The Oath Keeper

by Alaric Longward

  “See how the lambs look prettier now,” Red mumbled. “And the old goat goes last.”

  I sat down to have her get on with it, while the other two were self-consciously fingering their hair and smooth skin. She smiled nervously and got to work.

  It felt odd. It felt pleasing, with her fingers running across my scalp.

  It was then, when a man came down and leaned on the doorway. Julia froze. Red turned and lifted an eyebrow. “Agamemnon?”

  “The lanista,” he said, his eyes on me, and on Julia, “wants you in his study in an hour. And I am to have an early bath. There is a… Someone wishes to see me. Some lady has paid…”

  “Well,” Red said dryly. “You go and tell him I will be there, and then come back here. Julia will prepare your bath, you whore.”

  He looked mortified.

  “Fine, then,” Red said, “Julia, finish here, and help Agamemnon when he comes back.”

  The latter had not moved, and neither had Julia.

  Then Red growled. The gladiator turned abruptly and stalked to the baths, and we heard him walking up the stairs. Red stared after him, looking thoughtful.

  I rubbed my face. “That is the First Pole of—”

  “Thraex,” said Red. “Actually, likely the best fighter here. He is the only one of note Pollio has not taken, for some reason. They bunk with murmillo, the thraex.”

  “And he didn’t like—”

  Pig snorted. “Thinks you were trying to steal his girl here.”

  Red smiled darkly.

  Julia sighed. And I cursed.

  “You have a knack of making enemies even amid enemies, it seems,” Blaesus remarked. “Will you ask them?”

  I thumbed at the other two. “They think they should be separated from my fate. They say it would give them a better chance to survive. I do not mind. Both are loud and stink.”

  The Pig grunted. “I don’t mind being his friend. Almost like I had a father, finally. He is attached to me, at least.”

  Red rolled his eyes and nodded up the stairs. “No. And you heard the man. Medicus agreed to what Brutus said, and Brutus and he are Pollio’s men, and both liked you all. You stay together for now. But he is your owner, this Pollio that so plagues our ludus.”

  We got up.

  “Break your fast quickly,” said Red as we followed him. “Be quick, you slugs.”

  We passed the bathhouse.

  Julia smiled, probably in love with Agamemnon, and began to prepare a bath.

  “How often does one…” the Pig asked as we took to the stairs.

  Red turned back. “Get requested? Often. In the old days, we rarely accepted. But these days, our lanista will sell you to a senator for a toy, if it only gets him out of his debts eventually. Agamemnon’s meeting some senator’s wealthy wife. He obeys. He hates it. The negative side of being so good in this—”

  “Negative?” the Pig said. “I thought that would be—”

  “Well,” Red said, “you haven’t been a slave before. You will learn, but I doubt they will ask you, Pig. You look like Varro’s arsehole.”

  Then we got to the top level, a guard opened a door, and we pushed through.

  Again, the familiar silence and dark eyes greeted us.

  There, rows and rows of men in rough spun tunics turned to look at us. There were four clear blocks of them, settled in some twenty tables. Dark and pale, from all the corners of Rome and even beyond, the brotherhood of Dead Mars was silently trying to decide where we belonged. Old like their trainers, they saw in me a desperate man and two fools to boot. No soldiers, these, with soldiers’ training, but men trained to die in a terrible duel, they were like a pack of wolves, and we were not in the pack. They knew I could fight, but they also knew I was Varro and Pollio’s tool, and tried to see if I enjoyed the unfair advantage.

  None sent out a greeting, none said a word. The silence was almost crushing.

  “Go,” Red snarled.

  We walked to their midst.

  “Eat,” howled the bald trainer. “All of you. Stop gaping at the shits.”

  The others began eating, and Red was wondering where to put us.

  “Sit with the murmillo, and the thraex,” Red said. “Here, let us find you seats.”

  He nodded to the right, where large men were eating bread and gruel. We saw there were several spots free.

  Red leaned close. “They’ll not be pleased. Many need the coin from the games. Many of them feel robbed that a newcomer is Varro’s baby now and will take their place in the coming games. Some dream of freedom. You see why they dislike you.”

