Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  The crowd cheered madly, their collective bloodlust now stoked.

  ‘Slaves!’ Batiatus barked. ‘Bring out the brazen bull!’

  A hush fell over the crowd of diners as slaves wheeled out a huge sculpture, constructed entirely of brass. It was expertly wrought and looked as life-like as any living bull, yet its muscles and curves gleamed glossily against the flickering torchlight, the reflections of the burnished metal looking as slick as quicksilver.

  Inside his suit of armour, Lucius broke out in a sweat of ice-cold panic.

  Fly! Fly now, you fool, fly while you still have a chance!

  A sickening feeling of dread burst inside him, rupturing like a pouch of rotten wine deep within his guts as both Octavian and Batiatus suddenly looked directly at him and focused their cruel twinned gaze on his steel-masked face.

  ‘Guards!’ Batiatus shouted abruptly, pointing a trembling finger directly at Lucius, ‘seize that man! Seize him and throw him into the brazen bull!’

  61

  SPARTACUS

  ‘Brother, please,’ N’Jalabenadou begged, wringing his hands together. ‘If we are to succeed in this, we must have you with us. You are the fiercest and most skilled fighter in this ludus … and perhaps the greatest gladiator that Rome has ever seen.’

  Viridovix folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, his eyes burning and his jaw clenched with surly defiance.

  ‘Never. What you’re suggesting is not only foolhardy, it’s downright suicidal! I’m sorry, but I will not have any part in it. I do not wish to end my life nailed to a cross, writhing in undignified agony, and dying slowly over many agonising days. And that, I promise you, is the only possible outcome of this foolish plan of yours. Think realistically, General! By the gods, you sound like you’ve lost your mind!’

  ‘It will not fail if you are with us!’ the General insisted. ‘Why can’t you see this?!’

  Viridovix spat on the ground.

  ‘And why can’t you see that it’s sheer and utter folly! They’ll crucify us just for talking of it!’ Viridovix’s eyes hardened as he continued, and he jabbed his forefinger into the General’s chest. ‘And what’s more, I’m getting really sick of you pestering me about this, trying to press me on it. You know what? I am happy with my lot in life! I’m a fucking champion of the arena! And I don’t, I repeat, I don’t want to go from being a god that the plebs worship to being a condemned criminal that they mock and throw stones at while I die on a cross! And why on earth would you fools want that either?! There is no hope for freedom, can you not understand this? It’s a lost cause, lost long before you even start it! There is no way to win against Rome. No way, none at all. And on top of that, have you idiots even tried to think about what you would do afterwards if, against all odds, this lunacy succeeded?’ Viridovix paused here to shake his head and scowl before he went on. ‘Yes, tell me this, General, since you seem to think you’re such a genius: let’s say you break out of this place, you defeat all those guards with their weapons and armour, with you lot dressed in loincloths and armed with nothing but kitchen knives – let’s for a moment imagine that this ridiculous madness actually succeeds – then what?! Then fucking what?! You’re just going to walk out of here, go and find that little spot in the countryside to settle down in, and have a nice happy little life, just like that? By Jupiter, are you really that naïve?

  No, let me tell you what will actually happen. If by some miracle you succeed in this plan of breaking out, Rome will send an army against you. How can you not understand this? Rome will never suffer a slave rebellion. Never! You know this! You will be hunted to the ends of the earth, and you will not have another day of peace for rest of your life. You will have to sleep with one eye open, and a sword next to your pillow, for the rest of your days! Have you imbeciles thought about that?!’

  N’Jalabenadou exhaled out a long, slow sigh and shook his head before responding.

  ‘Have you even considered that there is a world outside of Rome, Viridovix? That there are places that we can go that are far beyond the reach of the Roman Legions?’ The General’s face tightened as he spoke, and an uncharacteristic flintiness gave a hard edge to his eyes. ‘I see it now, my old friend, I see it clear as the light of the morning sun: you really have been broken. Long gone is the man who dreamed of nothing but freedom when he was dragged kicking and screaming into this ludus. You are a true slave now in mind, body and soul. You are no different from Crixus, who sits there in the corner on his own, staring at the wall in silence all day. There is no hope for you. None.’

