Men, of all schools, watched me.
They watched Red, who walked to me, as the others went to baths and for a massage.
Red spoke softly. “You killed Blaesus.”
I said nothing, punching with the sword, my arms bloody.
He scowled and watched the movements and shook his head. “You know killing, and soldiering, but are you a brother, eh? You saved Pig?”
“We saved each other,” I said, croaking with a dry throat. “Blaesus…”
“Tried to pull his own string,” he said. “I am surprised. Varro…”
I shook my head.
He smiled. “Keep at it. I am proud of you, old man.”
I cursed him, and he moved away.
The others watched me as they went to their cells. Ox was staring at me from the doorway, and Agamemnon pushed past him, and finally, there were two upset, angry guards left after it was dark.
The men watched gate and me, both, and were not accustomed to extra duty.
Some of them watched me from the windows of their cells, as I kept stabbing at the pole.
When it was morning, and the brothers came out to start their day, they saw me still stabbing at the pole.
And it was then, when Varro appeared and watched the bloody ground, the broken swords and half-shattered pole, and Red followed him that I finally broke. I struck the pole weakly and then crashed against it, landing on my belly.
“Fucking finally,” I heard Red cursing. “Carry him to the medicus.”
CHAPTER 9
I woke up to pain. It was running up and down my back, legs, and sides, and my head hurt.
I croaked and realized someone had just poured water to my throat.
I thrashed and tried to get up, then realized there was a hand on my chest.
“What…”
“Just me,” Julia sighed. “Don’t be a fool. Let Father work.”
I noticed my hand was in the hands of the medicus, on the other side.
The medicus was tending my hand, indeed. Julia got up and began mixing some herbs with a bronze mortar and pestle, and I groaned with pain as the medicus spread some sort of foul-smelling paste over my palm, rather brutally. My muscles ached like there had been molten steel poured into my veins, the wounds on my sides were bleeding, and my back was a mass of sores and wounds. For a moment, I wanted to die.
“What parts are missing?” I asked, hissing with pain.
Julia clapped my cheek gently, and sat down, her eyes on me. “Quite a start for a new life, eh? Wounds and fights. A grandfather you seem but play like a young boy. Lucky you are fit.”
“Nearly died,” I croaked. “Don’t forget that. Some bastard…”
“I know,” she whispered. “Let Father work. Open the palm. Then he must deal with your side and put in some stiches. You’ll need lotion and oil on your burns.”
I touched my face and arms. They were bitten by Sunna.
“I’ll start,” she murmured. Julia took a jar of something and began spreading that over my shoulders.
“I’ll smell like a dead rat,” I whispered. “Spider webs in this too?”
“Vinegar. Something else. But you will not die,” she said, “and a corpse really smells like a dead rat, and this only smells like a regular, live rat. I think you have seen your share of corpses and smelled too many.”
“Aye.”
“A brave man, this one,” said the medicus softly. “A very valiant deed that pole-chopping, even when you tried to escape. You could get killed for that.” He gave me a quick look. “You, of course, know thing or two about Varro.”
I smiled grimly. “Aye. Well, it was confusing.”
“Alas, that Varro’s brother is missing,” he laughed softly. “Such a lovely man. A bit like Brutus. You are lucky Red hates all of them. He could have had you chopped into three halves for your crimes.”
“Stop teasing him,” Julia said softly. “He knows you get paid by Pollio.”
The medicus nodded. “They want to know some things.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
He nodded at Julia. “Go and find Agamemnon. He is having a break, no doubt. He will want to stare at you and you get to wipe his drool.”
She blushed, stammered, nodded and got up, looking startled.
He grinned as she left and shook his head. “The girl’s thirty. Been helping me since she was ten. Worked in Capua, in all the great gladiator schools there. Knows all the families, she does too. All their little secrets. And now, only here in this sad shit of a school, she falls in love. With a hopeless, stupid, honor-stuffed Greek. Imagine. No hope for them, eh?”
“There might be,” I said. “I have seen sadder tales.”
“He will never be free, eh? Not in this ludus,” he murmured. “This ludus is making coin and not heroes. The man wants to know things. Not Agamemnon. You know who I am talking about.”
“Pollio?” I said. “What does he want to know?”
He chuckled and walked around, stretching his back.
I looked around.
We were in the bathhouse, and it was unusually dark, with only some oil lamps sputtering on the walls. The bushy-haired boy dodged in, hesitated as he saw us, and the medicus turned to him. “Thank you. I shall call you when I need you.”
He nodded and then walked out. The medicus leaned on a wall, his hand on his breast. It was cool and pleasant down there. He closed his eyes.
I looked around the room carefully.
“Where are the guards?” I asked. “Doctores?”
He smiled gently. “I doubt the doctores have time to guard you. They punished you, and the lie has been told. It is done. Ares made a mistake, Varro will live, and we will continue as if nothing has happened. There are twenty new guards here. There are more men upstairs. They will not let you flee, and Varro will have to be careful. Rome does not mind a rebellion here and there, but not amongst your kind. Not since Spartacus. There are five thousand men in the city alone. Praetorians.”
