Glancing across the seating area and the grass, Alerio guessed there must be over five thousand people there to watch the games. He had no reference to gage if this meant the games were a success or not. At the other platform, Alerio noted Consul Codex bent forward and in deep conversation with Tribune Claudius.
“Alerio Sisera. I’m surprised to see you,” Corporal Daedalus of the city guard stated. He walked from the entrance of the other tent and stopped halfway to Alerio. “My lads have been searching high and low for you.”
Daedalus hadn’t changed since the last time Alerio saw him. His legs were thin, a small belly strained against his sword belt, and he wore the gladius on his right hip for a left-handed draw. Despite appearances, Daedalus was deadly with a sword.
Correction, Alerio thought, the last time he saw him, the Corporal and Recruit Sisera were bleeding as Alerio beat Daedalus’ head and helmet with a sword.
“I told your fat men that if you wanted to speak with me, come yourself,” Alerio replied. “I was training the Insubri to murder your Etruscī.”
“You really think Legion training will compete with instructions from a master swordsman?” Daedalus inquired.
“Say Corporal, why don’t we start the funeral games off right by testing your theory,” challenged Alerio. “You and me, in the sand, right now?”
“I don’t think so, Lance Corporal,” Drustanus declined. “I’m making some fat coin on this competition. No sense messing up a sure thing.”
Alerio started to turn away. He wanted to walk the sand. But, being wary of Drustanus, he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. The guard Corporal glanced at the top of the stockyard building, nodded, and quickly dropped his head.
“Private. Send Drustanus and Cimon out to see me,” Alerio shouted to the Legionary guarding the tent’s entrance.
Without waiting for them, he took the ramp up to the elevated livestock display area. When Alerio stepped onto the sand, the crowd cheered. Not knowing what else to do, he faced the slope and the throng and saluted. As he began testing the sand for soft spots or pockets that might collapse when a gladiator stepped on the covering crust, a murmur started from the crowd.
At the appearance of two armored Legionaries, Cimon and Drustanus, the muttering increased to rumbling until it broke into a thunderous roar. Before Alerio could speak, Cimon indicated for Alerio to face the crowd. About a third of the citizens were standing and even more were chanting.
“Revereor Legion, Revereor Legion,” poured from the crowd. “Revereor Legion.”
“Better give them what they want, Lance Corporal,” suggested Drustanus.
“Stand by,” Alerio ordered and the three Legionaries lifted their left leg.
And as they stomped the sand, shouted, “Standing by!”
“Salute!” called out Alerio and the three Legionaries slammed their fists into their chests.
Alerio lifted his eyes to Codex’s platform. The Consul was leaning forward in his chair, beaming at the impromptu display by the Legionaries. And standing next to him was Tribune Gaius Claudius, returning the salute.
Quickly, Alerio shifted to Consul Flaccus’ platform. There was no saluting or smiles. Just tight faces and wrinkled brows.
“About face,” ordered Alerio wanting to disappear. “Forward march.”
The three Legionaries left the sand and were followed by the chant of esteem and respect for the Legion. Alerio wondered if a moment of glory was worth a Senator’s patronage.
“Take two more of the squad and slip out the back of the tent,” Alerio explained. “Daedalus was signaling someone on the roof and I want to know who. And why he has a confederate hidden up there.”
“We’re on it, Alerio,” Cimon and Drustanus replied before marching into the tent.
***
A priest shuffled to the center of the sand. He stood stoically with his head down until the cheering died off.
Lifting his arms to the sky, he prayed, “Today we purify the soul of our brother Junius Brutus with human blood. We ask Mercury to fly his cleansed soul to the River Styx. A coin for Charon has been placed in his mouth to pay the ferryman. Be kind when you judge him Minos, Aenaeus, and Rhadymanthas. He was a good man who produced two worthy sons. May he be judged kindly and sent to his peace on the Plain of Asphodel. Let all who witness today’s events forever remember citizen, Junius Brutus Pera.”
The priest dropped his arms and shuffled off the sand. Taking his place was a city guardsman.
