Roma Victrix (28 page)

‘Fighting, whoring, drinking and back to fighting,' Murco grinned.

‘Yes – for some of them anyway. I'll be all right, I'm an officer – and, I like to think, a gentleman. But some of the lads are getting a bit long in the tooth – you know what it's like. Some of them will be the last ones picked by the misers and the desperate. But we'll see – there's always work to be had at Taenarum if you hang around long enough.'

‘That's true,' Cappa nodded. ‘That's near where you're from, isn't it?' he asked Lysandra.

‘Yes,' she replied. ‘It is in Laconia – the Spartan heartland. When I was a Mission Priestess, I considered going there. But the Matriarch of my Temple advised – strongly – against it, counselling me instead to approach the Roman Army.'

‘She was right,' Euaristos agreed. ‘Taenarum is the biggest man-market in the middle-sea, but there are many barbarians seeking work there now. Thracians, Gauls and – even worse – Germans.

Whilst civilised men respect the gods and their priestesses, the savages don't. A woman alone would be easy prey. Well, in your case, Achillia, not easy. But you see what I mean.'

‘The Matriarch alluded to such,' Lysandra agreed.

The four looked up as a huge cheer erupted from the main area of the
caupona
. Lysandra craned her neck to see over the bobbing heads of the soldiers. She saw two huge men squaring off, one of Euaristos's mercenaries and a local – a blacksmith if his huge, burn-scarred arms were anything to go by. But, instead of a brawl erupting, both men laughed and swapped insults.

‘It's started then,' Euaristos said.

‘What has?' Lysandra asked.

‘The fighting,' Cappa answered for Euaristos. ‘That big mercenary bastard has enough grey in his hair to know that the young-sters will kick off soon. So he's going to pick a row with the biggest, hardest local man in the
caupona.
Everyone will bet on the outcome.

Then, a few more chancers will have a go, but there won't be a mass ruck where things can get out of hand. It's an old soldier's trick, but it works every time.'

Euaristos nodded in agreement. ‘I've already arranged for as many whores as I could to turn up later tonight. So, after the bouts, the men will have other things to divert them.'

‘You arranged this?' Lysandra was impressed.

‘Of course,' Euaristos flashed his dashing grin. ‘As Cappa says, it's the oldest trick in the book, but I don't want my men getting out of hand. If a local gets himself killed in a fight, not only does my man end up on a cross but every step of the march is dogged by angry, vengeful bastards who just want to kill you. No,' he said.

‘Better this way. Besides – old Thallo there is big enough and experienced enough to win – but not so well that the other man will end up in the infirmary.'

‘It doesn't
always
work, though,' said Murco.

‘Your cup is always half-empty,' Cappa chided.

‘At least I don't go through life disappointed.'

Both Cappa and Euaristos chuckled and Lysandra found herself smiling along with them. It felt good to be back in the company of warriors.

‘So… ' Euaristos waited until she had spooned down the last of her barley. ‘Achillia, would you do me the honour of watching my man in combat?'

She glanced at Cappa and Murco. She could tell that they were torn by wanting her to refuse and wanting to see the action for themselves. People were all the same: they loved to watch a good fight. ‘I would be delighted to,' she replied.

Cappa cleared his throat. ‘Now would be a good time to retire,' he reminded her.

‘I appreciate you are just doing your job,' Lysandra replied. ‘But this will be fine.'

‘Look. We're getting paid to keep an eye on you. If you're going to insist on ignoring our advice, you're making the job a lot harder.'

‘I am hardly in danger from footpads here, Cappa.' She heard the haughtiness in her own voice and was not embarrassed by it.

These men had been hired by Titus from her own funds. They worked for her and not the other way around.

Cappa sighed. ‘It's not footpads I'm worried about,' he jerked his chin at the crowd of people now vomiting out of the
caupona
and into the courtyard. ‘Without putting too fine a point on it, lady, you're a beautiful woman in the midst of a bunch of half-drunk soldiers. Even if they
are
Greeks, you still look appealing.'

‘I've already told you,' Euaristos interrupted, ‘there are whores on the way. Besides,' he smiled at Lysandra. ‘The lady is with me.

