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Authors: John-Philip Penny

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BOOK: Blood of a Barbarian
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"Yes, yes, you'll do." he said tiredly. "Go stand over there with the others."

After this rather humiliating performance, we were then ushered by the guards down another hallway, then through a large opening in the spectator stands, and out onto the sands of the arena. By now, the place had become a hubub of activity, and there were at least two- hundred men going through exercise routines, and dueling with wooden swords and spears. The early morning air resounded with their grunts and cries, and I watched them with fascination. We were then led through the still cool sand to the base of a large podium box, which was elevated far off of the arena floor. The guards ordered us to line up and stand at attention. We would be hearing from our new master soon, they said, and we were to remain silent.

We waited for a full fifteen minutes, before we saw a group of people mount the platform. This was obviously our new master, the Procurator of the entire Ludus, Tiberius Flavius Incintatus. He was a tall man, probably in his mid-fifties, and had grey hair. His body, over which he draped an elegant robe, looked powerful, and I guessed that at one time he had probably been a soldier himself. Behind him was a retinue of slaves and guards. He gazed upon we gathered men for a moment with sharp and predatorial eyes -the master surveying his wares.

"Slaves," he said, in a clear, high-born voice. "You are the lucky ones. You were, each of you, in your various ways, condemned to die. I dare say most of you deserved it. But now, thanks to myself, you have been given a second chance. In all likelihood you will still die, and very soon too, but at least now you can exit this mortal coil gloriously, and not in some hellish mine, and not as a galley slave. You have the opportunity to make something of yourselves, and to give pleasure and entertainment to your betters, if only for a moment or two. This should make you proud, because it puts you miles ahead of most other slaves... But, don't think for a second that you deserve this second chance which I have so generously bestowed upon you. If you had any real courage, you would already be dead, for no one but a coward allows himself to become a slave in the first place. If you hate me, or hate Rome, that is good, for that will make you strong. Remember, that strength is the great overcoming of weakness. We are all weak, that is the soil we grow in, and are condemned to from our birth, but the mighty strive in every way to defeat weakness in themselves and within others ceaselessly. That is the Roman way, which you will learn, and that is what Rome is, and what the games are. They are the great punishment of weakness, and its overthrowing, and when you achieve this -should you achieve it- then the crowd will cheer for you, and for a brief moment, may love, or even worship you. But you will never attain this if you do not train, and train hard with all your heart and soul. Remember that this Ludus, this gladiatorial training school, was here long before your father was a twinkle in his father's eye, and it will still be here after you are dead and forgotten. It is the greatest of all the Ludus's in all the world. We train here every type of fighter, from Myrmillo to Hoplomachus, and have more than one thousand Novicii -which is what you are- and Tirones, which you aspire to one day be. Your task is to please your trainers and myself, and then the crowds, and perhaps one day, you may even please the Emperor himself. If you fail me in this duty you will simply be sent back from whence you came, or worse. So obey my guards, and all your betters, or you will be ruthlessly punished... That is all."

And with that he turned abruptly, and strode away, taking his retinue with him.

As I was trying to absorb what I had just heard, there suddenly came from behind us a barked command: "About, turn!"

All of us immediately spun around, and did our best to remain at attention as we did so. Standing about twenty paces in front of us was a group of six men. Each of these men looked as though he had been a fighter all of his life, for not only were their stances and glares hard and intimidating, but even from where we stood it was possible to see the many scars that criss-crossed their arms. The man in the center of this group, a bald fellow with a patch over one eye, stood forward.

"I am Furius," he said, through a clenched jaw, "And I will be one of your trainers, or Doctores. You will refer to me from now on as Doctore Furius, and you will refer to each of these men behind me by their title and name, which you will learn soon enough"

As I stood listening, the sun was beginning to shine into my eyes, and the sand beneath my feet was heating up. Doctore Furius waved a long, menacing-looking stick, which he carried in his right hand, and used to punctuate his words.

