LEANORE 08
By Heck



Comments to heck@beadyeye.net

CHAPTER EIGHT

HER EYES OPENED to admit two scorching slits of painfully bright light. Her
brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to raise a hand to her pounding head,
but they were pinned to her sides by the tight bands that bound her to a flat
surface. She forced her eyes open, and the boards of a cabin ceiling blurred
into focus.

She was again on the table in Fallus Maximus's cabin, but this time stout
leather straps about her neck, chest, waist, thighs, knees, and ankles
restrained her. They were taking no chances, this time.

A scowling, upside-down face moved into her field of vision. The general let
his eyes roam up and down her body, drinking in the sight of her glorious
beauty. He was so close that she could smell his breath and, from her
foreshortened view, she could almost count the grizzled hairs in his flared
nostrils.

"So". His voice was quiet but harsh and she could sense the barely controlled
anger in his words. "You're back with us, eh?" He leaned forward until his
face was scant inches from hers. "You should die, for what you have done. You
killed an officer of the Empire, and the automatic sentence for that is death.
Slow, painful death". He straightened, and stepped around the corner of the
table so he could see her expression more clearly.

With speed that was remarkable for such an elderly man, he raised his fist and
hammered it down on her unprotected belly. Even relaxed, her abdominal muscles
were sufficiently resilient to absorb the blow, but it was enough to drive out
most of her breath with a little 'whoosh!'. She snarled at the general and
strove against her bonds, struggling under the tight leather.

"Still full of spirit, I see". The general sat on the edge of the table and
laid his hand on her thigh. Seemingly by accident, his fingers brushed against
her groin and came to rest touching the tight black curls of her pubic bush.
"That's as well for you. You're lucky that you're so valuable. You'll fetch a
great price, once you've been trained. And don't frown as if you don't
understand. I know you comprehend a lot more of proper language than you let
on".

"I understand", Leanore growled through grinding teeth. She was filled with
hate, anger, and humiliation, but it did not hinder the logical processes of
her mind. "You not kill I. I too." She searched for the word. ".valuable. "You
send I to 'arena', but I no forget. One day, I see you".

"Oh, you may well see me. If you survive". He shoved his hand under the strap
around her chest and found her nipple. He squeezed it cruelly, digging his
nails into her soft flesh. She hissed with pain. "Personally, I hope you don't
survive, but that you die most horribly in agony". He let go and stood up.
"For now, what you have done cannot go unpunished. You will be flogged, and
then you'll spend the rest of the journey in the box. But don't worry". He
smiled like a kindly uncle telling his niece that things were not so bad. "We
should be home in just over a week".

He laughed and moved away, leaving her to contemplate the prospect of over a
week in the cramped box.

*

Leanore lay on her side in a foetal position, double shackled in the dark and
confined conditions of the box. The foul air stank of her own sweat and waste,
and the rotting remains of spilled gruel that was fed to her twice a day
through a funnel and tube.

She had tested the strength of the lid and sides of the container on a number
of occasions, but the iron bands were strong and her position made it
difficult to gain any leverage. She had been unable to make any impression.

Her back was still on fire from the flogging she had received. They had taken
her out on deck, her movements restrained by the tight leather straps, which
had been refastened around her body. From the knees down, her legs were the
only part of her body that could move, and she had been forced to take tiny,
mincing steps. They laid her over a fat barrel and lashed her with a
many-tailed whip that inflicted maximum pain with minimum damage.

It had seemed to go on forever. She would hear the slow, measured footsteps of
the man with the whip as he paced away from her, and then his quick, running
steps as he rushed across the deck toward her, lending impetus and power to
the blows. White-hot pain would explode across her back and buttocks as the
lash struck and, despite herself, Leanore could not help but cry out in
anguish. Her back was raw and bleeding when they dragged her away, changed the
straps for shackles, and crammed her into the box.

She had lost track of the time that had elapsed since then. She was pretty
sure that at least six nights had come and gone, but in her misery it had all
blurred into one. Only her strong survival instincts had kept her together,
but from time to time a salty tear would course down her cheek at thoughts of
home and the prospect of a bleak future. Whatever this 'arena' was, she did
not look forward to it.

And just to add to her misery, a dull ache at her groin reminded her of her
violent rape at the hands of the [thankfully] dead Fallus Maximus.

After several days, Leanore became aware of changes in the busy sounds of the
ship. She heard the oars being shipped, and shouted orders about ropes and
sails, and she felt a bump as the trireme came to rest against something. Many
voices were raised in curiosity and anxiety, and she gathered that these were
her fellows being herded onto the deck. Then everything went quiet.

It seemed like an age that she was left alone in the box. She was about to
call out, because being left, forgotten where she was, was even worse than
whatever awaited outside. Then she heard footsteps, metallic noises, and the
lid was thrown open. The glaring sun blinded her for a moment, and rough hands
seized her arms and hauled her into the open. A blade was pressed against her
neck, and several large, sweaty men surrounded her.

"Get moving!"

