Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (39 page)

Trumpets blared. Horns and water organs filled the air with triumphant anthems. Hovering black spherae waited to trail in our wake, capturing the day's action. The hysplex, or starting gate, was a force shield with the emperor's holographic seal turning at its center. Until that seal vanished, none dared start for fear of their chariot's vibrating engines at the fore hitting the shield wall and being disabled. Beyond the gate lay a vast tundra that formed the stage for the first day's course.

Until the challenge was upon us, we wouldn't know whether we were in for a short melee or a prolonged challenge. The audience would know, though. It was their pleasure to watch us from on high, to fantasize about how they might play a part in directing our fate.

No barren plain, the tundra before us had been modified for the Ludi Romani. Purple-tinged force shields marked out the course we must travel. Set wide for this event, they doubled as advertising billboards, displaying the most expensive brands and companies: armilla manufacturers, the super wine merchants and sellers of garum—the empire's most addictive delicacy (bar one, now that Aquilinus had ambrosia). But these were in the minority. By far the most prominent advertisements were for Ambrosia by Aquilinus. And there I was. Deadly, beautiful, a living advertisement.

The course would take us past the towering diamond-and-ice totems I'd admired from the air on approach to the planet. Four on our left—hawk, bull, boar, and ram—and three to the right—wolf, raven, sparrow—with the emperor's house represented by the lion totem positioned in the distance, where the tundra met hills and terminated. Beyond them, the great mountains loomed. My revenge was at hand. I tried to picture Aulus running and laughing, the way he was in the cameo beside my bed back in Rome, but all my memory could conjure was some weak and ashen version.

I thought of Licinus' instructions that morning. “Keep the focus on the young chariot driver, Mercurius. He's our target today.”

Sleepless and with a dry mouth and trembling hands, I had waited impatiently for my tisane to arrive this morning, and when I could stand it no longer, I'd gone in search of Crassus. “Orders from Licinus,” he had explained, holding up a small phial of the drink, barely the size of a little finger. “You're on performance ration for the duration of the tournament. If you want more, you have to perform.”

“How am I supposed to deal with a death race on a thimble's worth of the stuff? I can't cast Orbis with a shaking hand. Can't you speak up for me?” I'd said to Crassus. “I thought I'd passed your tests. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do, darling, but Licinus is ever suspicious. He wants you on a tight leash for the race. Don't worry, our time is near, and a minor withdrawal will help give you a competitive edge. It won't feel nice, but it'll make you sharp. Trust me, I'm your team trainer. Then tonight I'll make sure you get what you deserve.” He kissed me on the forehead as you would a petulant child. I had two choices in terms of who to target. Licinus wanted Mercurius dead, but Julia had delivered some news that morning about Marcus.

“Your uncle thought that Marcus would be an unnecessary distraction—he was never meant to be in the tournament, and all attempts to get him to see sense failed. He's really out for your blood.”

“I know.”

“So they've arranged for his armilla to develop a problem early on. A well-cast discus might penetrate right through his shield. It's something he'll pick up and correct eventually, so your uncle says you have to take advantage of it right away.”

“I see.” They'd sabotaged the modulation of his shield. I thought the Sertorians had driven pity from my heart, but the thought of my uncle setting Marcus up, cheating to remove him from the tournament, despite his willingness to end my life, made me uncomfortable.

“I'd rather he didn't do that. If Marcus dies, it should be an honorable death.”

“I'm just the messenger,” Julia said. “What's done is done.”

Julius Gemminus demanded silence and then proclaimed, “Welcome, quirites—blessed citizens of Rome—to this year's Ludi Romani, Jupiter's Great Games! Listen carefully to the words of Caesar Numerius Valentinius, Son of Venus and Jupiter, Ruler of the Eight Galactic Provinces of Rome, Divine Imperator.”

The emperor stood to receive the cheers of the crowd and then raised his hand for silence. An enlargement of his face was projected into the air above the center of the circus.

