Chapter Three
As Slaves
Gabrielle was led by the two slaves, following the Domina, but turned in a different direction from her bath.
“Where are we going?” Gabrielle asked.
“To the quarters of the house slaves,” she was told.
“I don’t understand why you let yourselves stay as slaves....” she started to say, and was slapped across the face for her words, and she was shocked at the act.
“You would do well to mind your tongue! Dominus and Domina have eyes and ears everywhere. You speak of escape today, and tomorrow you are standing before all of us and your tongue is cut out, or your throat is cut as a warning to the rest of us!”
When they arrived, Gabrielle’s clothes were quickly stripped from her and taken away. Then she was told to step down into the bath - set at floor level and filled with cold water, which she expected it to be. As she got in and sat on a small bench, another girl got in with her, and began dolloping a handful of a thick, soapy liquid onto her hair, and began to wash Gabrielle’s hair.
“I can do this myself,” Gabrielle complained, but didn’t stop her. Next she was told to stand up and then was scrubbed from head to toe with more of the soapy liquid and a rough, cleansing rag. Having her breasts, crotch and buttocks washed for her was embarrassing, but she was now afraid to complain. Next, several buckets of water was dumped on her, rinsing the lather from her. She was handed a large linen towel, she dried herself, and put on the knee-length, sleeveless tunic they all wore.
“Sit, eat,” Gabrielle was instructed, and she sat at a small table on a wooden bench and began to pick at the bread, cheese, grapes and melons.
After she had eaten her fill, she asked, “What happens to me now?”
The one who had slapped her sat opposite her. “My name is Phaedra. I am the overseer of the household as it pertains to the women slaves here. And when Domina sends word to me, whatever her wishes, I obey. And Domina will send for you, in her own good time. You must remember the rules. The first - do not look directly into her or Dominus’ eyes. It is considered as a sign of defiance. Look only at her mouth unless she instructs you to look into her eyes.”
Gabrielle nodded, then in a low voice said, “Does no one wish to be free?”
“Look around you - we are well fed, not living on the streets begging for sustenance and subject to the harshness of weather, and at the mercy of thugs, or worse. Our clothing are not rags. And for the most part, we are treated with indifference, so long as we do as we are told.”
“You said there were rules. What else do I need to know?”
“You are young and ptty. Dominus will one day decide you will be his favorite until he tires of you, or another strikes his fancy.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that he will expect you to serve him. Not only when it comes to fetching his wine or food, or pparing his bath, but sexually as well. He has a strong appetite for fornication, and when he bends you over a table, or pushes you to your knees, he will expect to do be compliant. And it will happen frequently.”
“Domina does not care?”
“So long as it isn’t flaunted or taken to extreme excess, well, they both have their private liaisons. It is just one of many ‘secrets’ of the House of Batiatus that is known, but never mentioned.”
Gabrielle nodded thoughtfully.
“But for now,” Phaedra continued, “there is much you can do. And you can start by emptying the bath tub, scrubbing it with white sand, and refilling it. Antea will be your companion until you are familiar with the ways of the household.”
Gabrielle looked up at one of the older women she had seen, older and very tired looking. Phaedra left them alone as Gabrielle and Antea began emptying the tub with the same buckets that were used to rinse her earlier.
x______x
Xena was taken almost back the way she and Gabrielle had come, but then veered off in a different direction. Soon they came to the quarters the gladiators called home. The entire front was made of iron strips half a hand’s width wide, forming a lattice from top to bottom and side to side, with spaces smaller than a man’s head. The door was unlocked by a guard, and after the door was closed and relocked, the chains around Xena’s wrists were removed.
Standing before her was perhaps the blackest man she had ever seen, darker even than Marcus. His chest was scarred from obvious battle, he was lean yet muscular, and he was taller by a hand than Xena. As she looked him over, he was doing the same to her.
Finally, he spoke. “So you are the infamous Xena we have all heard so much about. I am Doctore. I will be training you to fight in the arena as Dominus has ordered. If you cooperate, keep your tongue to yourself and train as you should, you will find I am a fair, if strict, instructor. If you are argumentative, contrary or confrontational - well, we have ways of dealing with such problems.”
Doctore gave Xena rags, in her opinion, to wear, and was told to remove her clothes and to use the rags to bind her breasts and to create a suitable garment to cover her lower half.
“The others will think you are for their pleasures,” Doctore said as he led her to the quarters of the gladiator hopefuls. “I expect you will resist, and if your reputation is accurate, you will probably put down as many as it will take. But be warned! If you cause injuries that pvent any of them from training, I am told your companion will suffer for it. Am I understood?”
