The Song of the Gladiator

by Paul Doherty

  Murranus, chatting to Polybius and shouting out greetings, deliberately delayed in the eating hall. He wanted Spicerius to feel at home, to be cheered and comforted by this motley collection of rogues and eccentrics. Januaria came sidling up, hips swaying, forcing her way through, glancing moon-eyed at Spicerius. Murranus asked Polybius if he had heard from Claudia. The landlord shook his head and replied that he had heard rumours, some sort of trouble, but didn’t know any details, and would Murranus like to come through to the garden? Polybius kept this privilege for what he called his ‘treasured guests’, as well as those individuals, such as the local police, whom he wanted to talk to well away from keen eyes and sharp ears.

  He led them through the eating hall and out past the kitchens. Murranus’s mouth watered at the smell of savoury meat and onion sizzling in a spiced sauce. They were taken across the grass, past the small dovecote, to what Polybius grandly called his orchard, a shady nook with stone benches and a small carp pond. For the umpteenth time, and Murranus hadn’t the heart to stop him, Polybius described his vegetable garden and herb plots, rich with lettuce and onions, chervil, coriander, fennel and parsley, and talked expansively of deepening the orchard so that he could produce quinces and damsons. He offered to show them around his small vineyard, but Murranus laughed, slapped him on the shoulder and said they would be satisfied with a platter of meat and a jug of wine. The two gladiators sat in the shade whilst Polybius served them, still chattering about his wine, swearing by his penis that it was the best in Rome. Once he had gone, Murranus lifted his goblet in toast.

  ‘Peace,’ he whispered. ‘At least until we meet.’

  Spicerius drank deep. ‘I saw them,’ he murmured. ‘You know what I’m talking about, the warlock and his witch.’ He suppressed a shiver. ‘I made a hex against them.’

  ‘Stop thinking such black thoughts,’ Murranus teased. ‘Save yourself for the fight.’

  ‘One of us will die there.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Murranus answered cheerfully.

  Spicerius glanced away. ‘I want to tell you something, Murranus.’ He put down his wine goblet and stretched out his right arm. ‘You see this tattoo, the purple chalice? I told you it was worn by members of a drinking club.’

  ‘And I believed you.’

  ‘And so you should. I’m going to have this washed off – I will not wear it again. You see, Murranus, beneath the chalice some men wear a circle that denotes something else: these men attend special brothels where they can be violent with children.’

  Murranus stared in disbelief.

  ‘You know, the world we live in, Murranus, the deeper you go, the filthier it gets. I like my women, especially the rich, plump ones, but some things, well, they’re like streets you just don’t go down. The man who attacked your Claudia, I expect he was one of those. After we met last time I could see she was deeply upset, so I made a few enquiries. It’s the sort of thing that is well hidden, the type of house frequented by quite wealthy men, be they gladiators or senators.’ He shook his head. ‘This is all I know.’

  ‘And the incident?’ Murranus asked. ‘The poisoning?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Spicerius replied. ‘That wine wasn’t poisoned, even though it was later found tainted. I’m sure I was poisoned before I drank it. Anyway, you’ve heard the rumours, Murranus? They’re betting this time for you to win against me but not against Meleager.’

  Murranus could see his friend was on the verge of sinking into another black mood. He asked him again about the purple chalice tattoo, but Spicerius declared he had told him everything he could, so Murranus changed the subject. Spicerius ate well but drank sparingly, and when Murranus questioned him, he laughed and explained he was saving himself for the evening, when Agrippina had promised to join him for their own special celebrations. Polybius, who had come to collect the platters and overheard this, now acted like a conspirator, tipping his nose, winking at Spicerius and declaring that the room was ready when he was.

  The afternoon wore on. Spicerius began to doze, so he took his wine and went up to what Polybius dramatically described as the ‘Venus Chamber’. Intrigued, Murranus decided to follow him. The room was on the second floor, overlooking the garden, and boasted a large bed with stout ends, a thick mattress and a bolster all covered in pink and gold. A rather blotched mirror stood on a decorated square chest. The floor was of polished wood, a rare form of timber. Polybius explained that he had discovered it when he first bought the place and decided to polish it up. The walls were lime-washed, and Murranus had to stifle a laugh as he stared at the crude paintings which Polybius was so proud of. A fat, bloated Venus cavorted in a garden surrounded by even plumper cherubs, who looked so heavy they would find it impossible to fly.

