CHAPTER FOUR.
the words of an old poet

     Wash, rinse, and repeat.

     That was what Octavia Amulius repeated in her head, like a mantra; wash, rinse, and repeat.

     It echoed against the back of her skull as she scrubbed her skin from head to toe, rinsing through her raven coloured hair before she brought the sponge down against her skin, scrubbing and scraping the tough edges of the object against her soft and delicate skin until it turned a dark shade of red. The woman winced, but she did not stop. She couldn't stop until she washed away every trace of the Emperor from her body, from every place his rough fingers caressed her skin harshly, to the places where he left sloppy drunken kisses, and most importantly, in the place where he released his seed, erasing every mark he left on her very being until she believed he was no longer latched onto her.

     Wash, rinse, and repeat.

     It had become a part of her routine whenever she had been entangled in the throes with her soon to-be husband. Despite believing she could someday love the madness in the man, the mere thought of his very touch on her body made Octavia's skin crawl. So much so that she had to bathe and soak her body, hoping to cleanse every inch of her very being until she was reassured that Geta's existence no longer lingered on her body, mind, and most importantly, her spirit. She scraped the sponge across her bare skin until it was raw. She ignored the burning sensation that sizzled across her skin, and blinked away the tears that pricked at her eyes until she felt sure enough that every trace, every fingerprint, and every fibre of DNA was forever gone.

     Geta had gotten carried away last night after the ball. The wine coursing through his bloodstream mixed with his excitement for his and Octavia's wedding day in a couple of weeks made him overzealous. After the ball, Octavia took herself to bed early for the night, but it wasn't long until the Emperor joined the woman in her bed, thus giving her no choice, but to give into his desires and provide him with the pleasures he grew an insatiable hunger for day after day, night after night. It made Octavia feel sick. The way he had pulled her close to his body, the way he littered her stomach with kisses when he was done, hoping for a child to be the product of their endeavours, and the way he looked at her — that godforsaken drunken expression that told her she was his, and his only. Like an object, and not a person.

And so, she washed her skin, scrubbing it clean. She then rinsed the nourishing oils away from her body, before she repeated the method again and again. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

But if there was one thing Octavia Amulius could not wash away? It was the fresh bruises that now adorned her skin.

The Emperor in the midst of his drunken state had gotten rather rough than usual. Octavia would look down at her wrists and remember when he pinned her arms above her head while he thrusted in and out of her. Or when she lowered her gaze to look at her thighs, and pinpoint every dark circle where he had caressed her flesh harsh enough to leave a couple of marks. It made her stomach turn upside down. Lucilla was right. She did not like how rough the Emperor would become when they became tangled in the sheets with one another. It was painful and uncomfortable, and it left Octavia hating herself a little bit more every day.

That's how he made her feel; dirty and worthless.

     So, the woman scrubbed her skin until she felt like she could breathe a sigh of relief, and know she had rid herself of the Emperor until next time he wanted to use her for pleasure. She knew she couldn't erase every fibre of him, but maybe just enough to make her feel as if she could breathe, and feel somewhat whole again. That was when Octavia Amulius received a light knock at her door before the door opened up, and stepped in Augusta, a new dress in hand, and a gentle half smile ghosting across her lips as she closed the door behind her. Octavia offered the woman a small smile of her own in return as she grabbed the towel, standing up, before she wrapped it around her damp body.

"My apologies, My Lady," Augusta began, placing the gown down on the bed, laying it out neatly before she turned to look back at Octavia, her kind eyes softening. "The Emperors are urging for you to attend the party today. You were all invited after all," She elaborated further, emphasising her words to make it clear it was a necessity that she attended yet another party with the Emperors. Even if it was truly the last thing she ever wanted to do.

Sighing, Octavia walked over to where the dress lay on her bed, staring down at the clothing and all of its glorious details with a deadpan expression plastered across her face. "I do not understand why I have to attend. It will be nothing special, just like every party I've attended in the past," She complained.

"Yes, you are very right," Augusta agreed, staring down at the gown for a moment before her gaze shifted to the woman standing beside her. "However, you were invited along with the Emperors. Not as a curtesy, but because you are valued by the Roman subjects. More valued than the Emperors themselves. I happen to believe it's also to show unity in the palace, to get them all excited for your union to Geta," She explained, rolling her eyes at that last part.

