proper way to serve at meals, taking care that they left no detail unpolished. Though Naevia was somewhat pleased at the increase in her responsibilities, she was unsure why Melitta would be absent from the supper service.
“It’s only for one night, and then,” Melitta blushed and stopped herself, smiling at the two younger girls. “I...am to be the wife of Oenomaus.”
Naevia and Diona glanced at each other. They had never heard of such a thing.
Melitta continued, her eyes downcast. “It’s a great honor the Dominus afforded him, for his victory against Niaxos. There has never been such a champion. He was told he could have a house, or riches...he asked to take a wife.”
“Did you know to expect this?” Diona asked, breathless. She reached out a hand to join with Naevia’s and squeezed. Naevia squeezed back.
Melitta was thoughtful for a long moment, her eyes shining. Naevia could see her happiness. It was a palpable thing. “He has been kind to me. And most importantly, I was given choice. No, I never dared hope, but...Such a blessing.” And she reached her arms out to pull the two girls into her. “Sometimes the gods do listen.”
Three nights after, Naevia and Diona shared the duty of supper service while Melitta was married to Oenomaus in the manner of the Numidians. The gladiators were in attendance, so Naevia made a point to ask Pietros all that he saw the next time they were together.
*
“Sister! Did you see Barca’s victory against Vettius’s pig? Oh, he sent that fuck to the afterlife properly!” Pietros was smiling and laughing despite his bloodthirsty words and he ran to her, lifting her in his arms, so much larger and stronger than she remembered him.
“Brother! Shhh, someone will hear,” Naevia could not help but smile, even as she scolded him. It had been so long since she had been able to touch him. He seemed to have forgotten his years in the villa, allowing his bare feet to slap loudly on the floor instead of being silent. And he smelled of the sand and the men. “What is your purpose away from the ludus?”
“Stale bread. Do you have any you can spare from the kitchens?”
“Of course, but,” she cocked her head in surprise at the strange request. “What could you possibly...”
“It’s for Barca and Auctus,” her brother answered, and she did not miss the way his eyes lit when he said the name of the man called the Beast of Carthage in the arena. “They keep doves, and I said I would help.”
Naevia laughed to herself as she wrapped the bread in a length of coarse cloth. “It does me good to see you, brother.”
He cupped her face in one hand and kissed her brow. “I told you once, they will never part us forever. But for the moment...”
Naevia smiled back. “Go.”
And she was still smiling as she heard him singing to himself, the song she often heard late at night from the ludus after a victory of the brotherhood. My cock rages on, my cock rages on...
*
Naevia and Diona attended the domina on the balcony when new recruits were brought in. Naevia did not favor it. She had already seen too many men go to game and never return from the arena. It was not worth learning names, and always seeing Melitta cringe with fear when Oenomaus went off to fight.
The men were always filthy, brought in from a slave ship in Niapolis, or bought at auction in Capua after a long, weary road. The stench reached them on the balcony, but Naevia didn’t dare look away. Some men were already dead, she could see it in the slump of their shoulders. No fight, no will.
Others were defiant, cursing out at Doctore, and ready to run the moment they were unshackled.
There was a Celt who had to be wrestled down by three guards, and even after Doctore’s whip lashed out at him, he screamed. “Téigh trasna ort féin!”
Diona gasped at Naevia’s side as she heard her mother’s language. He was from a Brittani tribe.
“Quintus, he will never be of any use,” Domina mused. “Send him to the mines at once.”
But Dominus shook his head, swilling another cup of wine and motioning for Melitta to bring him more. “No, a fire like that can’t just be passed by. We will give a chance to that beast, to see if he can be tamed to our will.” He called down to Doctore. “What do you call that Celtic shit?”
“Speak!” Doctore barked at the Celt, who only grunted and snarled.
It was Oenomaus who stepped forth from the brotherhood. No others dared to incur Doctore’s wrath, and very few ever took pity on new recruits who had not yet proved themselves. Naevia could see Pietros peer from behind Barca and Auctus.
He went to the man, towering over him as he spoke quietly. Then turned back to the balcony, first smiling at his wife before addressing his dominus. “He is called Gannicus.”
*
Gannicus was tamed to their Dominus’s will, soon rising to only second in the ludus behind Oenomaus.
Melitta spent one night in seven belowstairs with her man. When she returned the next morning, always with a faraway smile on her face, Diona pestered her with questions of Gannicus, the dimachaerus Celt who would not be defeated, and always greeted his opponent with a smile, Apollo come to earth.
“Did you see him this time, Melitta?” she asked breathlessly. Sometimes Gannicus offered such a smile up to the balcony, and Naevia would see how Diona would blush prettily.
And Melitta would always laugh, “Yes, he is forever at my husband’s side.” It did not escape Naevia’s notice, the high point of pride in Melitta’s voice to call her man husband. She brushed back a strand of soft brown hair from Diona’s brow. “Little flower, there is more than enough time for you. Put Gannicus far from your thoughts for at least a few more years.”
And she would walk away humming to herself, while Diona and Naevia shared a quiet giggle between themselves before Esyilt called them back to the kitchen.
*
Pietros was only allowed into the villa every so often. To pick up herbs, or sometimes to fetch Dominus when he was needed in the ludus. But he had slept belowstairs for many years. So Naevia was quite surprised to see him when she was sent to the kitchens for a glass of water for Domina well past midnight.
“Brother,” she called softly, to his back.
His form stilled and he looked over his shoulder. With a few quick strides, she was at his side. “What happened? Are you hurt?” She did not know at the time why she asked the question as he had no visible injury, but in his eyes, she could see. Yes, he had been hurt. Perhaps irreparably.
It was in his slow, pained gait, nothing like his usual free and easy movement. The slump of his shoulders, the bow of his head.
She reached a hand to comfort him and he winced away. “Don’t. I’m...I must be filthy, I must go wash.” He was speaking as though in his own head, as if he did not know her. But then he lifted his eyes to hers. “Sister, what has become of us?”
*
Since they were children, Esyilt had looked after all of them; Naevia as well as her own Diona, and Melitta and Pietros as best she could. She gently steered them away from punishment, and tried to protect them from their own dreams. Naevia would watch her with Diona at times, and close her eyes and try to imagine her own mother’s arms around her once more. Stay alive. She could still hear her mother’s voice in her ear.
