“Brennus! Brennus!” they called, and when the Dis Pater and Mercury got to work, and slaves came to collect us, I felt tired and hurt and jumped down from the platform.
The Dacian was there, as was the Pig, and both helped me make my way to the bowels of the Circus. At the doorway, there was no Varro, and guards.
They took us down there.
Later, in a cell, I found myself alone. In the darkness, I felt happy.
I looked up, as I saw shadows moving, then I heard voices speaking, and finally I saw Sejanus. He was nodding at me.
“They have not seen a play like that. Never before.” He stared at me enviously. “How do you move so fast and savagely in battle?”
I shrugged. “Gods. They aid me.”
“Gods? That is the answer?” he mused. “Gods. So say all the men who win in dice. But you play these dice very well, indeed.” He shook his head. “I saw you got what you wanted. Are you now ready to serve us?”
I nodded.
“I will want something,” I said.
“What?” he asked, suspicious.
“Thusnelda. And her son,” I told him. “I would like to see them.”
His eyes flashed with suspicion, and then understanding. “Under all that grimy bloody mess, there is a proper, moral man still. I sometimes stay up at night.” He grinned. “Not for conscience. I keep wondering why I have none. That bothers me. You cannot have her. Only Tiberius knows where she is held. And her son, Armin’s? No. Dangerous. You will get anything else.”
I looked up and nodded.
“That easy?”
I nodded. Gochan would find them. He would find Flavus to help him, if he had to.
He shrugged. “Good. Now, you shall serve us. You will not be free.”
I stared at him.
“You are now Brennus,” he said. “A champion. They eagerly await the next games, and they are already betting on you, or against. Brennus! Varro will make you one of his best fighters, the most respected. And that means that Pollio might be interested as well. No?”
I closed my eyes. “I suppose it is possible.”
I had expected it. They had mentioned the winner would join Varro’s ludus.
It was not very hard to see what Sejanus was thinking about.
Likely, he had thought about it all along.
“We failed, see,” he said. “We have to find out what they are doing. Statues, and corpses, and gladiators, and senators, and one poisoned cup of wine for Tiberius. Nay, we must wait, as you win their trust. You will belong to Varro, true, but perhaps Pollio is intrigued. I know Varro owes him a great deal of coin. That’s why they fix matches to Pollio’s favor.”
“Maybe they’ll fix a match where I die,” I said.
“The next games are in Martius. You are safe until then,” he said.
“Unless they don’t ask Tiberius and have a fight anyway,” I laughed. “But yes.”
“Good! You will go to the Dead Mars ludus, and you will serve us there. Make yourself Varro’s favorite, and then you will also be Pollio’s favorite. Get inside their shady business, and I shall speak with you from time to time. There will be a whore, as they have them twice a month, and you leave your message with them. Expose them, and all their plans. Tiberius wishes this. It would be good if you can find evidence against Agrippina.”
I stared at him, and then I closed my eyes. “Yes. I belong to Varro?” I asked.
“You, my friend, are now a slave,” he told me. “But also, Brennus. You are the most famous man in Rome today. Varro will make use of you. Make use of him. For us.” He smiled. “And perhaps I can arrange for you to meet with Thusnelda? I could do that. Later.”
I agreed with a nod. “Let Gernot know.”
“Not Gochan?” he asked.
“He died,” I said. “He is gone.”
He hesitated and shook his head. “I am sorry—”
“Let Gernot know,” I told him. “In the Red Sail tavern.”
He saluted me, left, and I smiled.
I was treading into more danger than ever before. And still, I had plans of my own.
Then I went serious, for Lok’s face came to me, and I wondered why the god I had fought against would appear to his enemy.
His tricks were many, and I would have to be very careful.
BOOK 2: POMPEIA
CHAPTER 5
The gladiator school was on the edge of the Field of Mars, outside the great city walls and near the River Tiber. You could see the Block, the Germani Guard fortress, from the gates.
This building was huge, if ramshackle.
