by Nhys Glover
I had been determined to look my best for my pack and possibly the emperor, so I had accepted my aunt’s offer to have her slave make me a new gown. Though Pater had already complimented me on it, it took Marcus’ approval to give me the confidence I needed. If any man could evaluate a woman’s gown, it was him. I certainly didn’t have much experience in dressing up to go by.
“I hardly recognised you, Sweets. This must truly be a special occasion. That colour suits you well. Gold brings out the highlights in your brown hair and the cream in your olive skin.”
I bowed my head, acknowledging his compliment. I knew he would have preferred to be wearing something similar but was forced to wear a tunic and the scarlet trabea of the equestrian class. At least he seemed to have wrapped the trabea with more style than most.
“When do you leave to join your regiment?” I asked, feeling like I was losing yet another piece of my heart. Marcus was about to take up his first post as an officer on the frontier.
“The end of the week. I am being stationed in Aquincum, of all places. The gods have an odd sense of humour.”
I smiled. Aquincum in Pannonia had been the place Pater had been visiting at the time I escaped Camellia last summer. Asterius had gone to find him there, only to discover he’d left several days earlier. My pack-mate had then run day and night to catch up to him.
“Pater, tell Marcus what he can expect at Aquincum,” I said, turning to Pater who was consulting his program.
Pater looked up and smiled, nodding at both Natalinus and Marcus. “A lovely part of the world, and the Danube is quite impressive. But it’s cold, so be prepared. Few places have the kind of climate we enjoy.”
The trumpets sounded and, distracted, we all turned to the arena. The emperor and his wife Poppaea were taking their places in the imperial box. The crowds gawked and craned their necks to catch sight of them.
So the lanista had been right. The emperor was making a point of being here to see my pack. Gods, what kind of pressure would that put on them?
Once the fuss settled, the presenter loudly announced that we would be watching a skirmish that had taken place in the wilds of Britannia. It was between the barbarian Celts and a small cadre of Claudius’ legionaries, who had become cut off from the main forces. The Roman soldiers had travelled long distances and fought valiantly to reach their base in the south.
I knew this would have to be my wolf-pack, but it scared me to think how many ‘barbarian Celts’ they would have to face. With my heart in my throat, I turned to the gates at the far end where four men were now striding forth. They wore the provocator’s armour of an open-face helmet, sleeve on the right shoulder, one greave on the left shin, and a small breast plate. They carried tall, rectangular shields and a gladius, the sword used by legionaries.
The crowd cheered until the band began to play. The masterful music creating an atmosphere of suspense. As the citizens of Rome fell silent, my men prowled around the arena as if in the great forests of Britannia. I could almost see those mist-covered, ancient woods, which were known to be filled with both magic and danger.
In my mind my men were now alone, cut off from their own kind, the ready prey of the hiding Celts. The crowd held its breath. And so did I.
A loud, clashing sound split the air, and the band began to play wildly as the Celts ran into the arena. They were dressed as provocatores, but with skins hung across their bodies, wild feathers in their helmets. Some of the advancing men carried long spears.
My first impression was of more than a dozen men racing in to attack my pack, but when my panicking heart slowed a little I realised there were no more than eight or nine. But even so, that was at least two to one. How could my men be expected to fight against those odds?
I looked fearfully at Pater, whose eyes had grown cold. Pater rarely lost his temper, but when he did blood usually flowed. However, it would be too late for my pack if Pater later vented his fury on the lanista or director for this blatantly unfair matching. My men would already be dead or badly injured by then!
The Celts were working to break up the pack, but the Romans had formed themselves into a square, keeping their backs to each other as they fought. In some ways, it was harder for the Celts to do their best than it was for my outnumbered men because there were too many of them to fight in close quarters. But no one wanted to miss out on the win. And clearly the Celts expected to win against so few opponents.
After a few accidental cuts, blows and shoves, some had to back away to allow their fellows room to fight. But they didn’t give ground gallantly, which resulted in disorder in their ranks. My men were quick to take advantage of the mayhem.
And they were glorious! The Wolf Pack fought fiercely, landing blow after blow on their opponents, cutting them down as if they were nothing. Clearly, they were not as skilled as my men. One Celt after another fell, while yet others replaced them. There was too much blood. Too many injuries. My stomach, used as I was to the sight of blood and wounds, threatened to rebel.
In a dizzying display, the Romans swapped places to put off their opponents. Typhon and Orion were particularly effective in disarming the spears from their opponents as they did so. And the choreographed manoeuvre did its job of disorganising the Celts further.
Then, when enough of the enemy had fallen, my pack surged forward out of their tight square and turned the tables on the Celts. While the crowd screamed its delight, the ‘Romans’ encircled the men left standing.
It was like rounding up sheep. The Romans corralled the Celts firmly together, too tightly to properly wield their swords. That left them only one real option: hiding behind their shields. But instead of raining blows down on the impenetrable shields, my pack did something completely unexpected.
