Blood of a Barbarian (7 page)

One would not have known to look at Titus though, that his entire future was at stake, as he seemed far more interested in the twenty sesterces we had bet than in anything else. He cheered on his Myrmillo for all he was worth, both encouraging and taunting the man at the same time. Eventually, his efforts paid off, and the Myrmillo managed to kick the Thraex off of the platform, and then jumped down on top of him where he lay in the sand, and simulated a killer blow to the Thaex's neck. The crowd of men went wild with excitement. My Thraex had been eliminated from the runnings, while the Myrmillo passed on to the next level.

Titus reached out his hand to collect his winnings.

"You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?" I said. "You only pretended to be concerned about my fellow German so that I would bet against him. From now on I will leave the betting to you. You may not be much of a fighter, but you sure have a skill at being able to beat men all the same."

I was not really mad of course, and could not help but admire Titus's skill at knowing everything about everything, even the outcome of fights before they happened, or so it seemed. He must have had some inside information, or been keeping a close eye on how the different men were doing in their training. Of course, he knew I was not really mad at him, and he laughed as he counted the coins I had given him.

As the two weary warriors exited the field, the Umpire called out the next two names, which he read off of a scroll: "Flamma, fighting as Retiarius... Versus Magnus Scorpus, as Secutor. Both men step forward."

Almost immediately I began to sweat, as I straightened up and stepped across the boundry line in the sand. Just then Titus reached out and grabbed my arm, and I turned to face him.

"Remember," he said, "Overcome fear, and be the best."

I smiled, nodded to him with a penetrating look, and then turned and strode over to the Umpire. What he had said was a personnal motto that we had come up with together - something to repeat to ourselves when life threw challenges our way.

The Umpire stood tall and erect, looking very stern as he gestured with his stick at myself and Flamma while he explained the rules.

"Any variation," he warned, "on the rules of the games, and you will feel this stick across your backs. The gladiator motto is: 'Glory in wounds, and a contempt of death.' "

I liked the motto Titus and I had come up with more, but bowed respectfully to the Umpire, and then turned to receive my sword and helmet from a slave boy, while Flamma received his Triton spear -points dulled of course, as were my sword's edges- and his mesh net. The sword felt light in my hand, as it hung by my side. It was only half the weight of the wooden swords I was used to, and I had to adjust to this change. The helmet, though, which I was not used to at all, seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

I had been hoping not to have to face someone like Flamma at my first big fight, and wished I had been given a weakling. Unfortunately, there were very few weak men about, especially if they had made it this far in a Ludus. Still, Flamma, who was also known as "The Dove," for some reason, was about as fierce as they came. The trouble with him was that there was no fellow-feeling at all between him and any of the others, as there was between Titus and myself, for example. As a Syrian, and one of only a few such men from that region in the entire school, he did not have any of the allegiances which bound the rest of us together. He was in this game entirely for himself, and he affected a smirking and contemptuous air.

Still, this might just be the opportunity to wipe that smirk off of his face.

Once I had fitted my helmet on, I turned to face the Umpire and Furius and Flamma. The Umpire asked me if I chose heads or tails on the piece of bone, and I thought for a second before replying that I chose tails. The Umpire then threw the bone into the air, and watched as it fell into the sand.

"Heads it is," he said flatly.

I was glad I had just sworn off betting, for luck rarely seemed to be on my side in these types of games. Hopefully, my hard training would see me through. I looked at Flamma through the two small holes in my helmet, and saw that he was smirking at me. In his own mind he had already won the fight. He was probably not wrong to think this, because as difficult as it was for one swordsman to dislodge another from the platform, the long reach of the Retiurius's spear gave him an even greater advantage.

After we had taken our places, the trumpet sounded, and the Umpire signalled the beginning of the fight. I took a deep breath and approached the ramp. Damned difficult to see and to breath through this helmet I thought, as I tried not to stumble. From the crowd, I could clearly hear the voice of Titus cheering me on. He had no doubt placed a bet on me winning - or had he placed it on the other man? Hard to be sure with him. That made me smile to myself.