“Perfectly,” Xena replied. She knew she would have to bide her time until the opportunity arose for her and Gabrielle to make their escape.
And as Doctore pdicted, as soon as Xena walked into the dining area, more than half of them began to make verbal advances. And after quieting them down, Doctore said, “This is Xena. She is not a harlot slave. She will be training with the rest of you to fight in the arena. And for those of you who don’t know her reputation as a warrior - well, you would be wise to listen to those who have heard of her, or perhaps have even seen her in action.”
And without another word Doctore turned and walked away, leaving Xena standing alone, and scrutinized by all of them. Xena looked at them, making eye contact with all of them one at a time.
“Xena, sit here,” someone said.
Xena walked to the serving line, picked up a wooden bowl and cup and held out each for the stew, a piece of bread, and water. She then walked to the table of the man who spoke. But as she passed by one of the men still staring and lusting after her, his hand grabbed her crotch. She immediately smashed his temple with her cup, then head-butted the bridge of his nose, breaking it and causing blood to pour down the front of his chest. And before he could recover, the bottom of her right foot caught him square in the chest, kicking him a half dozen steps backward, and down to the stone floor.
“Anyone else?” she asked, looking around. There was no answer, allowing her to continue to the table where she sat down across from the man who had invited her and began to eat without acknowledging him. After several bites, she looked quickly to her left, expecting an attack of some kind, but it was someone handing her a cup of water, since hers had been broken. Xena took the cup, nodded her thanks, and resumed eating.
Just as soon as she had finished, the man across from her said, “You are not a stranger to me. You caused the defeat of the army I was in, six, maybe seven years ago. We were led by the warlord Zagreas. We were going to attack the village of Piedmon, but somehow you convinced the giant Gareth to attack us. Very few of us got away with our lives.”
As he related the story to Xena, a smile crossed her lips, and a small chuckle escaped from her. “That was a good day,” she said, fondly remembering details she had all but forgotten.
“There are those here who do not know you, so if you need any help....”
“I can take care of myself,” Xena replied curtly, the fond memories pushed back down by the reality of her and Gabrielle’s psent situation.
The next morning, Doctore yelled out that it was time for the morning training session to begin. And the gladiators-to-be took the weapons they had been training with the pvious day -- wooden swords and shields. Doctore walked over to Xena and handed her a sword, then pointed out a large post sticking out of the dusty ground.
“You will spend the day there, improving your technique and skill with the sword.”
Xena looked at the post, then back to Doctore. “You’ve got to be joking. I can defeat anyone here and you want me to beat on a tree?”
“If you’d rather, I can send word to Dominus that you refuse to do as you are told.”
“Fine. I’ll beat on your damned tree all day long!”
“And if any others require medical attention from your actions, you can spend tomorrow, and the next day, and the next doing the same.”
Xena took a deep breath, took the sword, and walked over to the post and began chopping at it with enough fury that she knew would eventually break the wooden blade. And she would break enough of them until Doctore would give her a person to train against.
That night after she made it clear, again, she was no one’s whore, Xena found herself back in the arena while the others talked, and nursed the evitable bruises, abrasions and strained shoulders, knees and elbows. First she walked to the edge of the cliff that was the end of the arena. Even in the darkness, she could tell, sense, that this was no escape route. Then walking back to the center, she began to examine the balcony that overlooked the arena. The one that Batiatus watched from while they trained, and any invited guests to witness his gladiators in mock battles.
There were stone walls flanking the balcony, which had a railing three times the height of a man from the ground, too high for any man to jump up to; any ordinary man. But Xena was not ordinary. As she studied, she knew she could make the leap - a fast run to the wall, a high jump half the way up, a push off with her foot and she could reach the railing. And in an instant, she would be over it and on her way to freedom.
“I have no doubt you can make it to the top,” Doctore said, startling her. So intent was she studying the walls and balcony, she never saw him approach.
“I have heard you have many skills,” he continued. “But you should know, there are guards posted at every turn, at every intersection of the house. And they are always within sight of the other. Even battling your way through them, eventually you would be overpowered by the sheer numbers of them. But even if you somehow made it past the guards to freedom, there is the certainty that your companion, I believe her name is Gabrielle, would be tortured, and eventually killed when Dominus tired of her screams of agony.”
As Xena watched, he slowly walked back to the gladiator quarters. And following him equally as slowly, she realized she was, indeed a slave -- for now.
Continued