As I descended the steps into the ludus, the training school for gladiators, led by Septus, the Dominus’ right hand man, nerves fluttered in my belly. Nerves, and also anticipation. I was to be given to Marius the Undefeated, a gift as he ascended to his new position as Doctore—teacher— of the ludus. The other gladiators jeered as I followed the male slave down the corridor of the men’s quarters. Comments on my breasts, my thighs, my lips showered down upon my ears, but I was not affected. I did not care what these men thought. I cared only for the man to whom I would belong. “Enter.” Septus gestured impatiently toward the room at the far end of the corridor, one whose entrance was covered with a heavy curtain of faded cloth. Unlike the other men, Marius had private quarters—he had earned them through his prowess in the arena. I was grateful that we would be hidden from prying eyes as he sampled my flesh and decided if he would have me for his own. “Gratitude.” My voice was soft as I spoke to the slave, who I knew did not care.