If Pollio had a say on how Varro ran it, it fit the theme perfectly.
It was built of tan stone and was large sprawling affair with a huge courtyard. A tall, four level building occupied fully fourth of it. All of it was painted blood red, much of which had flaked off. There were some streets with tall insulae nearby, and the roads had shady porticos that hid people who passed by.
I noticed few went near the Dead Mars ludus but changed sides when they came near.
A symbol of crossed spears hung from a pole outside it, creaking in the wind.
A statue of an old man stood by it, and I guessed it had been one of the old senators from the Rome’s glorious past. It was all eerily like it had been in Pollio’s warehouse.
As a Germani Guard, I had ridden and marched past it many times.
I had never paid much heed to it.
While the state had a say in everything a ludus did, and what Varro could do with the gladiators in his school, the owners of the gladiators had their power too. Most schools looked rich and felt professional. This ludus seemed to be so poorly managed, it was a miracle it was considered one of the ten best.
Like most ludii, the training yard was wide and long, and training poles were set in neat lines on the edges, and some few in the middle.
There were twenty gladiators fighting each other in a mock battle, performing efficient stabs and expertly executed cuts against each other, many in slow motion. A pair of trainers and few guards watched them carefully, the doctores giving them advice, sometimes showing how, with a cane.
Varro was observing them and talking to himself softly.
We stood at the gates for the longest of times.
We wore simple tunics, belted and loose, and stared at the people passing quickly. The fetters in my wrists were chafing, and I felt dizzy with some fever.
The wounds on my side were infected.
“Lambs,” whispered Varro. “Like tiny lambs. They are lambs. Look at them. Worse than lambs.”
“Brothers,” said a red-headed man, his hair long and wild, and tunic smeared with blood. “Don’t call the brothers lambs to their face.”
He was one of the doctores.
“The losses,” Varro moaned. “Fifteen men, Red.”
“Some were yours, many were Pollio’s,” Red said tiredly. “Come. You now have Brennus here.” He sneered. He apparently did not appreciate my sudden descent into his world.
Varro gave me a scathing look and finally nodded at me. “Aye. Rome if brimming with love for our Brennus. It is possible to make great riches here, Brennus. Even you might. But I find it hard to forgive you doing this to me. I am in enough debt as it is. But few new men. I suppose…”
He looked at Blaesus, and at the Pig, and shook his head. “Mules. Ares and you other trainers must find their natural fits. You had better make me plenty—”
“Lanista,” the doctore said tiredly. “Your true champions won all their fights. Lucius did too, even with one eye. Ox made a spectacular show, Neptune conquered, and Agamemnon beat his in a way that left all gaping.”
“Only Agamemnon is mine,” he murmured. “Pollio takes the money for the rest.”
“But they still bring you honor.”
“I wipe my arse with honor,” he moaned and then calmed himself. “Fine. Agamemnon made plenty of coin, and some for me, even, and now we shall find a place for these ones. They will
work out fine. Unless, of course, they have a rebellious streak. Then Ares shall beat them raw.”
He did not look at the others.
Only at me.
“We do the beating,” Red said. “You just deal with Pollio and the debts. Tell your brother not to beat the men.”
Varro smirked. “Pollio made coin, and I paid back some of the debts, I suppose. And as for Ares? He is your chief and I am his. I know you do not like him. And I know you were born in a ludus, Red. This is in your blood, and the honor and blood on the sand is part of you just like skin. You did not like it when I bought the place, and even less when I had to borrow coin to keep it running. Endure your masters, at least. Find a way not to antagonize Ares, and me, while delivering the best gladiators.”
“I have already,” Red said with a grating, angry voice. “They are the best.”
Varro clapped his shoulder. “Come, let us go home.” He gave me a glance. “I wonder how an old man like you, Brennus, will like training and waking up in the morning, eh. Saturnalia’s competitions are gone, but Quinquartus is coming up. We must make sure you face a worthy enemy. One of ours, likely. You must not grow timid or fat.”
