The Slave's Gladiator

Chapter 2: The Gladiator

During the rare holidays, slaves and Roman citizens mingled in the city with relative ease. Only collars and tattoos announced their positions in society.

Thankfully, Pompeius didn't mind Hadriana's shackled accessory as she worked across the tabernae's floor of The Rye. Among the smells of foricae, drunk men laughed, yelled, gambled, and paid for some "nightly" company with the female servants.

"Can I get you some more wine?"

Drunk eyes linger on her frame far more than she liked as the middle aged man leaned forward. "How much for a night with you, love?" His lustful gaze churned her stomach.

Don't respond. Don't respond. Her eyes scanned the man's knocked over mugs. "I'll get you some more wine." Though if you asked me, you don't need anymore. Before the man replied, laughter exploded as the doors swung open.

The group of men, tattooed with the gladiator status, pushed and jostled each other as they looked ready to rest and nurse their wounds with wine and women.

Dark brown eyes met her gaze, hitching her breath at deepened of them. They roamed over her face then collar and finally her figure with a spark of interest that turned her stomach. Scars across his body told stories of his battles. While that foreign tattoo teased Hadriana's brain . Where did I see that before?

A hand grabbed onto her arm, startling her heart into her chest. Before she could move, the man yanked her toward him. She couldn't move. Warm breath fanned her ear. "Why don't I pay for a room?" His hands moved dangerously low. "So, we can have a little fun?"

A wave of bile pressed against her throat. Her arm burned in his vice like grip. "I'm not a part of that service sir." Her words earned a sharp hair pull. "Excuse me?" The man sneered. "Did you forget your place?" He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. A whimper pressed against her throat. "You're a slave. When your master says jump, you say how high." His grip tightened. "And I'm sure he'll let me rent you out for a night or two."

Her vision blurred. Please no.

"Back where I'm from, you would get your tongue cut out for talking to a woman like that." Their gaze snapped to the new voice. Somehow, the largest of the gladiators had cleared the distance silently, leaving him glaring down at the man.

"Let her go." His eyes burn with venom.

The man's hold on her arm tightened. "Well, it's a good thing she's not a woman," his drunk voice wheezed. "She's a slave."

"A slave that said no." His lips curled. "Now are you going to release her, or do I have to make you?"

The drunk, after sizing the man up, released her arm with a muttered "rotten wrench." Stumbling back, Hadriana tensed as her body hit something hard. Frantic eyes snapped to calm ones.

"Easy there." His voice softened. "You're safe."

Safe? No, she wouldn't be safe till she was out of here. Biting her lip, she turned away from the gladiator's gaze. Still, it would be rude of her to not at least thank the man for his help. "Thank you."

She glanced toward the drunk man.

"Why don't you come serve my table for a while." He pointed to his group of buddies. "I promise I'll keep these guys in check." Refusing to meet his gaze, Hadriana slipped past him and toward the new table. She jumped when the four men, all similar in stature, called at a nearby waiter. As she staggered back, a hand pressed against her.

"Well, look at what we have here." All their eyes flickered to her. The speaker, the skinniest of them gladiators, tilted his head to her. "Gamba, I didn't know you were going to get us the most beautiful server here."