The Gladiator Gambit

by Gavin Chappell

  “To kill the youth,” the Egyptian snake charmer had said when he gave Apuleius Victor the pot of venom. The youth? What youth? Could they mean…him? He was hardly a youth in his own eyes, but as a recruit to the Family of Apuleius Victor he was known as Tiro. That suggested youth. Were they conspiring against him?

  He was jumping at shadows. Tiro didn’t literally mean youth. But who was the poison for? They had killed Petrus with venom; the Thracian had been too unsubtle in his investigations, he had provoked suspicion. They had poisoned him.

  They were ruthless, and they had something to hide. But now they intended to kill someone else. Had Flaminius betrayed himself?

  —15—

  He walked through the morning streets, so anxious he went in haste without being aware of it. Soon he was on the street where Ozymandias’ townhouse stood, a well-appointed edifice in the Roman style with a columned portico. Ascending the steps, Flaminius knocked on the door and waited patiently.

  A slave showed him inside, leading him down the vestibule with its fresco that showed the conquests of Ozymandias’ heroic namesake, the Pharaoh, and into a garden where he was asked to wait.

  He was admiring a fishpond where carp swam when he heard a soft footstep behind him. He turned, heart in his mouth, to see Nitocris standing framed by the doorway into the house.

  ‘Gaius!’ she cried. ‘Oh, Gaius!’

  Racing up, she flung her arms around him. He held her close, feeling her heart pounding through her thin linen dress. They hadn’t spoken in months. He thought she hated him.

  She withdrew, looking bashfully at his gladiator gear. ‘What in the name of Osiris are you wearing?’ she asked.

  Flaminius gave himself a rueful glance, then took a long look at Nitocris. Slender, elegant, her long, dark, naturally straight hair hanging in dozens of pretty ringlets that must have kept her handmaiden occupied for hours, she wore a long, embroidered dress that hugged her form. Bangles and rings jangled on her slim arms, while kohl made her large eyes seem all the larger.

  ‘Didn’t your brother tell you he’d seen me?’ he asked. ‘I’m, er, undercover.’

  ‘As a gladiator?’ She shrieked with laughter. ‘He said very little when he came home last night, but he did mention some excitement at work, and that you were involved.’ She minutely examined the ground. ‘He must have gone somewhere in the middle of the night. I’ve not seen him since waking.’

  ‘That’s very odd,’ Flaminius said with a frown.

  She looked up and nodded. ‘It took me back to the bad old days, after our parents died. He would slip out at night, sometimes not come back for days. We used to argue about it, but I didn’t know what he was doing. Until he was caught robbing tombs.’

  Flaminius gazed round at the splendid garden. Nightingales sang on a tree in the middle of a lawn, and a small black cat, curled up by the pond, watched them surreptitiously, tail twitching.

  He looked at Nitocris again. He had been in Egypt for ten months, and yet aspects of its culture still unsettled him—brother-sister marriages being one of them. ‘I doubt he’s gone back to tomb robbing,’ he assured her. ‘Not now he’s on the payroll.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I didn’t think he had,’ she said quietly, ‘but I did wonder if you had sent him on a mission. Oh, don’t worry about him,’ she added with an attempt at a laugh. ‘I expect you’ll find him at work. He sometimes goes to the Library early. Says it’s best to get the important work out of the way before the scholars get under his feet.’

  Flaminius gave her a worried look. ‘I’ve just come from the Library,’ he said. ‘They haven’t seen him this morning.’

  Nitocris wrung her hands. ‘Oh, but where can he have got to?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You’re sure you didn’t send him out on one of your missions?’

  ‘I think I’d have remembered.’ Flaminius took her hands and looked sternly into her eyes. ‘Please don’t worry about your brother,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure he comes home. I’ll find him and tell him his sister is waiting for him. He’ll come straight home then.’

  ‘Oh, Gaius,’ she murmured, meeting his gaze with melting, soulful eyes.

  He remembered the night they had spent together in the crypt beneath the ruined temple. Did she truly have feelings for him? She had always been as mysterious as the sphinx.

  ‘I know you will,’ she told him. Gently she disengaged his grip and clapped her hands to summon the slave. ‘Will you have wine?’ she added.