Esyilt was all of their strength. And Naevia didn’t know of a world without her.
There had never been such a fever as that in the villa, six afflicted overnight and two dead by morning. By the third day, only Esyilt remained. She burned with fever, and murmured incoherency to Diona, feebly trying to push her away. “Go,” she whispered with ragged breath. “Go.”
But Diona would not leave her side, and Naevia stood behind her. The dominus and domina had left the ludus in fear, taking Melitta with them (she had sobbed when she said goodbye to the girls) and the gladiators were gone too. Dominus would not risk their health- not from illness anyway. Pietros was taken too, to water the horses.
They won’t part us, sister. I won’t allow it.
He looked behind him as Naevia watched them all leave the house, one hundred slaves and the great Batiatus family, leaving two little girls to tend the sick.
And to bury the dead.
Celts did not burn, Diona knew this, her mother had told her. Naevia wondered if she was preparing her daughter to one day be without her, to carry on her ways. Diona was still small enough to slip through the gate, and she climbed up and opened the lock so that Naevia could open the door, and together they carried Esyilt from the house of Batiatus. She was buried in a white shroud, with bread and a carving knife to see her to the other side. Diona had found a flat, shining stone which when she was a little girl, and they played with it, calling it the hidden jewel. She buried this too with her mother.
The shovels were heavy and the sun was on its descent by the time they had laid Esyilt to rest and Naevia walked Diona back to the ludus, cradling her around the waist.
They were all alone in the world. The domina had told them that the family would be back in a month’s time, and they were expected to behave. She did not worry that they would run away. Two small girls who had seen nothing of the world had nowhere to go.
“You are all I have,” Diona finally said, very late that night, as they sat on the ludus floor under the stars. Listened to the waves crash on the cliffs far below. “We are as one, Naevia. You are my whole world.”
Naevia put her arms around the other girl and squeezed tight.
*
The house was still, waiting with baited breath.
Oenomaus had fallen to Theokkoles. Oenomaus, the gladiator; Oenomaus, the slave. The house of Batiatus depended on him. All would fall to ruin without his strong hand to hold them to position.
Melitta had been inconsolable the night that they brought him home. She cried out, screamed to her gods, to whom she prayed with all she had to offer every evening. Why were they forsaken? “Not him, do not take him, not him!” And Naevia whispered the only prayer she had ever known.
Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive...
And...he did.
Little by little, his breathing grew easier, and finally he opened up his eyes, and formed the name Melitta with his mouth. She was brought to him, weeping in gratitude. When they were alone again, Diona turned to Naevia, to whisper in her ear.
“Will Oenomaus fight again?”
“I do not know, sister.”
Diona was quiet for a long time, lost in her thoughts. “He is a good man. He loves Melitta, truly loves her.” Naevia nodded, even though it was quite dark and Diona couldn’t see her. “But still,” she paused. “He will never be champion again.” Naevia nodded again. “Gannicus will rise.”
At this, Naevia had to smile fondly. The Celt was never far from her thoughts. In fact, he seemed to preoccupy her more as the years passed.
“Oenomaus was offered a wife when he became champion. Maybe Gannicus will be offered the same?”
And Naevia laughed softly. Their dreams were so fragile, and it did no harm to hope.
As Diona’s breathing evened out and she slept, Naevia turned her thoughts back to Melitta and Oenomaus.
Stay alive.
*
“How I envy your youth.” The woman called Gaia laughed gently, the sound a musical tinkling, but Naevia shivered, and clenched fists at her sides when the woman reached out to caress the softness of Diona’s cheek. Her kindness cloaked an evil, of that, Naevia was sure, and she steeled her ears agains the sound of her voice. When the woman sauntered back into the shaded cool of the villa, Diona peeked over the railing to get one last look at Gannicus, as she always did. Before Naevia ran off to follow them, she too looked over the railing, once more at the Gaul Gaia had taken such an interest in.
With long, curly hair flying about as he thrust his sword, he looked more beast than man. Oenomaus schooled him strictly, and his back was on the ludus sand more than he stood upright.
But he kept rising to his feet.
When the woman called Gaia held his fate in her hands, to let him live or die, Naevia found herself holding her breath, waiting for the answer.
And when life was granted, she exhaled in relief.
*
None was right with Melitta. She had been withdrawn and anxious for days, distracted from task, and Naevia had more than once seen her wiping tear from her eyes. In a quiet moment, she moved to ask her sister if she could help, but Melitta sent her off to another task, keeping her troubles a mystery.
There was no humming or faraway smile when she returned from nights in her husband’s arms, turning away when Diona asked her usual questions of Gannicus.
The woman called Gaia’s tinkling laughter rang softly in every corner of the house, and Naevia knew that the woman had brought evil with her.
And Diona...Her dreams of Gannicus had been dusted with starlight and scented with flower petals. All came crashing down as the chill moved over them, when they were commanded to remove their robes by their domina. Naevia reached a hand to her sister, forcing the other to stay at her side, no matter how she longed to try to cover herself. And to follow Diona where the Roman man led her away, how she longed to follow her, how she longed to not be separated.
When Naevia found her brother in the kitchen, he seemed to know at once what had happened. “Thank the gods,” he exhaled sharply and she looked at him, aghast. “I would not wish such things on Diona, she has never done anyone any harm. But you remain untouched and safe. There is no greater wish in my heart, dear sister.”
At Domina’s party, when Naevia glimpsed the full extent of what Diona’s role to play in the ludus now was, she could not tear her eyes away. Every thrust and grunt seemed to breathe down her own back.
Diona had always said they were as one, and no matter what, Naevia could not - would not - be separated from anyone else she loved.
But then Diona looked away, shielding her face, and Naevia’s heart fell. She was losing Diona, all choice removed from the matter. As always.
An empty jug of wine was thrust in her hands, and Naevia quickly looked to Melitta’s solemn gaze. “See this to the pantry, and remain there until I call upon you.” Each word was weighted with purpose, and the words she did not speak rang in Naevia’s ear.
Stay alive.
*
“Such pretty cheeks.”