She stared at the speaker with defiance. Her muscles were cramped and stiff
after so long in the box, and she pointedly paused and stretched and shook out
her arms and legs before complying.

Leanore was guided to the head of a long gangplank that led down to a
ricketty, wooden dock lined with seedy buildings. She could see all the
captives, lined up on the quay, segregated into groups. The 'elite' were all
together, and she saw the general talking to a short, stocky man nearby.

At the foot of the plank, she was led to where the general stood. He frowned
at her approach, and addressed his companion.

"You'll have to watch this one, Sextus. She's dangerous. Full of spirit and as
strong as hell. She's a beauty, but she killed half a dozen legionnaires in no
time at all. She also beat another slave so badly that she's still unconscious
after more than a fortnight. That one'll be good for you too, by the way, if
she recovers. But this.what's her name, soldier?"

The man he spoke to came to attention.

"Leanore, sir".

"Yes, Leanore. As I say, watch her. If she works out, I reckon she'll make
more money than you and I have seen in a long time. But if not, you may end up
having to kill her, because she's too dangerous for anything else".

The man called Sextus stepped forward and examined Leanore appraisingly. His
bald head, unshaven cheeks, and bare chest made him look like a barroom
brawler, but Leanore recognised the strength and assurance in his movements.

"Good muscle", he said, feeling her arms with expert fingers. "Excellent
muscle, in fact. An' from what you tell me, Gen'ral, she's got the killer
instinct". Leanore wrenched her arm out of his grasp, hissing through her
teeth. He laughed and turned to the officer, deliberately turning his back on
the woman to show contempt. "She'll do".

The general gave him a quick salute, and turned away. Sextus waved a hand, and
Leanore's guards pushed her into line with the others. They kept a sword on
her while they shackled all the captives into a long crocodile. Sextus climbed
onto a wagon and cracked the reins over the horse. The vehicle rumbled off,
and the captives were driven to follow.

After the other slaves had been dispersed, the 'elite' were taken a full day's
forced march until the train of humanity reached a rocky plain. Not far away
stood a settlement, comprising a few rude huts surrounding a big construction
that, from Leanore's perspective, looked like an outsized animal trap.

Built of whole tree trunks, each at least a foot in diameter and eight feet
high and with no space between, it formed a large circle. More logs formed a
vee-shaped avenue that led to the only gate in the wall, and all the trunks
were topped with wicked, jagged shards of broken glass. The captives were
funnelled down the avenue and through a heavy latticed gate. They would not
see the outside world again for a long time.

The gates slammed shut with a dull thud, and they were on their own. For the
first time in months, there were no guards, no soldiers, no-one pushing them
around, and they milled around aimlessly. It is surprising how quickly humans
become accustomed to captivity, and the lack of direction left them feeling
just a little lost.

"'Eads up!" The voice drew their attention to the top of the circular wall.
Sextus's head and shoulders showed above the parapet, apparently standing on
some sort of walkway around the outside, and all around the wall the shapes of
legionnaires, aiming crossbows down into the ring.

"These men will be up 'ere at all times", Sextus explained. "Any fightin' will
be dealt with by instant death at their arrows, no appeal. Me and my trainers
will come down among you shortly - any attempt to attack us or to take us
prisoner will result in death for every single one of you. Every one. Am I
clear?"

He waited for a few seconds, to be sure his words had been understood, and
disappeared. Leanore, who understood more of the strange language than she
could speak, took a moment to digest the impact of his words and took the
opportunity to look around her.

Along one side of the circle, a row of lean-to huts thatched with leaves and
open to the elements at the front, were presumably for living accommodation.
Scattered around the floor was a number of pieces of apparatus, the purpose of
which she could not guess, but she imagined all would become clear with time.

Suddenly Sextus, surrounded by half a dozen armed guards, was among them. He
must have come through the big double gates; there was no other way in to the
compound. But no one had seen him enter. It was as if he had just materialised
in their midst. He stood grinning, as if he knew of a private joke of which
the captives were unaware.

Leanore's attention focussed on him. She recognised him as the chief
protagonist, here, and on him all their futures would depend. She studied him
intently, noting every nuance of his posture and personality.

He stood no higher than her chin, but his presence seemed to fill the
compound. He was broad and stocky, and carried an impressive gut before him.
He was not flabby though, his stance and movement speaking of great strength
and past prowess. He carried himself like a warrior, confident and slightly
arrogant, but Leanore discerned that there was a hard determination but little
cruelty in his eyes.

He ran a thick-fingered hand over his bald head as he cast his scrutiny over
the slaves, a calculating look in his eyes. His gaze alighted on Leanore, but
when he spoke he addressed them all.

"Listen up! The legionnaires've all gone. Yer'll not see them bastards again.
There ain't nobody 'ere but me and me men. What 'appens to you pondscum
depends on me, and me alone. These men on the walls've got standin' orders to
shoot any one of yer that starts an unauthorised fight, and to shoot the whole
fuckin' lot of yer if yer attacks me or me assistants.

