The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  “I know,” the woman called over her shoulder. Then she was swallowed by the crowd.

  5

  OCTOBER 311

  The Flavian Amphitheater was Rome’s greatest temple, a place to worship what the empire admired most: the conquest and destruction of the weak by the strong. Here, mighty gladiators fought to the death, hunters confronted fearsome animals, and the noxious elements of human society were reduced to fodder for wild beasts. Before an eager audience, the sandy floor of the arena combined bloodshed, sport, voyeurism, drama, and death. When filled to its brim with thousands of spectators, the oval building would shiver and roar and gasp like a living creature. Even as Flavia approached it now, pushed along in her chains by the cruel Praetorians, she could hear the growl of its bestial stomach as it hungered for fresh meat. The great amphitheater of Rome always clamored to be fed.

  That building won’t devour me today! Flavia vowed.

  Yet what could she do to stop the insane course of events that had brought her to this place? It seemed unreal, like it wasn’t actually happening. Is this really the last day of my life? Has it all come down to this? Ducking her head as she was forced through a small door that led into an underground tunnel, Flavia found herself wavering between faith in God’s deliverance and the awful realization that his martyrs were manifold. There was no reason she couldn’t join them today.

  The dimly lit tunnel ran a short distance from the gladiator barracks to the subterranean chambers beneath the amphitheater’s floor. Down here, the air was stuffy and hot. The narrow passageways stank of sulfurous torches and animal dung. Flavia was led to a holding cell, where her handcuffs were removed. She could feel the thrum of the crowd above her now, pulsing through the stone walls, pulsing into her very bones. It was the cumulative vibration of fifty thousand people, all of them calling for her blood.

  “Enjoy the last hour of your life, canicula!” one of the Praetorians sneered. Flavia recognized him as the cruel man who had slapped her. Though his term canicula was designed to degrade her to the status of a dirty female dog wandering the streets, Flavia refused to let the man’s words rule her.

  “I am a daughter of God,” she said plainly, “no matter what you say. And you could be his child too, if you would leave your life of violence and turn to him.”

  The Praetorian’s face scrunched into an angry grimace. He stomped over to Flavia, staring her down. “Listen to me, you piece of dung,” he said with a vicious snarl, “I’m going out now to get a cup of wine. Within an hour, I will be sipping it in my seat, laughing as I watch the lions feast on your steaming guts while you’re gasping your final breaths.” The hulking soldier hawked up a wad of mucus and spat it on the ground. “That’s what I think of you and your jackass of a god.”

  Flavia could only stand wide-eyed and speechless in the face of such savage hatred. Though cruelty from the Praetorians was nothing new, the utter lack of compassion in these words hit her like a physical blow. When the soldier slammed the door to the cell and locked it behind him, leaving her alone, she crumpled to the hard stone floor.

  The last remnants of Flavia’s resolve drained away. Sweat broke out all over her body, and she began to shake uncontrollably. There had been so many chances for deliverance, but they had all failed. What hope was left? Her powerful father had been exposed as impotent. Her dash from the House of the Vestals had been intercepted by her captors. Even the muscular barbarian in the street—a man who looked strong enough to help if anyone could—had vanished into the crowd and was gone. Would he come and save her? Flavia had believed his words of intent, knowing them to be true on some instinctive level. Yet with so much hatred directed against her, even that firm assurance now evaporated. All rescue had fallen short, and that could mean only one thing.

  I am indeed going to die today—in great pain, hated for my faith, and scorned by a bloodthirsty mob.

  “Make me worthy,” Flavia whispered. It was all she could say. Though the martyrs in the stories were always tranquil at this point, Flavia could feel nothing but the icy grip of horror at what awaited her. She closed her eyes. A numbness settled on her, perhaps even a kind of fitful sleep.

  The loud bang of the door slamming against the wall awakened Flavia with a startled yelp. Two burly slaves barged into the cell and hauled her to her feet. “It’s a good day to die,” one of them said, laughing as he shoved her out the door. He led her to a wooden contraption in the dim underground chambers. It was a sort of cage that could be raised by ropes and wheels. She was about to be forced inside when a high-pitched voice called for a halt. “Wait! Bring her to me,” the effeminate speaker said.