There was a desperate, greedy glint in his eye.
He was desperate to be rid of his debts. Of Pollio?
Yes.
I shrugged. “I kill what you send at me. Being old means I have no years to lose in rest.”
He laughed, shook his head, and walked to the gates. The guards saw him and began running for us. They had a set of keys, which one dropped.
“What is it that you desire?” he murmured. “I wonder. What does an old man desire. All the gladiators desire something. Agamemnon desires to be a rudiarius. He hopes to be freed by his valor, and then keep doing this. He, too, was born here. Others desire nothing more than a whore, and most want to be free, and rich.”
Red caned me gently. “Answer.”
I shrugged. “I know not. I suppose I will find out.”
Varro nodded, and Red jerked his head at the place. “Home, like any,” the doctore said. “Worse places out there.”
Varro was murmuring. “I’ll turn you into sestertius pile. People will want to see you. Women.”
I closed my eyes. I cursed softly.
“Anything to bring the ludus glory,” Red murmured, seeing my reluctance. “He is a Germani. Not a Gaul. I see it. Knows Latin. Auxilia?”
I shrugged.
“No tattoo,” he murmured. “I wonder.”
“Stop wondering,” Varro cursed. “Hurry up, slugs! You want to see me die of age out here?” he called out to the guards, who didn’t answer him, likely wise enough to know an honest answer would be trouble.
I looked around. It was late in the afternoon.
Varro’s eyes flashed. “What do you know of the Brothers?”
I shook my head. “Slaves. Seem happy enough to get food and a purpose, don’t they? Died badly though.”
Varro nodded and pointed a finger at me. “Indeed! Food, a purpose, a roof, and fame. You are an outcast, you are, but no less than most scum outside. Here, you will give oaths. You keep them, or I will flay you. I will do it too. I’ve done it before. Or Ares has.”
I nodded.
Red spoke. “I sense you know your ways around the battlefield. Here, you will respect the Brothers. You will be made one, and you will learn to love them. You will treat them like you did your friends in the legions, or wherever in Hades you served. You obey and respect those above you. You are a trainee. A newcomer. A sweet little calf, no matter your age. Obey. That is all. You have a cell, you have food, medicus at your side when you get hurt, and perhaps we might even teach you some new things with weapon.”
I smiled thinly.
Red slapped me with a cane again.
I did not look back at him.
Varro squinted. “So proud. Pride is one thing you need to earn here. You’ll see.”
The guards opened the gate, and he stepped inside. Another doctore came to see us, bald as an egg. He stopped us just inside the gates. He walked around us. He had large, green eyes, and bushy hair, unkempt in his dusty clothing, and I suspected the man took extraordinary pride in his ability to read men. He touched our shoulders, pushed us, and grunted. His hands were calloused, and his face and arms scarred. An old soldier, the man was just barely older than we were.
Then they all stopped.
A man with rich golden rings, calloused arms stepped from the shadows. The bald trainer leaned to Varro, who looked crestfallen. He was whispering. Varro closed his eyes and gathered himself. “Brutus,” he said softly.
“Varro,” the man said as he too, came to look at us. He poked his finger at our muscles and looked at our faces.
“How is Pollio?” Varro asked.
“Upset,” he said. “You were supposed to make him coin from all the matches.” He turned to Varro. “This is he?”
Varro nodded.
The man slapped his shoulder. “I’ll speak with Pollio. He might take them as part of your debts.”
Varro closed his eyes. He stepped forward.
“Look, Brutus. They will do, but they are not perfect. This one has seen many battles. Some of the scars,” he said, and touched the one in my throat, “look like the wounds should have killed him. Still, Brennus we have now. I would keep him, the poor bastard. Let Pollio own the others. They will cover his losses, and really, his men made a pile of coin. Agamemnon is mine, thank gods, but I would—”
Brutus shook his head. “You get to have a say, when you owe him no more coin, Varro. But we shall see.”
Varro grunted. “Thank you.”