The boys know better than to go anywhere near her.'

Under his gaze, Lysandra felt her face go hot and she knew she was blushing furiously, which only made Euaristos's grin more predatory. She swallowed: not since Catuvolcos had proclaimed his love for her had she been under such male scrutiny. ‘Thank you for your… protection, Euaristos,' she began, ignoring the wink he threw in her direction. ‘I am sure you are correct. Even if I am not with you – and I am
not
with you – your men will respect our friendship.'

If her rebuttal threw him, the mercenary did not show it. ‘Quite right,' he replied, sitting back in on the bench. It was only then that Lysandra realised that he had been leaning closer and closer to her.

She found his attentions were flattering if unwanted: she had never really found many men attractive, and those that she did were big and strong in the proper, Spartan way. Euaristos was charming and handsome for sure, but for all that, rather too
Athenian
in his demeanour.

Cappa just looked resigned. ‘She's paying our wages,' he reminded Murco.

‘This could get messy,' his companion warned.

‘Come on,' Cappa tipped his wine down. ‘How could it? This is just close protection which we've done a thousand times before.'

‘Yeah, but we were backed up by a century of Praetorians then.'

‘For sake of the gods, Murco!'

‘I'm just being careful.'

‘You're just being a twat.'

‘Bollocks,' Murco too drained his cup, which Lysandra took as his request for the
missio.
‘If anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you.'

‘All will be well, friends,' Euaristos informed them confidently.

‘Come, we don't want to miss the beginning of the bout –
bouts
,' he amended.

Lysandra knew full well that one brawl would not be the end of it. Whatever side lost would want a chance to redeem his side's honour and so it would go on until they were all too drunk or too battered to continue. ‘Perhaps,' she said, as the thought occurred to her, ‘you should tell your men that the whores are on the way. It would be waste of funds to hire them if the men are too inebriated or injured to…' she trailed off, seeking the right word, ‘…perform.'

Euaristos waved a dismissive hand. ‘
I'm
not paying for them,' he said. ‘I just had a message passed to the whoremaster that there would be drunk soldiers here this night. It's his loss if he turns up too late.'

‘Very mercenary of you,' Murco observed.

‘I'm a professional. Come, let's go.'

Apart from the few hardened drinkers they passed on the way out of the
caupona
, both locals and mercenaries had found their way outside.

An impromptu arena had been set up in a paddock set just off from the ‘Elysian'. The first bout between Euaristos's man, Thallo, and the blacksmith was already underway, but Lysandra could not see any of the action due to the milling and bobbing heads between her and the fight. She glanced at the shorter Euaristos who was craning his neck and shifting from side to side. After a few moments, he tired of this.

‘Move aside there,' he ordered, shoving the man in front of him.

The mercenary turned to unleash a barrage of abuse on the person who shoved until he locked eyes with Euaristos and then stepped aside.

His commander threw a half-smile in Lysandra's direction as the sea of bodies parted before them. ‘Privileges of command,' he said airily.

Flanked by Cappa and Murco, Lysandra reached the front of the crowd and rested her forearms on the paddock fence, taking in the brawl. The fighters stood, two titans battling on a rather inglorious patch of mud and horse manure. As she watched the bout progress, Lysandra realised that it was a fitting setting. There was no skill to this, just brute force against brute force. It was bloody and, judging by the reaction of the crowd, entertaining. They were clearly not a sophisticated bunch, but she was surprised that the professional warriors thought this was something worth shouting about.

‘It is like they are taking it in turns,' she commented to Murco as Thallo's meaty fist smacked into the blacksmith's cheek. The skin split and blood sluiced down into the bushy beard adding to its now soggy mass.

‘They're not the fastest but they're effective enough,' was Murco's diplomatic response as the blacksmith responded by landing a haymaker that staggered the mercenary. At this, the encouragement from the locals intensified.

