Arena (24 page)

His olive head lifted. Surprise and apprehension fleeted across his face a moment, instantly replaced by a merry, mocking smile I knew to be false. Gone was the ferret’s cast to his face. His bones were overlaid with the sallow fat of good living. The golden hoop in his ear was his one concession to the past.

“Cassius!” He rushed to embrace me. “I’ve been looking for you every day.”

I shrugged off the cloying touch. “You haven’t bothered to send any messages, though.”

“Why, I assumed you’d have many affairs that needed attention, and would meet me in your own good time. Come, sit down. We’ll have wine. Tell me everything that’s happened.”

About to clap his hands for a slave, he noticed my stare. “Wine and flattery aren’t necessary.

Partner.” I gave the last word a touch of contempt. “We have other matters to talk about that require a clear head. And, for once, honesty instead of lies.” I seized his shoulder. “Explain why you lied about Acte. Why you returned her letters. Bribed the servants in my house to turn her away. Explain before I kill you.”

“Cassius, you’ve lost your mind!” he squealed. He wriggled out of my grip and hurried to the other side of his writing couch. Safe from me, he showed his own anger and envy. “Don’t think that just because you’re wearing that purple stripe you can treat me like a servant.”

“As an eques, partner, I have certain privileges. They include the right to discipline any person of lower rank who offends me.”

“Lay one hand on me and I’ll —” He bit his lip, masking his rage with another condescending smile. “Cassius, Cassius. Why are we quarreling? I don’t see that you have any cause to accuse me of wrongdoing. You told me yourself, that very first night when you swore your vow to Tigellinus, that you wanted success above everything.”

“I never meant I’d sanction lying and treachery and —”

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“Don’t evade me!” he shouted. “Yousaid it. Nothing would stand in your way. Nothing. Very well. The girl stood in your way. What I did was prompted by your own words.” His eyelids drooped. “Or can’t you recall back that far? To the time when you were a common man like the rest of us? Does a high rank fade a man’s memory?”

The old trap closed. My anger drained away. “All right, Syrax. I remember.”

“Therefore you can’t blame me one bit for what I did.”

“No,” I returned. “I suppose I can’t. I can only blame myself.”

Syrax was obviously pleased at scoring the point. He ordered wine. What had possessed me to ally myself with this shallow, devious man? An image of the blackened ashes of a great house flitted in my mind, bringing fresh suspicion.

“I trust you know, Syrax, that Acte died with Serenus when robbers overran their house.

Further, I trust that’s all you know about it.”

His face was startled, then ugly. “Will you stoop to accusing me of murder?”

I shrugged. “I only asked a question. How much do you know about it?”

“No more than anyone else! I never saw Acte again after your departure for Africa. Did the sun fry your brains there? You must be mad to even suggest I’d sink to such tactics. And for what?

How would it profit me, may I ask? I don’t need to rob anyone. We have a going operation here.”

He strode to the window. With a flamboyant gesture he indicated the sunlit amphitheater where the pupils were working out with a tame leopard.

“During your absence the Emperor has taken to staging longer and more elaborate games.

We’re getting our share of his trade. So what need do I have to rob Serenus or you or anyone?”

Deflated, I took a seat and reached for the wine a servant had fetched in.

“None, Syrax. That’s obvious. I spoke in anger.”

“That’s right, you did. But I’m not one to hold a grudge.”

And once more he was grinning his old grin, as if a mere quirk of the mouth could wipe out the past. Still, there was no point in haranguing with a man who overcame all obstacles with honeyed words poured out in a torrent. The torrent increased as he drank.

“I want to hear the whole story of what happened in Africa.”

“Time for that later. What about the profits here?”

“Thanks to my management, Cassius, the school is on a sounder footing than ever. We have talent far better than any in the early days. Big, strapping brutes. Even if they don’t fight, they make fine lion fodder.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The Christians, naturally.”

“Christians? The name sounds familiar. But I can’t place —”

“That depraved provincial sect from Judea. The one whose prophet was nailed up on a cross as a criminal a few years back.”

“Oh yes.”