“Gladiators. I need the first pair of gladiators on the sand,” he bellowed.
No one emerged from either tent. Corporal Daedalus and Lance Corporal Sisera were playing the same game. They wanted to see the competition before selecting the opponent.
Chapter – 11 Purifying Blood on the Sand
The guardsman called out, “Gladiators to the arena!”
He was looking at Alerio while he yelled and ignoring Daedalus. Suddenly, Petrus stumbled from the entrance. Cimon appeared behind the big warrior holding a spear.
“Two archers with short bows on the roof. They won’t be a problem,” he explained. “I figured they were for later. If they shot early in the matches, the gamblers would stab Daedalus in the heart. So, we decided he would send out his strongest first and hold the archers for his weakest.”
Alerio nodded his approval and gratitude. He took the spear from Cimon.
Handing the weapon to the Insubri, Alerio advised, “Petrus. For your life and your freedom, kill the Etruscan.”
“You teach well, Legionary,” the big barbarian stated. Then he marched up the ramp and stopped beside the guardsman. Raising the spear over his head, Petrus shouted, “Perfututum the Republic and its Gods forsaken citizens.”
“Nice speech,” Cimon observed.
A round of booing came from the spectators but changed to cheers when a large Etruscan ducked out of the other tent. Alerio peered up at several of the betting stands. People were flocking to place coins on their favorite. Alerio knew it wasn’t the Insubri warrior.
Armed with a tribal shield and a heavy sword, the Etruscī stomped to the sand. He raised his sword and saluted the crowd. A round of cheering washed over the gladiators.
The guardsman stood between the fighters. After waiting for the crowd to settle, he raised his arms for silence.
“Citizens of the Republic. Today we gather to honor the passing of Junius Brutus Pera,” he announced. “To cleanse his soul and to keep his memory alive, we offer three battles to the death. All enemies of the Republic, all proven warriors from the north, and all fierce and brutal barbarians. Citizen of the Republic, I give you Insubri against Etruscī! Fight!”
The guardsman backed away and hurried down the ramp. At the bottom, he turned, crossed his arms over his chest and watched.
***
As soon as the guardsman cleared the space, the Etruscī lashed out with his sword. The blade, coming backhanded, swept towards Petrus’ chest. But as he’d been coached, Petrus had his eye on his foe.
Releasing the spear with his left hand, the Insubri swung the shaft around his body and behind his back. Continuing the arc, he spun away from the blade. The tip of his spear slashed across the Etruscī’s ribs as Petrus completed the circle. With blood running down his hip and leg, the warrior shuffled back. Petrus let him retreat.
In the crowd, people jumped to their feet, made slashing motions with their arms as if they too were in the arena. Those weekend warriors, no doubt voicing their opinion of how they would have handled the first engagement, went unheard in the thunder from the crowd.
The warriors circled each other. Petrus always moving to his right and away from the blade. He kept his feet wide apart making his steps appear awkward. In reality, the big Insubri maintained his balance and options for advancing or moving away from his opponent. The Etruscī, on the other hand, kept his feet close together so he could use his thigh muscles to drive powerful sword strikes.
Petrus flipped his spear so
the dull end faced the shield. Then, he smacked the shield with a jab. In response, the Etruscī hacked twice at the wooden shaft. Again, Petrus tapped the shield and the Etruscī chipped into the shaft. When Petrus pulled back, the end of the spear hung down, held by a few thin strips of hardwood fiber. Removing his left hand from the shaft, he raised the spear as if it was a fishing pole and pointed at the dangling piece.
The Etruscī took his eyes off his foe. Petrus whipped the shaft back and forward. The dangling piece broke free and flew at the Etruscī’s face. He should have ignored the small dowel as his helmet would protect him. But human nature took over and the Etruscī flinched back as the piece of wood came at him.
With his opponent momentarily distracted, Petrus slapped his left hand on the shaft and pulled back. The spear rotated and Petrus drove his right arm forward bringing the iron head up. As the iron head came level with his foe, the Insubri bent his knees and surged forward.
