by Barry Sadler
So Corvu took no chances. He worked Casca harder and harder, giving him no break at all, constantly harassing, constantly training. He was determined that Casca would be a winner. When they took the troupe on tour for several fights in the provinces, Corvu had Casca do some of the warm- ups, fights with dulled swords and not to the death. This was to give Casca a chance to get over any stage fright he might have had otherwise. In addition, the games in the provinces served to give the tiros a chance to work as a team and to watch the professionals at their trade. Soon they would be ready for the games at Rome. That was where the real money was...
Casca worked and hacked that damned post until he thought his arms were going to break off. But if that weren't bad enough already, Corvu fastened strips of lead wrapped in leather around his forearms to strengthen them, ten pounds to each forearm. The first few days of working out with these left Casca with spasms of shooting pain racing through his arms, neck, and shoulders. But after a week the pain was gone, and the weights felt natural. When he took them off, it felt as though his fists could fly, they were so light.
Crespas came to several of the small fights in the outlying towns to watch. Pleased with Casca's progress, he queried Corvu on when the slave would be ready for the big time.
"Soon, lord. Soon. A few more of these warm-ups, and he will be ready for a main event. You picked a good one there. Would you consider selling him?"
Crespas shook his head. "Not just yet. But speak to me after he has had a couple of fights. Then I may have a better idea as to his real value. We can talk more then."
Jubala watched the treatment Casca was receiving with growing envy and deepening hatred. Once he, too, had received the same attention. Now he knew that Casca was being groomed for high things, and it ate at his soul. He had received the same grooming and had failed to reach the heights where he could spit on all these puny pale-skinned jackals who had dared to treat him as an animal. If this one did...
Like a beast of the desert or jungle, Jubala watched and waited. Patience was a necessary virtue for survival in his tribal lands. He waited and prepared. He made sacrifice to his gods, those terrible beings of the night and the jungle. Two days before, when he had been permitted to go out on the town, he had cornered a young blonde prostitute of no more than fourteen years…
He felt a shiver of pleasure run over him as he relived the moment when after he had taken his pleasure of her and she lay at his feet whimpering and bleeding she had looked up through tear-streaked eyes and asked for the denarius he had promised. Jubala felt a sexual thrill run over him as he remembered picking her up from the floor of her dingy room by the Tiber and covering her mouth with his hand while he took his knife and slowly slid it into her stomach, savoring her pain and death spasms as he drew the blade up slowly, ever so slowly, her back arching so that her intestines spilled out on the floor. He sacrificed to his gods, and in the ritual of his people he had ripped out her still-beating heart and eaten it while she still trembled... Good, he thought, good. And, Roman dog, before our time is through I will eat your heart, too... even if after killing you, I must...
Today he had bumped Casca while in the food line, but instead of Casca backing away, he had jabbed his elbow in Jubala's solar plexus with a force that had almost knocked the black man down. He would have responded immediately, but he was out of breath from the blow. Casca had merely said, "Sorry about that," and gone on as if nothing had happened. If Jubala's face hadn't been so black, Casca would have been pleased to see the rush of blood to it as Jubala fought to contain his rage. But there was nothing to be done about it at the moment; Corvu had just come in and was watching.
Neither could know that Corvu had mused: Those two are going to kill each other off one day. I had better keep them apart for a while. But, if they are going to do it, I might as well make a profit out of it. Who has a birthday coming up and will be wanting a party? Think I better look over my list of former patrons and let them know we may have a special coming up...
In the meantime, Jubala never missed a chance to impress Casca with his size and strength. He was half a head taller than Casca, and the muscles rippled under his black hide like serpents.
Shit, Casca thought, that black's trying to work on my mind. Well, I got news for you, boy. That bullshit don't play with me.
And when Jubala noticed. the Sicilian slave Crysos sucking up to Casca, he thought, Good. That may be the way to get the big Roman's goat. He likes the Sicilian.
But there were other matters first. He remembered the prostitute. You... I must go to your grave and dig you up so that I can feed on you... It would not be the first time Jubala had followed the ways of his fathers. He was content to wait.
It would not be long...
EIGHTEEN
Shiu knocked on the portal leading to the interior of the Gallic school. The guard answering did not know what to make of the strange yellow man with the wispy beard and moustache. Shiu smiled pleasantly at him through the bars.
"Honored sir, may I speak to your proprietor?"
He bowed as he spoke, and in the eyes of the guard he looked for all the world like an old carving of ivory that had turned golden with age, but with dark eyes that sparkled with good humor and pleasure.
The sentry called for the lanista.
Lashing his whip to make a few of the new tiros get out of the way, Corvu came to the gate. "What is it? And who – and what – are you?"
Shiu bowed again, his saffron-colored robes folding themselves gracefully over his thin frame. "I am Shiu Lao Tze, honored sir. As to what I am, that is not so easy, for are we not the sum total of all our parts? And, like you, I have many parts. At this time it is my pleasure to be the friend and servant of a great man of this city, the honored Seneca, adviser to the imperial Nero." Shiu hissed between his teeth, showing respect to the name of his master. "Noble sir, what I wish is to be permitted to speak with one of your students. We met on the ship coming over from Greece, and recently my master heard of him at a contest near his villa in the country. Therefore I have this day, with his permission, come to speak to my young friend, the man called Casca. Is this possible?"