Octavia had to fight the urge to laugh in response. Augusta had never enjoyed the company of either of the Emperors, especially Geta. It made Octavia Amulius glad she wasn't alone sometimes in this old imperial palace. Augusta then handed the woman her robe before she walked towards the dressing table. Octavia sighed again and removed her towel from her now dry body before throwing the robe over her shoulders, her eyes never leaving Augusta. "I've just realised...we've known each other for over a year now, and I still do not know much about you," Octavia spoke up.

Augusta froze for a moment while she was getting everything needed to make Octavia look her best, like the woman had struck a nerve. "There is not much to tell, My Lady," She replied softly, but Octavia could tell she was lying.

"Well, you had a whole life you left behind to come and work here in the palace, did you not?" Octavia probed, hoping her curiosity would be answered.

Augusta said nothing in response for a moment. Instead, she turned around and walked towards Octavia before she guided the woman to the dressing table, gesturing for her to sit in the chair. Octavia did as instructed and allowed Augusta to work. "If you must know, I did have a life before..." Augusta trailed off, but she was hesitant in doing so at first. She reached down and grabbed a brush from the stand, gently dragging the bristles of the brush through Octavia's silky, black hair. "I had a husband, and shortly after we were married, we had a son," Augusta confessed, smiling when she mentioned her family.

Octavia continued to stare at Octavia through the reflection of the mirror in front of her and Augusta. "You have a son?" She inquired in a rhetorical manner. She almost couldn't believe Augusta had never told her this information before.

Augusta nodded her head in response, a small smile creeping across her lips when her boy was mentioned. "His name is Felix. He lives in the city with my mother while In work here in the palace," She answered.

"And your husband?" Octavia pushed. She then watched as Augusta's smile faded from her lips, her soft expression falling from her face the second her husband was brought into the conversation again, or at least the mention of his whereabouts. Octavia took the somber sadness in the woman's eyes as an answer in itself. "My apologies. I did not mean to pry—"

     "It's okay," Augusta interjected, speaking in a reassuring voice as she continued to brush through the woman's hair. "He was a soldier in the Roman army. He died on the battlefield a long time ago when Felix was just an infant. My mother is old. She cannot work. So I had to provide for us, and so I came here to the palace for work. The pay is not much, but it helps my family back home. However, like you, you could say Emperor Geta took a special liking to me, too," She explained solemnly, reaching for a pin to put in Octavia's hair.

Except all Octavia could do was stare at the woman, a sympathetic look evident in her eyes before she parted her lips to speak. "I am sorry. I cannot imagine it was easy. He's an Emperor and you are a maid. Saying no to him must have been impossible for you," She apologised. All this time she complained about the dynamic between Geta and herself, not knowing how much worse others had it here in the palace.

"Do not be sorry. I have no shame in what happened. However, I was quite relieved when you came along. It took all his attention from me. I am sorry if that sounded selfish, My Lady," Augusta replied, shaking her head.

"It isn't selfish at all," Octavia reassured her. "If tomorrow, someone else caught the Emperor's attention and took it from me, I would be relieved, too," She explained, earning a quiet chuckle from Augusta in response, causing for Octavia to smile back at her in return.

It was strange to believe Octavia Amulius had found a friend who shared similar sentiments and experiences with her; one woman once trapped under his rule, and another who inevitably took her place in the long run. Augusta Cato was once a victim too, trapped under the unbearable weight of a mad man, given no other choice than to submit herself to him, or face the dire consequences. Octavia was just like her, sacrificing her very being to please the man and give him everything his burning heart craved. To find a friend who knew what she was going through on the daily left a feeling of warmth in Octavia's chest, knowing there was no more feeling of loneliness burrowing deep into her ribcage.

With someone like Augusta at her side, Octavia Amulius would never be alone again.

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     The party was just as promised. Hosted by Senator Thraex, the gala was decorated with fine golden and purple silks that wrapped around the pillars, and shimmered in the daylight peaking in. The room was filled with the highest ranking lords and ladies, everyone picking as the miniature buffet laid out with the head of a rhino as the centrepiece. The ghastly sight was enough to make Octavia turn away as she entered the room, her arm hooked with her husband to-be, a path made for the Emperors and herself as they found their way to their reserved seating in Thraex's home, where Octavia took a seat behind Geta, offering warm and inviting smiles to the other lords and ladies surrounding her.

     Truth be told, this was the last place the woman wanted to be. She had heard from Augusta before leaving that the entertainment would be Macrinus' (the keeper of gladiators) a chance to show off his new and prized possession. The gladiator is rumoured to be a captured slave after the slaughter in Numidia, and Octavia internally cursed at the man when she smiled and shook Macrinus' hand, greeting yet another familiar face. This gladiator had lost their home, their family, and was now a slave sent away to die in the colosseum one way or another. She could not imagine such a harrowing and cruel fate befalling on an individual, and nonetheless, she would be forced to watch as they are turned into a public spectacle for all to see.