That was what Gannicus had said to Diona when the whole of the household had been presented to celebrate his victory against Stagmetes in the arena. She had leaned forward, tightly squeezing Naevia’s hand, and when her idol called out to her, over his shoulder, her cheeks had colored to a more blushing pink. Diona had walked on air for a week afterwards, always with a faint smile on her lips. That had not been so long ago, but how the world had changed in the interim.
It had been weeks since Naevia had seen Diona’s smile. And her cheeks were no longer that lovely shade of pink, but a stark white. The woman called Gaia had been spirited away from this house, but her ghost lingered, past deeds haunting Diona and placing Domina under a veil of mourning.
Naevia watched Domina, genuine sadness creasing her face. She could not feel anything for her. Her sadness, her pain meant nothing. Domina, who had seen her mother sold, who had given Diona’s smile over to cruelty.
But Melitta spoke to her in hushed gentle tones, promising to preserve the memory of Gaia, and even enlisting Naevia and Diona’s obediance in the matter. Naevia stilled behind them as Melitta comforted Domina. Melitta, who along with Diona, had seemed to fade by the day since Gaia had come into their lives.
Naevia felt her toe softly bump against something heavy and solid and looked down to see a small satchel filled with Roman coin. She looked back to Melitta, who still bowed to the hand which beat her.
She, Naevia, would not.
And for Diona, there would be more than staying alive.
*
Pietros always seemed to know when she really, truly needed him and would come to her in secret, in their childhood hiding spot, as soon as he was able. Naevia waited for him there, biting her lip until it bled to hold back her sobs. She was not missed - the house was swayed to the bedside of the man who had died upstairs, with very few giving thought to the woman who passed below.
“Sister,” his voice was shaking and Naevia fell to his arms, grateful she would not have to say the words. “Melitta - gone,” he cried, and then repeated it twice more. “And Diona.” Naevia held him tighter. She had not burdened him with her secret and she would not, either.
Stay alive. She had never prayed so hard before, for her mother, or Oenomaus, or even her dear brother, as she did for her sweet friend, alone in the world. Diona had always been quick and small, easy to escape notice. She had often slipped through the gates undetected, to visit her mother’s resting spot, but always came back for Naevia. Stay alive. Naevia pulled Pietros into her and drew on his energy.
“Gone, gone,” she repeated, the words finally giving way to tears she had held, since watching her mother walk away from the ludus, toe to heel. “Brother, you are my whole world now. What will become of us?”
*
It was Melitta’s cloak. That was all Naevia could think of when Domina pointed to it, told her to put it on. The garment was finer than any other she had ever worn, and still held Melitta’s scent, of rosemary oil and lemons. Oenomaus - Doctore - had looked at her sharply when she emerged from the villa behind Domnia, and she lowered her gaze, unable to face him. The freshly tattooed mark upon her back still stung, every time the cloth fell against it.
It was Diona who had always wanted to see the games, who had watched the arena grow, stone by stone, with wonder from the balcony in the villa. And it was Diona who would tell Naevia all about the glories Gannicus would achieve within. And then Melitta would call them back inside, back to work.
And now, she, Naevia, was the only one left.
Naevia looked over the crowds from the vantage point of the pulvinis, the crowds screaming for blood, nearly shaking the wooden beams of the stadium in their excitement.
But all Naevia could hear was the crack of the whip as slaves brought stone to build foundations. The murmillo, the Gaul, he had been such a stonehauler, Naevia was certain she had heard that.
Naevia.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Naevia had heard her mother’s voice in her ear at times over the years when she felt most lost, but always in a quiet moment. Naevia. It came again, more insistent, and as she allowed herself to look to the sand, she felt her mother reach with icy fingers to keep her from crying out.
Diona was bloodied and battered. If she had indeed been branded fugitivus, as she had feared, Naevia could not see for her wounds. She knew the moment she was seen, the moment Diona felt her presence, and shared her fear, her wild, desperate grief...and her resignation. You are my whole world. We are as one.
Naevia was a fool. There was no safe place in this world for a little slave girl.
Naevia.
Melitta’s voice in her ear, and then Esyilt’s. Send her to me.
Naevia looked back to Diona on the sand, holding her gaze and her friend’s last plea.
Stay alive.
Naevia answered just before the blade robbed life from the pretty little Celt girl, with the loveliest pink cheeks.
Be free.
*
Much of Naevia’s life was nothing.
She attended Domina; she stood, she poured wine, she stood, she got into the bath with her, and out of the bath with her, and then she stood. She stood in the bedchamber when Domina laid with her husband, listened to his rough words, his hoarse cries, and forced herself not to look away. She was not to look away, but she was not to see, either. And she was to be seen by nobody. Her life was filled with nothing.
Sometimes Domina would have one of the other girls pleasure Dominus with hand or mouth before they coupled, and though it shocked Naevia at first, she stopped being afraid of it after a time. Though it was not an easy thing to turn her eyes from the girls sent in from the kitchen, or the gardens to perform this task.
“Hand,” Domina would reach for Naevia’s palm, and she moved between her thighs without any more prompting.
Domina had little patience for Naevia’s timid touch the first time she was made to pleasure her and after a few sharp strokes across her neck, Naevia learned to shut off her mind, her thoughts, the voices she heard, and moved herself to stay alive, whatever the cost. It was not what Diona, or Melitta had endured, and she would not allow herself to be broken. She was the last of them left. She lived for them.
She had been with Oenomaus when he saw Melitta’s ashes below ground, so close to where Esyilt had been laid to rest. She hoped they brought comfort to each other, and she hadn’t heard their voices since the day of the games. As for Diona, Naevia had sent all of her thoughts and wishes along with Gannicus, that she might follow him and see the world from his point-of-view, the way she always wanted. He was the only slave she had ever known to win his freedom, and he needed a good, gentle spirit to guide him.
And Domina had kept her promise. Naevia attended her only, and so long as she stayed by her side, she was in no danger.
So many times, she and her brother had asked each other what was to become of them, and now Naevia knew the answer.
If a slave was to stay alive, she must close her mind and not be seen. Live a life of nothing.
*
Sometimes days, or even weeks would go by before she saw Pietros again. It was different in this life afterward, of course, she could not slip away so easily as she could when she had Melitta and Diona to share the world. But even aside from her own difficulties, Pietros would not always come at every chance he had.