  Spicerius went and sat on the bed, and Murranus returned to the garden and sat in the shade. He soon felt the effects of the wine and the lazy summer heat, and drifted off to sleep, his eyes growing heavy as he watched a resplendent butterfly flutter amongst the flowers. He started awake sometime later. He realised it must be late afternoon, for the breeze had strengthened and the shadows grown longer. Yes, he had felt something else: his hair had been tugged! He whirled around.

  ‘Claudia!’ He jumped to his feet, left the stone chair and grabbed her up. ‘When did you . . .’

  ‘Let me breathe!’ she gasped.

  He released her, and she sat down on the grass, plucking at the blades, quickly describing what had happened at the Villa Pulchra and how she had asked the Empress’s permission to leave.

  ‘They are all coming back anyway.’ She smiled back. ‘In four days’ time you meet Spicerius. Oh, by the way, where is he?’

  ‘Fast asleep, I think. Anyway, tell me again what happened.’

  Claudia repeated everything about the murders, the fire and the assault. She vaguely referred to meeting Meleager, but made no mention of who he really was and the hideous damage he had wrought in her life. She decided that would wait. She wanted to be careful; after all, there were other problems to address. For a while they discussed the doings at the Villa Pulchra and the events at Capua. Murranus explained how he knew the town boasted a large Christian community, many of whom had suffered under Diocletian. The people she described he had also met, but they were merely passing acquaintances, though he was intrigued when Claudia made her final revelation about the pattern of the betting, and how Chrysis had wagered thousands of sestercii on him.

  ‘It’s all a mystery.’ Murranus rubbed his face. ‘It always happens with the games. This gladiator is a favourite, this one isn’t, and interference, to help the money on its way, is common enough. But listen to my news.’ He described the visit of the Dacians, Spicerius’s forebodings and his own anxieties.

  ‘Will it be a fight to the death?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Murranus replied. ‘On a good day Spicerius and I are equally matched. We’ll put up a good show. If either of us goes down, the crowd will not demand our deaths; the same goes for Meleager. We are not in this for blood but for the Crown of Victory.’ He caressed Claudia’s face. ‘And don’t worry about the betting. You tell your uncle, not to mention Chrysis, to put everything they have on me; they won’t be disappointed. Now,’ he cupped her face in his hands, ‘why have you really come back?’

  ‘Well, the court was returning.’

  ‘No, the real reason.’

  ‘To see you.’ She grinned. ‘I also want to talk to Sallust the Searcher. It’s time I had a little help. Oh, by the way,’ she pointed back to the tavern, ‘Uncle has a new helper. He’s called Narcissus the Neat. He’s the man I described to you. There’s nothing for him at the Villa Pulchra and he knows no one in Rome, so I—’

  ‘Murranus!’

  The woman’s voice carried across the garden. The gladiator groaned as Agrippina came tripping over in a beautiful white linen gown, a multicoloured stole across her shoulders. Once again every item of jewellery, be it bracelet or earring, glowed a deep red.

 
‘Murranus!’ She flounced her long dressed hair, gingerly touching her exquisitely painted face, her perfume drowning every other smell. ‘Murranus.’ She held her hands on her hips, totally ignoring Claudia. ‘Tell that oaf Polybius I want to see Spicerius.’

  ‘He’s in his chamber, fast asleep,’ Murranus replied. ‘I left him there, he’s expecting you.’

  ‘Well, I’m rather late. I’ve been up there, but the door’s locked, there’s no answer. That oaf is too busy laughing with his customers about waxing people’s bottoms.’

  ‘That oaf,’ Claudia replied, springing to her feet, ‘is my uncle. We are very particular who visits our tavern, so you’d better follow me.’

  They went into the eating hall, where Polybius, leaning against one of the wooden pillars, was offering Petronius the opportunity to wax his arse. Claudia grabbed her uncle by the arm and whispered in his ear; he sighed, mopped his brow and led her up the stairs. They stood outside the Venus Chamber, knocking and hammering. Claudia glanced along the passageway. Narcissus was standing at the top of the landing, looking rather frightened. Claudia realised how unused he must be to the noise of a tavern. Oceanus came up, pushing people aside. Claudia felt a tingle of excitement in her stomach. Something was wrong, she could tell that from Murranus’s face, whilst Oceanus shook his head in disbelief, claiming he was sure Spicerius hadn’t left.

