The Gladiator Gambit

by Gavin Chappell

  Apuleius Victor stood in the imperial box at the prefect’s side, speaking loudly but inaudibly. The mob had been whipped up by his words and now only blood would satisfy them. Giving up on his speech, the impresario flung up his hands, then pointed at the leader of the gladiatrices. She brandished her spear and urged her warriors onwards.

  The man dressed as Hercules waved his club round his head three times, then yelled something inaudible beneath the roar of the crowd. He led them at a charge into the midst of their Amazonian opponents.

  Seconds later Flaminius found himself fighting a semi naked woman, clad only in helmet, sword belt and sandals, though her lack of clothing was made up for by the huge oval shield she bore. She fought like a harpy, her body slick with sweat. As Flaminius fended off her spear, he found the impassive mask of her visor terrifying.

  At last he got under her guard and dealt her a deep cut in the left leg. She stumbled, and propped herself up with her spear. Flaminius waited for her to rise. ‘You’ll give me a chance?’ she panted. He barely caught the words beneath the roar of the crowd. ‘I would have thought you’d want to kill me.’

  It was Camilla. Flaminius gripped his sword firmly. ‘How did you know me in this armour?’

  ‘I know you, Tiro,’ said the girl. ‘Even if you don’t know me.’ Painfully she rose. In the centre of the arena, Hercules was battling the Amazon Queen most spectacularly, to the evident delight of the crowd.

  ‘You betrayed me,’ Flaminius said, facing her sword in hand. They circled on the sand, not fighting but menacing each other. ‘You told Apuleius Victor about our investigation.’

  ‘Don’t you see? I had to,’ she said. The people booed, hammering on their seats, baying for blood. She made a lunge at him with her spear and he deflected it with his shield.

  ‘I don’t see,’ he shouted, coming at her in with sword held high. ‘All I see is a traitor!’

  She met the rain of blows with her shield, then forced him back. ‘Somehow, he knew,’ she cried. ‘He took me aside, said he would cast me out of his family, I’d never work again. He wanted to know why we were spying.’

  She lunged. Flaminius dodged to one side, and she tripped over the fallen body of a gladiator. Her helmet strap broke and her helmet rolled across the sand. She rolled over after it and then Flaminius was standing over her, sword tip to her throat. She lay very still.

  The crowd was roaring. Flaminius pushed back his visor and gazed down.

  ‘You betrayed me,’ he said, ‘for this?’ He indicated the clouds of dust and the savagely fighting figures, the spectators, all eager for blood. ‘Was it worth it?’

  ‘What other life do I have?’ she said bitterly. ‘What other life is open to me? I have only one hope of living a life and that’s here. My only chance. I have to prove myself here, in this fight.’

  Flaminius looked up. The crowd was pointing downwards with its thumbs. That decided him. He stepped back again.

  ‘Then we’d better make this a fight they’ll remember,’ he said.

  Boos and jeers came from the crowd as he let Camilla rise. He replaced his visor, and Camilla picked up her own helmet from where it had fallen.

  He was being merciful. So Camilla had betrayed him! It had been under duress, and besides, she was trying to escape a horrific way of life. Flaminius had only seen a few weeks of life as a gladiator, but it had been more than enough.

  They fought with dramatic flair in the dust of the arena until the other surviving fighters halted their own struggles to watch.

  With the approval of the prefect, Hercules had despatched the Amazon queen, and now the field belonged to the “Greeks”, to the pleasure of the few Greek citizens watching. But the duel between Flaminius and Camilla seized everyone’s attention, and under the eyes of all they fought.

  Flaminius’ heart pounded as they struggled in the dust. The sun beat down, the clang of steel rang through the arena now that the crowd was quieter, watching the fight intently. Time and again, Camilla broke through his guard only for him to parry her thrust. Time and again, he forced her back. Both bled now from a score of superficial wounds. Blood mingled with sweat to dry in the fierce heat of the early afternoon sun.

  The crowd began to beat time, stamping their feet, clapping their hands. At first Flaminius thought this a sign of their anger, but he realised that they appreciated the display he and the gladiatrix were giving them. Yet, the mob being what it is, they would soon grow bored. This had to be a fight to the death. He had been merciful, but it was now his life or hers. The final decision lay in the hands of the prefect, who watched from the imperial box, Apuleius Victor at his side. Camilla wanted a release from this hell. Flaminius knew of only one way to free her.

