Blood of a Barbarian (6 page)

Thus, they divided up the training into speed, balance and agility, then brute strength, endurance and stamina. There were a number of activities which we took part in that were broken up into sections, so as to ensure the greatest possible success. We picked up heavy loads, and walked around, we jumped over obstacles, boxed, ran, climbed ropes, did sit-ups and lunges with sandbags on our shoulders, and hung from a beam for as long as we could. We also warmed-up before each session, and cooled down by walking at the end of the day, which was a way of preventing injury.

This did not always work though, as one day when I was rolling a large stone in order to build up my shoulders and back, I felt something snap in my lower back. It hurt, and I asked to see the Medicis right away. He touched the spot and I jumped with pain and cursed. He told me that it was a bad injury, and that I would have to rest it, and do no more than walk for a couple of weeks. I could barely believe that it would take that long to heal, as I had hurt myself many times before, and was always fine again within a day or two. But the Medicis was right, and I was laid up in my cell for a full three weeks.

During this time, I had nothing to do but to stare at the ceiling and wonder if I would ever be able to train and fight again, so painful was it when I moved. Titus, meanwhile, though he was not able to visit me, found a way to bribe one of the slave-girls to bring me some extra food, and to pass along a joke or two every few days. This invariably raised my spirits, which had begun to sink every time I looked down at my rapidly diminishing physical condition. I didn't know how I would ever be able to compete again against the other men who had not suffered any set-backs.

However, after I had gotten to strength back, and was able to move around, I became more determined than ever to be fully healed, and did exercises in my cell until I was able to join the other men back in the Gymnasium. Once I returned, I was overjoyed to see smiling Titus again, and we quickly reestablished our previous friendship. Once I got back to full-time training, I could barely believe how hard it was, but over the weeks, was able to rebuild all of the muscle I had lost. In many ways, I was stronger and more determined than ever. During my time in bed I had longed to escape my confinement, and so had learned to love the daily vigorous routines we trainees were forced to do.

Some days, the men all gathered for a game of Harpastum, which involved getting past the enemy team, and into their end-zone with a small leather ball. I liked this game, but as fun as it was, mostly I loved working out with Titus. We tried to outdo each other, by picking up larger and larger logs, or doing more and more arm curls or squats. I found that to get the best results, it was sometimes necessary to do something until you could barely walk afterwards. One time, Titus and I each did three-hundred squats with sandbags, and could barely keep up with the others the next day. Still, the results were great for both of us, and our legs exploded with muscles.

Sometimes, the strain of these work-outs was so great that we had to fall to the ground in a heap afterwards, just to catch our breath, but we felt it was all worthwhile to put in the extra effort. Furius, who had no tolerance for any kind of slacking off, and who would bite the head off of new recruits, rarely had a bad word for Titus and myself, and even Procurator Incintatus himself, who sometimes watched us train, commented favourably to Furius about us. I learned this afterwords from Titus of course, who knew everything.

On rest days, we mostly spent our time in the baths, or gambling in the rest courtyard. Some of the men even wrote letters, but they were always Roman men, as the Empire was not about to deliver the letters of slave barbarians. I had never learnt to write, and besides, had no one to write to. Most of my family were either dead or scattered to the winds, and I had lost track of them long before I had ever been captured.

I spent much of my time eating, trying to build up my strength on figs, porridge and the meat that had come from animals killed during the Venationes, or Beast Hunts, in the arena. We also drank a kind of pasty drink made of charcoal ashes and plants, and which restored our energy. When I was not eating, I tried to learn more words of Latin, with which Titus was able to help me. He joked with with me that even if I learned to speak like a civilized person, I would always smell just like a barbarian, and so would fool no one.