She did not blame him, or find fault with him. He managed to find a shred of happiness and hope in this place which had taken so much from them. And under the protection of the Beast of Carthage, she worried less for the brother who seemed so far away from her.
And yet...Her heart missed him, missed all the comforts of sharing her thoughts and fears with him, with anyone. He was all she had left. They were still connected, as they were as children...but she only had him by half, if that.
And yet she could not begrudge him his love, could not feel jealousy of Barca when she knew all too well how fleeting any happiness might be in this place.
Sometimes, he would lift his eyes to meet hers from the ludus floor, when she stood on the cool balcony in the shade. You are my whole world, she would think, smiling down at him.
And he would smile back, and she knew that he heard her words.
*
“Bring me the Gaul.”
Like so many things when she first came to be a body slave, Naevia did not understand this command at first, but learned quickly. And attending the games with Domina had helped her to learn the names of the men, which were Germans or Numidians, which were murmillo and hoplomachus. There were many Gauls at the ludus, most who fought in the style of cestus but when Domina made such a request, Naevia knew there was only one she sought.
On days or some late nights when Dominus had business that called him away from the ludus, Domina would send for Crixus, the new champion of Capua. It was normally the call of Naevia to secret him upstairs and through the villa to Domina’s bedchamber. At first, Naevia was pleased with this task, thinking in this way she might be able to steal a glimpse of her brother as she waited by the gate, but that seldom occurred.
The champion was a smaller man up close, much smaller than he appeared in the arena, though Naevia had seen what he could do with sword and shield. But yet, it was a thing of note to see the man before her, as a man, and not the god who thirsted for blood on the sand.
Sometimes, when they reached the bedchamber, she could feel him still behind her and would look over her shoulder to meet his gaze. He watched her in a curious way.
He saw her.
“Lamiaceae?” He asked, his voice low and startling. She turned to see his eyes curiously dark and wondering.
“Apologies?”
“The scent, I recall it from the fields when I was a child.” She found herself struck thinking of the champion of Capua as a boy. It was hardly enough to consider him a man. “The oils, they held healing powers and...”
The bath oils. Naevia had the responsibilty of bathing Domina, a small kindness that allowed her to also be clean. He was studying her closely and leaned in even nearer, breathing deep.
But she was to be seen by nobody, and she drew back the curtain once again. “Domina awaits.”
part ii
<<<333
Title: Come Away To The Water
Rating: r
Word Count: 6,291 (1/4)
Summary: Come away, little lass, come away to the water. Away from the light you always knew. We are calling to you...Naevia was born, and then lived her whole life.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Notes: Oh, this has been a labor of love. And I would be remiss in not thanking quite a few people. First of all, this all began to really form after a conversation with selonbrody where we both thought that Pietros and Naevia had been brother and sister during the first few episodes of Blood And Sand, and I swear, I only meant to write a prequel. lexiesloan took a look at this and offered such wonderful encouragement. And abvj has been invaluable, with hand-holding, suggestion and support. You will notice key lines of dialogue from the show, and my own tweak on certain scenes, and it is all a respectful homage to Stephen DeKnight and his writing team. And of course, a very special thanks to kymericl, who did the lovely artwork (link in master post).
It was a curious thing that, when Naevia had been a child, she had known happiness. Of course, all children are happy enough, when they know nothing outside of their small, little worlds. She would play with Diona and Pietros in the kitchens with pots and pans, and Diona’s mother (Esyilt she was called, one of the kitchen servants) would cluck at them tenderly, warning them to not get underfoot and then bake three extra honey pasties especially for them. Melitta was a few years older, and she worked in the kitchens then too.
Naevia’s own mother had worked in the villa, attending the domina, though such words were unknown to the children in those early years. She would be gone long hours through the day and night and crawl onto the thin mattress she shared with her daughter and son when the world was very dark, smelling of the lady of the house’s perfume. When her children would stir, from nightmares or hunger when the house fell on hard times, she would sing softly, lulling them back to sleep, to safe dreams where children ran and played in open fields, running as long and as far as they wished. Sometimes the son of the master of the house would appear at their doorway just as she had dropped down with her children and would summon her again. She would kiss Naevia back to sleep and smooth her hand over Pietros’s brow and follow her dominus.
Her mother was very beautiful, dark of skin and hair, and she walked so gracefully, always one foot perfectly in front of the other, toe to heel. When Naevia was alone, as she was so often, she would practice walking in the same way.
She was five years of age the first time she knew what she was, and learned to be afraid.
She and Diona were given white dresses to wear, matching, and Melitta looked a bit afraid and sad when she instructed them to follow her, up to the villa. The little girls had not spent much time upstairs, and Naevia stared at the wonder around her. The house of Batiatus was very rich in those days, when Marius was their champion, and the walls seemed to glitter as though the sun touched them. There were two great fans of ostrich plumes lying on the domina’s divan and Melitta quietly whispered that when the ladies came into the salon, she and Diona were to keep them cooled with the fans and not to make any noise.
But she smiled kindly, and Naevia thought it all a game. They waited for a time, far longer than Naevia was used to standing in one spot. Diona also grew impatient. “Are we to-”
“Hush,” Melitta hissed, more curtly than either of the little girls was used to hearing.
And finally their purpose presented itself.
The domina entered slowly, arm-in-arm with a younger woman, and they seated themselves on the cushions. Melitta moved to bring them food and drink and she motioned for the little girls to pick up the fans.
The younger woman was wearing a gown of green silk, so cool and light and shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the skylight. Naevia had never seen such a garment, and neither had Diona. Her friend was mesmerized and reached out a little hand to brush her fingers across the fabric, but Naevia knew that would be wrong. “Do not-” she began, but then felt a sharp cuff on the back of her head.
She had never been struck, and it stilled her for a moment, but Melitta caught her eye, all fear, and Naevia lifted the fan again.
*
They spent most of their days on the balcony, watching the gladiators train.
Marius was cut down soon after Naevia had come upstairs, and there was a new champion- stronger, quicker than the rest of the men. He was a large man, black of skin with one terrible scar across his face that did not diminish how gentle his eyes could be. Naevia’s heart stopped beating once when she saw her brother - so small on the ludus sand - stumble into the path of one of the mighty swinging blades and the new champion stepped in his way, blocking Pietros from harm.
