Enslaved Read Online Free Page A

Either was almost the equivalent to a stay of execution.
    “It is an honor to be chosen. I have always hoped to emulate my father, a great teacher to be feared and respected. After he died, mother took another husband and relocated us to be close to his family. I could not live far from this place and you. This is my home, whether I fight or teach.”
    “After we marry, this ludus will be ours and I will not have to leave your side to sleep in my own bed.” She got up to find her clothing. The weak lamp light showed a crumpled pile on the dirt floor she guessed must be her tunic.
    Canus studied her body as she dressed. “I long for that tomorrow.”
    “As do I.” She kissed him goodbye before exiting the cell.
    The compound was dark and soundless as Marcella trekked across the grounds inferring what it would mean if Canus became head trainer. His contract as a gladiator would end, he would retain his freed man status, and his reputation as a revered champion might help sway Bestia to allow them to wed. One impediment was Lurco. He may not be so ready to relinquish his position without encouragement.
    How could he be persuaded? As she traversed through the garden, she found an answer. She spotted a two-foot tall belladonna plant with its distinct bell-shaped flowers. She sniffed the purple petals. They emitted a nauseating odor, a clue that it was baneful and bore poisonous fruit. She carefully picked a few of the black berries. She could sneak small amounts of the toxic juice into Lurco’s food or drink to keep him sick and make him name a replacement.
    She abandoned the plan as hastily as it formed. She didn’t know if prolonged doses would be fatal, and the illness itself was surely painful. She wasn’t cruel nor was she a murderer. She was a healer. Her love for Canus and the desperation to keep him clouded her judgment. Such bad thoughts, even without action, were almost enough to secure a place for her in the flaming pits of Tartarus. She threw down the berries and squished them into the ground with her shoe.
    She hurried back to her room and lit a candle by the bed.
    “Where were you?” a groggy voice asked.
    “Julius Caesar!” She jumped with surprise.
    The gray-haired patriarch sat wearily in a chair. The herbs were losing effect. The disease was worsening, robbing him of sleep, and Marcella was caught.
    “You startled me. I could not fall asleep so I went for a walk.”
    “Absent your attendant? I think not. I know you were with Canus.”
    “Father, I—”
    “Do not interrupt. Your excuses are shit pouring from an asshole. I will not be the wiping rag that absorbs them. When your mother died, I indulged you with far too many freedoms. I needed you here for Maro’s sake, so I never pressed you to find a husband. This stops now. A proper Roman woman does not lie with gladiators, at least where others are aware, and especially not the daughter of Bestia Calpurnia!” He pounded his chest. “Certainly not when she is promised to another man.”
    She was still reeling from the simile comparing her to either feces or a rectum. “What?”
    “I am not ignorant. I have suspected this for months, and to see you sneaking in here turns my stomach.” He paused to cough and steady his respiration. “I am not getting better from this illness. I worry what will happen when I am gone. I have no choice but to intervene now, before you get pregnant with a bastard child, and marry you off to a gentleman of decent standing.”
    Marcella knelt by his side. “With respect, father, as a lanista, you are judged as good as a butcher or a pimp. I will never be referred to as proper, and I shall be damned before I wed someone I do not know.”
    “Suspend your damnation for now. You are familiar with the Licinia family.”
    Her brain didn’t process his statement, as if her head were submersed in water and her eardrums heard muffled syllables strung together. “Father, I love Canus. He is a good man, not a common