“Ulrich was a disappointment,” Brutus said. “Pollio was extremely disappointed, indeed. In many ways. More than one.”
“I know,” Varro said. “But he was what he was.”
“He was a pitiful cock,” I said softly. “Died like a limp pig at a butcher’s shop.”
They looked at me, and Red caned me, this time, hard.
I still did not look at him.
Brutus laughed. “I like this one, I do. Come, Varro, do not look so glum. Perhaps Pollio don’t want him.”
He left, walking to the streets, and gates closed after him.
Varro stared after him and pulled the doctore with him. “Mine for now, but not for long. He will want him too. Bastard.” He shook his head, the weight of a mountain on his shoulders. “A debt is a terrible thing, Red. Who knows, I might keep him anyway. Or…” He gave me a snake-like look and whispered to Red, too loudly, “How long will it take to train them? The next games will be in March, in Quinquatrus. Enough time? We should make Brennus one of the poles. Not first, not second, but third?”
“There are ranks you must deserve,” said the man brusquely. “These scum rank below all of the boys here, the least of the Brothers. They need to earn their place, to earn a right to fight a famous warrior of the better poles, and that takes time. A long time. We cannot possibly You cannot—”
“Let them earn their place, then,” Varro said tiredly. “But whatever he will be, whichever party he will join, make him the Third Pole. I do not care for the details. I expect results. In the end, Brennus must be amongst the Three Poles. No matter what, Red.”
The doctore squinted, terribly insulted. He pulled Varro aside, and I barely heard them speaking, while I did not move. “Don’t do anything harsh, sir. The ludus must have rules, and laws, and a degree of hope and fairness. If your debts are too heavy, I am sorry. But do not try to make coin out of his fame in some other…way. I know we occasionally poison men to give Pollio’s men assured victory.”
“So, what?” Varro asked irascibly. “You are stepping over lines. I am struggling to keep us going. And I can think of my debts too. He is mine, still. And he will be worth more if he is known to be one of the top fighters in the school.”
Red gritted his teeth. “It is wrong. It robs others of deserved opportunities.”
Varro clapped his back. “One o
f the Three Poles. He will earn the right, you will see. I shall pay for the absolute best food, and training, and gear. Wounds will be mended, if I must pay for that too. What say you, Red? I am the lanista. Law says I tell you what to do, not the other way around. I own the place. It would be easier if the trainers were slaves too, eh? But you are not. Behave. Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do.”
Red sighed and rubbed his face. “Aye, I suppose so. I worry for their lives too.”
Varro blinked and turned to us. “Fight well for me, or for Pollio, but you have to be careful, if I have you lifted above novicii. It is irregular. Fight well, and you might be free and rich one day.” He tapped his lip. “The Pig and the Dacian. Make sure they guard his life.”
“Aye,” Red sneered. “Freedom and riches for them too?”
“Aye.”
Red grunted as he looked at us with pity. “Since the Brothers inside, the Dead Mars Brothers, will know you are getting unfair advantages, you’ll have to watch your back. The normal rules do not apply. The champions, the few of them, the Poles. They will be ferocious and bitter. But I suppose you know about such things, eh? I cannot hold your hands all the times. Neither can any of the doctores training the other classes.” He looked at the Pig and Blaesus. “If he dies, you’ll lose a nose.”
Both looked very unhappy with the threat.
Varro fidgeted. “Fine. As agreed and decided. Are we done?”
Red nodded.
They led us past the barracks and to the large building, and we ducked inside under a large curtain. I watched the gladiators who were seated there, eating their evening meals.
There were a hundred of them, and apparently, they all sat at different tables, divided by what they were.
Many stopped to stare at us, for what I had done in Circus Maximus was known to all of them, and some grinned as they saw my age. Others stared ahead with impassivity born of slavery and simply ate their gruel.
I saw Lucius, the one-eyed. He was touching the missing orb absentmindedly.
One of those was Ox. The smooth skinned killer was eyeing me with curiosity.
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