"Each of us represents a differant type of gladiator. I trained as a Secutor, and am now a Doctore Secutorum. I earned these scars you see upon the sands of the arena, and you will do likewise should I feel that you be worthy. I train Novicius dogs like you in the art of the sword and the shield. Artemis, over there," he pointed to a tall, gangly, yet tough-looking veteran behind him who stepped forward, "He will train the Retiarius in the art of killing with a spear and a net. Training will begin in earnest tommorow, after the selections have been made. You will be chosen, if you are chosen at all, based on your body-type, speed and agility and so on. In the meantime, we will see what each of you is made of, if anything. At this point, you are all just rough material. Any one of those Tirone gladiators, who now train behind me, could kill you without even breaking a sweat. And one day, if you make it that far, you too will become a Tirone, or part of the Familia Gladatoria Incintatus, which means The Family of Gladiators of the House of Incintatus... And take these words to heart, from now until you die we are all you have, even should you live to see the day of freedom. Remember, that no respectable citizen will ever wish to associate themselves with scum like you. Starting today, you will eat together, train together, and will most likely die together. So work as one, and aspire to become something more than you are, which is nothing. From now on, you obey all Doctores, and especially your own Doctore, as though he were Jupiter himself. Is that understood?"

We all mumbled, "Yes, understood."

"That's Doctore to you Novicius dogs!" Furius screamed, the veins standing out on his battle-scarred neck.

"Yes, Doctore!" we all shouted in unison.

"Good. Remain at attention while you receive inspection."

Now the Doctores all came forward, and much like the treatment we had been given from the Medicis not long before, we were again poked and prodded all over. Only this time, we were asked to do other things as well, like leaping into the air, or doing front lunges. Then they even gave us wooden spears and swords to handle and do manuevers with. Doctore Furius tested my reflexes by having me try to lunge with my sword at his open palm. He was impossibly quick, and I missed every time, but must not have done too badly, for after discussing things with the other Doctores in private, he came over and gestured for me to follow him. Myself and one other Novicius followed the Doctore through the searingly hot sand. He led us off the arena floor and into a small room. In the room was a table and several chairs. He did not ask us to sit down, but sat down himself and took out a stylus with which he began making etching marks into the wax coatings within a wooden tablet.

"Novicius," he said simply, referring to myself. "I have seen fit to begin your training as a Secutor Gladiator. You will work under myself, or one of my assistants, both night and day. Whatever your name was, it no longer is. You will now be issued with a Roman name, as part of the process of civilizing you. You see, the crowd in the Amphitheater, should you ever be fortunate enough to fight there, will have to be able to pronounce your name, and remember it."

"May I speak, sir?" I boldly asked.

"Yes," said Furius. "If you make it snappy."

"May I be known as Magnus Scorpus?"

"Why that name in particular?" asked the Doctore curiously.

"It's just that Magnus is part of the name of the school, and means great, and Scorpus is much like the Latin word for Scorpion, which is deadly. I want to be both great and deadly, Doctore, and to become a great fighter for this school."

I did not remind him that I was from Germania, and that my land was called Magna Germania by the Romans. I wanted to keep some connection to my homeland alive.

The Doctore, I noticed, allowed himself a brief smile.

"Yes", he said. "Many come here with great dreams. Let's just see if we can get through the first bit of training, for you might not find it so pleasant. Many dreams of glory have been shattered within these walls -more than you or I could ever count. But as for the name..." He smiled slightly again. "Yes, you may be known by this. I don't see why not. It is Roman enough... Now you are dismissed. Report at once to the mess hall, and eat well. You will need your strength for what is coming."

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Spectatus

 

 

On the second day of my training, I was again awakened just before dawn, only this time I was told to go straight down to the mess hall. Long lines of gladiators filed down the many passages, all the while watched vigilantely by dozens of heavily armed guards. In order to eat, one had to get a plate and then wait while the more senior gladiators, the Tirones, were served first. Then it was our turn, the Novicii, and we took our plates of food and jugs of water and sat alone on benches or leaned up against the wall. This entire process was carried out in total silence by the new men, as there was absolutely no talking allowed for the Novicii. I figured that they didn't want any of us slaves getting together and becoming friendly. Such cliques could no doubt lead to thoughts of rebellion and escape. With total silence demanded at all times, it made it very difficult for such conspiracies to develop in the first place. He who broke this rule of silence, could expect at the very least a lash across his back from one of the guards.