  Flavia was taken to an extravagantly dressed stage actor holding a tray of face paints. He gripped her chin and inspected her face for a moment, then slathered some rouge on her cheeks and colored her eyelids blue. After applying garish lip paint and tying a pink ribbon in her hair, he stepped back and smiled as if he had accomplished something great. “Remember, little pretty, this isn’t just an execution,” the mime said with a girlish titter. “It’s a spectacle. You’re part of a bigger story. Let’s give the people the drama they deserve.” He beckoned to Flavia’s two handlers. “She’s ready to go. You can take her away.”

  Now Flavia was enclosed in the cage. A moment later she felt herself being hauled upward; the higher she went, the louder the roar of the crowd grew. It swelled from a sonorous rumble to a throbbing resonance, then finally to a fierce and restless roar. The cage stopped beneath a wooden ceiling the slats of which, glowing bright with sunlight, indicated the arena floor was just above.

  Flavia’s heart was beating wildly now. Her skin was sweat-slick beneath her dress. A crazy cacophony assaulted her ears: drumming hoofbeats, wild battle cries, animal bleatings, groans of collective pleasure from the crowd. Desperate to escape, Flavia kicked the bars of her cage, but they held firm. “Let me out! Let me out!” she cried, though to whom she was pleading, she no longer knew. And then the cage began to rise once more.

  The ceiling folded back as Flavia’s elevator emerged into the blinding glare. A cheer erupted from the crowd, its force so powerful Flavia had to cover her ears. In every direction, a turbulent sea of spectators churned and roiled in the stands, shaking their upraised fists and yelling with all their strength. The sound of their madness reverberated around the amphitheater’s bowl and crashed onto the arena floor in a frothing cascade of malice. As the full brunt of the crowd’s bloodlust bore down on Flavia, she found she couldn’t bear its weight. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed to a kneeling position. Sweat stung her eyes, and her vision dimmed. Colors and objects swirled around her on the sandy field—demons of Satan whose identity she could not discern.

  A huntsman wearing nothing but a leather helmet and loincloth dashed close and heaved a fishing net over Flavia. She writhed in its tangles, trying to throw it off, yet she only grew more enmeshed as she struggled.

  “Get moving!” the man yelled. A snap of his whip sent a fierce sting across Flavia’s back. She shrieked and lurched to her feet, drawing a great cheer from the crowd.

  Stumbling across the sand, Flavia spotted a gate and decided to make a break for it. But no sooner had she started than a shaggy cow stepped into view. She pulled up. The beast wagged its head and shook its horns in warning. It was no docile milk giver but one of the wild aurochs of the northern wastes. Three javelins protruded from the cow’s shoulder, the wounds oozing blood down its leg. The injured animal swayed uneasily and pawed the earth, confused by its surroundings.

  “Easy, girl . . . easy . . .” Flavia soothed as she backed away. But the cow kept staring at her, huffing and grunting as if blaming Flavia for all its pain. With an irritable snort, it lowered its deadly horns and began to trot toward her. She tried to retreat but caught her legs in the net and collapsed. Though she thrashed about, she couldn’t regain her footing. The world shrank to this one deadly moment. Everything seemed to close tight. Flavia’s vision constricted. Her breath was c
oming in ragged pants, yet air refused to pass through her dry, dusty throat.

  The cow paused a few steps away, rolling its eyes, unsure whether it should attack or withdraw. Then one of the huntsmen ran up behind it and cracked a whip against its rump. The tormented beast squealed and broke into a charge.

  “God help me!” Flavia screamed.

  Though she curled into a ball and closed her eyes, the pounding thunder of the oncoming hooves didn’t stop. A peace settled on Flavia as she realized the ordeal would soon be over. It couldn’t be much longer now.

  Jesus, I’m coming to you!

  A deafening bellow exploded in Flavia’s ears, followed by a massive impact that shook the earth. The crowd shuddered in a spasm of satisfaction, then burst into spontaneous applause.

  Flavia opened her eyes.