Normally, Corvu would have denied permission for any of his students to have visitors, but the combination of Seneca's name, this yellow man, and his own curiosity about Casca was too much. Telling the guard to open up, he took Shiu to where he could watch both him and Casca, and then sent for Casca. Corvu withdrew after being properly courteous to his visitor. One never knew just who it was who had power... He went to where he could observe the two unobtrusively.
Shiu sat at the bench provided for students when they were allowed to take a break from their training and rest a moment.
A loud bellowing soon brought him to his feet.
Grinning from ear to ear, the overmuscled Casca bore down on the delicate looking Oriental like a ramming galley.
"Gently," laughed Shiu as Casca enveloped him in his bearlike arms and whirled him off the ground, round and round. "Set me down, you great oaf. Have you learned no respect for your elders? Set me down, you big-nosed barbarian."
Finally Casca put the yellow one down, and they sat at the table. "You dare to call me a barbarian, you shriveled-up old prune? And I could tell you something about what you said about having respect for your elders. But, enough. Have you been well? I have thought of you often these last months. Is your master kind to you?"
Shiu laughed, the bell-like tinkle that always delighted Casca just to hear it. "Yes, you great one. Yes, and yes again. My master is kind and wise. From the first moment we met we became soul mates and have spent many pleasurable hours in conversation. Indeed, my master is such a great respecter of learning that he felt it was impossible for a slave to argue freely with his master, and, as we were having a most interesting discourse on life and the merit of living, he set me free so as to feel no hindrance on either part. I am a free man again."
Casca beamed at his small friend. "That is good to hear, Tze. I a
m happy for you. You are a good man – if a little weird."
"So, big nose, it is enough. I am well and have a good life for the present, and I am content for the time being. Now, how goes it for you? You look well. Those monstrous bulges under you look even bigger than they did when we were on the ship together."
Casca raised his arms and flexed them, making his great muscles bulge out to the straining point. He laughed deeply. "Aye, little one, I'm healthy enough. They feed their stock good here. But while I may look like just a bear, I have also learned more than you think, and a good portion of what I have learned is thanks to you. I know, for instance, that my strength cannot overcome a little man from the distant East who I should be able to break in two with no trouble at all, and I know also that I have got to start using my mind to change my condition. My strength is only a tool for that purpose. I have never been a very intelligent man – but then I have never had to be. My life was simple, and I had need of very little original thought. Now I am learning, and I will continue to learn all that I can. I may be a slave to other men, but from you I have learned that I do not have to be a slave to myself and to my own ignorance."
Shiu nodded, pleased. "It is good that you are on the path to becoming a whole man, big nose. For the time being you do what you must, but by thinking and using your thoughts you may change what it is you are required to do. Every time you can change your life a little you gain that much control over your destiny. I still believe, as I said on the galley, that you are a man pursued by his destiny. Yet, you yourself may be the searcher, and you may one day find what it is you search for."
As the two talked, the sun passed its zenith. Unknown to them, Corvu was watching. Jubala, from where he exercised with the tiros of the second degree of proficiency, also watched, puzzled by the yellow man and wondering what value he had to the tough soldier. Perhaps he would find out. Casca's pleasure at the old man's coming was the first real sign of excitement that he had shown since coming here. The old one had some real value for him...
Corvu finally came over and broke it up. "All right, Casca, back to the posts and finish up your day. And you, sir, I hope I have been of some service to you. If you wish to see this man again, please come any time. And give my regards to your master, the honorable and noble Seneca."
Shiu bowed, and Casca returned to the interminable chopping at the post, first giving Shiu one last squeeze that looked as if it could cave in his ribs. Shiu thanked Corvu for his kindness, and, yes, he would speak to his master about the kindnesses shown to him by the Gallic school and its senior instructor and mentor, the noble Corvu.
Shiu Lao Tze seldom visited, the games. The few times that he did come, the reason he gave was that he wanted to see for himself the emotional structures and responses of people under these conditions. Twice was enough. From then on he visited Casca at the school or – when Casca had a day off – at the baths where they would go and talk. The public baths were one feature of Roman life that Shiu heartily approved. He said the vapors were conducive to meditation. When he and Casca had the privacy to do so, Shiu would brush up on what he had taught Casca of the way of the open hand – but never in public. Casca wanted the technique kept to himself. There would probably be a time when it would save his ass again as it had on the ship.
Seneca was kind enough to honor Shiu's request that he send a note of thanks to Corvu regarding the kindnesses shown his friend. He added that he would mention the name of the Gallic school to Caesar when next they met. This guaranteed a continued welcome for Shiu. There was little difficulty in arranging the days off; Crespas had said that it was all right for Casca to be given occasional liberty in town, and Corvu had noted that the big man was a whole lot easier to deal with and that his attitude was better if he did get some liberty.
