The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(21)

I nodded. “Of course. If you’ll excuse my bad memory. Please . . . what news of home? How did you find yourself here, in this place?”

He paused for a moment, as if reluctant to tell me, and then said, “The Coritani have been raiding the Catuvellaun lands this past year.”

“That’s nothing new,” I said.

The Coritani were one of the more aggressive tribes on the Island of the Mighty. Raiding against the Catuvellauni—and any of the other tribes they fancied to bother, including my own—was like breathing to them. It would have alarmed me more to hear that they’d given up the practice.

But Yoreth shook his head. “Not like this. Raiding for cattle, sure enough, that’s to be expected. But burning whole villages? Killing most of the men and carrying off the women?”

His words felt like cold fingers wrapping around my heart. The Coritani were a hard and warlike people, but I’d never heard of them being so bold. Or so brutal. Things, it seemed, had changed on the Island of the Mighty. And what of my father, I wondered . . .

“The Catuvellauni called on us for aid,” Yoreth continued. “Your noble father, Virico, sent his warriors.”

I waited. “And . . . ?”

He shrugged and looked away. “And some of us, well . . . maybe we don’t fight with the same fires the Morrigan once kindled in our warrior breasts. Maybe, instead, we go down in the mud and are taken prisoner. And maybe . . . the filthy Coritani clap us in chains and sell us to the slavers.” His gaze shifted back to me then, and there was bitterness there. “Maybe they bring us here. To this place.”

I felt those icy fingers tightening around my heart, remembering in a sudden, vivid flash the night I’d been taken by Charon’s men . . . and all the horrid days after on the way to Rome to be sold. I swallowed thickly and said, “I’m sorry for your misfortunes. I do know something of what that’s like.”

His gaze drifted bleakly over me, head to foot. “Clearly,” he said.

My jaw clenched at the note of judgment in his tone. But I had to admit, it was hard to blame the man. Because, of course, I was dressed entirely like a proper Roman lady that day. There was nothing about the way I looked that was of the daughter of the Cantii king. In truth, I was surprised he’d even recognized me.

“Your pardon, Victrix,” the ludus trainer who escorted me said, stepping forward. “Scum like this don’t know how to act around a lady.” He slammed his staff against the bars, narrowly missing the man’s fingers. “Back off, cur,” he ordered in a blandly threatening tone. “Or I’ll have you training with the bestiarii. As bait.”

He gestured for me to follow him, and I nodded, turning my back on the man in the cell. As I walked away, I heard him say, “You may not remember where you come from, princess. But your new friends do. The Romans have not forgotten Prydain. One day they will return there. One day soon.”

I felt a chill along my spine, but I kept walking. I was there to see Cai. Not a disgraced warrior who, from his own account, had lost heart in the heat of battle and turned coward only to become captive. Yoreth would have plenty of opportunities to redeem himself—and his honor—in the arena.

At the end of the row of slave cells, the trainer unlocked a door and harangued its occupant until, finally, Cai stepped out over the threshold. He blinked in the uncertain light and then, when he saw me standing there, his eyes went wide. There was a fresh linen bandage wound around his arm, and I could see the outline of stiches beneath. In that respect, at least, the Ludus Flaminius took care of their gladiators. Of course they did. Even superficial wounds left untended could be deadly, and a dead gladiator was a wasted investment.

Before either of us could say anything, the trainer had pulled the door shut and was ordering Cai to move.

“Did you hear me, Varro?” he snapped. “Get going! Lady wants a session with you, and that’s what she’s going to get. Move!”

I followed close behind the trainer as he prodded Cai in the back with his staff, knowing I would be instantly lost if I didn’t keep up. The place was like a rabbit warren. If all the rabbits living there were actually wolves.

We were led to one of the small training yards used for individual sparring sessions. I suspected, judging by the trainer’s demeanor, they were also frequented by wealthy Roman dilettantes wanting to play-fight at being gladiators with the real thing—and wealthy Roman matrons who wanted the play without the fighting. I felt my cheeks grow red as the ludus trainer left us there alone, glancing first at me and then at Cai, and muttering, “No accounting for taste . . .” as he left.

And then suddenly, we were alone. I stood there, awkward and unsure, wondering if I hadn’t made a mistake in coming there. I waited for Cai to say something. Anything.

“Thank you,” Cai said finally, his voice strangely hollow. “For saving me.”

Saving him? I thought. I was the reason he was in that arena in the first place. I shook my head. “I didn’t,” I said. “You won that fight. Even after they cheated, you won. The token was just—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what . . . ?”

A pair of ludus guards stalked past our enclosure, pausing to look through the archway at us. Cai cast a flat glare in their direction and then wandered over to a rack of practice gear. He plucked up a pair of wooden gladii, tossing them to me. I caught them out of the air without thinking and waited while he chose a second pair for himself. Once he had, he walked back over to take up a ready stance in front of me. I shrugged off my palla and matched it, mirroring him, barely even needing to think about it.