And Naevia saw the way Melitta’s eyes followed the man, shining with something that looked like hope.
Their dominus called him Oenomaus.
*
She was seven when her mother was sold.
Pietros was already working in the ludus fetching water for the gladiators and trying to stay very small, hidden, out of any man’s line of vision. He was not there when she was taken. He did not get to say goodbye.
But then, neither did she.
She was waving the fan back and forth near the new lady of the house (Lucretia was her name, and the old dominus had no love in his heart for his new daughter-in-law) when three men came to the villa. Domina simply pointed. “She’s the one.”
Her mother had been attending to the old domina, and she was bid to put down the heavy carafe of wine, and the men simply began to carry her off.
Naevia gasped and opened her mouth to cry out, but she caught herself before she did. Mother turned around, her gaze meeting hers, and with her mouth closed, Naevia heard her voice.
No. Stay alive. You are my heartbeat now, stay alive.
“Girl, I bake in this heat!” The old domina hissed and Naevia resumed moving the fan back and forth, watching the graceful form of her mother growing smaller in the distance, walking heel to toe.
*
Much later, she heard Domina speaking to her husband, who was the only person who seemed to care that her mother was gone.
“What of the children?” He had finally said, anger already starting to ebb. “Who is to look after them now, they should be sent off to-”
Before Naevia had the chance to gasp in fear, Domina spoke up again, all worry already gone from her mind. “You cannot separate two who have shared a womb, the gods do not look favorably upon such things. Even if they are slaves.”
We are children, Naevia thought. And we need our mother.
But her mother had already given her the most precious gift, since the time she quickened in her belly- her brother beside her to keep her safe and warm. And he was still hers to keep.
*
It was two days before she saw Pietros again. He was already sleeping downstairs, always attending the ludus, and finally he had come up to the kitchen on an errand for herbs for the medicus and Naevia seized her opportunity, pulling him back behind the sacks of flour, to where they had hidden as children. He was angry at first, disbelieving her, but as realization dawned, his face (so like her own) crumpled and Naevia put her arms around him, muffling his tears against her shoulder and allowing hers to fall silently.
“What will become of us?” he whispered. Someone called his name, and he drew back, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “They will not part us, sister. I will not allow it.”
And then he was up, running back to his duties.
*
Weeks passed into months. The old domina died, of a gripping sickness that came along suddenly. Naevia did not mourn her, but while the rest of the household bowed their head in prayer to the gods, Naevia petitioned her mother’s beautiful face. Stay alive.
Naevia and Diona spent most of their days on the balcony with Melitta and the new domina, who was fashioning herself as the lady of the house with ease. She watched her brother on the sands, but he could not lift his eyes to her, many days. He always had to be watching the gladiators. What will become of us?
*
Esyilt’s people were Celts, and she remembered some of the older stories, and a few words of the old language.
“Do you know where my mother came from?” Naevia asked once, and the woman shook her head, smiling sadly.
“She was born in Capua, and never said where her people came from before that.” Esyilt’s voice went softer and she patted Naevia’s arm kindly. “I think that she did not know.”
Naevia turned away so that Esyilt would not see tears form. It was such a small thing that did not matter; it would never bring her mother back.
She was busier in those days, with more tasks and responsibilities, and did not know when she would have another moment alone with Esyilt to ask such questions.
“Please...did you ever know...of our father,” Naevia’s voice was near a whisper.
Esyilt’s face went softer yet. “He was a gladiator. Sold to a lanista of Sicilia before you were born. He was an honorable man, Naevia. But...Dominus favored your mother. And he would not have shared her attentions.”
It was one more thing that she did not have.
*
Months passed into years and Naevia and Diona grew, side by side. Melitta led them by example and kept them out of trouble, out of the domina’s line of notice. She showed them the proper way to serve at meals, taking care that they left no detail unpolished. Though Naevia was somewhat pleased at the increase in her responsibilities, she was unsure why Melitta would be absent from the supper service.
“It’s only for one night, and then,” Melitta blushed and stopped herself, smiling at the two younger girls. “I...am to be the wife of Oenomaus.”
Naevia and Diona glanced at each other. They had never heard of such a thing.
Melitta continued, her eyes downcast. “It’s a great honor the Dominus afforded him, for his victory against Niaxos. There has never been such a champion. He was told he could have a house, or riches...he asked to take a wife.”
“Did you know to expect this?” Diona asked, breathless. She reached out a hand to join with Naevia’s and squeezed. Naevia squeezed back.
Melitta was thoughtful for a long moment, her eyes shining. Naevia could see her happiness. It was a palpable thing. “He has been kind to me. And most importantly, I was given choice. No, I never dared hope, but...Such a blessing.” And she reached her arms out to pull the two girls into her. “Sometimes the gods do listen.”
Three nights after, Naevia and Diona shared the duty of supper service while Melitta was married to Oenomaus in the manner of the Numidians. The gladiators were in attendance, so Naevia made a point to ask Pietros all that he saw the next time they were together.
*
“Sister! Did you see Barca’s victory against Vettius’s pig? Oh, he sent that fuck to the afterlife properly!” Pietros was smiling and laughing despite his bloodthirsty words and he ran to her, lifting her in his arms, so much larger and stronger than she remembered him.
“Brother! Shhh, someone will hear,” Naevia could not help but smile, even as she scolded him. It had been so long since she had been able to touch him. He seemed to have forgotten his years in the villa, allowing his bare feet to slap loudly on the floor instead of being silent. And he smelled of the sand and the men. “What is your purpose away from the ludus?”
“Stale bread. Do you have any you can spare from the kitchens?”
“Of course, but,” she cocked her head in surprise at the strange request. “What could you possibly...”
“It’s for Barca and Auctus,” her brother answered, and she did not miss the way his eyes lit when he said the name of the man called the Beast of Carthage in the arena. “They keep doves, and I said I would help.”
Naevia laughed to herself as she wrapped the bread in a length of coarse cloth. “It does me good to see you, brother.”
He cupped her face in one hand and kissed her brow. “I told you once, they will never part us forever. But for the moment...”
Naevia smiled back. “Go.”
