Arena (19 page)

She planted a false kiss on my cheek. “I won’t ever leave you, Cassius. So long as you live.”

And with a tinkling laugh, she returned to her chair. The Numidian girl resumed fanning her with the spray of egret plumes. Locusta appeared to drowse. I hurried out.

Our preparations were completed in the appointed time and we left Iol Caesaria for the south.

Shortly the irrigated farm tracts disappeared, replaced by a sere brown plain where a sirocco blew fitfully and strange antelope bounded on the horizon. Our guide was Egyptian, the bearers black Numidians with sad expressions. They carried our voluminous baggage as if it contained the weight of the world.

The plain rose steadily, a shimmering sandy yellow waste. I took to riding naked in the curtained interior of my creaking four-wheeled ox cart. Sand blew ceaselessly, penetrating the mouth, the ears and the eyelids. When at last we sighted the Roman fort, it looked as beautiful to me as the Emperor’s villa once had.

In reality the fort was an ugly, square yellow clay structure with towers at each corner. It was surrounded by a hut village housing the blacks who served the legionnaires. As we passed through the gate I climbed into a tunic to make myself presentable for the first centurion.

I waited in stifling shade while an officer in armor clanked out to meet us. Locusta lifted the curtain of her cart. She was pale and drawn from the heat. The fellow approaching was large-boned, sunburned, rather handsome in a coarse way. He wore only a waist cloth and greaves, as did the other soldiers lounging around the large square courtyard.

Like the appearance of the fort, the salute the officer gave me was slovenly.

“May I present my respects, Centurion Remus?” I said. “And this parchment from the decurion.”

He snatched the letter from my hand. “I’m not Remus. My name is Titus Quintus.”

“Where is the commander?”

Titus Quintus waved northward. “Taking a holiday on the coast. I’m the second centurion of the first cohort. When the commander chooses to rest for months at a time, I’m the one saddled with the dirty job of running this hellhole.” He gave the letter only a cursory glance. “We heard some word of your coming. I take it you’re going to bother us for a lot of help.”

Bristling at his rudeness, I replied, “Excuse me for correcting you, Quintus. I don’t consider asking for help bothering you. Imperial law requires the Legions to render assistance in animal hunts. As you may or may not know, the games are one of the chief industries of the city of Rome.”

His smile was acid. “I forgot. I’ve been sweating my guts out here for three years while the dear citizens sit on their pink butts beside the Tiber, enjoying themselves.”

Did the broiling heat affect all the legionnaires in such a fashion? Most of the soldiers round about looked lazy, and many openly scowled their displeasure. I wished the first centurion had not chosen to take a holiday, leaving me at the mercy of this quarrelsome fellow. But since my success depended partly upon him, I strove to be polite.

“I’ll try to make only modest demands on you and your men, Quintus.”

“Even sleeping takes it out of you in this godforsaken climate.”

“I’m sorry. But we are charged by the Emperor —”

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“I know, I know. Unicorns.” Several of his men exchanged smirks. “Of all the starstruck ideas?

Unicorns, on this desert! If you think I’ll send my men out searching for animals that don’t exist, you have another think coming.”

“Quintus, I don’t like the reception I’m getting here.”

“Oh, you don’t; eh?” Quick anger lit his cheaply handsome face. “That’s a damn shame. It’s the only reception available. And I’m in command. Don’t forget that. Now, get your black louts moving. The smell of their unwashed hides makes me sick.”

He approached the first of the porters, ordering him forward in pidgin Greek. The other porters shambled after. On various porches of the fort buildings I noticed many naked Numidians going about their tasks. Here and there I saw a head turn or a jaw thrust out and an eye roll with poorly concealed hatred.

One black, taller than the rest and splendidly muscled, was moving across the courtyard with a heavy water jar balanced on each shoulder. A porter stumbled, dumping his bundles on Quintus’

head.

“Oxen!” the centurion shouted, flailing around. “Worthless black dung!”

The other porters stopped. The one who’d stumbled mumbled apologies in Greek. Quintus’

temper had been roused. He gestured to a nearby legionnaire.

“Arcipor, throw me that snake. Perhaps a few strokes will quick the steps of these shambling idiots.”