It's not that I was trying to become a Roman though, so much as that I felt it would be useful to be able to know what was going on about me. Most of my fellow Germans didn't even bother with such things as this. They either had no interest, or felt that they would soon enough be dead, and so didn't think it worth the effort. They preferred to lose themselves in pointless arguments, or in trying to entice the slave girls who helped them to bathe. It seemed like too much of a betrayal to them, to learn the language of their enemy, but if I planned to live, and to live in this part of the world, I would first have to learn to live in it.

On days that were not as intense, we also learned other skills that would be useful for a gladiator, but that were not necessarily physical. One thing that Doctore Furius insisted upon, on pain of death even, was that each of us was to learn to perform in front of an audience. It was not enough to die, he had reminded us again and again, as it was fundamental that one die well.

"Your first allegiance," he would tell us, "besides you allegiance to this Ludus, and to your Emperor, is to virtue. And what does it mean for a dog like you to have virtue?"

I had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to tell us.

"You, who have never done a noble thing in your lives. It is simple, and it is this: You must show the Roman citizens how they too may face death with contempt. Did you know that people regularly say to one another: 'He died like a gladiator,' and mean it as a compliment. You must never, in any circumstance, bring shame upon this house, or upon its master. Now..."

He began to show us what he was talking about by striking various heroic poses over the imaginary body of a fallen gladiator.

"This, this is how you show that you are victorious."

He then raised his hands high above his head, and turned to face an imaginary crowd.

"And this," he said, "Is how you bow in supplication before the ruler of all, his divine grace the Emperor Tarantulla. If you should live to see the day, I shall expect you to carry out these movements just as I am showing you now. I expect it, and more importantly, the crowd expects it, and they will never elevate one who does not observe and respect the rituals."

Furius then went on to explain, and demonstrate, or to have one of his assistants demonstrate, all the various movements and rituals of the arena, everything from how to properly deliver the killer blow, to how to antagonize and hary one's opponent. There was even a proper way to walk, and to turn, and we learnt a variety of hand signals as well. The noise of the arena, he said, was so great, that it would often be necessary to communicate with one another, before and after the fight, and with the Umpire during the games, using nothing but simple gestures.

I revelled in this aspect of the training, for it appealed to the natural showman in me. At first, I had been conflicted about the public relations side of things, but once one has felt the roar of even a small crowd, such as the kind that gathered in the stands to watch us train, one very quickly began to crave it. I found that I loved to show off my now rippling torso, which had become like bronze from being baked in the sun day after day. I had never felt physically better in my life, and enjoyed the sensation of being stared at by a hundred hungry eyes -the women desiring me, and the men desiring to be me. All of us, the ones who had made it this far, those who had not been sent back to the mines for some infraction of the rules, had started to look more and more like the really experienced gladiators, to the point where only an expert would have been able to tell us apart.

I had been training for almost a year and a half by this point, and as I got nearer and nearer to the time when I would begin to fight professionally, the tension began to grow within me. It was easy to see that I was as gifted as any of the men who had started with me, but it would be all-important to know what my official standing within the school would be. Each group of men who had begun together would be separated into four different groups, the Primus Palus being the first, and most important -meaning that we were the ones who had shown the most promise so far. Then came the Secundus Palus, the Tertius Palus, and finally the Quartus Palus. All this was meant to signify who stood best before the wooden Palus we most often trained upon with our wooden swords.

One day, while we were at the baths, Doctore Furius came through the door. This was an unusual sight, as he almost never came into this area of the Ludus.

"Men," he said "Rest well tonight -for tomorrow will come an important test. This test will determine your ultimate standing within the brotherhood of this Familia. If you do not pass it, you could very well find yourself back where you were, in the mines. Those who do well will officially become Tirones, or probationary gladiatores. This will be one of the most important steps you can take before being able to enter the minor games, and then, perhaps one day, the Great Arena itself. Not all of you who make it will deserve this honour, and not all who fail will deserve failure, but you shall fight for the first time with real swords, paired against one another, and the winner will pass onto the next level. Now is the time when all of your training will either bear fruit, or not. If not, then exclusion or injury will be your fate. If yes, then you shall stand amongst the elect, the Titans of the Ludus, and heir to all the greats who have gone before you... You will no longer just be a spectacle, but will have become spectacular... Tomorrow at dawn, we shall separate the beasts from the men, and the men from the gods!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

By Force, a Way is Made

The next day, the tension was so great amongst the men that you could have cut it with a knife. Each one of us had spent most of the night awake, pacing back and forth in our cells. That was normal. Much depended on what woud happen in the following hours, much that would determine our futures.

