Arena (28 page)

And he tore my toga savagely, ripping a section of the stripe into frayed purple thread. Acte began to cry, softly, hurtfully. Her shoulders wrenched. From far back in the dark along the arches came a strange whinnying noise.

After passing his sword to one of my captors, Julius the tribune hurried away. “Keep quiet with that thing! The vigiles do patrol around here now and then, you know.”

In a moment he was back. Syrax said to him, “Are the handlers having difficulty?”

The tribune nodded. “Hurry up with this business. I’m just as anxious as you to watch this clod die, but I don’t want to get caught.”

I drew a long breath. My head still ached from the tribune’s blow. Disarmed, I meant to make a last bid to escape when the time proved right. I had in mind what I would use for a weapon, too.

I forced my glance to remain on Tigellinus’ mottled face, so as to give nothing away.

Tigellinus drew the knife away from Acte’s throat. He watched her carefully a moment. When she continued her soft, frightened sobbing, and gave no sign of struggling, he pushed her to the ground. Then he stood over her.

Bloodied rags fell away, exposing her bruised thighs. Beneath the stained garments she was naked. One breast showed, its whiteness marred by the purple and yellow bruises left by rough hands. I was thankful she could lie huddled and cry so that she needn’t watch the jackals on human legs around her. Out of the dark came that weird, high-pitched braying. Angry voices. A clinking, a stamping.

“Cassius, we’re all anxious to get on with the main attraction,” Tigellinus said. “I’ll waste only a few words explaining matters. Like Syrax, I’ve longed for his moment, since the day you let my favorite, Horus, die. I’ve never forgiven you Locusta’s death, either. I wanted her. I had the rank, the wealth. Yet it was you she picked for a lover.”

“What sickness there must be in you,” I said wearily. “To ally yourself with the Syrian and go into business only out of revenge.”

Syrax waved airily. “Oh, the business was quite another matter. An opportunity for profit that conveniently fitted with Tigellinus’ wish to settle with you.”

“I am the Praetorian Prefect,” Tigellinus broke in, his cheeks puffed out with pride. “Daily I’ve grown in favor with our illustrious Emperor. When he began demanding bawdy spectacles for private games, I was in a fine position to influence the choice of the school to stage them.”

“As I think I told you, Cassius,” Syrax carried on, “that dunghead Fabius quarreled with Nero over supplying what he considered to be depraved entertainment. I, on the other hand, have no such qualms. While you were frolicking after unicorns in Numidia, Tigellinus approached me on the subject. Naturally I agreed. Of course I had another partner to consider. He, like Fabius —

and you — refused to have anything to do with what the Emperor wanted. So,” he concluded blithely, “we were obliged to dissolve that part of the partnership too.”

At last the scales were beginning to fall from my eyes. “The robbers who burned the house of Serenus — they were not robbers at all.”

“Clever of you,” tribune Julius said. “You grow cleverer, in fact, the closer you come to your death. No, they weren’t robbers. Just these two fine Praetorians beside you, and myself and a few others. Soldiers can slip through the streets at night unmolested by the watch. We made short work of Serenus, looted his house to make the effect complete. Naturally,” he added, with a bow to Tigellinus, “when the Prefect of my branch of the service suggested the mission, I was
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happy to oblige.”

“And you,” I said to the Sicilian, “took a share of the school in return for using your influence to secure the hiring of more and more Cassians.”

“Brilliant!” Tigellinus cried.

“Anicetus, when I returned — the assassin on shipboard — were they sent by you also?”

“Yes. We thought at first if we slew your unicorns, you would be discredited. Not allowed to land in Latium. The bungler failed. Then Syrax reported you hardly seemed interested in the school. We let matters ride. Until you provoked our action today.”

I pointed at Acte sprawled on the ground. “And the girl?”

Tigellinus licked his lips. “A captive in my house, since the night Julius disposed of Serenus. I kept her because she was your favorite, beast-man. She provided me with much pleasure. Not willingly, I admit. Often I’ve had to tie her down before I used her.”

The words blurred, drowned beneath a rising tide of disgust and rage within me. I hung between the two Praetorians awaiting my chance to strike out and kill as many of them as I could before I died. Tigellinus was still speaking, a lewd light in his eggish eyes.

