Arena (2 page)

With a howl of pain the beast fell away. I scrambled up and dived for the whip. My father had said a single blow, strongly delivered to the vitals, would immobilize a man-eater like a thunderbolt. For the first time I had found out he was right.

The leopard writhed on its side and struggled to stand. I raised the whip and brought it down.

The lead balls cracked the skullcase. On the fourth blow brains and blood spilled out and the
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killer died.

Salty sweat streamed down my chest. I gulped for breath and thought dully of the second leopard. A shrill scream told me.

The spotted devil was after Horus, deciding to exercise its new taste for human blood on someone less hazardous than I had proven to be. Horus had been smiling cockily a moment ago.

Now he cowered against the amphitheater wall, laying feebly back and forth with his whip as the leopard bit pieces from his thighs. Shouting rocked the stands. I paid no attention, watching the Egyptian shed his arrogance and batter helplessly at the beast clawing his guts open.

I never moved. He had abandoned me to die. He could suffer the same fate. It was not long in coming. The leopard was too aroused to be hurt by the flicks of the whip. A leap, a sinking of fangs, and hot blood squirted from the Egyptian’s throat, then fountained out of his mouth as he fell. When the leopard started to make a meal of his face, I turned away.

Thronging out of the stands, the students clamored around me. They slapped my back and offered congratulations. Syrax thrust a cup of posca into my hand. The sharp vinegar and water mixture helped wash the taste of death from my mouth. The big Greek Xenophon was the only one who had no favorable word. His glance was dark and envious.

“Stand back,” I said at last. “There comes the man I want.”

Across the sand strode Fabius, his aging body still hard and flat as bronze above his leather kilt.

His arms and legs bore the proud whitened scars of his years in the Circus Maximus before he won the wooden sword. Astonished, I saw that he was not the least apologetic. He was furious.

“The Egyptian was one of my strongest men, Cassius. It was a cold-blooded thing to let him die.”

“Look who talks of cold blood! First you trick us by saying we’re going against a couple of toothless bitches for the sake of learning style with the whip. Then Horus stands like a rock in the shadows so the killers will take me first. Well, master Fabius, I can play the game of putting myself first as well as the next. You ought to know that by now.”

A student cried, “That’s it, Cassius, tell him! He wants to break you because you’re always the loner.”

Fabius glared. “A few more remarks of that kind and the Tiber’ll turn clear before any of you get a chance in a big hunt in the Circus. Cassius, that hand trick —”

“Mine. Don’t ask to see it again.”

“From your tone one would think you were the master of the school instead of an inmate,” he grumbled.

“And one would think you were a treacherous back stabber instead of a brave man who fought honorably in the arena for years.”

That cut him hard. His leathery features wrenched but he only muttered, “Watch your tongue.”

“No, Fabius. I’m not one of your slaves or your thieves like Xenophon, sentenced here as fodder for the lions. I’m a citizen, the son of a freedman. I became auctorati, bound myself to your school for three years to learn the trade of the bestiarius so I could earn wealth. Are you becoming like the rest of the mob? Screaming for the sight of blood and to hell with the skill of hunting and handling the animals?”

A flush darkened his cheeks. “You know better. I despise the way they cry for senseless killing.

The profession of bestiarius is honorable.”

“Except when you find it necessary to ring in a couple of man-eaters by surprise. Who were you trying to impress? That eques and his Praetorian friend scowling up there in the stands? What are they, emissaries of Jupiter Stator, himself?”

Nervously Fabius took my arm. He drew me away from the students. They drifted to the Egyptian’s corpse and stood examining it with unfeeling curiosity. The sated leopard, still licking its chops lazily, had slunk off to doze, no longer remotely interested in fighting. Several handlers with goads prodded it back into its cage and the log front dropped.

Fabius said, “You’re too free in your mockery of the gods, Cassius. Not to mention everything
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else respected in Rome. Speak softly of that pair. Gaius Julius is the tribune of the Praetorian cohort stationed at the palace on Palatine Hill. The eques with the thin purple stripe on his toga is a good friend of the Emperor. His name is Ofonius Tigellinus.”

I gazed in astonishment at the Sicilian. He was talking heatedly with several seedy wager takers.

“That’s Tigellinus, the horse breeder? He was born no better than I.”