The iron tip slid by the shield, cracking two ribs before it pierced the Etruscī’s lung. As he staggered back, Petrus followed twisting the spear. Two more ribs broke as the broad head opened the deep gash.
Screaming at the blessed, human blood pouring onto the sand, the crowd cheered. They forgot who they placed their bets on as the Etruscī fell to his knees, gasping and dying. Petrus tossed his spear away, turned to the spectators, made a rude gesture, and marched from the arena.
“Never take your eyes off your foe,” Petrus explained as he walked by Alerio. “I’ll remember that the next time we meet, Legionary. Then, I’ll kill you.”
Men ran to the dead Etruscī, grabbed hold of his ankles, and dragged off the carcass. Another man walked the sand raking it until all traces of the fight were erased.
“Were you pleased by the sacrifice?” shouted the guardsman announcer. He was answered by wild cheering. “Gladiators forward! Bring on the next two barbarians!”
Alerio faced the other tent and saluted Daedalus.
“Legion training one, swordsman instructions zero,” Alerio taunted.
Without replying, Daedalus shouted something into his tent. In response, an even bigger Etruscī warrior ducked and brushed the sides of the tent opening as he lumbered into view. The Corporal still didn’t say anything. He let the leering grin on his face speak for him.
“Eolus! Give him his shield and sword and send him out,” Alerio called into his tent.
Moments later the wiry Insubri emerged.
“He is a big bastardis,” Eolus swore as he stopped beside Alerio. “Why me?”
“Look at how he holds his shield,” explained the Legionary. “Far away from his body.”
“And that helps me stay alive, how?” asked the Insubri.
“Thick arms, legs, chest and body,” Alerio observed. “Stay away from him and he’ll soon need a nap.”
“Nap?” Eolus commented as he strolled up the ramp and onto the sand.
The announcer glanced to his left and tilted his head back to look up at the giant Etruscī warrior. Then slowly he faced right and, in an exaggerated manner, studied the leaner Insubri. With a smirk on his face, he held out his hands as if asking a question.
The crowd laughed and people ran for the betting stands. He gave them a long time to place their coins before he put his palms together.
“Citizens of the Republic, the funeral games continue,” he announced using his joined hands to point at the combatants. “I give you Insubri against Etruscī! Fight!”
After the quick engagement at the start of the first fight, he jumped back from between the two gladiators before rushing down the ramp.
***
Eolus let his shield hang off his arm and his sword point drag in the sand as he paced back and forth. The crowd didn’t like it and they voiced their opinion. Ignoring the taunts, the Insubri continued his casual strolling.
The Etruscī finally grew impatient. Swinging his sword across his shield, he stepped forward. Eolus ducked and ran to the other side of the arena. The giant stalked after him but the wiry Insubri hopped to the side when the blade swung again.
Many people jumped to their feet and yelled insults at the fighters. Eolus jogged to the front edge of the arena and faced the crowd. Then he shrugged as if he didn’t understand their reactions. The giant stomped across the arena.
Eolus glanced over his shoulder then back at the throng. Screams at the expected death of the Insubri arose from the spectators. Just as the giant planted his feet, the Insubri crossed his shield and sword in front of his chest. He fell backwards and rolled. Coming up beside the giant, Eolus sliced a slab of flesh from the Etruscī’s back before skipping to the far side of the arena. To the delight of the crowd, fat drops of blood rained down on the sand.
Angry and in pain, the Etruscī lumbered towards Eolus. Swinging his sword hard from side to side, he charged. But, the Insubri rolled away from the blade and used his shield to deflect a blow when the giant twisted in his direction.
Eolus ran to the left side of the arena and rested his shield and sword on his knees as if exhausted. Then, he tossed back his head and yawned with a wide opened mouth. The giant, recognizing that he was being mocked, ambled towards the Insubri.
Expecting the Insubri to dodge away, especially with him jerking from side to side as if deciding which way to run, the giant held his shield out as far as his arm would extend. With one direction blocked by the shield and his sword raised as if an extension of his arms, the Etruscī shuffled forward.