‘It is about as effective as trying to put out Nero's fire with a bucket of naphtha,' Lysandra responded. ‘You could see that punch coming from the middle of last week…' She winced as the blacksmith landed a vicious uppercut that sent Thallo to the earth. He tried to rise but slumped back, his glazed eyes looking up at the twilight sky. ‘If you hit anyone for long enough, they will go down,' Lysandra shouted over the huge cheer. ‘But look at the Italian. He is a mess. The idea of unarmed combat is to hit without being hit. Frankly, I'm appalled.'As she said this last, there was a sudden lull in the noise. Euaristos shot her a glance.

‘
Appalled?
' he repeated looking a little hurt. ‘It was close, but the blacksmith had more about him than anyone could guess.'

‘It is not as though he looks feeble,' Lysandra replied as the victor took the applause of the locals, who had now begun to chant

‘
Cynocephalus, Cynocephalus
!'

Cappa nudged her. ‘Good of them to remind you of that battle,' he said. ‘We thrashed you Greeks at that one.'

‘
Macedonians
,' Lysandra corrected. ‘Sparta was allied to Rome at the time of the Dog's Head battle – clearly Rome knew that it was better to ask the Spartans to fight with them as opposed to against them.

Most of Hellas was against Macedon once they saw that Sparta had allowed Rome to be her ally.' She was cut off as a bloody and unsteady looking Thallo climbed over the fence and passed between them.

‘Sorry,' he muttered as his fellows patted him on the shoulders and offered condolences – no doubt for the wounded fighter and their own purses.

‘There's another bout now,' Euaristos said as Thallo moved away, aware that Hellene pride was now at stake. ‘Ah,' he smiled.

‘Galeopsis.'

Galeopsis was clean-shaven and lithe, with dark brown eyes that were too close together and a large yet thin nose. He grinned to reveal teeth that only added to his moniker: Galeopsis was Hellenic for ‘Weasel.'

The Italian locals opted – as was the Italian-Roman way – to go for blunt force. A tall, red-haired, lantern-jawed bruiser emerged from the throng and climbed into the ‘arena.' Lysandra did not consider herself judgemental, but it was hard not to be so when looking at this specimen: his expression, his demeanour and the lack of spark in his eyes gave him the look of an idiot.

‘Galeopsis will take this fool,' Euaristos informed her. ‘He's a murderous cut-throat of the worse kind. A Cretan.'

Lysandra nodded. Everyone knew that Cretans were not to be trusted.

The Cretan took up a boxer's stance whilst his opponent merely ducked into what he obviously considered was a fighting crouch.

Both men circled each other for some time and soon the crowd began to shout teasing abuse at their seeming lack of willingness to fight. Egged on, the Italian lunged forward and Lysandra was mildly impressed with Galeopsis's speed as he evaded the attack. But his response to this opportunity only served to show he was as inept as Thallo: the fast punch to the bigger man's exposed ribs would be sore but hardly a crippling blow.

‘The Italian was wide open,' she informed Euaristos. ‘Galeopsis should have made him pay far more than he did with that little tap.'

The mercenary looked as though he wanted to retort but Lysandra was pleased that he did not. She knew he had seen her fight and as such knew well that she was more than qualified to comment on fighting technique.

The bout lasted much longer than the first one, the classic encounter between the big man and the little man. Despite herself, Lysandra was impressed with Galeopsis: as the Cretan warmed to the task, his attacks became steadily more vicious and telling. But the Italian was like a rock, seemingly able to take any amount of pain before coming back with his own volleys. His method was slow and brutal but, in the end, undeniably effective. As the battle wore on, Galeopsis began to tire and move with less fluidity. Eventually, this bout ended as did the last, with the Hellene mercenary out cold on the deck and a chorus of taunting derision from the locals.

So it was with the next match and the one after. The Hellenes were getting trounced and Lysandra was acutely embarrassed. Here, in microcosm, was what had happened in history: comparatively civilised and sophisticated Hellene soldiers being routed by uncouth, brawny Italians. It really was unendurable, and as the latest victor paraded around the arena, challenging ‘any Greek with the balls to face me' to get over the fence, Lysandra made up her mind. Before the astonished Cappa and Murco could react, she vaulted over the fencing and landed with a soft thud on the paddock's ground.

As the crowd realised that a woman had entered the combat area, they roared with laughter and began screaming unsavoury offers of what they would like to do with her – or, more accurately, to her.