“The members at the moment are mostly Jews, but it’s rumored a few Romans have been converted.”

“I know nothing about their beliefs or teachings. How do they manage to end up here?”

Syrax chuckled. “Who cares about their beliefs so long as they continue to be sentenced to us?

Unlike most other cultists, they refuse to recognize the Roman gods right alongside their own.

So they’re hailed before the magistrates and ordered to burn incense in honor of the Emperor’s genius. Of course they refuse. Posthaste we get a batch of them. That’s only one aspect of our success, however. Let me conduct you around the grounds. You’ll be proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

Proud? Far from it. I was growing weary of the whole business. But I accompanied him on the tour. He chattered on about how Nero was diverting practically all contracts for bestiarii to the Cassian School.

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“The Emperor’s favor naturally attracts the attention of many other notables, too. The commissions practically roll in. The old Bestiarius School is struggling to stay in business — one more proof of my devoted attention to our affairs in your absence, I might add. I told you once I have a talent for ingratiating myself with gentlefolk. Even though,” he finished with another glance at my toga, “you’re the one who wound up with the stripe.”

As we climbed into the stands to watch the pupils work out I said, “I’m sorry to hear Fabius isn’t prospering. There should be room enough for both schools.”

“Agh!” Syrax waved. “Let him flounder. It means more money in our coffers. He wouldn’t even have a roof over his head if Xenophon hadn’t remained with him.”

“The Greek? I thought he’d be free by now. Or dead.”

“Just the opposite. Drop by theActa Diurna some time. You’ll see Xenophon’s name up there constantly. He’s the most famous bestiarius in Latium. He’s refused the wooden sword five times to continue making money. I made him a handsome offer once. I regret to say he’d have nothing to do with us because of you. He brought up the subject of how you’d cheated him of a garland. He’s never forgiven you that, or several other things, I gather.”

A memory of the ex-criminal’s ugly face haunted me for a moment. For the first time I savored the power implicit in the purple eques stripe.

“Let him try to take revenge. My station and my sword arm are more than a match for him.”

We watched the Egyptian lanista give the students pointers on provoking the leopards. I was reluctant to argue any further with Syrax, but one important question remained unanswered.

“What became of Serenus’ share in the school?”

“By the terms of his will it passed to his only brother, a rustic who makes his living from a farm outside Rome.”

“Serenus never mentioned that he had a brother.”

“I understand they were never particularly close. The fellow’s not like Serenus at all. He’s very countrified. The records of the transfer are kept in the strongrooms of the Probi bank if you care to look them over. Old Probus sends the yokel his share of the profits four times yearly.

Otherwise the brother never bothers about the management of the place, except to drop in and gawk whenever he carts a load of leeks into the city.” Leaning over, Syrax added confidentially,

“You can be sure I skim off a certain amount from the quarterly profits, unknown to him, to increase our fortunes. You don’t have any objection to that kind of extra income any more, do you?”

“It’s theft, isn’t it?”

“Listen to me! That fellow did nothing to contribute to our success. He merely collects —”

“Very well, enough! No more arguing.”

“You brought it up,” he muttered. Then he brightened. “Notice our new lanista. Name’s Ramor. I bought him fresh off the slave block. He has plenty of natural skill.”

At the moment the lanista was proving he had natural skill with the whip. He was flaying the hide of a clumsy boy who’d tripped over his own feet and been pawed by the tame leopard. In regular combat the clawing would have produced maiming, or death.

The whipped student wailed in misery. Somehow his cries made me ill. I excused myself.

Syrax stared after me, shaking his head.

Several days later I returned to go over the books and details of a loan for importing new animals from Africa. Importing them was necessary because of the heavy losses we incurred when the trapped beasts died in the burning fort. The brother of Serenus was present in the stands that morning. Syrax introduced us. The fellow, all round-eyed and slow of speech, was the very picture of a rustic. He seemed conversant with Serenus’ affairs, though.

In subsequent months I purchased the two houses adjoining mine. With a large expenditure of money I enlarged my property to a size befitting my new station. The summer advanced and I participated in my first review of the equites.