     "It's an honour to see you again, My Lady," Macrinus expressed his gratitude, letting go of the woman's hand as she smiled at him, forcing out all of the distain burrowed deep inside her chest cavity. "I hope you will be impressed by my newest project."

     Octavia hummed, nodding her head once again. "We are always amused by your spectacles, Macrinus. I am sure you will surprise us nonetheless," She lied. She was never amused by the man's desire to force men to become violent killers, and yet, she lied to prevent upsetting him, or the Emperors for that matter.

She was just relieved the conversation was cut short when it was, the familiar voice belonging to Senator Thraex now flooding the room. "My emperors. Lords, ladies, and gentlemen, and senators, for your entertainment...the art of combat!" Thraex announced proudly, earning a few excited gasps and applause from the spectators in the room with him. "May I present, the barbarian verses, from my own stable, the mighty Vichek!" He introduced as the applause ensued once again.

After introducing them both, Senator Thraex's fighter entered the room first, chains bound to his wrists, covered head to toe in dirt and bruises. From another room, the Barbarian, who Octavia could only guess was Macrinus' new gladiator, walks in with chains around his wrists too, except he appeared taken care of in comparison to Thraex's fighter. However, that wasn't what caught Octavia's eye. It was the way that for a split second, even if it was for just a second, the barbarian and herself made eye contact, their gaze finding one another. And for some reason, while Octavia could not explain it, she had seen plenty of gladiators in the time she had been betrothed to Geta, but none ever entranced her the way this particular gladiator just had.

Octavia couldn't quite place her finger on it, but she felt as if she had met this gladiator before. In another life, perhaps.

     Regardless, she dragged her gaze away from the man just as fast as it had previously found him before she clapped her hands together. "This is your gladiator?" Octavia heard Geta question, watching as he turned his attention over towards Macrinus.

     "It is," Macrinus confirms, nodding his head in response to the question as the chains are removed from both fighters.

     Senator Thraex turns to both men, his lips parting to speak as he slowly moves off to the side to clear the floor so the fight could ensue at any moments notice. "Three rounds, hand to hand—"

     "Swords!" Octavia jumped in her own skin when Caracalla belted the word at the top of his lungs. She knew that with his deteriorating condition, he should not be making such an outrageous request. But now was not the time to protest against such a violent order, and instead, she chose to bite down on her tongue. "We want swords, a fight to the death..." He continued as swords were given to both of the fighters in front of them.

     Octavia swallowed the thick lump forming in the back of her throat as her eyes fell on Thraex's fighter and the barbarian, watching as their began to circle one another, preparing for a fight. But what surprised her was when she heard the barbarian speak through the applause. "Brother, let's not kill each other for their amusement," He told him, and it made Octavia wonder if he wasn't as violent as he seemed. If he was truly a barbarian, surely he wouldn't want to avoid the bloodshed, right?

     Thraex's fighter, or the mighty Vichek, the woman recalled, neglected the comment, tapping into the beast within and being the one to make the first strike, swinging his sword towards the barbarian. However, the gladiator was able to swerve around the violent swing of the sword before using his own blade to defend himself, the serrated edge slicing into Vichek's arm. The violent and unexpected action was enough to make Octavia gasp, her hand clutching her chest in anticipation, her eyes widening in horror as the blood began to fall down the muscles of his arm, all while everyone else in her surroundings laughed and cheered for the fight to continue.

     Both the gladiator and Vichek begin to circle one another, like a predator making an attempt to confine its prey in a perfectly crafted trap. The gladiator was the one to swing his sword this time, causing for Vichek to quickly block the attack, their swords clashing together in the process. Octavia jumped at the callous sound that echoed coldly throughout the room, her flickering eyes watching as Vichek gained the upper hand and kicked the younger gladiator away with all the force necessary, his sword falling from his hand as he lost his balance. It put the woman on edge as the more muscular man approached the gladiator and attempted to kill him with one singular swipe of his sword.

     And when Octavia believed the fight was over, an obvious winner in her sights, the gladiator ducked underneath the swinging of Vichek's sword and tackled him, delivering a harsh blow with his knee to the man's gut, knocking all the air out of his lungs. But Vichek was able to recover quickly from the deadly blow that could've marked the end of his fight, and pushed the gladiator up against a pillar, causing for the younger man to groan in pain, holding him there as his head was slammed harshly into the pillar, the stone now stained with the crimson colour of blood. Octavia felt uneasy at the sight. She felt her stomach doing somersaults while she tried to contain her obviously discomfort towards the endless acts of violence.