  I could understand it.

  Having trained for years, having climbed a very steep ladder, a harsh hillside, they did not appreciate us.

  Neither did they enjoy the prospect of losing their coin. Some had enlisted freely for that coin.

  “Which,” I asked Red, “are the champions?”

  He shrugged. “Why? They are out. Out with their damned, pot-headed sponsor. They have trust with Pollio. Do not worry. You’ll see them later. Maybe they shall kiss you lot?” He stepped forward. “Meet the new murmillo! Blaesus!” he called out, and pointed out the Dacian. “Sword-bait, the bastard who is finally home!”

  They greeted him and murmured their welcomes.

  “And meet the Pig!” he said, and Pig smirked and drew chuckles from the crowd. “He squeals, and grunts, and lays low his foes with you. Brothers, they will be with you this evening!”

  “Brothers!” they called out.

  “And Brennus!” he said with a sneer. “So named by Tiberius, but unlike Brennus, this one killed their army.”

  And they were silent.

  It was always hard for me to fit in.

  I needed rogues, vagabonds, outsiders, cursed souls to fit in, and these men were brothers with rules and laws. They likely smelled Lok’s tricks and Woden’s evil in me, and knew I spelled trouble.

  “There, find your places,” Red said. “Take any seat, Blaesus and Pig. No, take the ones near here. And you, old man. You, take the one near the wall. On the right side.”

  I grunted and moved to seat myself at the end of the table. The others sat down at the other end, on the left side.

  One man with sandy hair, seated just across from me opened his mouth to say something, but Red shook his head.

  I watched the rows of men.

  Red smiled and left to stand with the Egg Eater, and they began whispering.

  A boy brought me a bowl of fish and gruel, his face doubtful, and also some water that tasted like vinegar. I watched the hall as I ate and ignored the others. In one group, near the doorways to the yard, sat lean, young men.

  They looked arrogant and happy. They were speaking softly and laughing.

  The sand-haired one grunted. “Retiarii. Next to them, secutores. Hoplomachi are there, behind us, thraex should be separate but there are few, so they are with us. We sit here, by the wall.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  He scratched his face. “Secutors hate murmillones but loathe those fisher bastards more. We fight hoplomachus and thraex, which is unfortunate since we must stay in the same barrack. And we dislike each other.” He smiled darkly. “Did you know I was the Third Pole of the murmillo?”

  I set down my cup, staring at his eyes. I had taken his place. “No.”

  “Now, I am one of the ordinarii,” he said unhappily. “Goliath here is still the Second Pole of the murmillo. Ox the first. Not here, right now. He would sit right next to me, by the wall.”

  There, an empty seat.

  The man chuckled. “He is confused, eh, Goliath?”

  The rather sturdy man next to him said nothing. His bald head was gleaming as he nodded.

  “And you,” the man said, “you should sit where I sit. The Third Pole always separates the First and the Second. I should move.”

  I tilted my head at him. “Well, Red told me to sit here. And I don’t want your seat. Warm with farts, no doubt. This food is not—�
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  He leaned over the table. “Tomorrow, you sit here, and I move down to sit in a lower place. It is as the lanista wished. But I think you should really be careful how you act around here. What do you see when you look around the table?”

  I looked. To the left of me, there were men. One looked at me unkindly.

  Or, rather, at my seat.

  Sand-hair chuckled. “Red seems to want to measure your worth. You should not obey every command, eh? Ask before you sit, Brennus. The row you sat down is for the thraex. The man to your left is the Third and the next man The Second Pole. This seat, the seat your arse is on, is that of Agamemnon. The food is his. Oh, I am Ajax. And you are about to be sorry for your first mistake here.”

  I felt a presence.

  I turned to look up and saw the young, smooth-faced, thick jawed bastard standing next to me. He was powerful as rock, short, but wide as a bull. Apparently, he was back from Varro’s, about to eat, before his bath.

  I ate his food.

  I sat on his seat.

  I closed my eyes. I heard the thraex and the murmillo grasping their cups and food and getting up.

