Companions (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  As I watched the high priest and governor walk over to Gallia and Domitus and engage them in conversation I felt a surge of pride in my wife.

  ‘Our situation just got a lot more complicated,’ said Drenis as he saw the governor’s handsome subordinate bow his head to Gallia.

  I heard Surena’s voice behind me. ‘I know her and if you knew her you would know that what she just did is not out of the ordinary. I first met her when…’

  ‘Surena,’ I shouted. ‘Get over here and shut your mouth.’

  Surena threw up his arms to the group of gladiators gathered round him and ambled over.

  ‘Watch what you say,’ I told him.

  He was undeterred. ‘But did you see what the queen did, lord? Wait till I tell Viper.’

  ‘We saw,’ said Arminius, ‘now calm yourself and think on that the crowd has a new hero and has forgotten you.’

  Surena looked dejected. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘The crowd is fickle, Surena,’ said Drenis, ‘every gladiator knows that.’

  It was two hours before the crowd was allowed to return, the lions and their victims having been cleared from the area and seating and the spectators receiving assurances that there would be no further beast hunts on the sand. Word soon quickly spread of the blonde-haired woman who had appeared in the theatre as if by magic to slay the beasts. An excited slave serving fruit juice told us that someone had told him that the woman was a servant of the Goddess Artemis in human form. He nearly covered my hand with juice as he filled my cup so animated was he.

  Drenis was unhappy. ‘You see, the news of Gallia’s exploits spread through the city like ripples in a pond.’

  I went back to the windows and saw people filing back into the theatre, a line of legionaries in the front row of seats as before and the seats under the awning surrounded by soldiers. I also saw Gallia and Domitus seated behind the governor and Kallias, the latter turning to them frequently to say something. The handsome Roman officer also glanced behind to catch sight of my wife, inciting a stab of jealousy within me.

  ‘Gladiators will return to their quarters to await the editor’s pleasure.’

  There was a groan of disappointment as an official made this announcement, Acco making his feelings plain.

  ‘I came here to kill people not to spend my time wandering around this city of effeminates.’

  ‘He must be Crixus returned from the dead,’ reflected Alcaeus.

  ‘The dead must have got as sick of him as I did,’ remarked Arminius, picking up his helmet.

  ‘Will we be coming back?’ queried Surena.

  Drenis grinned evilly. ‘Oh, yes, we’ll be back.’

  And so we were. In an attempt to calm the nerves of the audience the editor laid on a series of novelty events. A large cage was erected on the sand and four giant seesaws set up inside it. Eight condemned men were then thrown into the cage and told to sit on the seesaws. They were at first uncooperative until a pack of ravenous hyenas was released into the cage, whereupon the poor wretches sat on the ends of the seesaws. As the creatures snapped at human flesh, the men on the bottom ends of the seesaws, exposed to attack, desperately pushed themselves high into the air to escape the hyenas. But this meant that a man on the other end dropped to the ground, to be attacked by beasts. He instantly pushed himself up, leading to eight criminals desperately trying to ‘out-seesaw’ each other, much to the delight of the crowd.

  Eventually the drama reached its inevitable, grisly end with the deaths of the criminals. Afterwards archers killed the hyenas. Gallia told me that the crocodile wrestlers from Egypt were brave and skilful but the crowd only became excited when hunters were ordered to kill the beasts after one badly mauled one of the wrestlers and hissed in the direction of the spectators.

  We were ordered back to the arena just as the last of the ‘humorous’ acts of the day was being played out. This involved condemned criminals being made to walk across the arena on stilts, which was difficult enough for anyone not used to them. It was made worse because dozens of poisonous snakes were released onto the sand. The condemned inevitably fell off their stilts and were bitten by the snakes, enduring a slow and painful death as the crowd roared its approval. In this way upwards of a hundred men were executed.

  Removing the snakes from the sand afterwards was a meticulous and time-consuming business, some of the snake handlers being bitten as the editor, who had at last returned to the arena, demanded that the process be speeded up.