  The door was tried again, and eventually Polybius ordered Oceanus and Murranus to break it down. They first used their shoulders, until Polybius intervened, warning Murranus not to injure himself, so a log was brought up from the cellar. The door was hammered until it sprang back on its leather hinges. Claudia made sure she was first into the room. Spicerius lay sprawled on the bed, the wine goblet beside him. He was half sitting up against the bolsters, face to one side, mouth gaping, eyes staring.

  ‘By the balls of a pig,’ Polybius groaned. ‘Oh no, not here.’

  Claudia climbed on to the bed. Spicerius had lost all his warrior’s elegance and grandeur; he had the grey, lined face of an old man, and a white dribble of dried saliva stained the corner of his mouth. She felt his arm. The flesh was cold. Agrippina was screaming. Other customers were coming up. Claudia got off the bed wiping her hands, then picked up the goblet and sniffed the bittersweet tang. Taking advantage of the upset and chaos, she quickly searched the bed and the floor around but could detect nothing except a square piece of parchment with love symbols on it. It was yellowing and wrinkled, caught amongst the folds of the mattress.

  ‘We’ll have to call the bloody police,’ Polybius groaned. ‘There’ll be questions and more questions.’

  Claudia told her uncle to take the shrieking Agrippina downstairs, and asked Murranus to send in Narcissus then guard the passageway and let no one through. She could feel the anger boiling within her. She felt like screaming, not only at the danger which threatened her beloved, but at the way this horrid death had upset all her plans. As soon as she had arrived at the She-Asses, she had asked Polybius to send one of the kitchen boys to fetch Sallust the Searcher. She realised that, in the case of the Holy Sword, she only had a little time to prove her suspicions and get the relic back. She stared at the corpse, felt guilty at her angry thoughts, slumped down on the edge of the bed and clasped Spicerius’s hand, brushing his cold, hard fingers with her thumb.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she whispered, ‘and if your shade lingers nearby, I wish you well in whatever journey you take.’

  She tried to forget her own troubles, experiencing a deep sadness at the brutal death of this young man, once so full of pride, vigour and courage.

  ‘You deserved a better death,’ Claudia gripped the fingers, ‘than dying alone in a tavern chamber with no glory or praise ringing in your ears.’

  She became aware of Narcissus standing in the doorway, so she moved to hide her face. She must remember the deep comradeship which existed between gladiators. Murranus had regarded this man as his friend. She must do everything to help.

  Claudia scrutinised the corpse carefully. Spicerius’s face was full of the ugliness of a violent, sudden death: the muscles of his cheeks and chin were hardening, his eyes rolled back, his mouth was gaping, the lips forward as if Spicerius still wished to retch and vomit. The gladiator was dressed in a simple tunic; his belt and sandals lay on the floor. She pulled these close, picked up the cup and once again sniffed that bittersweet smell. What was it? She stuck her nose in again and offered it to Narcissus, gesturing at him to keep it.

  Outside, Murranus was pacing up and down like a sentry on duty. In the eating hall below, Agrippina was still shrieking and wailing. Claudia cocked her head and listened intently. The tenor of that spoilt, rich hussy was beginning to change. Was grief giving way to anger? Was she shouting curses? Making allegations? Would Murranus or Polybius be accused?

  Claudia stared round the tawdry chamber, so different from the Villa Pulchra. It now seemed an age since she and Narcissus had left. Claudia had obtained permission from the Augusta, pointing out that she could do more good in Rome, where the court was about to return, than by staying at the villa. She had also begged Helena to keep the rest of the philosophers close and not allow them to return home until this mystery had been resolved. The Augusta’s reply had been ugly, ungracious and hard. She’d dismissed Claudia with a flick of her fingers, telling her to get back to her slum and, as she withdrew, followed her to the chamber door bellowing how it was a pity that some of her servants did not serve her as well as she served them. Once she was out of sight, Claudia had made a rude gesture in the direction of the imperial apartments before scurrying off to her own chamber to hastily pack her belongings. Narcissus had followed her like a shadow, only too eager to flee the villa and reach Rome, but now, he was not so sure, uncertain and frightened of the future. Claudia closed her eyes. It was important to keep Narcissus near to her.