“But he has the Emperor’s ear. And from the looks of it, he lost a pretty sum betting on the Egyptian you let die.”

Filled with wonder, I stared at the Sicilian’s long, paunched body. A breath of renewed ambition whispered in me. “He was banished by Claudius for shady dealings, wasn’t he?” I asked.

“Aye,” Fabius nodded. “The young Emperor brought him back because he raises fine chariot horses. Somehow they always manage to win whenever the Emperor races them in the Circus.”

The old warrior’s face showed disgust. The Emperor’s urge to drive had shocked and scandalized the Senate almost as much as his appearances as a harper in public poetical contests.

Again I sensed the winds of change blowing in Rome these days, bringing fresh opportunities for a man with wits. Forgotten was the blood trickling down my arm. Almost forgotten too the trick of switching leopards. I was overwhelmed by the simple fact that a peasant like Tigellinus had risen to a position of eminence, and gained membership in the equites, the noble class second only to the senators.

“There’s an odd look on your face, Cassius.”

“I’m thinking that if the Princeps can raise one man to eques, he can raise another.”

“That’s fool’s talk.”

“Is it? Why?”

“For one thing, you still have a year and a half to serve this school.”

I stared coldly. “Not that you’re making it any easier for me to fill out the term.”

Had I not served him well in the past, learned my lessons with the bears and the wild dogs and brought some small honor to the school at provincial games, I would never have dared to speak so. But I had come to the school freely and knew with coldness, not conceit, that I was an apt pupil. Further, he was shamed out of his usual blustery by the fakery with the leopards.

“All right, I’ll admit it was a foul piece of business, Cassius. But the school hasn’t prospered lately. The owners are unhappy. The Emperor displays little taste for beast shows. He prefers to hire gladiators from the Dacian or Gallic schools. All of us here, as you well know, depend on the patronage of persons giving the games for the livelihood. Tigellinus grows more influential at the court every day. Further, he has a liking for the bestiarii. Since the Emperor just forced his mother Agrippina out of the palace and dismissed her honor guard, he must do something to placate the mob. He’s scheduled lavish games in the Circus Maximus. I’d hoped, through the influence of Tigellinus, to provide a large contingent for the Emperor’s show. And don’t forget that the Emperor is building his own circus across the Tiber.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you sent us against man-eaters without swords.”

He cast more anxious glances at Tigellinus and the Praetorian Julius. They were still engaged in noisy argument with the wager takers. He said, “Your hot temper will be your undoing, Cassius.

I admit I deceived you deliberately. I heard rumors among the students about your trick with the hand.”

“That’ll teach me to talk too much.”

“Talk any less and you’ll be a block of marble. Knowing you, your foolish pride and aloofness — it’s not good these days, lad, not when all the world bows before a twenty-year-old boy — I realized we’d never see the trick unless you were forced to use it. If you proved yourself worthy, I hoped to put you in the Circus Maximus.”

His last statement calmed me somewhat. “The trick’s not so difficult. It’s partly knowing where to strike, partly having a tough hand. When I was a boy my father made me stand for an hour a day striking the edge of my palm against a pillar.”

“Understand my position, Cassius. I wanted to gain some attention for the school. You and
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Horus were the best prospects. The rest of the students are cattle, except Xenophon and perhaps that Syrax, though he’s too new and too shifty to tell for certain. Criminals who are so clumsy they get caught stealing some citizen’s grain dole ticket will bring no fame to us.”

“I bound over to help myself, not the school.”

His glance sharpened. “A man can’t live all his life without a hand from others.”

“No? That dead Egyptian thought so.”

A flurry in the stands caught our attention. “Ah, Gods! If we haven’t had trouble enough today!

We’ve gained attention, but all the wrong kind. Here comes more. Tigellinus and his friend look black as thunderclouds.”

The clammy crawling on my spine warned me that the pair stamping across the reddened sand came on no errand of friendship. At closer range Tigellinus was a man of weak physical appearance despite his impressive ivory toga bearing the narrow purple stripe of his rank. Deep in his glance glittered the craftiness of one who had plotted well. That ability I could respect, but not the weak petulance of his mouth nor the arrogance of his slightly bulbous eyes as they raked me.