In a spectacular display, they took several steps back and ran at the shields. They literally ran up them so their weight and momentum forced the men inside the barricade to collapse onto their backs.
While the crowd screamed out its pleasure, the Wolf Pack each found a fallen man and placed a foot over his neck, looking to the editor for a decision. The men on both sides had fought valiantly, there was no doubt of that, although the superior skill of the ‘Romans’ was apparent to all. So, when all eyes turned to the emperor, it was no surprise to see him grin broadly and give the signal for reprieve.
The whole contest must have taken about ten to fifteen minutes, though it had seemed like an eternity to me. Only when my men stepped away, their arms held up in triumph did I breathe again. I let out the gulping lungful of air, which I’d been holding for too long, in one huge sigh. Limply, I collapsed back into my wooden seat.
Marcus leaned across and patted my arm. “They were in no danger. When I saw they were outnumbered so greatly, I too was worried. But once the Celts started fighting, it was clear they were no threat to the pack. But they were just good enough to show your men in their best light. See how enthusiastically the emperor is talking to his companions. He is very impressed!”
With my heart back in my chest again, and my breathing back to normal, I looked down at the arena once more. The crowds were applauding and cheering. The Wolf Pack had removed their helmets and dropped them and their shields to the ground so they could walk around the arena with their sword arms held aloft, driving the mob’s frenzy to greater heights. Women almost threw themselves down into the arena to get to them. Luckily, their companions stopped them at the last moment. The fall could have been deadly.
They were at the far side of the arena, and I took the opportunity to look at Pater. He seemed more relaxed and happy now. Clearly, he agreed with Marcus. At first it had looked like our men had been set up to fail. But in reality they had simply been allowed to showcase their skills in the most dramatic way.
When it happened, I was not sure. It must have started in one area of the twenty or thirty thousand strong crowd and then moved out in waves, as others caught on. By the time I noticed it, nearly everyone was chanting, ‘Wolf Pack, Wolf Pack, Wolf Pack!
’
For a few moments, my men looked bemused, unsure how to take this clamorous sign of approval. They probably were not even aware their nickname was known to their audience. But clearly it was, and people were now making the most of it.
Despite myself, I had to join in. With a laugh, Marcus did the same. I looked back at my two snooty young female cousins. Their noses, for once, were not in the air. They, too, had been captured by the exuberance around them. Both girls were screaming and chanting with the rest. So much so that their mother had to reprimand them and remind them of their need for decorum.
Finally, the pack reached the imperial box. The emperor stood and stepped forward. The crowd quietened to listen to what Nero had to say. I felt a shiver of excitement run down my spine.
“When I heard the rumours about you four,” Nero began in a loud, oratorical voice that echoed out to the tens of thousands of his subjects intently listening. “I assumed the gossip was highly exaggerated. But I had to see for myself. I am glad I did so. For such young gladiators, barely blooded, you show yourselves to be remarkably brave and capable. Not to mention entertaining! I expect to see great things from you in the future. Well done!”
He threw each man a gold aureus, which they caught with alacrity. And again the crowd went wild.
By the time they strode from the arena, my voice was hoarse from cheering and my cheeks were wet with the tears I’d cried.
It was a stunning beginning to their careers. And I was so happy to have been here to witness it. They were everything Pater had hoped for; everything I knew them to be. The best! They were the best that Rome had to offer!
The rest of the events were little more than a blur to me. More than anything, I just wanted to see my pack and tell them how proud I was of them. Actually, proud was such an insignificant word to describe what I was feeling. I wanted to scream with joy and rush into each of their arms in turn, hugging them until I had no breath left in my lungs.
Of course I could do none of it. I would be lucky to see them later when they were returned to their ludus. Pater would have to take me. I would insist that he take me!
And he did.
By the time we arrived at the ludus it was growing dark. Spring days were still short and the games had gone on right up until sunset. The streets had lost much of the noise and crowding since we’d ventured out in the middle of the day. They were replaced by the rattle and clop of horse-drawn wagons making their way along the streets, delivering their goods to shops and stalls who would sell them during daylight hours.
Inside my litter I shivered. It was partly due to the chill in the air and partly due to excitement. Pater had easily given in to my demand to see my pack, I think because he too wished to congratulate them before he left for his tour in the morning. And for me it was probably going to be the last time I’d ever see them. I could not go to the ludus alone, and they could not leave it. Not unless they were hired out as bodyguards, something that was unlikely to happen while they were being prepared for more contests.
I knew from Pater that the popularity of a gladiator was an ephemeral thing. They could gain the fancy of the public, but lose it again when someone new came along. The aim was to capitalise on the crowd’s interest while they had it by having the favourites perform as often as possible.
Most gladiators would fight about three or four times a year. A really popular fighter might see combat far more often. Sometimes, if a fighter was up to it, he might perform on all the days of a festival like this one. But that would usually only be top grade gladiators.
I had to wonder if that was a possibility for my men after today’s performance though. News would have spread through Rome like wildfire after their show and ticket sales for any spectaculum they were known to be performing in would rise accordingly.
