The Forgotten Legion

by Ben Kane

  'And now he grows rich while men die.'

  Unsettled by the comment, Brennus looked away.

  Forget Memor, thought Romulus. Focus on the fight instead. Survive.

  Most fighters quickly found a spot on the floor to sit and began talking with each other, sharpening weapons or tightening straps on armour. Two Thracians were wrestling, watched idly by a dozen men. A few knelt in one corner, praying to their favourite gods for protection. Anything that whiled away the long hours before combat was a good idea. Figulus and his cronies were deep in conversation and Romulus felt safe enough to wander away from the Gaul.

  Beyond the bars were horizontal wooden planks making up the enclosure 's main wall. Above were the seats of the rich and famous. Romulus smiled at the possibility of Gemellus' backside being so close to his sword. The merchant was an enthusiastic supporter of gladiatorial contests.

  Romulus stared through a gap in the timbers. The lowest rows of benches were only a man's height from the ground and the spectators could almost reach out to touch the fighters and animals on the hot sand. 'Isn't it dangerous?' he asked.

  'Look.' Brennus pointed at regularly placed archers with drawn bows round the perimeter. 'They can usually pick off anything that jumps out.'

  'Usually?'

  'Occasionally someone gets killed,' said Brennus. 'The people love it!'

  'Apart from the poor bastard who gets mauled to death.'

  'They want to watch the fight . . .'

  'So why should we be the only ones to die in there?'

  'Exactly,' smiled Brennus.

  Romulus nodded, familiar with the citizens' huge thirst for blood. He shivered as he took in the slaughterhouse outside. The fight between man and beast they had heard was nearly over. Bloody corpses were scattered across the sand like rag dolls, limbs at awkward angles. Three lions and two leopards lay dead among the bodies, spears protruding from their chests and bellies.

  'Gods above, help me!' The plaintive cry echoed around the open space. 'I have killed one cat. Is that not enough?'

  Romulus stared in horror at the hunter who was limping round the arena, pleading with the people above. All his comrades had been slain and he was unarmed, with only a shield as protection. The young man's wellmuscled torso was covered in deep, bleeding scratches and his right arm hung uselessly. Jagged shards of bone protruded from the gaping wound in it, clear evidence of the animals' terrible power.

  'Behind you!' Spectators above Romulus sniggered as the last remaining lion padded after the injured venator.

  'Help me!'

  'Help yourself, scum!'

  'Die like a man! Entertain us!'

  Insults and pieces of bread and fruit rained down. He would get nothing from the crowd.

  They wanted more blood.

  Romulus' knuckles turned white as he gripped the bars, wishing he could do something. Anything.

  The venator's dilemma was immediate. With the scutum on his good arm, he might hold off the lion for some time, but could not hope to injure it.

  The continuing blood loss from his injuries would eventually allow the lion to overcome him. With a weapon, he might have had a small chance of killing it, but now there would be no protection from the powerful claws that had ripped apart his companions.

  Indecision played across the hunter's features. Then the survival instinct surfaced and he trotted to the nearest body, putting a little distance between himself and the lion. Discarding his shield, he picked up a heavy spear lying beside its dead owner.

  'Roman savages.' Brennus materialised beside Romulus, watching the drama unfold. 'That's a good move, though. He wouldn't have enough reach with a sword.'

  'What about a trident?'

  'Too unwieldy. A spear has more length anyway.'

  'Now what?'

  'Wait until the beast tries to jump. Shove the butt into the sand and let it run on to the tip,' Brennus said softly. 'That's his only chance.'

  Closing his eyes, Romulus asked Jupiter to help the wounded fighter.

  With morbid fascination, they watched the newly armed venator back away. The big cat seemed content to follow, the only sign of impatience its twitching tail. Every so often it would lash out at the spear, but each time the man retreated, biding his time.

  Soon the crowd began to grow bored and taunts filled the air. Coins and clay cups were thrown to encourage an attack. The lion grew noticeably angry, growling and lashing its tail from side to side.

  Brennus grinned and pointed. 'He 's leading it away from the bodies.'

  'Why?'

  'To get away from the rubbish being thrown, for a start. Then he 'll try and goad the cat into jumping.'

  Romulus could hardly watch. 'Got to end it soon or he 'll be too weak.'

  'He knows that.'

  The venator had finally reached an area free of corpses. Pushing his spear shaft into the ground with one hand, he lowered the broad-bladed head and glared at the lion.

  'There is a man at peace with death!' Brennus thumped the bars excitedly. 'Kill the beast! Go on, kill it!'

