The Gladiator Gambit

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘She betrayed me,’ said Flaminius. ‘Why shouldn’t I blame her?’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘I must speak with you. Remember, you are in the arena in less than an hour.’

  Flaminius followed the impresario down the passage to the office, where he was invited to sit down at the desk. Apuleius Victor instructed his slave to bring them food. After bowls of steaming beans and grain had been laid out on the desk, he shut and locked the door, then went over to his chair and sat.

  ‘Have some wine,’ he said, pouring Flaminius a glass. ‘Well, you have known some crowded hours recently. You had a busy night, and you were up early. Now a fight with Syphax. You must have really cared for Petrus. Or was it Camilla who persuaded you? I know she liked the man, not that he was interested in her…’

  ‘You’ve pretty much admitted that you were responsible for Petrus’ death,’ Flaminius snapped. ‘What is to stop us from reporting you to the magistrate?’ He studied the man for his reaction. Maybe he could recruit Apuleius Victor as he had recruited Petrus; surely the impresario was closer to the mysterious Arctos than Petrus ever had been. ‘Syphax said something about cutting me in on the deal. Well, maybe we can make another deal.’

  Apuleius Victor regarded him quietly, with a cold smile. Flaminius couldn’t understand his reaction. It wasn’t that of a criminal unmasked. He was too confident.

  ‘You want to make a deal with me?’ Apuleius Victor laughed. ‘You’re a barefaced rogue. I’m really beginning to like you!’ His gritted teeth suggested that the statement was ironic. ‘Yes, I think we could make a deal, but not in the way you think. Incidentally, I don’t think you’ll get anywhere if you take me to the magistrate.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve bought him,’ Flaminius said. ‘No matter. That was Camilla’s idea, not mine.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Apuleius Victor, smiling good humouredly. ‘And what was it you hoping to achieve? Blackmail? Was that it?’

  Flaminius smiled back. ‘Let’s just say I hoped to influence you.’

  ‘You?’ Apuleius Victor laughed again. ‘You’re nothing but a novice gladiator from the gutter, and you think you could “influence” me? You have no idea who I am.’

  ‘I think I have,’ Flaminius replied. ‘You’re a desperate man who has a secret that he’s willing to murder to preserve. But I can offer you an alternative.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘I’d be fascinated to know what you have to offer me. When you joined us, you were clearly on the run, a deserter from the legions I would guess from that Mithras brand in your brow, spent some time in Britain going by your tattoo. You showed promise, fighting Felix well. I agreed to take you on. I saved you from the gutter, from execution, no doubt.’

  ‘You’re guessing,’ said Flaminius reprovingly.

  ‘I am,’ said Apuleius Victor, ‘but no one becomes a gladiator unless they are desperate. You call me desperate, but I’m a man of position in this city. You are a nothing, a non-entity. What do you have that you can offer me?’

  ‘Believe me,’ said Flaminius, ‘I could make life very difficult for you—unless you do what I want.’

  Apuleius Victor laughed once again. ‘I do like you, Tiro,’ he said, ‘but don’t push your luck. Don’t revel in what you must see as a victory. Very well. You could have me dragged in chains before the magistrate…’

  Flaminius shook his head, pounded the desk with his fist.

  ‘Listen to me, you fool,’ he said. ‘I’m offering you an opportunity you can’t afford to waste. You say you have position in this city, but you’re mixed up in some very murky business. I saw you with those snake worshipping Egyptians. I don’t know quite what it is you’ve got yourself mixed up in, or how, but I can offer you a way to redeem yourself.’

  ‘I’m starting to get very tired with your nonsense,’ Apuleius Victor said with sudden impatience. ‘Let’s forget this guttersnipe bluster. I am the one who has an offer to make. You see, I am not who you think I am. And I can offer you work—secret work—that will be well paid, far better paid than risking your neck in the arena. You’ve proved to me that you have the makings of someone who could work for me, although you clearly need training. Are you interested?’

  Flaminius sat back, piqued. He was getting nowhere, and he didn’t quite understand what the impresario was getting at. But maybe the man would help him penetrate the conspiracy without him needing to blow his cover.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Tell me more.’