But this was what Pater had warned against. A fighter could get burned out quickly if he was expected to fight day after day with no break. Like Lucullus had proven with the boys, muscles just couldn’t sustain extended and punishing excessive use.
“What if the director wants to use the Wolf Pack again during this festival?” I asked Pater when we reached the ludus and headed through the barred gates into the compound.
“I will approve another contest for the end of the festival. That will make the most of their popularity but give them a few days to recuperate. The news will have had time to spread beyond Rome by then and the stands will be packed. I will make sure the performance will put them in no real danger. Today was off-putting. I was not sure what the director was doing at first. But it was masterful. The trouble is, after such a spectacle, it will be hard to match it a second time.”
I nodded. Half the impact of today was the surprise moves my men performed. If they had to do something surprising every time, it might prove difficult.
The lanista, accompanied by a tall, austere looking man I took to be the director, came out to greet us. Unlike the obviously low-class lanista, the director presented as a patrician, although I knew him to be a mere freedman. But he was also the highest paid government official in Rome.
Obviously intelligent as well as serious, the middle-aged man seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Considering he was in charge of two thousand gladiators, many of whom did not want to be there, it was easy to understand why his job might weigh heavily on him. Add to that the task of coming up with new ways to entertain the masses and the emperor at each games, was it any wonder he seemed bowed low by life?
“Ah, Corvus, so good to see you again,” the tall man said, stepping forward to take Pater’s hand. “The new members of your troupe are doing well.”
I knew he referred not only to my pack but to the other two men from their year. They had fought today as well, in the more conventional contests against opponents of their grade. As expected, they had shone brightly, though the emperor made no move to congratulate them in person. Other than the Wolf Pack, only the final combatants had received that honour. Which only highlighted how well the pack had done.
“Yes, Ardemonius, very well. I came to congratulate all my gladiators who fought and won today, and to discuss your plans for the Wolf Pack in my absence.”
The director nodded as if this was to be expected, although I saw his eyes narrow a little. Maybe he was not well pleased to have Pater intruding into his organisational plans.
But he extended his arm to indicate the way, and fell into step beside Pater, while I walked along behind. I was, after all, only the daughter. No one expected me to do more than look on in admiration. Only those from our estate, and Marcus, knew just how involved I was in the breeding and training of our gladiators.
We reached a large room that was lavishly decorated and lined with couches and tables laden with food. There were already other officials and owners present, all likely having had men in contests today. We were led over to a table where we could choose the food we required. A slave would then collect it for us while we reclined in comfort. I was too nervous to eat, so I stayed close to Pater and waited impatiently for my men to arrive.
“We want your pack to fight again tomorrow. The emperor will be in attendance again and has requested it,” the director was saying.
My stomach turned over. Tomorrow. Pater said that was too soon.
“That is not advisable,” Pater said levelly. “They are new fighters and need a chance to recover. I was thinking the final day of the festival would be a suitable time.”
The director shook his head apologetically. “You know the emperor has the final say on these matters. He specifically demanded your men perform again tomorrow. He wants the Pontarius for them. A bridge is being specially created for the occasion.”
“You want them to fight as retarius? That is not the fighting style best suited to two of them. And four men throwing nets in close quarters would be impossible.”
“Not retarius. Provocatores and dimachaerii. As little armour as possible. Two with shields and two without, protecting both dire
ctions on the bridge.”
Pater frowned in annoyance. “And how many men are you sending at them this time? A whole cohort? Do not think to burn my men before they have had their chance to properly shine! If that is your plan I will withdraw them now and send them to join one of my provincial troupes.”
“You cannot do that. We have a contract,” the director countered.
“Which I can break if you misuse my men. You know that well enough,” Pater growled.
The director held up his hands placatingly. “You misunderstand. We have no plans to make their task impossible, just more dramatic. No more than two men at a time can approach them and they will have the high ground. We will send the same number as yesterday against them. And your slaves know what to expect. I assume they are already planning their strategy.”
“The same quality of fighters?” Pater checked.
Ardemonius nodded. “Yes, yes. Novicii or the lowest grade veterans only. We want them to win and do it spectacularly.”
There was some commotion at the door as the gladiators from that day entered the room. They were cleaned up and dressed in tunics and sandals. My eyes immediately went to my men, who looked exuberant.
“I will stay another day to see this event. If I am in any way unhappy with the pressure you are putting on my slaves I will remove them after the contest. And while I am gone this year my daughter, Ennia Corva, will be in attendance, keeping an eye on just how you will be using them. She will have the right to wield my power, and may withdraw any of my gladiators she considers misused.”
Pater motioned to me, and it was as if the director saw me for the first time. His eyes opened wide and for long moments he seemed totally lost for words.
I smiled serenely at him, though my heart was pounding loudly in my chest. “Pater has been training me to take over from him, as he has no son to do so. I am very well versed in all aspects of the gladiatorial contest. Do not be concerned that I have a woman’s sensibilities. I do not.”