The soldier sailed him a long lash. Quintus caught it deftly. His arm flashed up. The porter screamed with the lash twined around his thin torso, drawing blood.

Quintus struck again, then again, altogether a dozen times. The miserable porter’s flesh was peeled from his spine in ugly strips. He crawled away.

To my horror I saw Locusta watching Quintus from her cart. Her lips were drawn upward in a warm smile and her face shone with admiration.

About to toss aside the lash, Quintus spied the tall black with the water jar studying him. The black’s throat muscles throbbed. Otherwise he was still. Quintus wiped his mouth.

“Want a taste of this yourself, Ptolemy? If not, pick up your heels and move on.”

The other blacks in the compound waited. The giant called Ptolemy remained frozen a moment.

Then he turned and trotted off.

Quintus’ mouth wrenched, as if from fear. He sauntered over, dragging the gory whip in the sand.

“A bad lot, all of them. That tall monster’s the worst. We have to keep them in line. A few whippings every day and they remember they’re animals, not men, as Ptolemy tries to tell them.”

Quintus executed a mocking bow. “I regret if I offended your sensibilities, master. This is Numidia, not some perfumed bedchamber in Rome.”

I checked my anger and allowed him to conduct me toward the stifling main tower. He said apartments had been prepared there for Locusta and myself. As we passed her cart I made introductions. Quintus studied her breasts when they glimmered beneath her sweaty gown. His eyes slid from her breasts up her throat to her face, clotted with lust.

“A pleasure, my lady. I trust you’ll be comfortable among round, unlettered soldiers.”

She smiled. “A strong whip arm is the guardian of the Empire, centurion. I admire your firmness. I’m sure I’ll enjoy my stay.”

I was sickened by the vapid courtesan’s smile she lavished on the bad-tempered soldier. Before he conducted me inside the tower, he paused, turned and saluted Locusta again. His eyes glittered like a rutting animal’s.

At dinner that night, Quintus appeared dressed in his finest armor. He was plainly interested in putting on a display for Locusta. He couldn’t do it with the table he set. The food was poor and the wine poorer.

The legionnaires of the first cohort made no attempt to tone down their vulgar remarks because a woman was present. The dismal dining hall with its complement of listless black servants
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depressed me. One young Numidian girl protested when a soldier slid his callused hand up between her bare legs. This provoked another outburst from Quintus. The girl received three strokes of his whip, while his men applauded.

I remained silent and morose, sloshing down pot after pot of the inferior wine. Locusta, however, praised Quintus for his strength as a disciplinarian. She said hardly a word to me. And neither did he. Quintus was totally ignorant of her background. He was also untroubled by her age, or the streaks of gray shining in her reddish hair. He went ahead pawing over her and offering the crudest kind of flatteries until I went to bed in disgust.

As the days went on, I was virtually ignored by the two of them when we ate together. I had no objection. At least when Locusta fawned over the centurion, she wasn’t badgering me about the heat or our wretched existence. One sultry night I heard thick laughter and the unmistakable sounds of passion in her apartment below mine. From then on I slept more easily. I felt no jealousy. I had long since lost any desire whatsoever to touch her.

The first weeks at the fort were occupied with construction of a number of two-wheeled cage carts to hold the beasts we intended to round up. Lumber for these vehicles was shipped in from Iol Caesaria by means of a prior agreement with Publius. Quintus was forced to lend his slaves to work and his soldiers to oversee the labor.

I spent long hours in the sun. Sweat drenched me while I pegged planks together with a mallet. I worked as hard as the Numidians, provoking contemptuous remarks from the legionnaires, who always managed to find the nearest patch of shade. But physical exhaustion helped me forget the past. And Acte.

I’d abandoned any hope of going after unicorns. None existed anywhere in this yellow waste.

Upon completion of the carts we were ready to begin trapping less mythical animals. I held several conferences with Quintus. He was barely civil. I kept my temper in rein. We set out at last on our first expedition, after boar.

The company included myself, Quintus, six legionnaires and ten Numidians, with the tall, mahogany-shouldered Ptolemy one of them. Carrying provisions in three cage carts, we rode in three others drawn by oxen. Straight out into the blazing waste we went.