  —18—

  ‘You’re right,’ Apuleius Victor began, ‘I did conspire in the murder of Petrus, although Syphax was a more than willing tool in my hands. But I was not to blame for Felix’s death.’

  ‘Who was, then?’ Flaminius asked.

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ the impresario told him. ‘And you are going to help me.’

  Flaminius shrugged. ‘I want to know as much as you do,’ he said. ‘But there is something more important than learning who is killing off your family of gladiators.’

  ‘You think so?’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘Well, I’d agree with that. I’m not just interested in Felix’s death, I’m interested in the whole crooked gang who brought it about. I have my suspicions, but first I need evidence.’

  ‘Surely if you want a crooked gang,’ said Flaminius, ‘you need look no further than the charmers you were with last night.’

  Apuleius Victor nodded. ‘They are the main suspects,’ he said. ‘I have been amassing evidence against them ever since I joined them—with Syphax’s help. But I have had to make compromises, and the death of Petrus was one. He was asking questions, questions that got back to the charmers, as you call them, and began to worry them. They gave Syphax the means to rid us of the spy. I was willing to sacrifice Petrus. He was a mediocre gladiator and his usefulness was at an end. And now the gang seems more willing to trust me.’

  ‘They didn’t trust you before?’ Flaminius asked. ‘What exactly is their game? For that matter, what’s yours?’

  ‘Gambling,’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘They run a gambling operation, taking bets on the games in the amphitheatre and the races in the hippodrome. As you know, gambling is illegal except at Saturnalia…’

  ‘Jove help me,’ said Flaminius despairingly. ‘Are you telling me you work for the civic guard?’

  Apuleius Victor motioned him to be quiet. ‘I work for myself,’ he said. ‘I am a gladiator impresario, as well you know. But on the side, I am a paid agent of the prefect and his civic guard, yes.’

  Flaminius sighed. ‘Investigating gambling?’ It all seemed so banal.

  ‘You can take that attitude,’ said Apuleius Victor coldly. ‘But it’s not just gambling. They fix games. I don’t like that.’

  ‘Must be easy, from what I’ve seen,’ said Flaminius. ‘Most of the games seem to be fixed. The only people to die are slave gladiators, as a rule.’

  ‘Gladiators are too expensive a resource to waste,’ Apuleius Victor told him. ‘The mob wants to see blood. I have to ensure that blood is spilt. But I do not make enough money to buy new gladiators after every game.’

  ‘What about your salary from the civic guard?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Doesn’t that help?’

  Apuleius Victor gave him a thin-lipped smile. ‘They pay handsomely, when they remember. But what causes me the biggest problems are the intrigues of the gangs. I have come to terms with one gang, as you have seen, though it took long enough. But they are by no means the only criminals working the amphitheatres and hippodromes. They did not have Felix killed. In fact, I believe they lost a great deal of money that way. No, other gangs are at work. A whole syndicate. And I want you to help me investigate it.’

  ‘These other gangs,’ said Flaminius thoughtfully. ‘This syndicate. Did they have Felix killed? Yes? Why? Did he know too much too?’

  Apuleius Victor shook his head. ‘Felix was as innocent as a sacrificial lamb. He died for profit. The profit of the illegal gambling syndicate
.’

  ‘How?’ asked Flaminius.

  ‘That’s exactly what I want to find out,’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘I want to find out, the prefect wants to find out. And the gang I have joined also wants to find out. Due to my position, my hands are tied. I cannot investigate any further than I have done already. Joining one gang has effectively hampered my movements.’

  ‘There’s Syphax,’ said Flaminius. ‘Isn’t he helping you?’

  ‘Syphax is my agent,’ Apuleius Victor said. ‘But he’s useless for undercover work. You have shown some aptitude. I could use that.’

  ‘You’ve proved yourself to be ruthless. I wonder if I truly have a choice. If I was to say no, what would happen? You’ve already been plotting against me…’

  ‘A mistake,’ Apuleius Victor assured him. ‘I thought you another prying, incompetent snoop like Petrus, to be dealt with. But now I see that your talents are not to be wasted.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Flaminius. ‘So, you’re looking to recruit me? Put me on the payroll?’

  Apuleius Victor coughed. ‘I already pay you handsomely,’ he said. ‘Requesting you take on new duties, shall we say?’