“The real reason I spared her life was to have her present for this moment. So I could take her life before your very eyes. To pay you for taking Locusta from me.”

Like the master of the games briskly announcing the next event, Syrax intruded, “I think that settles all questions outstanding, eh, Cassius? Time for our little demonstration. Unnecessary, perhaps. Risky, doing it here. Yet few souls are hardy enough to venture down in these dark places at night. I believe we’re safe if we work quickly.” He turned, shouted, “The animal!”

Back in the darkness shadows began to stir. Hooves clattered loudly on stone. Men cursed. I had a dim suspicion about what they planned. I rejected it as unthinkable. Yet the evidence of my senses couldn’t be denied.

The animal brayed as his handlers tugged his halter and led him out of the dark. The voice of Syrax purred on, as though he were discussing some commonplace subject.

“As you know, Cassius, I’ve had this little stunt in mind for years. I’ve labored long and hard to find the secret, which I plan to put to use in the arena as yet another sign of the eminence of the Cassian School. Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to me to have a tryout tonight. Tigellinus suggested it. But I think it’s fitting. Your last sight on earth.”

He swung slowly, his supple fingers indicating the frightened gray animal two coarse-garbed bullies were hauling out of the dark.

“The sight of a jackass mounting your woman.”

Red madness clouded my brain. “You slime. You unspeakableslime —”

The old, confident smile slipped onto his face. “Always scruples, eh? What a burden they must be. My hours of labor were spent as devotion to the cause of natural science. I’ve discovered the secret of getting an animal to behave properly with a woman, in the arena or anywhere else, is not the sight of her, which means nothing, but this.” He tore away part of Acte’s rags. “The scent of blood. Wake her up, Tigellinus. Turn her flat on her back and strip her below the waist.

Someone keep watch.”

As if Acte realized why the Sicilian was manhandling her, she fought against him. But he was far stronger. His pudgy hands stripped her thighs. One of the Praetorians at my side ran outside the arches to stand guard.

Syrax picked up a bundle of the discarded rags. Laughing, he flung them at the jackass so that they draped across its long wet snout. Acte revived a little, her bruised legs shining naked in the torchglare.

I began to curse and rant, low, steadily. This nightmare was Rome, all Rome, whose rottenness and degeneracy I had once cherished as a shining treasure to be grasped and held. These twisted men and the Emperor would soon make this incredible filth a public spectacle.

The jackass brayed and stamped, growing restive. Suddenly he let out a shrill scream and reared on his hind quarters, his vitals engorged. The last of the scales fell from my eyes.

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Acte woke up fully then. Her shriek of mindless fear mingled with the bray of the animal. The handlers could no longer control him. His forehooves pawed the air above Acte’s body —

Giving a crazed yell, I struck the Praetorian beside me.

He tried to ram his blade through my ribs. I was already moving, leaping high, wrenching an oily torch from its iron bracket. I flung the torch straight into Syrax’s face.

He batted at the flame, fell backward and crashed against the terrified jackass. It reared again, halter lines ripping away from the handlers.

“Go at him!” the tribune Julius howled to his men. “He’s unarmed!”

One burly soldier took a firm grip on his spear and rushed me. The other darted in from his street lookout post. I dodged and the driving spear head imbedded in the belly of the soldier charging up. It took a moment for him to realize he’d run straight into death.

He began to caper and foam about the lips, trying to twist the spear from his vitals. I obliged him, kicking him and tugging the shaft loose at the same time.

Even as I whirled around with the weapon, the first Praetorian attacked with his sword. Its blinding arc flashed for my head. Hoofs rang as the mule ran off, the handlers not far behind.

The soldier’s sword smashed against the spear I used to parry. The wood snapped and broke.

Splinters flew in my face. I rammed the sharp jagged end of the longer piece into the Praetorian’s neck.

Fending me off, he dropped his sword. I went after it. Both hands on the haft, I hacked from right to left, chopping him in the calves. He tumbled over with a cry. The killing lust was still raging. A second stroke, delivered with every bit of my strength, swiped clean through his neckbones.

His head sailed away like a ghastly oversized doll’s, spraying blood on the nearest column. From the column’s base the torch I’d thrown sent up thin tendrils of smoke. I panted for air.