  Crixus, who was indeed sitting alone in a corner, turned and looked at the others as they mentioned his name. The expression on his face was as unwaveringly blank as it always was. Before N’Jalabenadou could continue, a guard entered the dining hall.

  ‘Viridovix!’ he shouted. ‘Come with me, we’re going to get you armoured up.’

  Viridovix looked up, surprised.

  ‘Armoured up, master? Why?’

  ‘For fighting, you half-wit! Why else?!’

  ‘Fighting now? At night?’

  The guard rolled his eyes.

  ‘Yes! Jupiter’s cock, you’re like a toddler with all these blasted questions! Shut up, get on your feet and come with me! And Batiatus has something he wants to tell you, something very important, he says. Something that’s just between you and him. Big, big news for you, I’ll wager. So come on, on your feet, now!’

  Viridovix got up and strode out of the dining hall after the guard without bothering to take another look at or say anything else to the others. The General, Spartacus and Oenomaus watched him go, all three of them brooding on his words in terse silence. Crixus, sitting apart from them, simply resumed staring at the wall.

  ‘Do we gots any hope of winnin’ without him on our side?’ Oenomaus asked with a look of worry clouding his huge face.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Spartacus answered, his voice steeled with an unshakeable resolution. ‘He is an immensely skilled fighter, no doubt, but so are all of us. One fewer on our side will not be the key to winning or losing the battle, and we cannot allow his pessimism and negativity to diminish our determination. We have been trying for weeks to get him on our side, but he will not budge. So be it; we only have one shot at this, so we’ll have to proceed without him. His obstinacy cannot stop us.’

  ‘Spartacus is right,’ the General said, slamming a determined right fist into his open left palm. ‘If Viridovix cannot be convinced, we must simply accept this fact and go ahead with the plan anyway. We must strike while the iron is hot … and it feels as if it is glowing white with heat now. This is our one chance for freedom, and we cannot afford to let it slip by. There are thirteen of us pledged to attack when the time is right, and I have a feeling that those who initially refused to participate will change their minds when this thing begins.’

  They got back to eating their gruel, each man lost in a tumult of thoughts and questions careening about the corridors of his mind – and it was then that the fateful sound of nine loud and distinctly pronounced coughs, clearly grouped in threes, echoed through the dining hall. All three gladiators looked up in unison, their hearts suddenly thundering in their chests when they saw Arishat walking in through the doors, carrying an amphora of water.

  As she made a beeline from them, Spartacus took the initiative and sprang to his feet. He walked straight over to the girl, immediately noticing the unmistakable fear and worry displayed plainly upon her visage. He glanced across at the guards as he walked, and saw that they were, as usual, engaged in idle conversation, and were not paying much attention to what was going on in the dining hall. Seeing that the time was ripe to make a move, he quickly shoulder-barged Arishat, sending both her and the amphora flying. She landed in a heap on the floor, and the clay amphora shattered with a loud crash in a shower of spraying water and broken shards clattering on the stone floor. Both of the guards at the door looked up at once.

  ‘You stupid bitch!’ Spartacus shout
ed before the guards could say anything, wearing a mask of mock rage. ‘Why don’t you look where you’re going!’

  ‘It was your fault, you brute!’ Arishat retorted, also putting on an act of anger. ‘You walked into me because you were talking to your stupid friends and not paying attention!’

  ‘Both of you, shut the fuck up!’ one of the door guards growled. ‘I don’t give a shit whose fault it was, get that fucking mess cleaned up! Now!’

  ‘What about our water, master?!’ Spartacus cried, placing a strong emphasis on the word ‘master’. ‘We haven’t had any to drink for hours, master!’

  ‘Fuck your water,’ the guard spat. ‘Lap it up off the floor like the curs you are.’

  ‘We can’t do that, master!’ Oenomaus protested, standing up and folding his massive arms over his chest. ‘Look, there’s not enough for us, it’s all soaked between the cracks in the stones already, see?’

  The guard shook his head and muttered a curse under his breath.