  The cow lay dead on the ground with a gladiator’s trident protruding from its skull. A lone huntsman stood over the carcass, his helmet glinting in the sun, his muscles as glossy and feral as any other beast in this arena of death.

  The huntsman ran to Flavia. Standing over her, he extended his hand. “You’re coming with me,” he declared.

  Rex grabbed the girl’s hand and helped her stand. With rapid motions, he sorted the net’s tangles until he could snatch it off her. “This way to the trapdoor! Hurry!”

  He turned to run but immediately stopped short as a male lion bounded up to the pair, its heavy mane matted with blood. The creature halted a short distance away, growling deep in its throat, trying to assess the vulnerability of its prey. Though Rex pulled a dagger from the belt that cinched his loincloth, what he really wanted was the trident stuck in the head of the aurochs. Most of the good weapons in the gladiators’ arming room had already been taken by the time Rex snuck in, so he had grabbed whatever was available to disguise himself and get onto the arena floor. But now that he was face-to-face with the wild beasts, he longed for a stout shield and a spear instead of a cheap bronze knife.

  Rex saw the lion flatten its ears and bunch its muscles for a pounce. He grabbed Flavia’s wrist and pulled her around behind him. “Stay back until the beast charges,” he said, “then run straight for that hole!”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll come after. It’s just a cat. It’ll back down when it feels the edge of my knife. Now get ready!”

  Rex locked eyes with the lion and assumed a low stance. The enemies stared at each other, preparing for battle while the spectators went wild. To them, it was all part of the entertainment—another bit of mortal combat to heighten the elegance of the narrative. Didn’t every great saga end with tragic deaths? The pleasure came from learning whose they would be.

  The lion bared its fangs and tossed its mane. Rex focused his attention on the cat’s nose, the sensitive and vulnerable place he hoped to injure quickly enough to force a retreat. He knew the fierce behavior of many beasts in the amphitheater came from fear more than natural aggression. Maybe if I attack first, I can drive it off. He feinted toward the lion, waving his knife like a madman. Unfortunately, instead of retreating, the cat leapt forward—until a brown blur smashed into it from the side.

  The attack from a large female lion caught the male by surprise and knocked it to the sand. The screeching female was clearly maddened by pain, for her whole body bristled with darts, and her tail had been burnt to a blackened stub. When the snarling, biting, clawing fur ball started to roll across the sand, Rex saw his chance. “Now!” he yelled. “Get to the hole!”

  The pair made a break for it, reaching the trapdoor and sliding down a ramp just ahead of several other huntsmen. As Rex was pulling down the hatch, one of the men grabbed the door and tried to prevent it from closing. A slash of Rex’s knife made the hand disappear, leaving behind a single chubby thumb that fell to the floor. Rex slammed the trapdoor and latched it. Up above, the crowd began to boo.

  “Who are you?” Flavia gasped into the sudden quiet and gloom.

  Rex pulled off his bronze helmet. It was the crested type worn by the murmillo gladiators, with a wide protective grate that obscured his face.

  “It’s me—Rex,” he said, shaking loose his long hair that had been stuffed into the helmet. “Remember? I met you beneath the Arch of Titus.”

  “I remember. I knew you would come. Somehow . . . I just knew it.”

  “You never doubted?”

  “I admit, I started to. I wondered if you might have given up.”

  Rex frowned. “Lady Junia, learn this about me today—I never give up. I was coming for you even when you couldn’t see me.” He glanced over his shoulder at the passageway beneath the amphitheater. “Come on, we’ve got to get moving. There’s still a lot to do to make you safe.”

  The labyrinth was dark and oppressively hot. Countless torches—each burning an oily mixture of sulfur and lime—were stationed a few paces apart, adding their fumes to the stench of moldy straw and manure. Strange animal sounds echoed down the halls, while a few nearly naked slaves scurried in the shadows like ghosts of the netherworld. Rex ignored them, for they were just lackeys who did whatever job they were assigned and paid no attention to anything else. At one point he even demanded a tunic from one of them, and the man dutifully handed his over. Shrugging, the fellow walked away in his loincloth, and the two fugitives resumed their wandering.

  “You know the way out?” Flavia asked.

  “I did, but now I’m lost.”