The only one of us who seemed light-hearted, was of course Titus. I met him out on the arena sands where everyone was gathering. In the centre of the arena, slaves had set up a large wooden structure. It was basically an elevated wooden platform, with ramps leading up both the front and the back. We had used one of these in training, and the idea was for one of the pair of fighting men to occupy the platform, while one had to try to push the other off and occupy the high ground himself. The man who would start out on the platform was decided by the flip of a piece of bone. So much of it really came down to luck.

All of those who were not yet fighting, crowded around the demarcated boundry lines set up in a square around the platform, and waited for the first match to begin. An Umpire and Doctore Furius were overseeing the games, and making sure that all of the rules were followed, while Procurator Incintatus watched the proceedings from his box seat high above. The first up were a German Myrmillo, and a Thracian Thraex. Both were armed with dull swords, which were still fairly lethal, and a helmet. They were not yet allowed to have a full complement of armour, which would have the effect of making them both far more cautious.

Titus leaned over to me, and smiling, whispered: "Shall we place a bet? I shall not deprive you of the opportunity of supporting your fellow countryman, and would never bet on a German besides, and so will place ten sesterces on the Thraex. I have seen him train and he is a real brute. I truly fear for the safety of your man."

"I do not place bets, especially where the life of one of my countrymen are concerned," I said seriously.

"Well, look at it this way," said Titus with a mischievous grin, "I will bet upon the Myrmillo then, and that way, if he loses, you shall have the consolation of offering him your winnings. That should go some way towards healing his wounded pride."

Titus sometimes displayed a remarkable skill with words, and I felt that if he were a snake, he could hypnotize you into sitting still while he bit you. I knew for sure that he was bending me to his will, but gave in anyway.

"Ten sesterces on the Thraex then," I said skeptically.

"Did I say ten?" he replied with mock innocence. "I meant twenty."

"Twenty then."

We both then turned our attention to the fighters as they readied themselves. A trumpeter blew a note that signaled the beginning of the fight, and both men instantly took up a semi-crouching position, which meant that they were ready for action. Both seemed hesitant at first, as though they did not quite know how to proceed. The Myrmillo had won his place on top of the platform, and the Thraex was proceeding with infinite caution up the platform ramp. They were still a good six feet apart, had not yet traded blows.

A full minute went by and then Doctore Furius, who had been watching impatiently, yelled out for some action. "Attack now!" he bellowed.

The Thraex, breathing heavily through his bronze helmet, which he was not used to wearing, now lunged at the Myrmillo, who swung his sword at the approaching figure. This brought on a mad cheer from all of us, as much to encourage them, as anything. We all knew that soon enough we too would face our greatest test yet, and wished that there was some way that both men could come out winners. I had been talked into betting for the Thraex, but within myself I was cheering for the Myrmillo. I could never, no matter how Romanized I became, root against one of my own.

Now the fighting took on a new intensity, as both men got more and more used to the swords. It was stange to hear the clanging of iron against iron, rather than the clacking of wood upon wood. No doubt, this was the sound we would be hearing from now on, and the wooden swords would be left to the Novicii. I did not envy the men who were just now beginning on their journey here at the Ludus. It seemed an age since I myself had arrived. Titus had come earlier, but had been set back after he had failed this test one year ago. He was determined not to fail again this time. His entire financial future depended upon his skill today, and if he did fail, he would probably be sent away. As a Roman citizen he would not be punished, but would lose everything he had invested so far in his training.