Three days westward from the fort, the land changed from treeless sand to thinly forested slopes leading up to distant blue mountains. In camp at night we heard animals screeching and crashing in the brush. That night again I noticed, as I had before, that the other blacks treated Ptolemy with deference. They paid heed to what he said when they gathered around their own fire at night.

In the morning we scouted a twisting watercourse, long since dried up. At its end we stationed four Numidians with a large and closely woven hemp net. The net stretched from wall to wall in the gully. The remainder of the party journeyed up to the head of the watercourse.

One of the Numidians ranged ahead. He returned to report in labored Greek that he’d sighted a small herd of boars. Stripped to our waists, black and white men alike crept in a loose half-circle through the brush. Each man was armed with a spear, except for Quintus, who also carried his lash tied to the broad belt of his clout.

The black Ptolemy began to smile as we bellied through the undergrowth and peered out at the herd of tusked beasts. Ptolemy was clearly in his element now.

Quintus stood up and parted the brush. He sniffed the wind, then raised his spear.

“Drive them!”

Yelling and screaming, we broke from the brush and charged the boars. Frightened, they stampeded. Their hooves raised clouds of dust as they plunged down the nearest escape route, the watercourse.

Two Numidians followed along the bottom of the gully. The rest of us took the faster way, racing ahead along the high banks. The boars appeared around a bend, tiny eyes fired with fright. The netmen just below us braced their legs for the onslaught. When the first boar struck, it would take great effort to keep the nets from slipping. If we trapped six of the herd, we would
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do well.

Tusks flashing, the first boar dove into the net. The fury of his charge jerked the strands violently. The other boar piled into the first, squealing, kicking sensing the trap.

All of a sudden Quintus went white. He leaped and skidded down the gully wall.

“Hold on, you black scum! Hold on tighter! They’ll slip underneath —”

One of the animals gouged the earth savagely with his tusks. He rammed his head beneath the net and raced through.

Then he wheeled, pawing, ready to charge and kill. A Numidian on the net was thrown off balance by the lunging of the other animals. A large section of the net sagged.

I plunged down the slope after Quintus. He cursed wildly, uncoiling his whip without thinking.

“Witless fool!” he screamed, cracking the lash against the spine of the black who’d stumbled.

I pulled at his arm. “We’ll lose the whole lot if you persist —”

He flung me off, temper frayed by the heat. His arm rose and fell, rose and fell. Spittle flew from his lips. He bawled senseless words about teaching a lesson. Dust swirled as the other Numidians struggled to hold the net taut and restrain the frantic animals.

We were in real danger now. The boars gored one another, maddened, wanting to escape. The other soldiers and slaves rushed down into the watercourse to help, making an even worse tangle.

The black under Quintus’ lash was on his knees. The strands of net had fallen from his hands.

One of the legionnaires made the mistake of trying to drive his spear into a boar’s withers. He miscalculated, raking the animal lightly. The wound made the beast even more furious. The soldier fled, shrieking. The terrorized Numidians did the same.

A black died when a boar crashed into him from behind, driving tusks through the man’s bowels. Trembling, Quintus coiled his lash. Then he began to tremble. Another boar was heading for him.

Though I would sooner have let him die, I dove against him, knocking him out of the way.

Screams of human and animal pain filled the watercourse now. Quintus and I tumbled out of the way as the boar lunged on. But the situation had gotten worse.

Every last animal had broken free of the tangled net, running amok, killing any who got in their path.

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QUINTUS STUMBLEDto his feet. Another legionnaire pitched over, gored to death on plunging tusks.

“Up the bank!” Quintus shrieked. “Up the bank and save yourselves!”

“We can’t let the animals escape —” I began. “Be damned to your animals! I’m out for myself.”

Quintus ran.

Then I saw he was right. To stay in the watercourse was suicidal. The remaining soldiers and Numidians were scrambling up the slopes. I began climbing after them.

Then I heard a shrill cry. I whirled. The black Ptolemy had stumbled starting up the other wall of the gully. His heels were meshed in the strands of the net. The harder he struggled, the worse he became tangled.