     Then, all of a sudden, the gladiator grabbed the nearest object, that just so happened to be a vase, and smashed it across Vichek's skull, the vase shattering completely. The act was enough to make Caracalla break out into a fit of maniacal laughter, and when Octavia lowered her gaze to Geta, she could see he was entranced by the violence, or even impressed by the spectacle of it all. Octavia sighed in frustration, her naive hope telling her they would put an end to the fight and show mercy on both of their lives at any given moment, but she also knew she shouldn't be another victim to wishful thinking.

     When Octavia looked back at the men, she saw Vichek going to pick up the sword he had dropped when the gladiator smashed a vase over his skull, all while the other remained unarmed. Octavia continued to watch with distain in her heart and anticipation plastered across her face as Vichek began to swing the sword towards the gladiator once again. But when the gladiator was able to grab the hilt of the sword and use all his strength to tussle with Vichek over the weapon, the fight began to work out more in his favour. And before Octavia had a chance to make sense of what was going on, within the blink of an eye, the gladiator turned the sword on Vichek and drove the blade through his gut, killing the man instantaneously.

     And when a final gasp of human breath leaving Vichek, announcing to the room full of spectators that he was well and truly dead, Octavia knew who had won.

     Cheers and applause ensue once again as the man's limp body fell from the sword before crashing onto the ground with a loud and heavy thump. Octavia, however, remained unmoving and rendered speechless in the midst of her own disbelief. It made her feel sick to her stomach that she had witnessed such a violent death, and it made her angry that others cheered for it, never showing an ounce of compassion for the blood spilled in this very room on this very day.

     But what she hadn't noticed was the way the barbarian stared at her as she watched the body fall to the ground. He noticed that while everyone else in the room cheered, amused by the sudden death of a slave, she was not. She did not relish in the spectacle the same way her peers did. The woman in front of him was disgusted by the violence that had occurred in the room with her, and furthermore, she was concerned for him when she looked him up and down and pointed out his wounds. She showed him that in some way, she cared if he was hurt or not, and he did not think Roman women were capable of the gentle and compassionate act of caring for those beneath them.

It left the man wondering how that was humanly possible.

     Octavia was then snapped out of her horrid and twisted disgust when she noticed Geta stand up from where he was previously sitting, smiling ear to ear with a maniacal look burning in his eyes. "Remarkable! Remarkable!" Geta cheered while he clapped his hands together. He then approached both Macrinus and his gladiator. "Congratulations. Truly remarkable," He complimented again, stopping in front of the gladiator, who stared back at Geta, bloody, bruised and wounded, hate evident in the barbarian's eyes.

     Octavia couldn't exactly blame him either. The Emperors were the reason he lost his home.

     "From where do you hail?" Geta asked the gladiator. However, instead of a straight forward answer, he was rewarded with nothing more than absolute, and desolate silence. The act only seemed to aggravate the Emperor. "Speak. I said speak—"

     Macrinus then approached the Emperor. "He is from the colonies, Your Majesty. His native tongue is all he understands," He interjected respectfully.

     But that was when the barbarian stepped forward, his body being engulfed by the Roman sun that peaked into the room. "The gates of Hell are open night and day, smooth is the descent, and easy is the way," He laughed as he recited poetry. Poetry? Octavia never in her lifetime had heard of a man from foreign lands who knew of Roman poetry, and yet, he stood before her to change her mind. "But to come back from Hell, and view the cheerful skies, and this, the task and mighty labour lies," He then finished, leaving the rest of the room wallowing in deafening silence.

     Octavia Amulius could not believe her ears. A gladiator who could recite poetry. It was unheard of to say the least. It left her staring longingly at the man, everything else around her beginning to fade for just a moment, and all she could focus on in that very moment, was him. Octavia did not understand why this gladiator, especially when she had seen so many in the past, had managed to catch her attention in a way no one ever had before, but she wanted to find out. It was as if a hunger had been awoken within her, an insatiable appetite for knowledge that couldn't be contained so easily, like a burning fire filled with desire scorched through her very soul, hungry to learn more about him.

     Maybe Octavia would have to make it her mission to find out.