  ‘You mean I don’t get a bonus?’ Flaminius asked.

  ‘I can assure you that you will receive a substantial donative,’ the impresario said, ‘based on results. Infiltrate the other gang and I will pay you a generous sum out of my own pocket.’ Grasping Flaminius by the wrist, he stared fiercely into his eyes. ‘Work with me on this and we will smash this whole crime ring!’

  It was time to come clean. Flaminius fished out the lance-head brooch he had been concealing in his belt pouch since joining the family. ‘I’m glad to hear that you’re impressed by my abilities as a spy,’ he said quietly.

  Puzzled, Apuleius Victor examined the brooch. ‘Did you steal this?’ he inquired. ‘Are you aware of the penalty for stealing imperial property?’

  ‘I didn’t steal it,’ Flaminius stated.

  ‘Then you’re an imperial courier?’ Apuleius Victor asked, bewildered.

  Why did people always think that? ‘I’m a… Look, you don’t need to know what I am,’ Flaminius said. ‘All you need to know is that this means that I am not to be hindered. I am on the emperor’s business. I’m not an imperial courier, but like a courier, my work is such that I have to be able to go anywhere. Do you know what the road network was built for?’

  Apuleius Victor seemed startled by this apparent change of subject. ‘To improve transport links,’ he said off-handedly, ‘improve communications for people throughout the empire.’

  ‘Right,’ said Flaminius, ‘and wrong. ‘To improve communications, yes, but for the people? No. For the legions. And for the legions’ scouts and messengers. Do you know, I once travelled from the wilds of Caledonia to the emperor’s villa in Tibur in less than two months?’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘It couldn’t be done by any normal man.’

  ‘It can be done,’ Flaminius said, ‘by a man making good use of the road network, the system of waystations and post horses used by imperial couriers.’ He looked a little faraway. It hadn’t been so long ago, really, but it seemed like an eternity. He wondered what kind of secret network the rebels employed to smuggle gladiators from the Delta to the Thebaid. ‘I cheated a little, of course, but there were pressing reasons…’

  Apuleius Victor had had enough. ‘What in Pluto’s name are you doing working as a gladiator?’

  ‘Very well, I’m an imperial agent,’ Flaminius told him. ‘Tribune Gaius Flaminius Drusus of the Twenty Second Legion, Commissary Division, at your service.’

  The blood drained from Apuleius Victor’s face. ‘An imperial agent?’ he whispered. ‘And you’ve infiltrated my family? But… why?’

  Hastily, Flaminius laid out the facts. ‘Someone is sending gladiators and gladiatorial weapons to the rebels in the Thebaid,’ he concluded. ‘I’m here to find out who and how.’

  ‘No one in my family is involved,’ Apuleius Victor said dogmatically. ‘Although we have had problems with men departing in the night,’ he added, scratching his chin, ‘taking equipment with them.’

  ‘I’ve heard as much from Camilla,’ Flaminius said. ‘Was one of them a murmillo, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes!’ Apuleius Victor said in surprise. ‘Diomede. He vanished two months ago. I replaced him with Syphax, who proved to have other uses. But Diomede was a good fighter. You have news of him?’

  ‘I’m sorry to break it to you like this,’ said Flaminius, with a cold smile, ‘but he’s dead. I killed him.’ Apuleius Victor stared at him. ‘It was about a month ago,’ the tribune added, ‘so I don’t think he spent long on the run. He was with the rebels.’

  Apuleius Victor was having trouble taking all this in. ‘An imperial agent,’ he mused. ‘It would have been… politer if you had informed me in the first place.’

  ‘I had no idea that you were in the business,’ Flaminius replied. ‘Take that as a credit to your own skill at undercover work.’

  ‘Syphax suspects you,’ Apuleius Victor warned him. ‘He doesn’t know the full truth about me. He thinks we are working with the gang for our own profit, as far as I know. But he doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re working for someone. And he’s right! I don’t think you can stay here much longer.’

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘I don’t know where else I can go. I think, in fact, that I’ll take up your generous offer.’

  ‘You’re going to infiltrate the rival gang?’