I rubbed my face. “This is a criminal outfit. We live and fight for the ludus, but we are really used to make coin in any way possible, and some are even poisoned before a fight…It is a death sentence. They might as well just throw us all from a cliff and bet on who will make the worst mess as we hit the rocks.”
“Miserable,” he agreed.
“Why spare me?” I said dryly. “I know what we are now. Red keeps ploughing ahead, for he hopes things will change, but I am not like that.”
He sighed. “You are right. And still, didn’t you ask me how you might survive the place? Forget the others. You don’t have to take the path the other poor bastards in the ludus must. You do not have to be the one to walk to the arena and make coin for Pollio. You might have a choice. An opportunity. A rare one. You indicated you would do much. Anything, in fact. Most men say the same. But most men,” he said softly, “do not fight like you do, survive what you survive, and perhaps, know what you know.”
He was looking at his nails, and he was silent.
I watched him.
He had clear, bright eyes and he stood there seemingly relaxed, but he was also tense. “Did you do it on purpose?” he asked.
“What?”
“When you mentioned Tiberius. What do you know of this place?” he asked me. “Of Rome? Do you like Rome?”
I sat up and grunted with the pain in my palm and shoulders. “Lots of questions. I hate it.”
He smiled. “I hate it too. Many people hate Rome. It was different once.”
“I have heard of it plenty,” I said darkly. “Too much. The city is full of useless filth. I respect the soldiers. Not the people. Republic…I do not know. I know not what it was, once. Now, it is rotten.”
He gave me a curious glance and spoke on. “You are very eloquent for a barbarian soldier, eh?”
I shook my shoulders and nodded. “I had a father…very well educated here. He knew Rome.”
He nodded. “A Guard?”
&
nbsp; I did not answer.
“The tale,” he said. “Of you and this Ulrich. Is it true?”
“He killed my wife,” I said. “It is true. It is also odd that during that night, Ox had no guard. He also was armed.”
He leaned forward. “Pollio trusts the few men. He owns many, and only trusts two or three. He occasionally hopes to trust more, but not often. As for these three men, the ones who are armed and attend his meetings with clients? He has a reason to trust them. They have proven themselves.”
I stopped myself from asking how.
He saw it and grinned. “You were captured. Your brother killed.”
“Aye,” I said sadly. “We were half-brothers. I have another in the city. He owns a tavern, the Red Sail. A man with a wooden hand. Don’t really care for anyone else. I am trying to survive. I have, barely.”
“You saw Brush-Hair there in your cell, didn’t you?” he said. “That’s why you told Ox everything you did. You did not raise our interest when we examined you, so you decided to flaunt a certain bit of information in front of us. You said you knew things.”
I said nothing.
“We have a lucrative business in Rome,” he said. “Very lucrative.”
I did not deny it.
“You do not ask what that business is,” he said, and walked around. “Let us just say, it is dangerous, profitable, and uncomfortable. The gladiators are important for it. Few can kill like they can. They scare people to be quiet, and they execute our will. They do the bidding of the gods.”
Of the gods?
He spoke softly on. “Few match the fear they can put in a man, or woman. You need to be both excellent in battle, champion even. And you also must have a vision, where you serve a higher purpose. You need to be, in short, intelligent, and loyal. You might have all these qualities. But what you said…you also have other assets. My master would like to know…everything.”
“Everything?” I said. “About what?”
“About everything,” he whispered as he walked behind me. “He has ambitions. He has lofty ambitions for the future of his house.”
“For Rome?”
He smiled tiredly. “Rome too. Patience is his virtue. He collects tales. He files them away and sits in the shadows, waiting to see what might come out. He is an old man. He knows what he wants, but few others do.” He placed a hand over my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Do you have tales worth telling?”
I sighed. “I do. But he might want to hear these tales from me.”
He walked around to look me into an eye. He lifted an eyebrow. “He won’t help you, unless you speak to me. And you are right to doubt me. I might choose not to tell him what you told me. Brutus and I, we choose what to share.” He produced a pugio and held it over his shoulder. “I am his man. His medicus. And advisor. He calls me Romulus.” He smiled. “I am also his brother, as is Brutus.”
I leaned closer to him. “I have many tales. I know them all.”
“You are very well versed in Latin,” he said. “Someone who has spent time here, and not in some shitty auxilia castra. You are a man who has served Augustus, perhaps Octavian and also Tiberius, a man who served the highest blood of Rome, and was likely betrayed by that family, and now, you are on the last leg of your journey. You are old. Clever. You have likely worked for Rome in the shadows, and after your wife died? You disappeared. Now you are here, seeking revenge. Are you saying Ulrich once also worked for Rome?”
I shrugged. “He was in the Praetorian Guard with me. We were both betrayed, but he did something far worse. He betrayed me.”
“Give me a taster,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “Do give me something, my fellow old man.”
“But if I tell it to Pollio, it will not have to be repeated?” I asked.
He grasped my thigh and put the dagger over my cock. “Tidbit. I get something. What will I get?”