  ‘I remember when all you had to offer was beer and lentils,’ said Flaminius with a smile. ‘Look at you now!’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t stay, I’ll be expected back at the gladiators’ school. I have unfinished business there. I’ve got to see a man about a snake.’

  ‘Farewell, then, Gaius,’ said Nitocris sadly. ‘If you see my brother, tell him I’ll be waiting for an explanation.’ She turned to the slave. ‘Show our guest out.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the slave, and he led Flaminius from the garden.

  —16—

  Gladiators’ School, Alexandria, Roman Province of Egypt, 27th August 124 AD

  Returning from the city, Flaminius met Camilla in the peristyle of the school. She was pale,

  ‘Where’ve you been? Syphax has been asking questions.’

  ‘What sort of questions?’ Camilla’s hands were shaking. What interrogation could frighten the hardened gladiatrix?

  ‘Where I was last night, where you were.’ She bit her lip. ‘Maccabeus told him that we had become lovers. I left them sparring in the ring and came looking for you, but you weren’t in your cell. Did you go to talk with your Egyptian friend?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flaminius shortly, and they began walking towards the small arena. The din of practise swords floated towards them on the warm air.

  ‘What did he say?’ she persisted. ‘Did he translate what you heard the Egyptians saying?’

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘He wasn’t there. He seems to have gone missing.’

  She halted and stared at him.

  ‘Gone missing?’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Flaminius replied irritably.

  ‘So you couldn’t get a translation,’ she mused.

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘No, I got a translation. Ozymandias isn’t the only one who speaks Egyptian in this city.’

  ‘Your friend is called Ozymandias?’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’

  She shrugged. ‘No reason. Are you going to continue your investigation, or are you going to practise? I’ve been asked to go to another school.’

  This startled Flaminius. ‘Another school? Why?’

  ‘This afternoon there’s going to be a battle between Amazons and Greeks, and I’m fighting alongside some other girls as one of the Amazons. They want me to join them for the final training. I won’t see you again until we’re in the arena.’

  Apuleius Victor had said something last night that corroborated with this. ‘I’ll show my face in the training arena,’ he told her. ‘But yes, I’ll be doing some snooping before the fight. Investigate Syphax’s cell like we intended to. We need to find what happened to that asp venom. We don’t want anyone else going the way Petrus did.’

  The gladiatrix shook her head ‘I really don’t think that would be a good idea.’ Her eyes were serious. ‘You could get yourself in… deep trouble, Tiro. Believe me.’

  He shrugged as if he didn’t care for his life. As she turned to leave, she added, ‘You didn’t tell me what those Egyptian words meant.’

  He gave her a bleak smile. ‘Nothing good.’

  She gazed at him a moment longer. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said at last, and vanished up the steps into the colonnade.

  Wondering who, if anyone, he could trust, Flaminius strolled round the peristyle. He considered joining Maccabeus and Syphax in the training arena, but decided that first he would sit down on a marble bench and order his thoughts a little.

  They meant to kill him. That was
clear. What had happened to Ozymandias might have no connection, but there was little doubt that Apuleius Victor, Syphax, and their mysterious Egyptian allies, intended to kill him. But how had he given himself away?

  They might have seen him last night, of course, but it was before the shutter broke, before he had been forced to beat a hasty retreat, that they had spoken the words that seemed to seal his fate. So who had betrayed him? He gazed in the direction Camilla had taken.

  He was wasting time. From the distant sound of steel on steel, he could be sure that Syphax and Maccabeus were both occupied. He had not seen Apuleius Victor or the slave. Camilla must have left the school by now. He rose to his feet and hurried in the direction the gladiatrix had taken.

  Once back indoors, he made his way down the passage that led away from the dining chamber. All was quiet, silent as an Egyptian mausoleum. He reached Syphax’s cell without incident and tried the door. It was still firmly locked.

  With a sigh, he produced his impromptu lock pick and knelt down on the cold mosaic floor, inserting the wire into the keyway and gently probing the mechanism. He located the tumblers, tried to move them. Sweat sprang out on his brow. They were immobile. He swallowed and tried again. Was he doing something wrong? A third attempt and he was growing desperate.