  Agamemnon’s honor was at stake.

  And so, he pulled me out of the seat with two hands and turned me around.

  He lifted me and crashed me on the table, his face a mask of terrible rage.

  It happened so fast, I found myself lying there and then falling off the table to Ajax’s feet. I pushed him away and rolled to my feet near the hoplomachi, who were also scattering.

  I made it into a standing position extremely fast, and it saved me from humiliation, for the man was hurtling over the table for me, his fist coming down.

  I blocked him with my left arm, grasped his tunic, and threw him past me over the next table, jumping after him. He, too, was very fast.

  I ran into a fist, saw darkness for a moment, and then Woden’s anger took me.

  Apparently, his gods gave him such favor of battle madness as well.

  We were fast as foxes, and powerful as oxen, roaring like lions.

  I struck him in his chin, and he clobbered me across my head. I grasped his tunic again and pulled him to my fist, and he kicked at my wound and struck my chin with a vicious hook. We fell together, panting and tumbling, and he came on top, the fist coming down in a huge, sweeping, deadly swing. I only partly blocked it. I exerted all my strength and yanked him under me, but he kept rolling, and we fell out of the hall to the yard. He was again on top when we stopped tumbling. I kneed him in the groin and rammed my hand on his nose, breaking it. He howled, thrashed, and I pushed him onto his side, taking a swing to my eye. We tumbled, hissing, exhausted, bloodied, all the way out to the middle of the yard, where we pummeled each other mercilessly.

  I got on top finally, lifted my fist.

  And it was then when Red, using a club, struck me hard to the hurt side, and the wounds hurt like Hel’s fires, and I fell on my side. I expected Agamemnon to be on me, but he was backing away as Red stood over us, his face thoughtful.

  He looked down at me, and then at Agamemnon.

  I suppose he, having guided me to Agamemnon’s place, had expected to see me take a beating, to restore the proper balance amid the Brothers, but he had failed, and it did not sit well with him.

  He stared down at us and then turned to look at the others.

  Ares, his brutal face screwed with cruelty, had appeared. He turned to the men. “The play is over. So is the breakfast. Now you eat sand. Train hard.”

  He nodded at Red and walked away, his eyes on me.

  Red turned to us. “Well,” he snarled. “I’ll have to think of a punishment now. For you, Germani. You train, and I will think about it.”

  I spat. “You set me up.”

  He shrugged. “I did. I wanted to see what you are made of.” He cast the retreating Ares a long look, and I had to wonder what that was about. “But I suppose you did too well to be laying still for a week or so.”

  He hoped I'd be too hurt to train?

  He pointed a pole at me, and Agamemnon stepped close and spoke very calmly at me. “I don’t care about what Red was trying to do. But you will see I cannot let that insult pass. It is impossible to ignore it. We must finish it. We shall settle it later, then. Do not die before that. Maybe we shall meet in the games? I shall ask for the pleasure, old man.”

  I spat blood. “I’ll piss in your damned skull after we have done with the pleasure, and you have taken your time to die in a heap of your guts. Rome will love it. And none will remember you.”

  He grimaced and smiled wolfishly. “They will all remember me. I have nothing else. Not a thing. Only victories. Only glory. Ask Ajax to train you with shield. It will give you some hope of survival for the time when we must fight, old man!” he said, and turned and walked away.

  “I damned well know how to use a shield! Child warrior!”

  He went to find sword and a shield, practice weapons of sturdy make. Across the yard, men did the same. I went to stand by my pole, trying to feel my jaw.

  The Pig walked past and gave me a quick look. “That eye’s going to look darker than night. You were lucky they stopped him from raping you.”

  “Shut up,” Blaesus sighed, as he took a pole next to me. “Take your place. The grandfather is going to have to stand on his two feet.”

  I said nothing, spat blood, and received a sword from a boy.

  I turned and saw Varro and Ares both looking on, speaking softly with each other.

  They then grasped each other’s arms and shook them.

  CHAPTER 6

  The ceremony was surprisingly solemn.