After some hesitation, I decided that there was no delaying what was to come, and so charged headlong up the ramp. Sword met spear in a sudden clanging clash, and I just narrowly missed being trapped in Flamma's net as it swished over my head.

This bruiser knew what he was doing, and I would have to be more careful.

I retreated down the ramp for a moment in order to collect my bearings. Flamma obviously saw this as some sort of victory, for he raised his spear into the air and encouraged the crowd to cheer for him, which they were happy to oblige him by doing. Out of the corner of my eye, I risked a glance up at the box seating, where Procurator Incintatus seemed to be watching the games with a great intensity. I knew that this was the best chance I had yet had to impress him, which would no doubt be useful to me in the future, and so decided then and there that this matter must be concluded as swiftly as possible.

I leaned forward, as though leaning into a stiff breeze, and with all the determination I could muster strode up the ramp again. This time I made a sudden lunge to the left, as though I were trying to get around Flamma, but when he thrust his spear in my direction, just as I had hoped he would, I swiftly dodged to the right and then brought my sword down with full force upon the shaft of the spear. It cracked, and I managed another quick blow before Flamma was able to withdraw. The second blow was enough to cause the front-end of the spear to come off, and to go tumbling to the ground below. All at once the expression of Flamma's face changed, from that of a smirk, to one of surprise, rage and terror. In an instant he had lost his most important weapon, and was left with nothing but his net. Before he could rally himself, and use the net on me, I turned the blade of my sword sideways, and slapped the flat part of the blade across his mouth. This sent him sprawling onto the platform, while one final kick sent him over the edge and into the sand.

The crowd erupted louder than it had yet, as I strode as gracefully as I could down the ramp, to where Flamma kneeled in pain. As I approached him, however, my mood instantly changed from one of gloating victory to one of almost pity. I knew to guard against pity, as it was the enemy of the gladiator, and could get one killed, but the hunched-over shape before me was no longer a threat, and I delivered my simulated death-blow without any relish in the task. Luckily, my face was covered, so that none of my trainers could see the look of disgust upon my face. They would have reprimanded me severely had they known, for having shown weakness in combat.

As it was, all the other men congratulated me on my seemingly easy victory. It would turn out later to have been the fastest victory of the day. Still, as the men all slapped my back, I turned to watch as Flamma limped off towards the Medicis, clutching his mouth, and helped along by a slave. I had certainly humbled him, and it would be more difficult for him to smirk now with a few less teeth, and yet the only pleasure I felt about the whole thing, was when Titus told me that he had bet on me, and that he wanted to share the winnings.

Good old Titus.

As the day progressed, I fought two more times, winning both bouts, and achieved high scores for my prowess. Titus won two of his fights, and lost one, which didn't seem to phase him a bit. In fact, he was more angry with himself when he won, as he had taken the unneccessary precaution of betting against himself. By the end of the matches he was stone-cold broke again, and I had to save him by giving him back the money he had offered me from my own fight.

Finally, the trumpet sounded one last time, and we were ordered to assemble. The results of the day and our final scores were read out. As each man's name was called, and his record recited by the Umpire, he took his place with the other men who now shared his rank. I was placed into the Primus Palus, which was the highest ranking, while Titus took his place in the Secundus Palus, which was the second highest ranking. Below that was the Tertius Palus, and then the Quartus Palus. Below even that, were the men who had been disqualified altogether, and who's fate was now uncertain. In all likelihood, they would be sent back from wherever they had come from. I did not envy them, and yet it was difficult to think of anything but one's own pride as Incintatus himself came down to inspect us.

Addressing us all, but directing his words mostly towards the men of the Primus, he said: "Well, men... From now on, you will be known to your trainers, and the public at large, as 'The Tirones,' and it is you who now stand the most likely chance of one day becoming 'Veteran Beasts,' if you should win your first fight outside of these walls. But to me, as my own personnal property, you have now become 'The Obedient...' To ensure your loyalty to this house, you will swear a sacred oath to me personally."