And she was still smiling as she heard him singing to himself, the song she often heard late at night from the ludus after a victory of the brotherhood. My cock rages on, my cock rages on...
*
Naevia and Diona attended the domina on the balcony when new recruits were brought in. Naevia did not favor it. She had already seen too many men go to game and never return from the arena. It was not worth learning names, and always seeing Melitta cringe with fear when Oenomaus went off to fight.
The men were always filthy, brought in from a slave ship in Niapolis, or bought at auction in Capua after a long, weary road. The stench reached them on the balcony, but Naevia didn’t dare look away. Some men were already dead, she could see it in the slump of their shoulders. No fight, no will.
Others were defiant, cursing out at Doctore, and ready to run the moment they were unshackled.
There was a Celt who had to be wrestled down by three guards, and even after Doctore’s whip lashed out at him, he screamed. “Téigh trasna ort féin!”
Diona gasped at Naevia’s side as she heard her mother’s language. He was from a Brittani tribe.
“Quintus, he will never be of any use,” Domina mused. “Send him to the mines at once.”
But Dominus shook his head, swilling another cup of wine and motioning for Melitta to bring him more. “No, a fire like that can’t just be passed by. We will give a chance to that beast, to see if he can be tamed to our will.” He called down to Doctore. “What do you call that Celtic shit?”
“Speak!” Doctore barked at the Celt, who only grunted and snarled.
It was Oenomaus who stepped forth from the brotherhood. No others dared to incur Doctore’s wrath, and very few ever took pity on new recruits who had not yet proved themselves. Naevia could see Pietros peer from behind Barca and Auctus.
He went to the man, towering over him as he spoke quietly. Then turned back to the balcony, first smiling at his wife before addressing his dominus. “He is called Gannicus.”
*
Gannicus was tamed to their Dominus’s will, soon rising to only second in the ludus behind Oenomaus.
Melitta spent one night in seven belowstairs with her man. When she returned the next morning, always with a faraway smile on her face, Diona pestered her with questions of Gannicus, the dimachaerus Celt who would not be defeated, and always greeted his opponent with a smile, Apollo come to earth.
“Did you see him this time, Melitta?” she asked breathlessly. Sometimes Gannicus offered such a smile up to the balcony, and Naevia would see how Diona would blush prettily.
And Melitta would always laugh, “Yes, he is forever at my husband’s side.” It did not escape Naevia’s notice, the high point of pride in Melitta’s voice to call her man husband. She brushed back a strand of soft brown hair from Diona’s brow. “Little flower, there is more than enough time for you. Put Gannicus far from your thoughts for at least a few more years.”
And she would walk away humming to herself, while Diona and Naevia shared a quiet giggle between themselves before Esyilt called them back to the kitchen.
*
Pietros was only allowed into the villa every so often. To pick up herbs, or sometimes to fetch Dominus when he was needed in the ludus. But he had slept belowstairs for many years. So Naevia was quite surprised to see him when she was sent to the kitchens for a glass of water for Domina well past midnight.
“Brother,” she called softly, to his back.
His form stilled and he looked over his shoulder. With a few quick strides, she was at his side. “What happened? Are you hurt?” She did not know at the time why she asked the question as he had no visible injury, but in his eyes, she could see. Yes, he had been hurt. Perhaps irreparably.
It was in his slow, pained gait, nothing like his usual free and easy movement. The slump of his shoulders, the bow of his head.
She reached a hand to comfort him and he winced away. “Don’t. I’m...I must be filthy, I must go wash.” He was speaking as though in his own head, as if he did not know her. But then he lifted his eyes to hers. “Sister, what has become of us?”
*
Since they were children, Esyilt had looked after all of them; Naevia as well as her own Diona, and Melitta and Pietros as best she could. She gently steered them away from punishment, and tried to protect them from their own dreams. Naevia would watch her with Diona at times, and close her eyes and try to imagine her own mother’s arms around her once more. Stay alive. She could still hear her mother’s voice in her ear.
Esyilt was all of their strength. And Naevia didn’t know of a world without her.
There had never been such a fever as that in the villa, six afflicted overnight and two dead by morning. By the third day, only Esyilt remained. She burned with fever, and murmured incoherency to Diona, feebly trying to push her away. “Go,” she whispered with ragged breath. “Go.”
But Diona would not leave her side, and Naevia stood behind her. The dominus and domina had left the ludus in fear, taking Melitta with them (she had sobbed when she said goodbye to the girls) and the gladiators were gone too. Dominus would not risk their health- not from illness anyway. Pietros was taken too, to water the horses.
They won’t part us, sister. I won’t allow it.
He looked behind him as Naevia watched them all leave the house, one hundred slaves and the great Batiatus family, leaving two little girls to tend the sick.
And to bury the dead.
Celts did not burn, Diona knew this, her mother had told her. Naevia wondered if she was preparing her daughter to one day be without her, to carry on her ways. Diona was still small enough to slip through the gate, and she climbed up and opened the lock so that Naevia could open the door, and together they carried Esyilt from the house of Batiatus. She was buried in a white shroud, with bread and a carving knife to see her to the other side. Diona had found a flat, shining stone which when she was a little girl, and they played with it, calling it the hidden jewel. She buried this too with her mother.
The shovels were heavy and the sun was on its descent by the time they had laid Esyilt to rest and Naevia walked Diona back to the ludus, cradling her around the waist.
They were all alone in the world. The domina had told them that the family would be back in a month’s time, and they were expected to behave. She did not worry that they would run away. Two small girls who had seen nothing of the world had nowhere to go.
“You are all I have,” Diona finally said, very late that night, as they sat on the ludus floor under the stars. Listened to the waves crash on the cliffs far below. “We are as one, Naevia. You are my whole world.”
Naevia put her arms around the other girl and squeezed tight.
*
The house was still, waiting with baited breath.
Oenomaus had fallen to Theokkoles. Oenomaus, the gladiator; Oenomaus, the slave. The house of Batiatus depended on him. All would fall to ruin without his strong hand to hold them to position.
Melitta had been inconsolable the night that they brought him home. She cried out, screamed to her gods, to whom she prayed with all she had to offer every evening. Why were they forsaken? “Not him, do not take him, not him!” And Naevia whispered the only prayer she had ever known.
Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive...
And...he did.
Little by little, his breathing grew easier, and finally he opened up his eyes, and formed the name Melitta with his mouth. She was brought to him, weeping in gratitude. When they were alone again, Diona turned to Naevia, to whisper in her ear.
“Will Oenomaus fight again?”
“I do not know, sister.”
Diona was quiet for a long time, lost in her thoughts. “He is a good man. He loves Melitta, truly loves her.” Naevia nodded, even though it was quite dark and Diona couldn’t see her. “But still,” she paused. “He will never be champion again.” Naevia nodded again. “Gannicus will rise.”
At this, Naevia had to smile fondly. The Celt was never far from her thoughts. In fact, he seemed to preoccupy her more as the years passed.
“Oenomaus was offered a wife when he became champion. Maybe Gannicus will be offered the same?”
And Naevia laughed softly. Their dreams were so fragile, and it did no harm to hope.
As Diona’s breathing evened out and she slept, Naevia turned her thoughts back to Melitta and Oenomaus.
Stay alive.
*
“How I envy your youth.” The woman called Gaia laughed gently, the sound a musical tinkling, but Naevia shivered, and clenched fists at her sides when the woman reached out to caress the softness of Diona’s cheek. Her kindness cloaked an evil, of that, Naevia was sure, and she steeled her ears agains the sound of her voice. When the woman sauntered back into the shaded cool of the villa, Diona peeked over the railing to get one last look at Gannicus, as she always did. Before Naevia ran off to follow them, she too looked over the railing, once more at the Gaul Gaia had taken such an interest in.
With long, curly hair flying about as he thrust his sword, he looked more beast than man. Oenomaus schooled him strictly, and his back was on the ludus sand more than he stood upright.
But he kept rising to his feet.
When the woman called Gaia held his fate in her hands, to let him live or die, Naevia found herself holding her breath, waiting for the answer.
And when life was granted, she exhaled in relief.
*
None was right with Melitta. She had been withdrawn and anxious for days, distracted from task, and Naevia had more than once seen her wiping tear from her eyes. In a quiet moment, she moved to ask her sister if she could help, but Melitta sent her off to another task, keeping her troubles a mystery.
There was no humming or faraway smile when she returned from nights in her husband’s arms, turning away when Diona asked her usual questions of Gannicus.
The woman called Gaia’s tinkling laughter rang softly in every corner of the house, and Naevia knew that the woman had brought evil with her.
And Diona...Her dreams of Gannicus had been dusted with starlight and scented with flower petals. All came crashing down as the chill moved over them, when they were commanded to remove their robes by their domina. Naevia reached a hand to her sister, forcing the other to stay at her side, no matter how she longed to try to cover herself. And to follow Diona where the Roman man led her away, how she longed to follow her, how she longed to not be separated.
When Naevia found her brother in the kitchen, he seemed to know at once what had happened. “Thank the gods,” he exhaled sharply and she looked at him, aghast. “I would not wish such things on Diona, she has never done anyone any harm. But you remain untouched and safe. There is no greater wish in my heart, dear sister.”
At Domina’s party, when Naevia glimpsed the full extent of what Diona’s role to play in the ludus now was, she could not tear her eyes away. Every thrust and grunt seemed to breathe down her own back.
Diona had always said they were as one, and no matter what, Naevia could not - would not - be separated from anyone else she loved.
But then Diona looked away, shielding her face, and Naevia’s heart fell. She was losing Diona, all choice removed from the matter. As always.
An empty jug of wine was thrust in her hands, and Naevia quickly looked to Melitta’s solemn gaze. “See this to the pantry, and remain there until I call upon you.” Each word was weighted with purpose, and the words she did not speak rang in Naevia’s ear.
Stay alive.
*
“Such pretty cheeks.”
That was what Gannicus had said to Diona when the whole of the household had been presented to celebrate his victory against Stagmetes in the arena. She had leaned forward, tightly squeezing Naevia’s hand, and when her idol called out to her, over his shoulder, her cheeks had colored to a more blushing pink. Diona had walked on air for a week afterwards, always with a faint smile on her lips. That had not been so long ago, but how the world had changed in the interim.
It had been weeks since Naevia had seen Diona’s smile. And her cheeks were no longer that lovely shade of pink, but a stark white. The woman called Gaia had been spirited away from this house, but her ghost lingered, past deeds haunting Diona and placing Domina under a veil of mourning.
Naevia watched Domina, genuine sadness creasing her face. She could not feel anything for her. Her sadness, her pain meant nothing. Domina, who had seen her mother sold, who had given Diona’s smile over to cruelty.
But Melitta spoke to her in hushed gentle tones, promising to preserve the memory of Gaia, and even enlisting Naevia and Diona’s obediance in the matter. Naevia stilled behind them as Melitta comforted Domina. Melitta, who along with Diona, had seemed to fade by the day since Gaia had come into their lives.
Naevia felt her toe softly bump against something heavy and solid and looked down to see a small satchel filled with Roman coin. She looked back to Melitta, who still bowed to the hand which beat her.
She, Naevia, would not.
And for Diona, there would be more than staying alive.
*
Pietros always seemed to know when she really, truly needed him and would come to her in secret, in their childhood hiding spot, as soon as he was able. Naevia waited for him there, biting her lip until it bled to hold back her sobs. She was not missed - the house was swayed to the bedside of the man who had died upstairs, with very few giving thought to the woman who passed below.
“Sister,” his voice was shaking and Naevia fell to his arms, grateful she would not have to say the words. “Melitta - gone,” he cried, and then repeated it twice more. “And Diona.” Naevia held him tighter. She had not burdened him with her secret and she would not, either.
Stay alive. She had never prayed so hard before, for her mother, or Oenomaus, or even her dear brother, as she did for her sweet friend, alone in the world. Diona had always been quick and small, easy to escape notice. She had often slipped through the gates undetected, to visit her mother’s resting spot, but always came back for Naevia. Stay alive. Naevia pulled Pietros into her and drew on his energy.
“Gone, gone,” she repeated, the words finally giving way to tears she had held, since watching her mother walk away from the ludus, toe to heel. “Brother, you are my whole world now. What will become of us?”