     But she was forced to purge those thoughts to the far back of her mind when Geta's voice flooded the air again. "Octavia, My Love, would you join us?" Geta called out politely, holding out his hand. Octavia did as she was asked and left her seat before she joined the Emperor at his side, now standing beside him, her hand nesting into the grasp of his own. "This is my bride to-be, Octavia. She is radiant, isn't she?" He asked in a rhetorical manner.

     Octavia turned so her eyes met the gladiator's gaze again, now standing only a few feet away from where he stood. She watched as he stared back at her for a moment before he lowered his gaze, allowing Geta to continue to speak. "Not only is she a beauty, but she also happens to be an excellent healer. She nursed her own mother before her demise, isn't that right?" He inquired further, looking at Octavia, like he was waiting for her to confirm what they already knew.

     Truth is, the mention of mother's death was enough to leave Octavia feeling uncomfortable, knowing Geta's and his brother's careless actions led to her unfathomable demise. But nonetheless, she smiled weakly and nodded her head. "It is," She confirmed for him.

     "You impressed me today, Barbarian. I will bestow you the honour of having my betrothed tend to your wounds. We do not want to see you die of an infection before you have a chance to impress us even more in the colosseum," He explained. Octavia gave the Emperor a surprised glance when she heard the suggestion roll off his tongue, not believing for a second that she would have ever gotten the chance to heal others again.

     Geta smiled again, but this time at Macrinus, "And we all look forward to seeing your poet perform in the arena."

     While both of the Emperors were both taken back to the palace after the party had come to an end, Octavia Amulius was escorted by her sworn guard, Caius, to where the gladiators were now being kept, in cages beneath the ground of the Roman colosseum. Octavia did not understand why Geta had asked her to tend to the gladiators wounds. He had been impressed by other fighters in the past, but none were bestowed the honour of having her as their healer. Octavia didn't even know if that's what she would call it, an honour. She was not special in her eyes. Just another woman trying to survive in the middle of the Roman court.

That's what she was doing now, by following Geta's orders to come to the colosseum and see Macrinus' prized gladiator.

     Octavia wondered if it could get any worse than this.

     When she entered the room, Caius walking close behind her, his hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword when he noticed the way the gladiators trapped in their cages looked Octavia up and down. Their hungry eyes scanned every inch of her body, sinister grins etched at the corners of their lips while they pursed them together and whistled at the woman. Each one who showed Octavia unflattering and unwanted attention were given stern death stares from Caius in response, all while Octavia rose above the crude comments and unwanted glances from the men. Instead she rolled back her shoulders, cleared her throat and continued walking until she spotted Macrinus standing by the opening into a larger room than the others.

Next to him stood a man Octavia had seen before. A gladiator turned healer, or at least that was what she had heard through the grapevine.

When Octavia and Caius reached both men, they bowed respectively to the woman. "My Lady, I have to offer my dearest gratitude for your services. It is truly an honour for you to take care of my new gladiator," Macrinus was the first to speak.

"The honour is all mine, Macrinus," Octavia lied through her teeth. The palace was more warm and inviting than the gladiator cages.

The second of the men stepped forward, holding out a small box of what she could only guess was the correct supplies needed. "It is all yours," He offered. This caused for Octavia to reach out and take the box from him, a kind smile ghosting across her lips.

      "Thank you..." Octavia trailed off, her eyes noticing his long messy curls and the markings on his face.

The man noticed she was waiting for him to introduce himself. He smiled sheepishly at the woman before parting his lips to speak. "My apologies. My name is Ravi," He stated.

"Well, it is very nice to meet you, Ravi. I hear you are an excellent healer," Octavia complimented before her attention transferred over to Macrinus, her eyes meeting his own. "Now where is this infamous gladiator?" She questioned, wanting nothing more than to get this over and done with, so she could return to her isolated lifestyle in the palace.

Macrinus clasped his hands together, and moved aside so she could enter the room. "He is in there, My Lady. I am warning you now though, he has a sharp tongue," The man warned her, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

"A gladiator who is not afraid to speak his mind?" Octavia inquired in surprise, arching her brow for a moment. She would not admit it out loud, but to meet a gladiator who was not afraid to offend her like so many others would be, all because she was to be the wife of the mad emperor, it would be a refreshing change in her life for one singular moment.

     And without saying another word, she entered the room, and she did it alone.

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authors note.
Are we on the edge of our seats??? I decided to leave this chapter on a mini cliffhanger because the conversation between Octavia and Lucius will be so fun and there will some tension, soooo I thought why not leave you excited for even more 👀
Also Augusta...her backstory with Geta is tied into the plot a little and you may love her or hate her...

Until then I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll update again soon!!