Every citizen got a vote in the outcome of critical tournament events, but it was the emperor who had the final say. The vox populi forum was the means by which the audience cast their votes and communicated to the emperor their desires. Its integrity and security were fiercely guarded by the collegia to prevent any form of tampering so that the emperor knew that what was posted was, without doubt, the collective will of the Roman people.

There had been three previous instances in Roman history where the mob, displeased with the emperor's choices in the games, had joined together to overthrow him and his house. On one occasion they were carried with the spirit of such displeasure when their favorite contestant, whom the emperor saw as a direct threat to his throne, was executed that they had nearly burned the city of Rome to the ground. So even though he had the final say, the emperor had to deal skillfully with the citizens, subtly lead them so that his decisions were seen as just and right.

“This year's Tournament of Jupiter presents us with the opportunity to unite warring houses, to settle scores in a way that does not unbalance the humors of the empire's greater body. Although today's teams are made up of members from each of the seven competing houses, they are grouped into factions according to their alliances in the recent war.”

Now Julius Gemminus chimed in. It seemed the two had rehearsed this presentation.

“Hawks versus Wolves, Sparrows and Ravens versus Bulls, ancient enemies along with the Rams and Boars, who were once rivals but are now united under House Sertorian's Talonite Axis. The greatest champions of the houses, you will compete, fighting to overcome each other and the obstacles placed in your path in order to reach the final arena, two and a half thousand miles from here, on this continent's east coast. You will overcome obstacles designed to test each combat style: first the essedarii round—the bold chariot racers; then the bestiarii round—the daring animal fighters and hunters; and finally the gladiatorii—the round for courageous arena fighters. The first and last rounds shall last five days, and the bestiarii round will run for four. The winning team in each of the first two rounds shall receive a reward that will give it an advantage over the other teams.”

The emperor continued, “As this war began with the bombing of the city of Lupus Civitas, it seems that the ruins of that city are an appropriate place to locate the final gladiatorial arena where the tournament winner shall be decided.

“House Sertorian or House Viridian. Only one will win full possession of this world, be declared victor of the war, and be elevated to my right hand in the Council of Great Houses. Most important, the winner will receive the love of the people and my blessing.

“The losing house shall be banished to the galactic frontier, stripped of their territories and noble status. Here, before their emperor and the peoples of the empire, do the proconsuls of both warring houses agree to the terms?”

“I do, Imperator,” Quintus said, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

“Yes, Imperator,” affirmed Aquilinus.

“Then let's get down to brass tacks. What shall be our theme, this tournament's beating heart, so to speak?” The emperor walked over to stand behind Proconsul Aquilinus, placing his hands on the small man's shoulders. “House Sertorian and Proconsul Aquilinus have been most helpful in this regard. Their New Gods campaign, which has been so very widely distributed across the face of the empire, and so quickly and efficiently, has inspired me. This year's theme shall be one of transformation—from high to low, from old to new, from humans to gods and gods to humans.”

“All presented with an icy twist,” Julius Gemminus said.

This pronouncement pleased the crowd to no end, and they started talking among themselves, trying to anticipate what dangers had been drawn from the collection of ancient tales to test us.

“The old tales of transformation teach us how we ought to behave in relation to the gods and to one another, as well as the punishments meted out to those who think themselves above such universal laws. The ancient stories tell us what to do and, more important, what not to do.” The emperor paused, turning his gaze on the Sertorian proconsul.

“Imperator,” Proconsul Aquilinus said, “let me take this opportunity to assure you of House Sertorian's—”

“Absolute loyalty and obedience,” the emperor finished for him, holding out his hand. Proconsul Aquilinus took it and kissed it in submission. The projection was so large and detailed that I could actually see his red face and the pulsing veins in his temples as the Sertorian proconsul restrained his anger.

“Aquilinus, I look forward to seeing how your New Gods face the challenges overcome by the heroes of old.”

“I'm sure they will perform to your satisfaction, Imperator,” he replied coolly.

The emperor stepped back up to his throne. All fifty-five contestants raised our weapons and cried as one:
We who are about to die salute you.

