Chapter 1 #2
“Is there somewhere quiet we can sit?” the physician asked as they navigated down the stands.
“Ideally with decent light. I assume that wound needs stitching.” As he spoke, she detected an accent—Greek, if she wasn’t mistaken.
He wore a tunic of light green, the linen weave fine and even, and the strap of a leather satchel rested over one lean shoulder.
She guessed he was in his late twenties or early thirties.
“You don’t have to do this,” Lea said. “We have our own physician.” She stumbled on an uneven step, her head still spinning from the pain and the shock of coming face-to-face with the most powerful person in the world.
“Careful.” The physician’s hand tightened on her arm, steadying her. “Are you going to faint?”
“No,” she scoffed. Likely the only women he ever dealt with were the sort who swooned if the wind blew too strongly. Even so, she did quite want to sit down.
She tried again to deter him. “Surely you have better things to do than treat someone like me.”
“Firstly, the emperor’s order was quite clear,” he replied. “Secondly, we don’t get many stab wounds at the imperial palace. This will be the most interesting thing I’ve seen in quite some time.” A jovial note entered his voice.
She grimaced. “Glad I can provide more entertainment.”
As they entered the back area of the arena, Lea sank gratefully onto the first stool she saw. Kallias crouched next to her, showing no hesitation about the dirt that must be getting on his fine tunic. Maybe she’d been wrong about him not wanting to get his hands—or clothing—dirty.
He opened his leather bag and rifled through it.
Lea closed her eyes. Somehow, the spinning in her head was worse now that she was at rest. She tried to take a deep breath, but the bindings around her chest didn’t let her fully expand her lungs. She needed to get these off as soon as possible.
Lea suppressed a hiss as he unwrapped the messy wad of blood-soaked cloth. “You bring your medical supplies to the games?” she asked to distract herself.
“A physician never knows when his services may be needed. I like to be prepared,” he said.
Footsteps approached, and Lea opened her eyes to see her friend Jason, a fellow gladiator, approaching. Jason glanced from Lea’s wound to Kallias. “Are you all right? And who is this?”
“I’m fine. This is, er, a physician.”
“Hello,” Kallias murmured as he inspected the torn edges of her flesh.
Jason gave Kallias a suspicious glance. “We have a medicus.”
“He was sent, er, by—fuck!” she yelped. Kallias was currently dabbing at her wound with a cloth soaked in something that felt like fire. “What in Tartarus is that?” she demanded, trying to pull her arm away.
He kept a firm grip on her. “Just vinegar. Your wound is deep. It needs careful treatment to ensure it doesn’t fester.”
Sweat broke out on her forehead. “It fucking hurts!”
“I guarantee it hurts less than amputating your arm.” Kallias glanced at her face, then turned to Jason, still hovering behind him. “You. Fetch some water for her, or wine, if you have it.”
Jason shot him a skeptical look, likely not pleased at being ordered around, but took another look at Lea’s face and departed.
“You’re very rude,” Lea informed Kallias through gritted teeth as he continued to blot her wound with the vinegar-soaked cloth.
His dark eyebrows rose. “I didn’t realize gladiators valued politeness so highly.”
“One would think someone who works in a palace would have better manners.”
“One would think a gladiator wouldn’t be complaining about a bit of vinegar,” he shot back, but his tone was light.
“When’s the last time you had someone dumping vinegar in your stab wound?” Lea snapped.
He grinned as he finally set the evil cloth aside. “Fair enough.”
Her stomach gave an unexpected lurch at the sight of his smile, and for a moment she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
He was so different from the men who usually surrounded her; looking at him was like biting into a tart apple after a week of eating nothing but unseasoned porridge.
His body was slender instead of bulky with muscle, his golden skin pristine and free of scars.
His features, too, were refined: an elegant nose that had surely never been broken, full lips, and a finely chiseled jaw.
He even smelled different: an herbal fragrance clung to his clothes, rather than the odor of sweat she usually detected.
He looked like he belonged in a palace, surrounded by luxury. Clearly, he’d ended up where he was meant to be.
“Does your physician not use vinegar, then?” he asked.
Lea shook her head. “Sometimes a bit of wine, if it’s to hand.”
“Wine is acceptable,” Kallias said. “But vinegar is better. Stronger.” He fished around in his bag, withdrawing a slim bone needle and a spool of fine thread, which gleamed in the light.
“Is that…silk?”
He cut a length of thread and fed it through the tiny eye of the needle. “Yes. Surprisingly strong, and much thinner than wool or flax.”
“How fancy,” she murmured. “I’ve never been sewn up with silken thread before.”
Jason returned, bearing a cup of water which Lea gratefully downed in a few gulps. “Is there…anything else?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Kallias.
Lea recognized the concern behind the question: should I leave you alone with this stranger?
“I don’t need anything.” Kallias seemed competent enough, and she didn’t want Jason to witness the painful process of stitching she was about to endure. Jason was her friend, but she still didn’t like to show weakness in front of him.
“All right,” Jason replied, with one last assessing glance at Kallias, then moved off.
Not a moment too soon, for Kallias drove the needle into her flesh. Lea hissed in pain. Her muscles tensed, and instinct urged her to rip her arm away from Kallias, but she managed to stay still.
“Is it true the emperor’s nickname is Little Boots?” she asked through gritted teeth, seeking to distract herself. Supposedly, the emperor had spent his youth in his father’s army camps, dressed in a miniature legionary uniform, which earned him the nickname Caligula.
Kallias remained focused on his task but made a dismissive noise. “Not anymore. He prefers it to be forgotten.”
She couldn’t blame him; it was a childish nickname, after all, hardly suitable for an emperor’s dignity.
Thankfully, the wound was deep but not long, and it required only a few stitches.
Kallias worked slower than the ludus physician, but his movements were steady, careful.
Their regular medicus stitched people up as fast as a housewife might stitch a tunic; the sooner he finished, the sooner he got paid.
Kallias, however, lingered over each stitch, making sure the tension of the silk thread was just right, that the next one would be perfectly even.
Finally, Kallias snipped the thread with a tiny pair of shears and stowed away the needle.
Lea exhaled in relief as the pain dulled to a manageable ache.
He withdrew a small clay container which appeared to contain honey and slathered the golden substance on the wound before binding everything up with a clean length of cloth.
“There,” he said with a satisfied smile. “How far away is your ludus?”
“Only a block.” Thankfully, the complex of buildings where the gladiators lived and trained wasn’t far from the arena.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“Not necessary,” Lea said. “It’s not my leg that’s injured.” To prove her point, she rose to her feet. Too fast, it turned out, for her head spun and black dots popped in her vision. She wobbled, her good arm flailing out.
Kallias’s arm slid around her waist, steadying her.
Her breath caught, and a different sort of unsteadiness assailed her.
It had been a long time—nearly two years—since she’d felt a touch like this.
Gentle, careful. These days, the only physical contact she felt was amid the violence of combat.
Even her two good friends, Jason and Ferox, never touched her unless by accident.
Which was how she preferred it most of the time.
The black spots cleared, and her eyes met Kallias’s. His were deep brown, with flecks of amber like the sparks that came off a fire. He looked at her with concern, but withdrew his arm as soon as she found her feet.
“I will see you back to your room,” he said in the same peremptory tone he’d used with Jason. “You need to rest. And I don’t trust you to do that unless I see you there myself.”
She glared at him, but exhaustion was already setting in, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. “Fine. It’s this way.” She turned toward the exit, and he followed.