  The lion padded to within fifteen paces of its prey and paused, sunlight turning the pupils in its amber eyes to slits. It sank down on to the sand, tail tip moving faintly. The venator stiffened, crouching low behind his spear. He would only have one chance when it charged.

  At last the audience stopped shouting and throwing objects. The tension became palpable.

  'Watch the muscles in the back legs. It'll leap any moment.' Brennus gripped Romulus' shoulder. 'Could you stay calm? Your right arm in shreds?'

  Romulus swallowed hard, trying to imagine the pain of the gaping wounds. The fighter did not look much older than himself and probably had a similar story. But it appeared he would not give in – life was too precious.

  Springing up, the lion flew into the air. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd. Refusing to allow fear to take over, the venator steadied himself.

  The cat came down at speed and impaled itself on the spear.

  Its momentum drove the sharp blade through its ribs, ripping heart and lungs to shreds. The hunter was knocked to the ground by the impact.

  Silence reigned as the spectators took in the impossible.

  Romulus jumped up and down, screaming at the top of his voice and thanking the gods. Laughing, Brennus joined in. Gladiators beat sword hilts off shields in appreciation, making as much noise as possible. It was a Herculean feat to kill a big predator with such severe injuries and inspiring for all of them.

  Eventually the venator managed to push the dead weight off his lower body and stand. The people had been slowly responding to the din from below but the cheering doubled in volume when he got up.

  'Fickle bastards,' said Brennus. 'Abusing him a few moments ago. Bloody Romans.'

  Romulus agreed with his friend. The reaction of the audience was hypocritical; all that seemed to matter to them was mutilation and death.

  The lesson was about to be reinforced in the most bloody way.

  Emboldened by his actions, the venator walked to the hoarding near those who had thrown insults earlier. 'That good enough?' He spat in a clear gesture of defiance.

  Romulus cheered, but a strange quiet fell over the Forum Boarium. The citizens of Rome did not like being mocked.

  The wounded man proudly turned to walk away.

  'Not clever,' Brennus said to himself. 'He shouldn't have done that.'

  'But he killed the lion.'

  'And just insulted someone rich or famous.' The Gaul sucked in his lower lip, peering between the planks. 'Wouldn't be surprised if . . .'

  Brennus had not finished speaking when an arrow flashed through the air. With a soft thump, it buried itself in the unsuspecting venator's back. He staggered, screaming with surprise and pain. As he struggled to reach the metal-tipped shaft, two more struck him in the chest and neck.

  Roars of laughter rang out.

  'You bastards!' Romulus cried.

  'Keep quiet,' whis
pered Brennus, 'unless you want to be executed as well.'

  Romulus fell silent, grinding his teeth with rage at the injustice. What glory was there in being a gladiator if one could be killed like this?

  The venator had fallen to his knees, clawing at the arrows and coughing up blood with each attempt. At last he toppled to the sand, twitched a few times and was still. He was only a few steps from the dead lion.

  No living creature, animal or human, remained in the arena.

  Tears filled Romulus' eyes. 'No man should die like that.'

  'Upset the rich and it might happen to you.' Brennus' tone was dull with resignation. 'We are always at their mercy.'

  'His life meant nothing to those scum.'

  'And yours is no different. We 're slaves, remember!'

  Romulus stared at the venator's body, anger pulsing through every vein. Their own situation had been brought home as never before by the utter powerlessness of the brave fighter. He had beaten all the odds, yet still he had not survived. In a short while, Romulus would be risking his own life in the same arena, when the crowd's bloodlust would have to be satisfied once again. Savage injuries and the deaths of dozens of men counted for nothing. Everyone in the cell would be subject to the same caprice, the same brand of harsh justice.

  Up till now, Romulus had chosen to see only the glory and fame of gladiatorial life. The veil had lifted momentarily when he'd had to kill Flavus and Lentulus, but seeing a valiant man executed on a whim had ripped it asunder.

  Gladiators' lives were simply about fighting and dying for the amusement of the Roman mob. They were paid killers, nothing more.

  The realisation was brutal – and total. Stunned, he sank into a deep gloom, slumping to the hard-packed dirt of the cell floor. Brennus tried to cheer him up, but his jokes fell on deaf ears. After a while the Gaul gave up and started sharpening his longsword with a small whetstone. It was his usual way of passing the time.