We took up our positions.

The Flavian chariot was closest to our starboard side. Winner of countless equestrian league circuses, it was driven by Titus Flavius Cursor near the prow, behind him Tremelius Ralla in the fore with a mechanical crossbow that could load heads with a variety of lethal functions onto the bolts before they were loosed.

The Calpurnian chariot, a heavy quadriga, pulled up beside it, captained by Cossus Calpurnius Blaesus. He wielded a long mace with a spiked head, which he threw back and forth from hand to hand impatiently. Marcus stood on the port-side platform, waiting to come at me.

To our port side was the cruel-mouthed champion racer Cynisca, driving the Arrian chariot, the only female on that team. She wore a helmet that revealed only her large eyes, enhanced with makeup so that they positively glowed. Cynisca wielded a flail to whip the enemy chariots that tried to overtake her. A veteran of the games, the Arrian charioteer had ridden to victory in the last big Ludi Romani four years earlier on Quatrus Lycaonia, one of the cloud cities that Julia was so determined to reach.

The audience would be wagering heavily on the outcomes of the race. Lesser houses would be broken by bad wagers; others would rise. It was serious business. Fans kept detailed statistics of each chariot, its pedigree, technical makeup, and victories, along with as much information as they could get on the drivers, athletes, and their likely strategies.

On the far side of the Caninine lineup were the Golden Wolves themselves. Lean-limbed Pavo with his array of darts and slings, then team leader Tribune Carbo with his steel lasso and curved sword—a setup for trapping and severing limbs—and positioned at the outer aft was my cousin Darius, golden arrows ready to fly. Mercurius was at the helm, and Nervo, their other charioteer, stood with his spear poised. Their chariot was farthest away from us, which meant we'd have to go through a horde of contestants to get at Mercurius, but I could see that Licinus was not to be deterred. I had other ideas, though. For this first stage of the game, losing a chariot driver would be a great blow, and I had to keep the Viridian team in good shape—they would become my team when I switched sides later in the tournament. Somehow I would drive the course of action to see that the greatest threat to my mission was eliminated first: Marcus. This was no time for sentimentality. The mission was everything. My body vibrated with the chariot's engines as they waited to be unleashed. The reduction in my regular intake of ambrosia was having a powerful effect on me. I felt like a racehorse before a big meet. Adrenaline high, nerves and muscles wired for action.

They released the summa rudis—the flying robotic referee—into the field. He shot ahead of us, under the editor's direction. The staff he wielded was capable of paralyzing or punishing a contestant who violated the three rules of the contest—don't try to flee the course, obey the editor's directions, and accept the emperor's decree of life or death.

Suddenly, I caught sight of someone in the stands. My father. He looked so different that I'd skimmed over him at first, but there was no doubt it was him. He'd come to Olympus Decimus. Did he think he could press the emperor to disqualify me at this late stage? He was deluding himself. It seemed as if, in four weeks, he'd lost a third of his body weight. He looked old and tired, his vitality gone.

There was no more time to think it over. The emperor from on high lifted the mappa, the sacred purple starting cloth. It fluttered in the wind, whipping to and fro, waiting to be set free.

The high priest raised his arms as the first rays of the sun struck the brazier, igniting it, sending plumes of fire into the sky. Would this be my last sunrise? There was a grim feeling in my heart that I would never leave Olympus Decimus. That the falling snow would serve as my shroud, the only kind a traitor deserved.

“Contestants, you will fight well and die well. Bring honor to Rome, the Senate, her emperor, and your houses. In the name of Jupiter on high and the emperor, I declare that the games have begun!”

The emperor dropped the mappa, and we were away.

XXI

T
HE EMPEROR'S HOLOGRAPHIC SEAL
vanished, and instantly the one-armed Corvinus brothers worked together to pilot our chariot, the black reins wrapped about their forearms, keeping our course straight and steady.

The tundra opened out before us. A sudden burst of speed threw us into the cold wind's biting maw.