  She missed her footing, slipping in a pool of spilt blood. And Flaminius was upon her.

  His sword flashed in the blazing sun, then she was down, blood running freely from a deep gash in her arm. The roar of the crowd reached a climax, like a rutting beast. The surviving gladiators had withdrawn to the sides of the arena, their fighting done. Now the drama of Flaminius and the prone Camilla was in everyone’s eyes. A tragedy worthy of Aeschylus.

  The prefect was on his feet in the imperial box. Apuleius Victor stood at his side, whispering into his ear. Standing there, Haterius Nepos looked more imperial than any emperor, his face dark with fury. He thrust the impresario to one side and gestured at the crowd. Thumbs pointed upwards now, now that they had seen the gladiatrix’s true mettle.

  The crowd went silent as the prefect held out his right arm, his thumb horizontal. Flaminius watched, the whole crowd watched. Haterius Nepos was a showman worthy of the Colosseum. For a long second that seemed like an aeon, he kept his thumb poised. Then he lifted it, pointing up towards the shining, life giving sun.

  Flaminius sheathed his sword and held out a hand. Camilla was hesitant at first, but as the cheers of the crowd grew louder, she seized it and allowed Flaminius to haul her to her feet.

  She pushed back her helmet. Her face was wracked with confusion. ‘Do I live?’ she kept asking. ‘Do I live?’ Tears ran freely down her face.

  She surveyed the arena, where bodies sprawled, some locked in the warriors’ last embrace, while flies buzzed around pools of fresh blood.

  ‘It’s over,’ said Flaminius quietly. ‘For today.’

  ‘The crowd loves you.’

  Maccabeus shook hands with both as they came out into the welcome cool and gloom of the gladiators’ holding pen beneath the arena. The other surviving gladiators and gladiatrices were in jubilant mood.

  ‘They’ve never seen such fighting,’ agreed Hercules. ‘It was like a dance, a dance of death.’

  Flaminius took an ewer of water and poured it over his face and chest, washing his skin of blood and grit. His wounds stung, but most were superficial. Turning to Camilla, who still seemed amazed that she had survived, that both of them had survived, he pointed at her injuries. ‘You’d better get them seen to.’

  Maccabeus grinned. ‘Tiro’s sweet on Camilla,’ he told them, and everyone laughed. Flaminius’s face flushed and he wished he’d kept his helmet on. Maccabeus pounded his shoulder. ‘Don’t blame you, lad,’ he roared. ‘If I was a younger feller… Take her to the medic, lad.’

  Leaving their weapons and armour, they went down the passage to the medic’s chamber, and the noise of the jubilant fighters receded behind them.

  ‘We’ve made everyone’s day,’ Flaminius said. ‘What a show!’

  If only he was a real gladiator!

  But when they reached the surgery, they met the one man who didn’t greet their arrival with joy and acclamation.

  ‘You!’ Xenocrates gasped as Flaminius led Camilla in. ‘Both of you! Don’t hurt me, I can explain. I can explain! The gods forgive me…’

  They stared at him. ‘What are you babbling about?’ Camilla asked.

  ‘You’ve come to kill me, I know it,’ the medic said. ‘I’m not a rich man, but if you murder me my wife and chil
dren and slaves will be in the gutter.’

  ‘No one is going to kill you.’ Flaminius shook his head. ‘Camilla needs her wounds tending. I could do with some wine on my own cuts, not to mention down my gullet. That’s all. What are you wailing about, man?’

  But Camilla knew now. ‘It was you,’ she said in a hiss. ‘It was you! Don’t you see, Tiro?’

  ‘You betrayed us to Apuleius Victor?’ Flaminius snapped. ‘After all that rigmarole about oaths and vows and the Styx?’

  Tears rolled down the medic’s face. ‘May the gods punish me in the afterlife! Yes!’

  ‘I’ll save the gods some bother,’ Camilla vowed, looking about her for a weapon.

  Flaminius put a hand on her arm. ‘Let’s hear what the man has to say for himself.’ He turned to Xenocrates. ‘You blabbed to Apuleius Victor? Why?’