"I told you all this before. But yer c'n stand to 'ear it again. Be certain,
abso-fuckin'-lutely certain, I'm deadly serious about this. If yer as much as
raise an 'and, yer die. Every larst one of yer".

Leanore wondered about that. If the captives were meant to be valuable, why
would he make such a threat? But the look on his face was one of total
conviction, and she felt it was best to take him at his word. For now.

"Now, this's what's goin' to 'appen", Sextus went on, making eye contact with
each slave as he walked among them. "Yer've been brung 'ere to be trained fer
the arena. I'm yer trainer. My name is Sextus, and yer c'n spell that two
ways. S-e-x-t-u-s, or b-a-s-t-a-r-d, dependin' on 'ow yer be'aves yerselves".
He marched right up to the biggest man in the compound and bellied up to him.
The slave towered over him, but Sextus stared him right in the eye, his face
inches from the slave's, and there was no doubt about who was really the
biggest man. "You will address me as Master Sextus, or sir, and in no other
way. You will address me assistants as sir, also, an' yer'll do what yer told,
when yer told. Disobedience, or failure to use these forms of address will
result in the loss of yer privileges". He glared at the tall man until the
slave lowered his eyes. Then he turned to the others.

"Privileges includes sleep, food, water, and breath. That is all yer
privileges. Understood? Be'ave yerselves, an' yer'll be well treated.
Misbe'ave, an' yer die.

"So, now yer knows the rules. Now I'm gonna tell yer about the arena, so
listen good. Most of yer won't know anythin' about that, so let me tell yer.

"The arena is a place where yer will fight, and many of yer will die. You will
fight for the entertainment of the citizens and the glory of the Empire, an'
they want blood, make no mistake. So, don't get too cosy with each other,
because some of the people you're now living with, and will train with, yer'll
one day have to kill in the arena"

He paused to let that sink in. The captives looked around at the faces of
their fellows. Some of them shifted their feet uneasily. The only thing they
had was a sense of comradeship because they were all in the same boat. Now, it
looked as if even that was being taken from them.

Leanore's gaze never flickered from the strutting figure of Sextus. She did
not understand everything he said, but she was getting the gist and
concentrated hard, trying to take in as much as she could. Whatever she could
learn now may stand her in good stead later.

"The Games", Sextus continued. "That's what 'appens in the arena. Some of you
may be better suited to bein' runners or throwers, wrestlers or charioteers,
but that ain't the purpose of this compound. We're 'ere to turn you into
gladiators, that'll fight and die in combat. That's our job, an' that's what
we're gonna do.

"When you've been trained and proven yerselves in the ring, yer'll be sold. If
yer lucky, yer new owners'll take good care o' yer. Others may not be so
lucky, but that's tough. Them's the breaks. With any luck, yer'll be killed
before things get too bad. Eh?" He laughed at his own joke, not surprised nor
caring that the captives did not join in. "One way yer are lucky is that
yer've been sent to this compound. The compound of Master Sextus! I've turned
out some of the greatest gladiators in the Empire, and I intends to do so
again, even given the useless, worthless material I 'ave 'ere". He strolled
among the slaves, tutting to himself as if amazed at the poor quality. "An' I
must say, you lot are about the sorriest bunch of misbegotten fuckpigs I've
ever had the misfortune to meet! But I can work with that. Yer all I've got.
So we're gonna work. Every day, every hour, every minute, until I knock you
all into some kinda shape. Because you will be gladiators, trust me. Because I
am the best.

"There's two main types of gladiators. The retiarii, an' the secutori. A
retiarius uses a net an' trident, an' a secutor uses a sword an' shield. There
are others, but we don't train them, 'ere. In my 'umble opinion, which's the
only one that matters 'ere, they're all second rate. Retiarii and secutori are
where they money is, so that's what yer'll be. Which yer'll be, we'll decide
as yer go along.

"Yer training will be 'ard. Yer'll all suffer 'ardship, an' about a third of
yer'll die before the training's over. That's just a fact o' life. Nothin' I
c'n do about it, it's just the way things are. But yer'll eat well and be
taken good care of. Yer'll get plenty of sleep, and the best medical care. I
'ave to protect me merchandise, dun' I? An' those of yer that survive the
training'll be among the best gladiators in the Empire. Fact! If yer lucky
enough to find a good sponsor, yer'll live well an' be given some freedom.
Some of yer might even win yer freedom proper, but don't get yer 'opes up.
That don't 'appen too often.

"Right. Speech over". He sauntered over to the lean-to shacks, indicating them
with an expansive gesture of his arm. "These", he smiled, "are yer 'bedrooms'.
The lap of luxury, eh? They're warm, an' dry, and there's fresh straw every
day. I 'spect yer to get as much sleep as yer can. Yer'll need it.

"I don't 'ave any rules about fraternisin'. Yer c'n fuck yerselves silly fer
all I care. But if yer catch any diseases, and make yerselves unfit for
trainin', yer'll catch it from me. At the end of a javelin. Clear? Good. Now
yer c'n all turn in. Get some sleep.

"Trainin' starts tomorrow".