  A door slammed down the passage and he froze. People were speaking. It sounded like Apuleius Victor and someone else. Footsteps drew closer. Panting, he redoubled his efforts. The lock sprang open and he shot inside, closing the door behind him with the merest click.

  He leant back, his attention on what he could hear outside. Someone was walking down the passage.

  He darted to the side so the door would hide him when it was opened. Clenching a fist, he prepared himself to strike the newcomer from behind and make good his escape before they could see him.

  The footsteps halted outside the door. For a long time, nothing happened. His body was slick with sweat. He was amazed that they couldn’t smell him, he was sweating so much. He stared in horrified anticipation at the doorknob, expecting to hear the key in the lock and see the handle turn.

  To his relief, the footsteps moved away. With a heartfelt sigh, he turned.

  The small room was no different from his own cell, Spartan yet splendid, with a bunk on one side, a low occasional table beside it, and a wardrobe against the back wall. Mosaic floor and frescoed walls completed the effect of simple luxury. A gladiator’s sword hung from a peg on the right-hand wall.

  He went to the wardrobe and tried its door. It was unlocked. Inside he found sandals, kilts, cloaks, and a couple of Tyrian purple dalmatics. Gifts, Flaminius guessed, from some admirer. Free gladiators were well paid from prize money, but not so well paid they could afford such luxury. Gifts were not uncommon, though. He felt the soft fabric and wondered if it wasn’t silk.

  But he couldn’t see the jar that the Egyptian had given to Apuleius Victor. Maybe it was in the impresario’s room, but Flaminius had thought that Syphax would have it, since he was the one who would be using it later today. To end Flaminius’ life?

  Apuleius Victor strode from the colonnade. Reaching the training arena, he found Maccabeus and Syphax fighting desultorily in the late morning sun. They looked up as he entered and wearily lowered their arms. Syphax sheathed his sword and took off his helmet.

  ‘A bit thin on the ground today,’ the impresario remarked.

  Maccabeus also took the opportunity to uncover his head. ‘The woman said she’s been asked to train with a family of gladiatrices. Isn’t that right?’

  Apuleius Victor’s face darkened. ‘I’m not concerned about her,’ he said. ‘She was right; I have asked her to spend the morning with Diana’s Viragos. You know we’re putting on quite a show today: Hercules versus the Amazons. You’re Greeks, the ladies are Amazons. His imperial majesty, in whose honour you are fighting, is a lover of all things Greek, and I don’t just mean their young boys.’

  Maccabeus shrugged. ‘Is it Tiro you’re worried about?’ he asked. ‘Lad’s young. Young lads like their beauty sleep. We were all young once, even me.’

  ‘It is indeed Tiro who concerns me,’ said Apuleius Victor, and he exchanged glances with Syphax. ‘He’s not as young as all that, Maccabeus. You’d make an indulgent father, but Tiro doesn’t need anyone to speak up in his defence.’

  He drew Syphax to one side and spoke to him in an undertone. Maccabeus saw the Nubian’s face change, first with anger, then a cold resolve. Apuleius Victor patted him on the shoulder, then turned to Maccabeus as Syphax walked off in silence.

  ‘Syphax will be busy for a while,’ he said. ‘Now—it’s been a long time since I was in the arena.’ He began to equip himself. ‘I’ll spar with you until he’s back.’

  As Maccabeus replaced his helmet, he wondered what fate Syphax had in store for Tiro.

  —17—

  Flaminius was looking under the bunk when he heard more footsteps in the passage. As his eyes fell on a small clay pottery jar, the sound reach his ears.

  He cursed and got to his knees. Looking up, he cocked his head. Whoever it was, they were coming closer. Very quietly he got up and stole over to the wall again. He leant back and listened, trying to quiet his laboured breathing.

  The footsteps came closer, closer, closer… then moved away, going further down the passage. Flaminius breathed another sigh of relief, then shot back across the cell and fished the pottery jar from under the bunk. With a grimace, he lifted the little lid and sniffed at the colourless liquid within.

  The key turned in the lock.