  Surena was pacing up and down with excitement as an official announced the first six matched pairs to enter the theatre. He was disappointed that his name was not called though mine was. I nodded to Drenis and Arminius and told Surena to save his strength as I followed the official with eleven others down the steps. I was pitted against a Hoplomachus, a ‘hoplite fighter’, a gladiator whose weapons and equipment were loosely based on the Greek warriors of old. He wore a bronze helmet with eye grilles, padded armour on his right arm and legs and protective greaves on the latter. He carried a small, round bronze shield.

  We stood on the blood-soaked sand with the referees and raised our weapons in salute to the governor and high priest, though I raised my sword to my wife and Domitus seated behind them. The crowd fell silent as the announcer, after being given a list of our names, introduced each of us to the crowd. When our names were called we raised our weapons so the crowd would know us, though there was only slight polite applause when the name Nikephorus of the Ludus Palmyra was announced. I was slightly perturbed when the name of my opponent, Menedaius of the Ludus Ephesus, received rapturous acclaim.

  Menedaius’ main weapon was a thrusting spear, though he also carried a sword and dagger. When the bout began his first attack was against my torso, which I parried easily. He jabbed his spear forward to keep me focused on its iron head and attempted to smash his shield into my right arm to knock me over. I sidestepped his shield and tried to slice open the side of his chest with my sword but he too sprang out of the way. We danced around each other, jabbing and slashing with our weapons, our manicas being cut but not our flesh. I did not hear the groans as other gladiators were wounded or killed, or indeed hear the noise of the crowd as it begged for the life of a gladiator who had been knocked to the ground to be spared. I only heard my own breathing and saw only the figure of Menedaius through my eye grilles. I splintered the shaft of his spear as he tried to ram the point through my foot but missed, the hilt of my sword fracturing the grain with a downward blow followed by my right elbow being driven into his chest. He was winded but I was tiring as he drew his sword and came at me with a series of strikes. They were powerful but easy to block or avoid because Menedaius was also tiring. I had no idea how long we had been fighting but the editor clearly thought we had been on the sand for too long as the referee suddenly placed his stick between us to signal a halt in our duel. I stepped back, my heart thumping, as the editor, his bottom lip protruding in anger, indicated with a terse wave of his hand that we should depart the arena. Thus ended the first bout of Nikephorus the gladiator.

  No one cheered my exit.

  When I returned, exhausted, to the stage building Alcaeus examined me after I had taken off my helmet, manicas and greaves.

  ‘No cuts, just a few bruises,’ he reported. ‘This evening I will get Argos to massage you again so you will be fit for tomorrow’s bout of butchery.’

  I flopped down on a couch and Drenis passed me a cup of water.

  ‘Well done, Pacorus, you acquitted yourself well.’

  I nodded my thanks. I saw Menedaius taking off his equipment and one of his companions handing him water to quench his thirst. He saw me and raised his cup. I did the same. It was most odd. A few minute before we had been locked in a potentially lethal struggle, but now no animosity existed between us. Spartacus had once told me that a gladiator had no friends, only acquaintances, because you might be called on to kill any of the men you trained and lived with in the ludus. How solitary and tortuous must be the l
ife of a gladiator.

  The crowd erupted in clapping and cheering as the next set of pairs walked on to the sand. Some gladiators drifted towards the windows to watch the bouts. I drained my cup and suddenly realised someone was missing.

  ‘Where is Surena?’ I asked Drenis.

  ‘In the arena,’ he replied.

  I stood and walked over to the nearest window where Arminius was looking down at the crowd. Thus far he and Drenis had avoided any fighting, for which I was grateful.

  He nodded at the awning under which the dignitaries, Gallia and Domitus were seated.

  ‘Gallia and Domitus have the best seats in the house.’

  I saw Surena standing on the sand, along with the tiresome Acco, each of them surrounded by four gladiators. I felt a sense of dread.

  ‘Why aren’t they paired off?’