His companion, the officer Julius, was resplendent in brazen armor that winked in the sun. His features were aristocratic, befitting a Praetorian tribune. Yet they still displayed a certain coarseness, especially in the thickness of his curling lips.

Fabius gigged me. I saluted with the customary gesture, vowing I’d make no other obeisance.

The old trainer’s fear of royal disfavor was apparent in the way he seemed to lose stature, changing from a brave man to a fawning toady. A curious silence fell on the amphitheater. Even the wager takers in the stands ceased their clacking. Grouped together, the other students watched us. The eyes of the olive-skinned Syrax shone attentively. Those of big Xenophon were bright with jealousy and malice.

“What’s this fellow’s name?” Tigellinus asked Fabius, ignoring me.

“Cassius, sir. One of the best fighters. If the Emperor should choose to hire him —”

The tribune Julius snorted. “Why would Nero hire a lout who cost two of his friends a handsome sum today?” He pulled his flat sword and gouged me under the chin. The point hurt not half so much as my own mounting anger. “Listen, beast man. Tigellinus and I were the special patrons of Horus who lies dead yonder. We don’t take it lightly that you abandoned him to the cats.”

“He abandoned me first, Tribune. He deserved what he got.”

Tigellinus colored. “An insolent one, Fabius. What’s his origin?”

“He was raised in the streets around the Circus Maximus, sir. His father trained bears for the arena when Tiberius reigned. Don’t think too badly of him. His tongue is a mite free from time to time, but he’s a talented boy. You saw that yourself. He’s not like most of my jailbirds. He’s auctorati, bound over by his own choice.”

One of Tigellinus’ eyebrows hooked upwards. “Bound over? Why is that, lout?”

“To make something of myself.” I stared at him. “As others born no better have done.”

Fabius gasped. The tribune clenched his hand on the pommel of his sword while Tigellinus bit his lip. The Sicilian checked his anger in time to say with a mocking smile, “So he has ambition too, Fabius. Perhaps he even hopes one day to wear a toga like this?” He preened himself, fingering the thin purple stripe.

Too much death and anger had unbalanced me. I blurted out, “Yes, I’ll wear the eques toga the same as you. If the Emperor can confer the honor on a horse breeder, he can do the same for a bestiarius who —”

Tigellinus struck my cheek. “You gutter slime! Fabius, you’re an idiot if you think I’ll recommend your school for the Maximus games when you allow a wretch like this to insult your patrons. Of course,” he added with a narrow smile, “Julius and I might reconsider if he were properly punished. Scourged.”

Fabius stammered, angry with me and somehow sorry for me as well. I rejected his pity. I
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watched my two newfound enemies, recalling what I’d said a moment ago. I hadn’t really meant to speak out. Yet in one instant the vow became reality. I knew with a queer torment that I would never rest until I held the same rank as this soft, cunning Sicilian whose courage rested in a Praetorian’s sword.

Fabius spoke slowly. “Sirs, what if he apologized for his words? Could we overlook the scourging? It’s harmful to a man’s spirit, being humiliated before his mates.”

Tigellinus shook his head. Julius said, “We’d enjoy listening to him howl a little, Fabius.

Otherwise you’ll see nothing but gladiators in the next games, of that you may be positive.”

“Do it,” I told Fabius. “But they’ll hear no yells for mercy.”

Throwing his hands into the air, Fabius ordered out the wooden scourging stand. I knelt before it, resting my neck at the junction of the two posts forming the V. Fabius sought someone to lay on the whip, as was customary. Xenophon was only too happy to volunteer. Strangely, I felt like laughing as the first stroke flayed by back.

At last, after aimless years, I had a destination. Chosen by chance, perhaps, and by anger, yet how many men who proclaim that they ordered their lives in a pattern from the beginning were actually victims of fate’s whims? The vow I’d made to be an eques was burned into me for life by each cut of the lash.

Fabius walked off, pale. Xenophon’s arm rose and fell rhythmically, drawing blood. The pain numbed by mind. Once the Praetorian dragged my head up by the hair.

“Cry out for my friend Tigellinus. Cry out, you dung!”

I gathered spit in my mouth and sprayed it on his legs. Tigellinus howled with anger, seized the whip and finished the job, lashing me until the lights in my skull went out.