  ‘We have to have water, master,’ the General said in as demure a tone as he could fake. ‘We’ve had a heavy day of training today, and you saw how hot it was this afternoon in the summer sun. Please master, have some pity on us and allow this foolish girl to go and get us another pitcher of water. Please master, I’m begging you…’

  The guard smiled evilly, discerning an opportunity for some malicious mischief.

  ‘Oh you’re begging now, are you, mighty champion of the arena?’

  The General clasped his hands together and nodded, pleading with his eyes as well as the words he was uttering.

  ‘I’m begging you, master.’

  ‘I’m not convinced,’ the guard grunted icily. ‘All of you three, you want water? You fucking beg properly for it. Do it. Convince me.’

  The General sank to his knees immediately.

  ‘Please master … I’m so thirsty, I’m so, so, thirsty…’

  ‘You too Thracian!’ the guard shouted, pointing at Spartacus. ‘And you, you big thick ox!’

  Oenomaus knelt before the guard as well, as did Spartacus.

  ‘Please master, please, we’re desperately thirsty. Please allow us just one amphora of water,’ Spartacus pleaded. ‘We’re begging you, absolutely begging you.’

  ‘Titus! Titus, are you watching this?’ the guard laughed, nudging his colleague in the ribs with the butt of his spear. ‘By Jupiter, I can’t wait to tell the boys at the Dog and Pig tavern about this! Hahaha, three of the arena’s mightiest fighters kneeling down before me, begging like fucking street wretches!’

  ‘They’ll never believe you,’ Titus scoffed.

  ‘You’ll fucking tell them it’s true, you’re watching this shit with your own eyes!’

  ‘Ha, I’ll do no such thing! Suck on my cock, you whore’s cunt.’

  The other guard, Nonus, grinned savagely and pointed at the gladiators.

  ‘All right then, how about if one of them sucks on your cock? Then I’ll tell the whole damn tavern, and I’ll pay for every drink you can knock back before passing out!’

  Titus roared with brash and obnoxious laughter.

  ‘Hahaha! Then we’ll both have a story to tell the boys, eh? You’re an evil bastard, Nonus! But I like how you think, I do! Fine. All right you scum, tell me, how thirsty are you? Thirsty enough for one of you to put what’s between my legs into your mouth?’

  ‘We will do anything, master,’ Spartacus said, almost choking on the words as wrath sizzled, hot and dangerous, in his eyes.

  ‘Time to put your money where your mouth is then, Thracian. Come on over here.’

  Crixus watched the situation unfolding from his lonesome corner, his face as blank as ever, but his eyes narrowing as they flitted back and forth between the guards and the three gladiators.

  ‘You must do this, brother,’ the General whispered to Spartacus. ‘I’m sorry, but we cannot let this opportunity escape.’

  ‘I know,’ Spartacus replied through gritted teeth. ‘I know…’

  ‘What are you waiting for, dog?’ Titus bellowed. ‘Come here and show the master how obedient a mutt you are!’

  Spartacus stood up and walked slowly over to the guards, bottling the rage that was bursting volcanically through every cell of his being, and shoving it deep down into his core. Every gladiator in the room was now watching closely, as well as the eight other guards in the room, and the whole dining hall had fallen into a tension-thick silence.

  ‘That’s right, Thracian,’ Titus grunted, wearing a smirk that reeked of raw, unabashed smugness and obnoxious cruelty. ‘Look at you, so surly and defiant before … and now just a meek little fucking puppy dog.’

  ‘He’s actually going to do it!’ cackled Nonus, who was almost in hysterics, his jaw hanging open with both malicious mirth and sheer disbelief. ‘He’s actually going to suck on your fucking cock!’

  ‘On your knees, gladiator,’ Titus rasped, maliciousness adding an ugly gleam to his eyes. ‘Get on your knees.’

  Spartacus did as he was told, but his muscles were taut as coiled springs, and his veins bulged through his skin, throbbing with suppressed fury, disgust and indignation.

  ‘That’s it,’ Titus murmured, his eyes locked on the gladiator’s fury-crimson face as he lifted up the front of the tunic he wore under his armour. ‘Now here’s a little sausage for you. Don’t bite now, just suck.’