  Flaminius nodded. ‘I’ve run into a dead end here,’ he said, ‘and I won’t find out any more if all that is going on is illegal betting and murder. But perhaps I’ll find what I’m looking for in this syndicate, if I can only join it.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Apuleius Victor. ‘Our interests are not entirely at odds. You help me and I’ll help you. All I can tell you is that I have heard vague references to somewhere in the Delta, a place that the gangs hold sacred.’

  ‘The Delta’s a big place,’ Flaminius observed. ‘And we’re in the middle of the Nile inundation.’

  Maybe this sacred place was the haunt of the man who Camilla’s erstwhile lover had called Arctos. Arctos. The name was Greek, meaning bear. Was Arctos a Greek?

  There was a brassy flourish of trumpets from the direction of the arena, and Apuleius Victor sat up, startled. ‘We have been talking too long.’ He rose and opened the door.

  Maccabeus was standing there. ‘Sir,’ said the gladiator respectfully. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening. Are we to go to the arena? It’s noon. They’ll be executing the condemned prisoners now. We’ll be late if we wait any longer.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Apuleius Victor curtly. ‘I was discussing business. Yes, you had all better go to the arena pens at once. You too, Flaminius.’

  ‘Tiro,’ the tribune corrected him.

  Maccabeus was still standing in the doorway. ‘Is there anything else?’ the impresario asked.

  ‘Sir,’ said the gladiator, ‘there’s no one else here. The gladiatrix has joined Diana’s Viragos. As for Syphax…’ He spread his arms awkwardly. ‘He’s gone.’

  —19—

  Nicopolis Amphitheatre, Alexandria, Roman Province of Egypt, 27th August 124 AD

  Without Syphax or Camilla, the march to the amphitheatre seemed no more than a self-important amble. On reaching the subterranean pen, however, they found at least two other gladiator ‘families’ already waiting. Apuleius Victor had kitted his own gladiators out with Grecian armour, hoplite helmets and long spears, although no breastplates concealed their muscular torsos, and the men they found here were similarly accoutred.

  Maccabeus knew all of them, it seemed, and went around slapping backs and shaking hands. Flaminius stood awkwardly near the entrance. It reminded him of how he had felt on first entering the officers’ mess at Eboracum, back when he had been a young tribune of auxiliary cavalry—the lowest of the low, in officer terms. Maccabeus noticed his diffidence
, and beckoned him over.

  ‘This is Tiro,’ he told the other gladiators. ‘He’s a new boy in the Family of Apuleius Victor. So am I, for that!’ He laughed.

  ‘You must be one of the longest serving gladiators around, Maccabeus,’ said a black bearded man, big even by the standards of gladiators. His lion skin cloak and club made it clear that he would playing Hercules in the upcoming Games. ‘How do you do it? Most gladiators who’ve lived as long as you have took the wooden sword[3] or went to Pluto years ago.’

  ‘You are calling me old?’ Maccabeus said with a roar of mock anger. ‘But you’re right. I remember when the great Apuleius Victor himself was a novice like this lad here, before, like an ageing whore, he went into management. How do I keep going?’ He tapped his nose. ‘Contacts, matey. Contacts. I know all the right people. And I mean…’ he lowered his voice to a deep whisper, ‘All the right people.’

  Just as Flaminius was about to ask what he meant by that, there was a trumpet blast from above, and “Hercules” began giving them a hasty pep talk.

  Moments later, they were marching up the tunnel that led to the arena. Flaminius walked at Maccabeus’s side. Assuming they survived the next hour or so, he would have questions to ask the man.

  They reached the portcullis gates. The sun filtered into the dank, wet stone tunnel, bringing with it the growing roar of the expectant crowd. At first Flaminius mistook it for the sound of surf, breakers crashing on a distant shore. As the portcullis opened up and they stepped out into the heat and light of the arena, the noise swelled into a deafening pandemonium. The mob had not greeted them like this on previous days. What had roused them?

  On the sand stood what seemed to be a cohort, if not an entire legion of gladiatrices. An Amazonian horde, all wearing helmets like Camilla’s that had been wrought to represent female faces, all carrying spears and shields, and very little else. The sight of so much naked female flesh would have been arousing if it wasn’t for Flaminius’ knowledge that very soon he would be fighting them. And somewhere among them was Camilla, who had betrayed him. He gritted his teeth, scowled beneath his helmet visor. Gripped his sword hilt all the more firmly.