He then gestured to a slave, who stepped forward and handed a scroll to Furius, who was standing beside his master. Furius unrolled the scroll down a-ways, and then read out in his halting, gravelly voice: "I swear by almighty Jupiter, to be burned, or bound, or beaten, or killed by the sword, should my master, Tiberius Flavius Incintatus, wish it."

We all swore the oath, and after being left for a moment in order to absorb the gravity of the words which we had just spoken, were then dismissed.

In the mess hall that evening, as Titus and I ate and talked, I couldn't help but fall silent several times. I was occupied with my own thoughts. What was on my mind was that in all the time I had been in this Ludus, I had not yet been able to leave. Here I was, in the heart of Rome, and yet other than the brief glimpse I had had of it upon arriving here, almost two years before, I had seen nothing since. The only Romans I had seen were spectators in the stands, and I had never spoken a word with any of them. I wondered what it would be like, when we were finally allowed to step out into the wider world, chained of course, but still out in the world.

Suddenly Titus snapped me out of my reverie.

"Hey, you son of a Syrian! Off in dreamland again. Listen to this. I have a plan..." and he then proceeded to let me in on one of his many schemes...

CHAPTER EIGHT

The House of Expectation

It was a cool summer evening, and because I could not get to sleep, I went over to the small window that had been cut into the rock wall of my cell, and looked up into the night sky. Twinkling off in the distance were a thousand stars, each one a tiny torch lit by the gods to cast at least a little light upon the darkness that enshrouded the world.

Outwardly, I was calm as I breathed in the chill air, savouring its freshness, and its contrast to the heat of the day in which I had toiled. But inwardly I was restless with the nervous energy that comes from being ready for a task which has been assigned to one, and yet having to wait before being able to carry it out. Tomorrow, in the late afternoon, was to be my first ever appearance in the Great Flavian Amphitheater, and I longed for the dawn to come.

Six months had gone by since I had taken my place amongt the Primus Palus, and since being declared a true member of the Brotherhood of Gladiators. In the meantime, I had been taken in chains out beyond the walls of this Ludus at least a dozen times, either to appear before the high-born of Roman society, or to ply my trade as a fighter in some small, shabby venue, where the crowds, as always, roared for blood.

As difficult as it was to fight, I almost preferred it to the other, appearing before the high society, as such a thing did not seem to be consistant with my new role. I had been trained to fight and die in the arena, and yet during these banquets of the elite, which took place in luxurious palaces and villas, I was expected to just stand there with my fellow slaves. Our muscles were oiled, and our loinclothes as small as they could be, while we were admired and pawed at by the crowds of nobles who stood leering and gawping at us.

To them, we were just part of the entertainment of the evening, not that different in essence to the background music, or the food, or the wine. We were something that had been provided by their host -who had paid a hefty fee to Procurator Incintatus for the privilege- for the guests' amusement and pleasure. It was easier, by far, to appear before the mob, and to pretend to be a ferocious beast, than to stand there for hours staring straight ahead and not speaking.

At first, I had been suprised by the way that the city of Rome had appeared to me. Over the course of the two years of my training, during which time I hadn't been let out of the Ludus even once, I had built up an idea of what Rome was, based mostly on what I heard the other men saying. But once I saw it, I was slightly disappointed. While it was true that the many temples and gardens and important buildings were more magnificent than anything I had ever seen before, most of the city, and particularly the places in which I was fighting, were really nothing more than slums.

In these sections, the houses were made mostly of wood, not marble, and the people were poor. Far poorer than the people of my village back home, who could at least hunt when times got tough. The small arenas in which I appeared, were really no more than a set of floorboards set in the middle of the market square. The stink of these places was incredible, with the smell of animals, and rotting food and unwashed bodies. To think that the Romans thought that we barbarians smelled! They should have smelled themselves first. I had gotten used to bathing every day since coming here, and had not realized that all inhibitants of the city did not do the same.