Eolus was so confused, he almost didn’t react. The giant had his arms out wide to keep him from bolting. It was as if the Etruscī wanted to give him a hug. After too long a wait, Eolus rushed inside the giant’s arms and buried his blade. Driving upward, the tip split the man’s heart and stuck. As he attempted to free the blade, the giant toppled over on him.
Two city guardsmen on the far side jumped onto the sand and ran towards the downed fighters. With daggers in hand, they fumbled with rolling the giant off the Insubri.
Alerio shouted, “Cimon! Drustanus!”
He vaulted onto the sand and sprinted towards the guardsmen. They had the dead Etruscī rolled to the side and one had a foot on Eolus’s chest. The other pulled back his arm preparing to stab the Insubri.
Alerio leaped and twisted sideways in the air. His leg hit the one stepping on Eolus and his shoulder plowed into the one holding the knife. The three tumbled back tangled up in a mass of elbows, knees, fists and headbutts.
Four city guardsmen raced from beside their tent and ran towards the melee. Then they stopped. Marching across the arena were four heavy infantrymen. Their shields parted slightly to allow for the steel blades of their gladii. With only their eyes visible between the tops of their shields and bills of their helmets, the Legionaries presented a wall of horror.
“Do not interfere,” Drustanus warned the city guards from behind his shield. Then to Alerio, who was fighting with the original two, asked. “Do you require assistance?”
Alerio hammered a fist into a guardsman’s chin and the man fell to the sand. After that, he grabbed the other and drove a knee into the man’s solar plexus. The guardsman folded up and expelled all the air from his lungs. Gasping and coughing, the man crawled away.
Alerio pushed to his feet. “I believe I have it under control,” he said as he brushed sand from his tunic and scarf.
“Euge! Euge!” shouted the crowd. “Great show. Euge!”
“They think you’re the comic relief for the funeral games,” suggested Cimon.
“I might be. Who saves a barbarian?” confessed Alerio before ordering. “Let’s finish the show. Cimon, standby, Drustanus right pivot.”
The four Legionaries stomped their left feet in the sand and as a single line swung to face the attendees. “Salute and about face and forward march.”
The crowd cheered the five Legionaries as they marched down the ramp. While four smiled and basked in the applause, one blushed. Lance Corporal Sisera didn’t look at Senator Maximus sittin
g on Consul Flaccus’ platform. He feared what the look his patron’s face would relay.
Alerio’s day in the public eye wasn’t done. There was still one more death match owed to the dead.
***
“Gladiators! Gladiators to the sand,” the announcer called out.
Eutropius collected his javelin and shield and asked, “Any words of advice, weapon’s instructor?”
“Stay alive,” replied Alerio.
Eutropius took his position beside the announcer. They waited patiently but, not so the crowd. Groups stood blocking the betting stands waiting to see the final fighter. When he came from the tent, they couldn’t make up their minds. Both barbarians were the same height and same build. As far as physical clues went, it was a toss-up.
“Citizens of the Republic, the funeral games continue with a final match,” the announcer explained. “I give you, Insubri against Etruscī! Fight!”
The announcer ducked and backed away. He didn’t slow down until he was at the bottom of the ramp.
The Etruscī warrior asked, “Why should we fight each other? We were brothers a couple of months ago. Basking in the defeat of the Legion.”
“For one of us to go free,” replied Eutropius as he slid his foot back to improve his stance. “To return to our homeland and continue to resist the Republic.”
“And so, it is, one of us must die so one may live,” the Etruscī said softy. He shook his head and as he lowered his eyes, he let his shield droop to the side.
Eutropius saw the opening and started to attack. Then, he glanced down at the Etruscī’s feet. They were in a perfect fighter’s stance and his knees were slightly bent. He might have been speaking philosophically and bowing his head, but the man was ready to pounce. To test the theory Eutropius twirled his javelin. Before he could completely step back, the sword slammed into his shield.
“What happened to brotherly love?” inquired Eutropius as he shifted to the right.
Brutal Diplomacy Page 4