  ‘It was after you came here, asking questions,’ said the medic. ‘I had every intention of keeping quiet. I swore by the gods…’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Flaminius. ‘Why did you tell Apuleius Victor about us?’

  ‘He had heard you discussing him in the gladiators’ school,’ Xenocrates said. ‘He was listening at doors after you returned from here, after I lost the gladiator Petrus. He followed you here and saw that you had been talking to me. Then he spoke to me. He wanted to know what I had been saying. He threatened to have me exposed! I told him about you, the gods forgive me. Then he went out.’

  Flaminius looked at Camilla. ‘To meet the now mysteriously absent Syphax,’ he said, ‘and to plot against us. He knew all along.’

  ‘I didn’t betray you,’ said Camilla in relief. ‘Not if he knew already.’

  ‘No.’ Flaminius had already decided the gladiatrix made a better ally than enemy. ‘You didn’t.’ He turned to Xenocrates. ‘But you did.’

  ‘What will you do to me?’ the medic wailed.

  Flaminius grinned savagely. ‘I’ll leave that to the gods,’ he said. ‘Now tend to our wounds and we’ll hear no more of it in this world.’

  The medic hastened to obey.

  That evening, there was another banquet in the gladiators’ school, although Apuleius Victor himself was mysteriously absent. Flaminius participated in the celebrations with little enthusiasm. The news that he could trust Camilla—if that was the best way to interpret it—had cheered him, but he was at a loss for any idea of where to continue his investigation. The festivities ended and he went to seek his bed.

  He had only rested for a moment when there was a scratch at the door. He ignored it. It came again, more insistent this time. Testily he rose and opened the door, to see Camilla standing there. He looked at her inquiringly. Behind her stood Maccabeus.

  ‘He wants us to come with him,’ she said, gesturing at her companion. ‘He says it’s important.’

  The gladiator nodded seriously. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Quickly. You’re needed.’

  —20—

  A quarter of an hour later, they were hurrying through the dark streets on the edge of the Egyptian Quarter. Elsewhere, the city was still a scene of celebration, as the citizens showed their loyalty to his imperial majesty by feasting, drinking, and whoring, much of it at the expense of the prefect and prominent citizens. As Flaminius and Camilla followed Maccabeus through alleyways as dark and noisome as those they had explored the previous night, singing and shouting drifted through the night, while the dark, cloudy sky was illumined by the light of the torchlit streets. But these alleyways were lit only by the stars and the new risen moon.

  The rank smell of swamp water reached Flaminius’ nostrils. It was the odour of Lake Mareotis, the swollen expanse of water that extended south-eastwards from the southern edge of the city. After passing through a gateway in the city walls, they came out on the edge of the Canopic Canal. Flaminius wondered where exactly they were going. Where Maccabeus was leading them. He exchanged glances with Camilla.

  ‘Maccabeus,’ he hissed. ‘Where are you taking us?’

  The gladiator gestured for silence. ‘If you want to know the truth,’ he said, ‘ask no questions.’

  He took them to a bridge that passed by the canal harbour where dozens of boats and barges bobbed at anchor on the dark waters. As they crossed the bridge, more barges were passing up and down the canal. Day or night, holiday or working day, the waters of the Canopic Canal were busy, but they became quieter in the later watches of the night.

  Beyond the canal the going was harder. They had left habitation behind and now were forcing their way through a half-flooded jungle of broken boats and thickets of papyrus. The wet ground squelched under their feet, unidentifiable creatures sought cover at their approach. Ahead of them the waters of Lake Mareotis shone in the hazy, dreamy moonlight.

  They came out from between clumps of reed to find themselves on the muddy shore of the lagoon itself. ‘Wait here,’ said Maccabeus. He handed Flaminius a water skin. ‘You can fill this in the lake. It’s sweet water, not salt.’

  With that, he vanished along the bank.

  Flaminius looked at Camilla. ‘Where is he taking us?’ he asked.