  ‘Why?’ said Arminius. ‘Because that fat editor has not forgotten that Surena insulted him and is annoyed that he has become the crowd’s hero. So he wants him dead, and if he dies a glorious death in the arena then the crowd will be delighted. He will still be their hero, of course, but a dead one. And Acco is fighting against the odds because he’s a merciless killer who regards a one-on-one contest as an insult to his fighting prowess.’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ I said softly.

  ‘All of us volunteered to be here, Pacorus. We all knew it was a suicide mission.’

  I looked at him. ‘You did?’

  He grinned. ‘Naturally. Only you believed it would end in success. The rest of us, Gallia included, have a more realistic view of life and the world.’

  I now felt even worse as I stared down at Surena surrounded by two Secutors and two Murmillos. The latter were armed with a gladius, scutum, and full-face bronze helmet with a large crest, a padded manica on the sword arm and a protective greave on the left leg. Acco faced two ‘Hoplite fighters’ and two Provocators who wore the same armour and carried the same weapons as Arminius. Surena looked hopelessly outnumbered and under-armed and armoured and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as the announcer warmed up the crowd.

  ‘Beyond the civilised world live barbarians who know nothing of the rule of law and public morals. It is these peoples that Rome has made its divine mission to conquer to bring peace and prosperity to the dark corners of the world. Rome’s mighty legions have fought these barbarians for decades, primitives such as Acco of the Gauls.’

  He extended an arm towards the Gaul who raised his two swords and roared at the crowd, which responded in kind. The announcer held up his arms in an appeal for silence. The noise died down.

  ‘And in the East,’ he continued, ‘live the barbarian Parthians, Armenians and Syrians, who sacrifice their own young and who have no knowledge of art or architecture. And in the Eastern wastelands live fearsome warriors such as Surena of the Ma’adan.’

  The crowd jumped up, cheered and whooped with joy as Surena raised his net and trident and basked in the adulation of over twenty thousand followers. They began chanting ‘Surena, Surena’ as the announcer sat down and the two referees looked at the governor. The fat head of Timini Ceukianus was bobbing up and down behind his uncle in excited anticipation of Surena’s imminent death. He may have been fat and idle but he was just as Roman at heart as his more martial relative. He neither forgot nor forgave.

  The crowd sat down and grew silent, a tingle of anticipation hanging in the air as people licked their lips at the prospect of two men fighting at odds of four to one. The referees stood in the circle of gladiators with their sticks levelled. The governor cut down with his hand and the bouts began.

  In battle you keep a close grip on your weapon because it is your best friend. Legionaries throw their javelins and cataphracts spear enemies with the kontus because that is what those weapons are designed for. But a legionary never lets go of his gladius and a cataphract never releases the hold on his sword, axe or mace in the mêlée. Your close-quarter weapon is the only thing that prevents you being killed because no matter how thick your shield or armour, if you have no offensive weapon then eventually you will lose a fight.

  But Surena broke the first rule of combat when he hurled his trident forward. He had been facing the governor, watching for his hand signal, and had launched his trident even before the referee had made his signal. The weapon flew through the air and struck the Murmillo he was facing in the chest, the three prongs embedding themselves in the exposed flesh. The ‘fish man’ collapsed instantly as Surena threw his net at the Secutor on his left side, the giant spider’s web expanding as it flew at the gladiator. Surena pulled his dagger from its sheath and sprang at the Secutor like a panther. The Secutor caught the flying net on his shield and cast it aside easily enough, but the few seconds required to do so was all that Surena needed to thrust his dagger beneath the Secutor’s helmet and into his throat. The crowd cheered wildly as the wounded gladiator collapsed on the sand.