“What will he give me?” I asked, eyeing the blade. “And then I tell him what I need.”
“What will he give you?” he asked. “Opportunity. A door to a new life. And I won’t lie. The others know this too. Nothing is forever. He might change his mind later. That is how it is. Here, you will die with the rest. Speak.”
“I was killer for Drusus and Tiberius,” I whispered. “I killed many men for them.”
“Women?” he asked and pulled back.
I nodded. “Men and women, you might be surprised by. But some of these men…are very well known.”
He laughed. “I might be surprised occasionally, but Pollio will not be,” he said. “If the name I am thinking is the same you are thinking about, then he will lift you from this misery. You will serve him,” he said. “And he will make you rich in the process. But you have better be especially useful. Is the name I was thinking about the right one?”
I grunted. “I can tell him everything about Piso.”
He nodded. “And?”
“And,” I said, “the man who died in Syria. Of many others.”
He nodded, then shook his head. “I will tell him. He shall expect something from you, though. A show of gratitude. An initiation. And if you pass, then you will fit in perfectly.”
“What do you expect?” I asked him.
“You will see,” he said softly. “It will take more than skill in arms and savagery in battle, or even your deep knowledge, to serve Pollio. Since you are enemy of Tiberius, but have served as his dark sword, perhaps you can stomach it. You have never met a man like him.”
“I’ve met gods,” I said. “I doubt you are right.”
He smiled as he turned to the stairs. He spoke over his shoulder. “Remember, this conversation must be kept a secret. Secrets are the only things that keeps Pollio safe from those who are slowly poisoning Rome. He wants to heal it. You don’t object to healing Rome?”
“I agree,” I said. “It must be healed.”
“Be patient. He is. And now, he will check you out. Your past. Your words here. We shall see. Don’t expect him any time soon.”
Then he left.
So, I would be patient. I would expose Pollio. And I would capture and kill him.
For Tiberius.
And finally, I would be allowed to see Livia die.
And somewhere in the depths of my mind, I thought I heard Lok laughing.
CHAPTER 10
I trained.
It was surprisingly easy to concentrate on a pole, and a sword, on meals, baths, and lots of silence. You obeyed and did nothing else. You listened to the doctores, and astonishingly, you learnt of battle from them.
Shield.
I learnt shield.
You learnt how to move and how to use your shield best. Back home, and in the legions, you learnt how to lock it with your comrade, and how to bash with it. In the ludus, from Red, I learnt how to use it as deadly weapon, especially the smaller ones that the murmillo didn’t use, but learn it I did. The edge, the boss, the hidden blade under, Red knew many of the tricks. I also learnt of the large shield. A murmillo could not afford to fight for a long time. He would tire. A shield could not only be a guard, it had to be a weapon as well.
You learnt discipline, and mental fortitude.
You learnt how to focus when hurt, or exhausted, even as an old soldier.
You learnt to be proud of your skills, and you learnt of dying. A gladiator had to die with honor and calm. They taught us how.
Men died, anyway. One a week.
Others came in to replace them. The ludus might be a cover for criminals, but it operated like any other, at least outwardly.
I saw Julia here and there. She knew little, I was sure.
She spent her days staring at Agamemnon training.
I saw the medicus, Pollio’s brother Romulus often. He did not even look at me.
At the yard, Ox, Neptune, Lucius, they all occasionally watched at me, speaking to each other in hushed tones.
And Agamemnon, I caught him staring at me for prolonged periods of time, almost as if he was in love w
ith me.
Varro was never alone. Never again. The archers were always there, near, observing him.
Weeks turned to months.
I had to be patient, but patience was hard, and always had been for me.
So, I stayed on my own, and practiced. The Pig, he was getting better, but I avoided even him.
I kept hammering at the pole. It was still the hot pole, the Vulcan’s Pole. I chose it. It was aside from the others. It was proper, for I would leave them, one way or the other. Either Pollio would accept me, or I would die, or leave the ludus.
And yet, in an odd way, I felt sad for the fact they would stay, and I would go. No matter how little I spoke with them, I observed their misery and hopes every day.
They were together in both death and life.
It was a simple, pure union.
I felt shame for betraying it. And it was not a bad life. To disappear into the world of daily rhythm, a world of rules, laws, and honor—even in the corrupt ludus of Varro—was tempting.
It was an effortless way.
And still, Livia lived, and Tiberius needed me, odd that he was, and I waited for Pollio to make up his mind.
Then, one day, I got a visitor.
It was a day of festivities.
Men were waiting for that evening, impatiently, and most all would be getting a woman.
I did too.
I did not choose first. I did not care to. I was old, tired, and not in a mood. But a woman chose me, in the terrible chaos of men coming to the yard. A redhead came to me, avoided other men, and grasped my hand. She took me to my cell. She walked before me, and I was not sure I was interested, until she turned and nodded at me. “Tell me all about it, asked Sejanus.”
“Sejanus?” I asked her. “You are coming from him?”
She nodded. “I work for our friend. Many women spy for him, so don’t judge me. So do you. Tell me about him.”
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