The Praetorian with the spear in his guts was crawling into the darkness, making his death rattle.

Of a sudden, sandals whispered behind. I’d forgotten Syrax.

“One way or another, Cassius —”

A phantom out of shadows where smoke curled thick, he flung himself on me, dagger after my throat. I tried to raise the sword. He was too agile. His oily face blurred close to mine, the dagger driven before it, straight for my bowels.

Desperately I threw myself backward, spilling over my own feet. The ferocity of his lunge carried his knife hand on, burying the blade in the pillar. At its base the wood was afire. Syrax’s feet tangled in the torch. He fell. His knees crashed down on the burning brand.

He threw his head back and screamed in mortal pain. His tunic blazed up. Tongues of yellow leaped from his garments back to the wooden pillar. In a moment the entire column from base to arch glowed brightly.

Flames spread across the arch to the next column, then across the arcade itself toward the inner wall and the wooden stands above. Syrax’s cheeks shone like melted wax as he regained his balance, demented by pain, his whole tunic afire, tendrils of orange starting in his hair. He pulled the dagger out of the wood.

Hate drove him on one faltering step, another. Handling my sword like a spear, I raised it over my head and threw it point first.

Syrax danced high off the paving stones a moment. Then he tumbled back against the flaming pillar and slid down to its base. Chunks of the burned arch began to drop, striking him on the head and shoulders, raining more fire. The skin of his cheeks began to blacken. I had a last ghastly view of that sly face jerking, jerking, as if in a smile —

A sheet of flame leaped up. All that remained of him was the hilt of the sword buried in his belly. The blade was a bright shaft leading into the heart of the fire.

All around, the heat increased. Smoke whirled. Sweat rivered off my body. The wood of the Circus Maximus was ancient and dry, near to rotting in many places. A whole chain of pillars was burning. Fire leaped from one to the next, then the next, like a devil unleashed.

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The glare grew unbearable. The wooden stands overhead caught. In a nearby tenement frightened citizens shouted, “Vigiles! Fetch the bucketmen!The Circus is burning! ”

I plunged down to the next arch, shouting her name.

“Acte!Acte! ”

The cries were lost among the creaks of smoldering wood and the hiss of sparks. Tigellinus had fled. So had the tribune Julius. And they had taken Acte with them.

I rushed out from beneath the arches. Overhead a section of the stands buckled and dumped flaming debris on the spot where I’d stood a moment before. Half the circumference of the Circus appeared to be blazing, casting a red glaze on the sky. Shouts, screams, the trample of feet sounded from the nearby insulae. Once the flames crossed open ground, the tenements would go up like matchwood, and everyone inside would perish.

Parties of vigiles bawled to one another down dark streets. Their brazen alarm horns blew.

Wind fanned my cheeks, hot and growing hotter as the fire fed upon itself.

Again and again I shouted her name. No use.

Then, down one of the tenement thoroughfares radiating from the Circus, I thought I heard my name cried in return.

I raced in that direction. Frantic people swarmed from the buildings, carrying children and piles of belongings. A party of vigiles ran past laden with the familiar water buckets made of rope sealed up with pitch.

Faces, bodies blocked my run up the inclined street. My chest ached. I searched the tangle of frightened humanity for a glimmer of Praetorian armor. People were fighting each other as more and more teemed out of the tenements. Blows rained on me, and curses. Any man strong enough to run away was a weaker man’s enemy.

“Clear the path! Coming through!” another patrol of vigiles shouted, knocking men and women out of the way as they ran down to the Circus. At a corner I halted. A poor woman stumbled by, clutching an infant wrapped in rags. She sobbed, “The gods protect us! With this wind blowing, all Rome may burn!”

It seemed so. The sky was a sea of blowing sparks. At the end of the street nearest the Circus, the wall of the first insula in line was afire. The night rang with cries and alarm horns that sounded as far away as the Palatine.

“Cassius? Cassius, where are —”

The shriek was muffled in the thunder of a cart that wheeled round the corner laden with more firemen and their small, futile buckets. Crash after earth-rumbling crash came from the Circus proper. The wooden bleachers gave way, showering off more sparks that sailed through the windy dark like glittering little aerial boats. The sparks set fire to nearby rooftops.