  When she didn’t answer, but sat down patiently on a tussock of ground, he went down to the lagoon edge and filled the water skin. He felt nervous. The swollen waters of the Delta were usually busy with traffic, like the canal, but he had read that they were home to savage beasts, crocodiles, and a fearsome monster found only in southern rivers like the Nile, the great river horse, said to be almost as big as an elephant, with the cloven hoof of the ox; the back, the mane and the neighing of a horse, the snout, tail and tusks of a wild boar, and a hide so thick it was used to make shields and armour.

  He heard a regular sloshing noise growing closer. Something was approaching through the waters. It was so dark now that he could barely see anything. Heart in his mouth, he looked round to see Maccabeus dragging a boat through the water. Breathing a sigh of relief, he hefted up the water skin, now full, and went to meet the man. Camilla joined them.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ she asked. Maccabeus gave her a baleful look, and she pursed her lips resignedly. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘No questions.’

  ‘Get in,’ said Maccabeus.

  Taking the water skin from Flaminius, he stowed it in the small vessel’s hold. Flaminius and Camilla followed him aboard. The boat was woven from reeds, in a crescent shape with a curving prow and stern. While they crouched down in the waist Maccabeus picked up a long pole from the deck and went to the prow where he used it to push them off into the wide waters of the lagoon. Once they were afloat he took up two sweeps and steered them south-eastwards across the flood waters.

  The moon shone down, and the bubbles of their passing became a trail of phosphorescence. Reflected in the waters, the stars wheeled above; the moon turned the surface of the waters to silver, and Flaminius had the illusion that they were crossing a lake of stars. Or was it the Styx, and was Maccabeus in truth Charon, the ferryman of the old tales? Their destination was a mystery. All that Maccabeus had said was that they were going to learn the truth.

  After a while, the big man grew tired, and he gave over the rowing to Flaminius.

  ‘Keep an eye out for river patrols,’ he told the Roman as he lay down in the prow.

  ‘Patrols?’ said Flaminius.

  ‘Yes, patrols.’ Maccabeus had been made irritable by his exertions. ‘Romans patrol these waters. They’ll want to check our papers.’

  Camilla was asleep already. Flaminius felt lonely and confused. ‘Do we have any papers?’

  ‘No,’ said Maccabeus. ‘If a patrol comes, stop rowing, ship your oars and lie face down on the deck. Wake me. We’ll just drift past. They shouldn’t see us in the darkness.’

  ‘What if they do?’

  ‘We take to the water,’ Maccabeus said. ‘You can swim, can’t you?’

  ‘After a fashion,’ said Flaminius. ‘But I don’t much fancy swimming in crocodile infested waters.’

  Maccabeus made no reply. Soon he was snoring. Flami
nius heaved at the oars and the boat made its gradual way across the water.

  There were islands in the lake, some of them quite sizeable, even in the middle of the inundation. He had heard that in the Tanitic Lake, in the Eastern Delta, towns had been built on the islands, and the lake itself was so big that in places a man might think he was in the middle of the ocean, apart from the sluggishness of the salt waters.

  He didn’t know where they were going, or even if it was the right direction. If a river patrol found them, and discovered that they were travelling without the right documentation… he would be able to reveal his true identity, but it would blow his cover.

  What was Maccabeus’s game? The rebels were said to have a hideout somewhere in the Delta. Was Maccabeus one of them? Was the hideout where he was taking them?

  As the sun rose over the eastern reed beds, Flaminius drowsed over the oars. They were drifting. Faraway across the waters, fishing boats were already busy, their crews casting nets into the placid blue waters. Camilla awoke. Seeing Flaminius dozing, shook him. He came to with a start. Maccabeus was still sleeping in the bow.

  ‘You should have woken me,’ she told Flaminius. ‘How long have we been drifting?’ She took a sighting on the sun. ‘I’m hungry. And we’re off course,’ she added. ‘Turn starboard and row for those reeds. If we’ve got no papers, we can’t risk being seen by a river patrol.’

  Flaminius guided them up to an inlet in the reed bank. Several logs lay on the shore, but as he grew closer they slithered into the water and vanished. Crocodiles! They reached the inlet without further incident, seeing neither man nor beast other than an ibis flying past.

  Partway up the inlet they moored, hidden from sight. It was morning now. Flaminius wondered what Apuleius Victor would think when he found all his gladiators had left. Would he hire more? Or was this the end of his career in entertainment?