Meanwhile, Jubala watched all that went on, and his heart was as black as his face. One day he promised himself, One day, white dog...
Casca was nearly ready. He would have fought even sooner, but Corvu was saving him for a big festival that was coming up. There was sure to be a full house then, and the emperor would be certain to be there. If he liked what he saw, the fortune of the school was made.
Finally Corvu announced that Casca would fight in the great Circus Maximus with the other first-line fighters. Casca felt he was ready, but Corvu intensified his training even more the last few days. Casca lifted weights and ran and swam to build up his wind. He knew full well that a man out of breath was the most vulnerable.
In the excitement of his coming debut it was difficult for him to believe that what had happened to him had really occurred. The words of the Jew, the things of the past – all seemed a mere dream that he had imagined many years ago. Only when he received a cut did it all come back to him... and the terrible danger of it. Several times he had to reopen his wounds to make the healing process appear normal. After all, they did burn witches and sorcerers...
Crysos became even more attentive to Casca, saving him choice cuts of meat from the mess hall, cleaning his cubicle until it was spotless.
"Crysos, what the hell do you want from me?"
The blunt question took the little Sicilian by surprise. But, looking Casca straight in the face, he said in the strongest voice he could muster: "I want to serve you, and by so doing serve myself. You are going to fight soon, and I want to be your partner. I have some money set aside. That I will wager on your winning, and split the profits with you. Let me serve you. Promise me that when you attain your freedom you will arrange for me to get mine, too. I can tell much and help you. Do we have a deal, master?"
"By the brass balls of Jupiter, you have guts, Crysos! And if you are willing to put up the money, I will strike that bargain with you. Even if I can't win the wooden sword, there is always the chance that we might win enough money to buy ourselves out of this place. Good enough. Crysos, from this time on we are partners, and you are my man. Shake on it."
Crysos was almost pathetically eager to grab the muscled wrists of Casca. He had found what he had been searching for ever since his father had sold him into slavery twenty years before to pay off some gambling debts.
During the weeks that followed, Casca grew to have a fondness for Crysos, but another interest was there also, though unknown to Casca and Crysos. Jubala watched, and also waited... for just what, he did not know, but time would tell... it always did...
The night before the festival Crysos came and sat in Casca's cubicle, and the two talked long, each taking the other's measure. Casca found that beneath the weasel-like exterior of Crysos was a man with an amazing degree of knowledge and experience, knowledge that he would need in times to come.
The oil lamp's light flickered across the features of his new partner and Casca finally called an end to the day, sending Crysos off to place his bets on the games tomorrow.
Yes, he thought, just before sleep took him, tomorrow the arena.
NINETEEN
Before dawn the gladiators of the Gallic School were pulled from their cubicles, fed, and assembled for the march to the Circus Maximus. The first glow of the morning light was breaking as they made their way to the city of Nero. They entered through the Asinarian Gate, passing the great aqueducts of Claudius and Marcian. To the north the temple of Isis and Serapis was barely visible through the morning mists, but the chanting of the priestesses was clearly heard, a strange lilting melody honoring their goddess of the Nile. The melody caressed forgotten edges of Casca's brain, but his conscious thoughts were all on what this day would bring.
Corvu led them finally to where the Appian Way and Via Ostia met at the south end of the Circus Maximus. The crowds were already gathering, and many were already being shown to their seats by the locarii. Most had baskets with lunches and suppers in them. And surprisingly enough, even this early, prostitutes of both sexes were doing a pretty fair business under the arches and passages leading to the arena.
The first thing that hit Casca as they entered the passageways leading to the barracks l
ike area where they would be outfitted was the smell... the smell of the beasts in their cages, and the smell of the humans in theirs.
There was a sameness to them now, but that would change when the beasts were let loose on the humans.
The deep, rumbling cough of the lion merged with the higher more catlike, cry of the leopard. The beasts knew that this was a day different from any other. Some primal instinct told them that there would be blood, soon, very soon.
A breeze picked up, and Casca could smell the waters of the Tiber, only a hundred yards away.
Each gladiator was unto himself, alone with his thoughts...
Bread was brought. Not the panis sordis of the common people but the fine, sweet, yeasty white bread of the rich, silgineus. Casca had never tasted it before. He let his mouth fill with the sweet taste of it, letting each bite melt by itself. Then, like the others, he washed it down with posca. No wine until after they fought... which meant that many would never taste wine again for this day would be their last.
An auctoratti from Dacia turned to Casca and smiled quietly, his voice low and soft. "Soldier, does this have the same feel as before going into battle?"
Casca turned to him, his gray eyes serious. He let his back slide down the stone wall until he rested on his haunches and looked up into the face of the Dacian.
"Yes. There is a sameness to the waiting." Taking a short swallow of the bitter posca, he rinsed his mouth and spat. "But here we fight not for a cause or for each other. We fight for the amusement of the beasts outside, those people in the seats. They're the ones who should be in cages. But we will go out there and kill each other off for their pleasure. And ours, too. For the gods help us. Man was made for battle, and when the fight starts you can't help but be drawn into the killing. But there is something out there we can win."