  Acco was dealing death with his two swords but all I was interested in was Surena, who now faced a Murmillo and Secutor who were standing beside each other, swords levelled and shields facing my former squire. The latter snatched his net from the sand and stood ready to face his two opponents, armed only with a dagger. The Murmillo, certain of victory against a man armed only with a dagger, raced forward. Surena threw his net once more, the material billowing in the air as the Murmillo cut it aside with his gladius. But Surena had picked up the dead Secutor’s sword and performed a forward roll to the left, tucking the sword close to his body and then lashing out with it to slice open the Murmillo’s right calf. There was a high-pitched yelp as Surena stood and raced over to the other Murmillo who lay flat on his back. He plucked the trident from the man’s chest and turned to face the Secutor as the other Murmillo sank to his knees, blood spurting from his gashed calf. He was out of the fight.

  Surena sheathed his dagger as he faced his last opponent still standing.

  The Secutor circled Surena who gripped his trident with both hands, his left shoulder turned towards his enemy to maximise the protection afforded by his galerus. He suddenly fed the trident through his hands to jab the prongs in the Secutor’s face. The latter slashed at the trident with his gladius but Surena feinted, snapped it back, leaped to the left and jabbed the trident forward again. He feinted right, jumped back and feigned an overhead attack with his weapon. The Secutor lifted his shield to deflect the blow but Surena was already thinking about his next move, leaning back as he crouched low to hurl the trident forward. In a second the three prongs had struck the Secutor in the torso, between his belt and rib cage.

  The crowd uttered a collective sigh as the Secutor staggered, dropped his sword and pulled the trident from his body. He staggered a few steps more before falling to his knees as Surena lifted his arms to the crowd to milk their applause. He turned to the dignitaries and gave a clenched first salute, spitting on the sand once more when he caught the eye of Ceukianus. I saw Gallia smirk and Domitus rise to his feet to applaud the young man from the marshlands as the theatre was filled with the chant of ‘Surena, Surena’.

  He pulled his dagger from its sheath and walked over to the Murmillo who was lying on his side, holding his severed calf. The Secutor had meanwhile died of his throat wound, blood still oozing on to the sand. Common practice was for the wounded gladiator to kneel before his vanquisher, holding one of his legs and bending his head forward so the victor of the duel could deliver a fatal, merciful blow with his sword. But Surena merely tore off the man’s helmet and slit his throat. The crowd gasped at this break from protocol and the referee rushed over to admonish him. Surena pushed him away and went to retrieve his net and trident, the former being ripped and now useless.

  Acco had, meanwhile, also killed all four of his opponents, though his victory was marred by the crowd’s worship of Surena, who was now walking around the edge of the arena with his arms raised, accepting the adulation. As he got near to Acco and his blood-covered swords he must have said something because the Gaul squared u
p to him and Surena prepared to fight once more. A referee blew a whistle and more assistants ran from the stage building to separate the two gladiators, leading each away to separate exit doors.

  ‘You know,’ Arminius said to me, ‘you might have trouble getting Surena to come back to Dura with us. He has had a taste of the arena and he finds it to his liking.’

  ‘He would never abandon Viper,’ I assured him.

  ‘He could always send for her.’

  When he returned to us Surena allowed Alcaeus to give him a clean bill of health and then held out his arms so slaves could remove his belt and galerus. Fortunately Acco had decided to return to his quarters rather than spend any further time in the company of gladiators, so there would be no further friction between the two. At least not today.

  ‘I will need a new net, lord,’ he said to me as he sat down on a bench and snapped his fingers at a slave holding a jug of water. ‘For tomorrow.’

  ‘Hopefully you will be rested tomorrow after your heroics today.’

  His face creased into a mask of disappointment. ‘I cannot let down the crowd, lord. They will be expecting me.’

  Drenis slapped him on the shoulder and looked at me. ‘A crowd needs a hero and a hero needs a crowd.’

  This day’s crowd began to leave the theatre after a most interesting day that had seen a dozen more gladiators killed and many more fatalities as a result of the lions getting loose. As legionaries escorted us from the stage building a great crowd gathered round us as on the previous day. Our progress was very slow. I asked a legionary what the problem was as Surena accepted kisses and embraces from his ever-growing harem of young female admirers.