  “What should we do, then?”

  “Keep wandering until we find the exit, I guess. I came in through the arming room, but any exit will do.”

  “What if somebody tries to stop us?”

  Rex turned around and looked Flavia in the eye. “Lady Junia, there isn’t a single person in this arena right now who can stop me. I’m a highly trained—” Rex broke off, reconsidering his words. “I can fight if I need to,” he finished.

  “But you . . . you just seem so young! I mean, I can see you’re strong. And, clearly, you’re brave. But maybe we should hide for a while?”

  Rex snorted. “No! Going to ground isn’t the right tactic here. You have to clear the area as quickly as possible. Then you disappear into the mob. Just stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

  A flash of movement over Flavia’s shoulder caught Rex’s eye. “Uh-oh,” he muttered. “Soldiers down the hall. We’ve been spotted.”

  Flavia inhaled sharply and ducked behind Rex as four guardsmen pointed toward the fugitives with angry shouts. They began to charge down the long, narrow passageway, their battle cries echoing off the stone walls. They were armed with swords, and Rex knew he’d have a harder time disarming them in the tight confines of the hall than if he were operating in open space.

  “In here!” he shouted to Flavia, yanking her into a side room. What he found inside brought him up short.

  “An elefantus!” Flavia shrieked, stepping back from the humongous creature. It shifted nervously on its giant legs, each as sturdy as an oaken post. Fortunately, a chain was secured around one of them. The animal’s strange face, with its long serpentine nose and white tusks, was pointed toward the wall, so it couldn’t see exactly what was happening in the holding pen.

  Rex dashed behind the elefantus to a large wooden gate on the far side of the room. “If that thing got in here, this has to be the way out,” he said, beckoning to Flavia. “Quick! You go on ahead.”

  She hurried through the gate and started down the wide passage that led away from it.

  “Stop where you are!” shouted a guardsman who had just appeared in the human-sized door through which Rex and Flavia had entered. Although he was only a youngster with skinny arms and an ill-fitting helmet, he was defiantly threatening to hurl his javelin. His three comrades behind him were egging him on.

  “You gonna throw that spear, boy?” Rex challenged.

  The soldier—surely a brand-new recruit—scowled at Rex and launched his javelin across the room. Rex almost had enough time to laugh as the spear sailed toward him. What most t
hrowers didn’t know was that the motion used in cocking the arm would predict the spear’s trajectory once it left the hand. Anyone who knew what to look for could anticipate the flight path of the spear—and get out of its way. Many times, Rex had even used the trick to catch a poorly thrown spear in midair. When it came off the boy’s fingertips, Rex knew exactly where it would end up. Ducking low, he snatched the javelin above his head and spun it around. The soldier’s eyes went wide, and he stepped back.

  “Sorry, old fella,” Rex said. “I hate to do this to you.”

  Gripping the javelin in two hands, he gave the elefantus a hard jab under its tail. The beast exploded into a rampage in the cramped room, causing the four soldiers to shrink back from the maelstrom. While the elefantus trumpeted its pain and anger, Rex dashed through the gate and caught up to Flavia in the wide passageway.

  The clamor of the elefantus’s rage didn’t fade until the fugitives emerged into the exterior animal pens at ground level. Shading their eyes against the bright sunlight, they crossed a courtyard and found the nearest door. After calming themselves and straightening their clothes a little, Rex and Flavia casually strolled into the streets of Rome.

  No great feast had ever tasted as good to Flavia as the cheese-smothered sausage served by the potbellied Greek at the cheap corner restaurant. Flavia laid into the food, not like the well-bred aristocrat she was but like a farmhand coming home after a long day in the field. At first she wondered if Rex would consider her unladylike, but she quickly dismissed the thought. The sausage tasted too good to waste time reflecting on her bad manners.

  “Looks like you were hungry,” Rex observed, chewing his bread nonchalantly. He seemed amused by Flavia’s gusto.

  Flavia put her clay bowl to her mouth and guzzled the hot, runny cheese, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Well, don’t forget,” she replied with a smile, “the hospitality in the Carcer is rather poor.” The remark elicited a nod of sympathy from her companion.