I was not quite used to the food yet. It amazed me that we were expected to be doing hard training while eating nothing but lentils, barley, bread, vegetables and olive oil. To drink, we got nothing but water, and every third meal got a handful of grapes -but that was all. Back home, we ate meat and cheese three meals a day, and drank beer and milk. Such a diet, I had always believed, was necessary to keep the energy and the spirits up. And yet, in looking around myself, I could not help but notice that even those men who had been at this Ludus for some time seemed to be as fit and strong as any men I had ever seen before. Perhaps this food was just as healthy, but it certainly didn't taste anywhere near as good. As I ate, I daydreamed about roasting a big leg of mutton over a fire, and then sinking my teeth into it, while the juices ran down my chin.

After twenty minutes or so, we heard a trumpet blare which came from the arena. All the men stood, and began to file out of the mess hall, heading towards the sands of the arena. Doctore Furius was already waiting for me and his other five new Novicii, two of which were Gauls, and three of which were my fellow countrymen from across the Rhine. Furius had an area of the arena all to himself, as did the other Doctores, who each had his own section in which to train his men. There was a spot for the Thraex, the Myrmillo, the Hoplomachus, and the Retiarius. Each group trained next to the type of gladiator that they would be paired against in the arena, so that that way they could more easily spar together when the time came. These groupings themselves were then subdivided again, with the Novicii and the Tirones each occupying half of the space alotted to the group. The boundaries were marked out with small coloured flags that had been stuck into the sand.

Furius told us that we were to stand before him. Just in front of us, jutting up from the ground, he had placed six wooden swords, and beside them six wicker shields.

"Novicii," he said in his stern, gravelly voice. "These will be your weapons. They are made of wood, and are called Rudis... Perhaps you are thinking that you have used a real sword before, and don't want to bother playing with toy swords. Well I can tell you that these are no toys. They weigh twice as much as an iron sword, and hurt just about as much when you get hit with them. You will learn to respect them soon enough, when the number of bruises and bumps start to accumulate. Only when you are proficient with this weapon will you be able to take a real sword into your hands... Perhaps some of you think that you are already great swordsmen. Forget it. Forget everything you think that you know about fighting, because I can tell you from hard experience, earned both as a gladiator, and as a former Legionary in the Imperial Army, that what works in the field of war will not work in the arena. In a battle, you are protected by your fellow troops, but as a gladiator, you fight alone. That changes everything."

Furius then looked directly at me with his one good eye as he spoke, "I know, for example, that you barbarians from across the Rhine love to slash with your swords, trying to make as big a cut as possible. You will see from the many scars I carry that I have encountered such methods many times before, all thanks to your fellow countrymen!"

This made us Germans laugh, both with a mixture of pride and relief. It seemed as though this Furius was not going to be as mean as he looked, and could at least joke with us.

"But," he said, suddenly becoming grave, though without totally losing his mocking manner. "You can see that I am still standing, and fit enough to send any of you sorry lot to Hades besides, so don't get too cocky!.. You see, in this Ludus, you will learn not to slash at your opponent, but to stab at him, like this." And he made a stabbing gesture with his right hand, holding an imaginary sword. "It may not look, or feel, too impressive at first, but believe me, a deep wound beats a shallow wound anyday."

For the next several hours, Doctore Furius took us through the basics of sword play. He was right. For those of us who already had our set ideas about how to fight, it was more difficult to unlearn our ideas, than it would have been to be starting in total ignorance. The methods he taught us were both repetitious and physically taxing, and we soon began to become more confident.

BOOK: Blood of a Barbarian
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