  He spun round, involuntarily dropping the pot. As it shattered on the floor the door swung open, revealing Syphax.

  They both stared at each other. Flaminius glanced down at the smashed pot and Syphax followed his gaze.

  ‘You tried to destroy it, Tiro,’ said the Nubian.

  ‘You were going to kill me with it!’ said Flaminius.

  Syphax curled his lip. ‘Was that you spying on us last night?’

  ‘What if I was?’ Flaminius said challengingly.

  Syphax flung himself at Flaminius, seizing him by the hair and trying to force him facedown onto the venom stained floor. Flaminius wrapped his arms round Syphax’s muscular thigh in a hold no professional wrestler would recognise, and tried to push him backwards.

  Syphax lashed out with his left fist, pounding Flaminius’ neck. Flaminius stamped down on Syphax’s foot, at the same time rearing upwards. Losing his grip, Syphax staggered backwards and collided with the wall.

  All was lost. Flaminius had to finish this killer before the Nubian murdered him. He rushed him, but his sandaled foot came down in the pool of venom. He slipped and fell. Syphax, recovered, tried to stomp on his throat. Flaminius rolled over, grimly aware that he was lying in the spilt asp venom. If any of it got into a cut, he would be finished.

  As he rose Syphax seized him from behind in a more traditional wrestling hold. Flaminius gritted his teeth and flung the Nubian over his shoulder. He reached up to the sword hanging on the wall.

  Syphax got to his knees to find the sword at his throat. His back was to the wall. He looked wildly about him.

  ‘There’s no escape,’ Flaminius said. ‘Now you can answer a few questions.’

  ‘I’ll tell you nothing!’ Syphax hissed. Flaminius pricked his throat with the sword tip. A small round bead of blood appeared on the man’s dark skin. ‘I should have taken that sword in the first place,’ the Nubian hissed, ‘and killed you with it.’

  ‘Like you killed Petrus?’ Flaminius asked. ‘And Felix?’ Syphax said nothing. Flaminius traced the sword tip across his skin. ‘Answer me! Answer me or I’ll cut your throat!’

  Another figure appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Enough!’ It was the impresario. ‘Put the sword down. This is not the arena. That’s where you’re paid to fight, Tiro, not here.’

  Flaminius flung the sword down on the bunk. He put out a hand to help Syphax to his feet, but the Nubian struck it away
and rose unaided. He turned to Apuleius Victor. ‘He’s a spy! We’ve got to kill him!’

  ‘As you killed Petrus?’ Flaminius asked.

  ‘Another spy,’ Syphax spat. ‘He asked too many questions. And you—you’ve been spying on us too.’

  ‘It’s alright, Syphax,’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘I know what this is about.’ He beckoned. Camilla appeared in the doorway. ‘These people are naturally upset and worried by Petrus’ death.’

  Syphax snarled. ‘Both of them? We’ll have to kill them both!’

  Apuleius Victor shook his head. ‘A death in the arena is to be expected. A death in the school will provoke comment at the very least. We do not wish to attract attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Why did you kill Petrus?’ asked Flaminius. ‘And Felix? Did he ask too many questions?’

  Apuleius Victor turned to Camilla. ‘Thank you for speaking to me,’ he said. ‘You must go to join Diana’s Viragos now. Syphax, go and spar with Maccabeus. I will explain things to Tiro. He deserves it. You all do, of course, but I’ll speak to you separately.’

  ‘Are you going to cut them in on the deal?’ Syphax was incredulous. ‘We can explain their death easily! An accident during training!’

  ‘And what of Maccabeus?’ Apuleius Victor said. ‘He may become suspicious. Will we kill him too? I’m not going to sacrifice my entire family! Besides, the poison has been spilt. It’s a sign from the gods; this is not the right course. Now get back to training.’

  Syphax opened his mouth as if to speak, then turned angrily and strode from the room. With a half apologetic look at Flaminius, Camilla followed.

  Flaminius watched her go, his eyes cold. When he looked next at Apuleius Victor, the impresario had something like compassion on his face.

  ‘I saw you both last night,’ he said. ‘I spoke to Camilla today, and got the truth from her without undue resistance. Don’t blame her.’