  On the yard, extremely late, ten men, newcomers all, joined the over a hundred, most of whom slept. The doctores were walking behind us. A scribe had just left, carrying our names and agreement away for safekeeping in the Tabularium, and while no oath had been given yet, it seemed like, in a way, it had.

  Some men were autocrati, and those formerly free men were giving Varro and his brother power over their very lives.

  Varro, or Pollio.

  We had no choice, the slaves.

  We were not asked for our consent. The feeling of helplessness reminded me of the time I had been Sigimer’s prisoner in his pigsty.

  I did not enjoy the feeling.

  I watched Varro and Ares standing and waiting and talking. I saw Red and few other doctores looking at us, their jaws set with pride, and I watched Agamemnon and few men from each school standing nearby, bearing witness.

  His eyes were on me, gauging and waiting.

  The man had been born into slavery. Into a gladiator. He truly had nothing else than his position.

  And I had come and pissed on his plate.

  I cursed Red profusely.

  Then I saw Varro pointing a finger at Red, who walked before us.

  “Trainees,” Red murmured, but everyone heard it. “Now take the brand,” he said solemnly, tears in his eyes, “and make your oaths. Homeless, you were, and bereft of hope. Here, you find home, and brothers. Here you find honor.”

  We saw two gladiators carrying a cauldron of burning wood to the half-dark yard. From it, red-hot iron brands stuck out. We watched them stirring the fire, lifting the irons with heavy gloves covering their hands, and inspecting the irons with critical eyes.

  Varro was waving them on, as Ares walked back and forth, looking bored.

  “Kneel,” Red said.

  We kneeled. Red waved his hand at the men with the iron brands.

  The two gladiators grinned and approached the ends of the line with glowing iron, one on each. I cursed, for I was in the middle, and would prefer to get it over with.

  Then, they went to work. They began on the edges, and soon, the meaty, sizzling sound of burning flesh echoed on the yard. I even smelled the burning flesh as they administered the pain to the others. The trainees gasped, some screamed briefly, others said nothing, gritting their teeth.

  Red spoke harshly, as he watched the proceeding
s. “Repeat after me.”

  We looked at him.

  He lifted his hand. “Outside, I am nothing. Here, I am everything. I shall have no family, but I have the brothers. I am a speck of dust, as are they, but together, we are family.”

  We said the words.

  For some, it meant little.

  For many of those who stood on the yard, it meant everything. I saw it on their faces. Many of them truly had had nothing before. Certainly no brothers.

  Red went on. “I shall eat when told to, sleep when allowed, I shall fight whom my master tells me to fight.” Red’s eyes visited Varro for a fraction of a moment, unhappily, and then he spoke on. “I shall win for him and the family, and if I lose, I shall die with honor, my neck cut.”

  We agreed, and then I felt a man near me.

  I looked at Agamemnon, who was staring at me, and then felt the burning brand burrowing into my thigh. The mark was not burned to our foreheads, or arms, but the thick part of thigh, and the limb burned like it was on fire.

  I did not so much as flinch.

  The crossed spears of Dead Mars were now always on my flesh.

  Red walked back and forth before us and gave us an angry glare. “You shall serve the house, and do honor to your profession; you shall never raise a hand against your owners. You shall fight until released, and later, you shall be proud of this time in your life. The lambs will always fear the wolf. Gods are watching! Juppiter sees you, and Mars hears you. On pain of death, beating, and burning, shall you accept to be gladiators of the Dead Mars?”

  And we spoke. “Aye. We so swear.”

  “Remember what happened to Spartacus and Crixus,” Varro snarled, spoiling the solemnity of the moment. “They hung for days. Now. Get up, and feast.”

  I got up and the others did too. We were pointed towards a hall, and there, we walked slowly to sit in a table set in the middle of the hall, for that one time, all schools together. We were given wine, bread, and beans, and it was a surprisingly good feast. I saw Blaesus and Pig nearby, and both ignored me pointedly, as did the others.

  Agamemnon’s anger was not something they wanted to risk.

  Ajax stood with Agamemnon. Both were whispering. Both looked at me, occasionally.