  ‘“Little” is the key word there Titus, “little”,’ Nonus mocked.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Titus spat. ‘As if the acorn you’ve got down there is any more impressive. Well there it is, Thracian. I didn’t take it out for you to look at, so open wide!’

  ‘He barely has to part his lips for that thing,’ Nonus chortled.

  ‘Your mother’s stinking arsehole,’ Titus growled, before turning his eyes back to the gladiator who was kneeling before him – eyes full of hate and cruelty, bright with malice and viciousness. ‘Now hurry up slave, be a good dog! In your mouth now, in your fucking mouth…’

  Spartacus closed his eyes, swallowed down rage like a caustic tonic, and opened his lips. He moved his head forward and took the guard’s penis into his mouth, recoiling instantly at the smell and taste of it. Nausea twisted in his guts like a jagged blade.

  ‘The whole thing, cur, the whole thing!’

  Spartacus moved his head even further up, so that his nose was pressed deeply into the wiry, musky-smelling mound of pubic hair beneath the guard’s flabby paunch. He started choking from the poisonous concoction of shame, disgust and wrath that was rising inexorably up the back of his throat with stomach-wrenching urgency.

  ‘Look at that! Fucking look at that!’ Nonus howled, roaring with obnoxious laughter.

  The other guards started hooting and jeering too, but every single gladiator in the room was dead silent; this indignity had been visited on all of them, not only Spartacus, and this understanding spread rapidly, shooting through the air like unseen lightning bouncing between conductive rods. Crixus in particular was observing the revolting spectacle keenly – and for the first time in a very, very long time the muscles of his scarred face began to move, and the corners of his mouth began to inch downward into a dark frown.

  ‘All right, that’s enough, get your mouth off of my cock,’ Titus grumbled, slapping Spartacus’s face with a sharp, open palm. ‘Fuck off back to your friends there.’ He then turned to Arishat, leering at her as he spoke. ‘Bitch, go get these dogs more water. They’ve earned it, that’s for sure. And be quick about it! I’ve got half a mind to take you back into the antechamber and make you do a bit of sucking as well … but you won’t get off as lightly as that gladiator just did. In fact, you won’t get off until I’ve gotten off, understand?’

  ‘Aye my little pretty,’ Nonus added. ‘I’ve also had many a good feel of those titties of yours, and I like their tenderness, I must say. And that tight little hole between your thighs … Mm … I’ll come and finish off whatever job Titus starts on you. And you’ll love it you will, you little
slut. Now get a fucking move on!’

  ‘Yes master,’ Arishat tittered as she scurried out of the hall.

  The gladiators resumed eating in tense silence, while the guards joked and laughed about what had just happened, oblivious to the tension crystallising into barbed spikes that hovered like a swarm of angry wasps in the humid air.

  Spartacus spat repeatedly on the floor, flooding his mouth with saliva over and over again as he tried to displace the foul taste on his tongue. The General, meanwhile, placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry that you had to suffer such humiliation, my friend,’ he said, his tone laden with both grave severity and genuine compassion. ‘But your sacrifice will be the key to our freedom. Nobody outside this room will ever hear of what just happened.’

  ‘I don’t care who hears or doesn’t hear about it,’ Spartacus growled. ‘For freedom, anything. Anything…’

  ‘That particular guard is yours to slaughter as soon as we get the knives, my brother,’ the General said. ‘You will have your vengeance. Prepare yourselves, gladiators, prepare yourselves. The arena be damned! We are now about to fight the most important battle of our lives.’

  Five minutes later Arishat returned with a fresh amphora of water. The sense of anticipation in the air was now as intense and palpable as cloud of hanging fog. Arishat’s face was wan and haggard with an almost debilitating anxiety, and with every step she took her legs and arms trembled visibly.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you, slut?’ Nonus grumbled.

  ‘I’m … I’m … feeling … s-, s-, sick,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’ll give you some medicine,’ Nonus sneered. ‘It’s right here under my chilton, bitch. Take it in your mouth and swallow the juice that comes out! That’ll sort you out!’