  ‘Almonds!’

  Claudia let go of the dead man’s hand.

  ‘Almonds!’ Narcissus repeated. He thrust the cup at her. ‘Bittersweet,’ he explained. ‘The juice from certain seeds can be the deadliest poison; it has an almond taste.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I’ve cut more corpses than you have pieces of meat, mistress.’ Narcissus gabbled on. ‘But where will I stay, what will I do, how will I—’

  ‘Almonds,’ Claudia retorted, lifting her hand. ‘Forget about the rest, Narcissus. You’re going to sleep here and get a good meal, so don’t worry, just tell me about almonds.’

  ‘Milk of almonds.’ Narcissus pulled a face. ‘That’s what we call it in Syria. It’s not really milk, more a juice; they gather it from certain seeds, I mean the poison, and distil it. It’s got many strengths.’ He leaned down, face all solemn. ‘I can’t tell you, mistress, how many times I’ve cut open the corpses of men and women and smelt that bittersweet odour! Oh, I don’t say much, but I know! Go down to the slums, ask the locust men, the warlocks, the poison boys, they’ll tell you all about it. You take a sip of that, a really good sip, and all your troubles are over. Do you know, mistress, there are poisons which will stop your heart in the blink of an eye.’ Narcissus went round the bed. ‘But you don’t need me to tell you that; just look at the poor bastard’s face. The skin’s all mottled, with a slightly blueish tinge, the throat muscles are constricted, the skin’s hard to the touch as if he’s been dead for hours. But you just wait,’ he warned, ‘in a few hours the blotches will appear.’ Narcissus felt the back of the gladiator’s head. ‘Ah, I thought as much. Slightly bruised; it’s where he banged his head in his death throes.’

  ‘Would death have been swift?’

  ‘Like an arrow to the heart, mistress. Some jerking, some convulsions, the pain would have been hideous, but don’t let’s leave him like this.’

  Claudia helped pull the corpse down by its feet so it lay straight. She started as a gasp of air escaped from the dead man’s lungs.

  ‘He’s not been dead long.’ Narcissus pointed to the cup
. ‘A nice goblet of sweet wine, fruity and tangy. I heard Polybius say he had served the stuff. Now, mistress, before you ask, that’s just the drink to hide the taste. But never mind the dead, what about the living? Your Murranus, he’s the one you told me about on the way here? Well, gladiator or not, champion or not, he’s in deep trouble. Wasn’t he supposed to face—’

  Claudia got to her feet and, snapping at Narcissus to keep quiet, began a thorough search of the chamber. She scrutinised the corpse and Spicerius’s purse and clothing, but apart from some coins, a dagger, personal jewellery and a good-luck amulet she could find nothing. She knew there were no secrets to this chamber, whilst it was ridiculous to imagine anyone climbing through the window. So what had really happened? Suicide or murder? The only thing she had found was that love charm written on a piece of parchment. She picked this up and looked at it again. It displayed a crudely drawn heart with, above and beneath it, the words ‘Amor vincit Agrippinam’ and ‘Amor vincit Spicerium’. ‘Love conquers Agrippina’, ‘Love conquers Spicerius’. She felt the parchment with her thumb, sniffed it, but the only smell was Agrippina’s heavy perfume. Exasperated, Claudia sat down on a stool.

  ‘Nothing!’ she snapped. ‘Narcissus, go and get Polybius and Murranus. Tell Oceanus – you’ve met him, the big fat one – to guard the stairs. Just ask my uncle and Murranus to join me here.’

  A short while later both men entered the room. Claudia tried to close the door but it was useless. She noticed the bolts at top and bottom were heavy and stout.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ she urged, going back to sit on the bed.

  Polybius and Murranus explained how they had entertained Spicerius in the orchard. They had eaten and drunk. Spicerius had seemed a little withdrawn but was looking forward to seeing Agrippina. He had taken his wine and come up to the Venus Chamber to have a little sleep before his girlfriend arrived.