  The slaughter in the arena went on and on, but Romulus did not have the stomach to watch. Bulls and bears that had been chained together tore each other to shreds; hunting dogs were released to prey upon terrified gazelle. Packs of starving wolves were set upon criminals tied to wooden posts. Shrieks and cries of pain from every species filled the air for hours, to roars of approval from the audience. The once golden sand was turned into a thick red morass that stuck underfoot.

  Deep in his daze, Romulus thought of his mother and Fabiola. Even if he survived the impending fight, he would probably never see them again anyway. Life would be a succession of rest periods and combat, with only one possible outcome.

  Death.

  They were slaves to the bloody desires of the Roman public. Waves of anger and sadness washed over him and Romulus' spirits fell further. Never before had he felt like this.

  'Time to go soon.' Brennus was looking concerned. 'What is it?'

  'We 're all going to die out there.'

  'Some aren't!' The Gaul flexed huge biceps. 'Stick with me and you'll be fine.'

  'What's the point? Why bleed and die for complete strangers?' Romulus' shoulders sagged. 'I'm stuck here and my mother belongs to a sadistic bastard who sold Fabiola to a whorehouse. Life means nothing. I might as well let Figulus kill me.'

  Brennus grabbed Romulus' arm. 'You're not the only one with a sad story! Think of that venator,' he hissed. 'And every man in this cell has suffered under the Roman yoke. Even bastards like Figulus and Gallus.'

  Romulus shook off the Gaul's hand. 'What do I care?' he replied angrily.

  There was a long silence before Brennus began to speak again.

  'I watched while Roman soldiers burned the village with my wife and baby son inside,' he began. 'Then the cousin I had sworn to protect was killed right in front of me.'

  Romulus looked at his friend, his heart filling with sympathy.

  'And the memories crowd my head every day.'

  'I . . .' Romulus began guiltily, but the Gaul kept talking.

  'I spent five years looking for death. But the gods did not allow it. Been saving me for something else. Don't know what it is yet, but first Astoria came along. Then you.' He ruffled Romulus' hair affectionately. His protégé's similarities with Brac were startling.

  'What are you saying?'

  'Even in the midst of all this,' said Brennus, gesturing at the bloodstained sand, 'life is worth living. Die today if you want, Romulus. But think about when you arrived in the ludus. What made Memor buy you? Or Cotta choose a boy of thirteen to train?' He loosened his sword in its scabbard. 'The gods favour courageous men. Remember that.' He gave Romulus a hard stare, then fell silent.

  The young fighter pondered what Brennus had said for some time. Perhaps there was more to it than sheer luck. Perhaps Jupiter did have a purpose for him after all. Feeling slightly better, he looked up and caught Gallus' gaze on him. The stocky retiarius nudged Figulus, leering as he drew a finger across his throat. Romulus got to his feet. Brennus' words had struck a chord and Gallus' threat had acted as the final impetus. What use was there in dying so easily?

  Thoughts of Spartacus came to Romulus, lighting a spark of hope. The gladiator who had shaken Rome to its core. He smiled. Even on the bloody sand of the arena, it was possible to choose one 's destiny. There were reasons to live.

  Romulus began to roll both shoulders as Cotta had taught, pretending he was warming up for a training session.

  'That's the attitude!' said Brennus delightedly.

  'The bastards won't kill me without a fight.'

  'I'm glad to hear it.'

  Together the two friends stretched their muscles, readying themselves for the slaughter.

  Chapter XVI: Victory

  Early afternoon had passed and the bloody sand had been raked, a clean layer scattered on top. After the distraction of beast hunts, there was an interval before the main attraction. Mobile vendors selling wine, meat and bread clambered between rows of seats, doing a brisk trade with the hungry citizens. Much of the audience had been replaced with those drawn by the prospect of a large group combat. Only the most bloodthirsty remained to watch the entire day's entertainment.

  Underneath the stands, the cells opposite the Magnus fighters still lay empty.

  'Where are they?' growled a murmillo.

  Hours had passed. It could not be long until the fight began.

  'Scare tactics. The Dacicus lanista will send his boys directly into the arena,' said another.

  'So there 's no chance to size them up beforehand,' added a retiarius.

  Whispers of unease rippled through the gladiators.

  'Who gives a shit?' Brennus said loudly. He stepped forward before the unrest turned to fear.

  The fighters looked up, curious. None was used to having a leader.

  The Gaul smiled grimly. 'Many of us will die today.' Instantly he had everyone's attention. 'But it doesn't have to be that way.'

  'What's your fucking point?' snarled Figulus, moving forward with his friends. A space spontaneously appeared between Brennus and the group.