This annual procession, in which each knight was mounted upon a splendid horse, harked back
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to the days when the equite cavalry had actually defended Rome. Nearly five thousand knights paraded by the Emperor’s dais in the Forum, including old dodderers who could barely mount their rented chargers. Attendance was mandatory.

A flurry of excitement was provided when the procession stalled. Nero loudly denounced an impostor by shrieking the timeworn phrase, “Sell your horse!”

The mob hooted and stoned the ignorant rascal. He turned out to be a penniless actor who thought he could increase his fortune by posing as an eques.

The size of my household grew as I added more slaves. The size of my balance in the House of Probi increased in a similar manner. I never entertained, however. I had lost the taste for association with members of the upper classes without ever having acquired it. Perhaps the violence and horror of my experience in Africa had made me eager for seclusion.

At any rate, I left school matters almost completely in the hands of Syrax. He was constantly bustling up and down the Palatine, arranging to supply various circuses with large complements of men, as well as the animals which began to arrive regularly at our Tiber-side wharf.

The magnificent Circus of Nero had been completed across the Tiber. I attended one performance there, to which only Senators, equites and their women were invited. I went alone.

The crowd shrieked and applauded loudest when a company of degenerates, men and women rounded up off the streets, put on an exhibition of sexual acts. I endured the performance with a queasy stomach. The noisiest ovation came from Nero’s box. The ruby-cheeked Poppaea sat beside him, growing fat, heavy-breasted and unlovely now that she was Empress.

The one guest I did invite to my dining table was scarred old Fabius. He had aged greatly.

While we reclined over dessert, I mentioned my visit to the Circus of Nero.

“Then you saw the kind of show the public clamors for nowadays, Cassius.”

“Yes, I saw it. I was barely able to keep from throwing up. I’m not a prude, nor even a man of very high morals. But it strikes me that love-making is a private business, to be privately conducted. It shouldn’t be debased by being performed joylessly in front of thousands.”

Fabius wagged a finger. “What the Emperor likes, is performed.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Hush,” he said, smiling humorlessly. “Do you want to go on trial for treason? I tell you, Cassius, I fear for the soul of Rome, if a city can be said to possess that obscure commodity. The wind off the Palatine these days is rotten. One day it will blow to destruction all the things the Republic once stood for. Liberty, honor, beauty. They’re meaningless words any more. All the Senators and equites — present company excepted — seem to think about is lining their pockets and indulging their sexual appetites.”

I said nothing. His words depressed me, for I believed he was right. He went on.

“The profession of bestiarius has been cheapened unbelievably too. The number of dead bodies is now the standard for a successful show, not the skill of the animal hunters. And the public hunger for such spectacles grows daily, sanctioned by the Emperor himself. What’s to become of us, I wonder?”

The months crept by. I seemed to live in a gray and tasteless limbo. Occasionally I hired some handsome courtesan for a night, but I derived no real pleasure from it.

One rainy morning a few months after the Feast of Saturnalia, a slave arrived at my home with an urgent request that I come to the school at once. I found Syrax stalking back and forth as I entered, clearly overwrought.

“Cassius, we need a new, tough hand to take charge of a worrisome matter.”

“What’s happened?”

“We’re having trouble with one of our best specimens. A fellow just sentenced to us a week ago.

I’ve argued with him. I’ve pleaded. I’ve had him whipped. Now I’ve cut off his food. He still refuses to fight.”

“That’s an odd attitude for a criminal. Usually they’re eager for the chance.”

“Not this ox. He’s one of those damned Christians.” Syrax thumped his fist into his palm. “He’d
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make a top bestiarius. He’s got the build for it. And the looks to attract the Senators’ wives. I even changed his name from Marcus to Eros to lend him more appeal. With absolutely no results.”

I threw up my hands. “What can I do? If he refuses, he refuses.”

“Threaten him. Flaunt your rank. I don’t know. I’ve had no luck. You try. After all, this is your responsibility too.”

“Very well,” I said reluctantly. “But I hear the Christians don’t respond to threats. Even threats of death. Where is he?”