*
It was Melitta’s cloak. That was all Naevia could think of when Domina pointed to it, told her to put it on. The garment was finer than any other she had ever worn, and still held Melitta’s scent, of rosemary oil and lemons. Oenomaus - Doctore - had looked at her sharply when she emerged from the villa behind Domnia, and she lowered her gaze, unable to face him. The freshly tattooed mark upon her back still stung, every time the cloth fell against it.
It was Diona who had always wanted to see the games, who had watched the arena grow, stone by stone, with wonder from the balcony in the villa. And it was Diona who would tell Naevia all about the glories Gannicus would achieve within. And then Melitta would call them back inside, back to work.
And now, she, Naevia, was the only one left.
Naevia looked over the crowds from the vantage point of the pulvinis, the crowds screaming for blood, nearly shaking the wooden beams of the stadium in their excitement.
But all Naevia could hear was the crack of the whip as slaves brought stone to build foundations. The murmillo, the Gaul, he had been such a stonehauler, Naevia was certain she had heard that.
Naevia.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Naevia had heard her mother’s voice in her ear at times over the years when she felt most lost, but always in a quiet moment. Naevia. It came again, more insistent, and as she allowed herself to look to the sand, she felt her mother reach with icy fingers to keep her from crying out.
Diona was bloodied and battered. If she had indeed been branded fugitivus, as she had feared, Naevia could not see for her wounds. She knew the moment she was seen, the moment Diona felt her presence, and shared her fear, her wild, desperate grief...and her resignation. You are my whole world. We are as one.
Naevia was a fool. There was no safe place in this world for a little slave girl.
Naevia.
Melitta’s voice in her ear, and then Esyilt’s. Send her to me.
Naevia looked back to Diona on the sand, holding her gaze and her friend’s last plea.
Stay alive.
Naevia answered just before the blade robbed life from the pretty little Celt girl, with the loveliest pink cheeks.
Be free.
*
Much of Naevia’s life was nothing.
She attended Domina; she stood, she poured wine, she stood, she got into the bath with her, and out of the bath with her, and then she stood. She stood in the bedchamber when Domina laid with her husband, listened to his rough words, his hoarse cries, and forced herself not to look away. She was not to look away, but she was not to see, either. And she was to be seen by nobody. Her life was filled with nothing.
Sometimes Domina would have one of the other girls pleasure Dominus with hand or mouth before they coupled, and though it shocked Naevia at first, she stopped being afraid of it after a time. Though it was not an easy thing to turn her eyes from the girls sent in from the kitchen, or the gardens to perform this task.
“Hand,” Domina would reach for Naevia’s palm, and she moved between her thighs without any more prompting.
Domina had little patience for Naevia’s timid touch the first time she was made to pleasure her and after a few sharp strokes across her neck, Naevia learned to shut off her mind, her thoughts, the voices she heard, and moved herself to stay alive, whatever the cost. It was not what Diona, or Melitta had endured, and she would not allow herself to be broken. She was the last of them left. She lived for them.
She had been with Oenomaus when he saw Melitta’s ashes below ground, so close to where Esyilt had been laid to rest. She hoped they brought comfort to each other, and she hadn’t heard their voices since the day of the games. As for Diona, Naevia had sent all of her thoughts and wishes along with Gannicus, that she might follow him and see the world from his point-of-view, the way she always wanted. He was the only slave she had ever known to win his freedom, and he needed a good, gentle spirit to guide him.
And Domina had kept her promise. Naevia attended her only, and so long as she stayed by her side, she was in no danger.
So many times, she and her brother had asked each other what was to become of them, and now Naevia knew the answer.
If a slave was to stay alive, she must close her mind and not be seen. Live a life of nothing.
*
Sometimes days, or even weeks would go by before she saw Pietros again. It was different in this life afterward, of course, she could not slip away so easily as she could when she had Melitta and Diona to share the world. But even aside from her own difficulties, Pietros would not always come at every chance he had.
She did not blame him, or find fault with him. He managed to find a shred of happiness and hope in this place which had taken so much from them. And under the protection of the Beast of Carthage, she worried less for the brother who seemed so far away from her.
And yet...Her heart missed him, missed all the comforts of sharing her thoughts and fears with him, with anyone. He was all she had left. They were still connected, as they were as children...but she only had him by half, if that.
And yet she could not begrudge him his love, could not feel jealousy of Barca when she knew all too well how fleeting any happiness might be in this place.
Sometimes, he would lift his eyes to meet hers from the ludus floor, when she stood on the cool balcony in the shade. You are my whole world, she would think, smiling down at him.
And he would smile back, and she knew that he heard her words.
*
“Bring me the Gaul.”
Like so many things when she first came to be a body slave, Naevia did not understand this command at first, but learned quickly. And attending the games with Domina had helped her to learn the names of the men, which were Germans or Numidians, which were murmillo and hoplomachus. There were many Gauls at the ludus, most who fought in the style of cestus but when Domina made such a request, Naevia knew there was only one she sought.
On days or some late nights when Dominus had business that called him away from the ludus, Domina would send for Crixus, the new champion of Capua. It was normally the call of Naevia to secret him upstairs and through the villa to Domina’s bedchamber. At first, Naevia was pleased with this task, thinking in this way she might be able to steal a glimpse of her brother as she waited by the gate, but that seldom occurred.
The champion was a smaller man up close, much smaller than he appeared in the arena, though Naevia had seen what he could do with sword and shield. But yet, it was a thing of note to see the man before her, as a man, and not the god who thirsted for blood on the sand.
Sometimes, when they reached the bedchamber, she could feel him still behind her and would look over her shoulder to meet his gaze. He watched her in a curious way.
He saw her.
“Lamiaceae?” He asked, his voice low and startling. She turned to see his eyes curiously dark and wondering.
“Apologies?”
“The scent, I recall it from the fields when I was a child.” She found herself struck thinking of the champion of Capua as a boy. It was hardly enough to consider him a man. “The oils, they held healing powers and...”
The bath oils. Naevia had the responsibilty of bathing Domina, a small kindness that allowed her to also be clean. He was studying her closely and leaned in even nearer, breathing deep.
But she was to be seen by nobody, and she drew back the curtain once again. “Domina awaits.”
part ii
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