"On the contrary,' said the Mangone. "He interests me very much. Anyone who can survive for a month in the mines and still stand up straight, must either be very stong or very cunning and resourceful, all of which are qualities well-suited to the tasks of a gladiator. Have him put with the others," he ordered curtly.
"As you please, my Lord," the guard said, obviously annoyed, but without any say in the matter.
The only way I had been able to understand any of this transaction was because over a life-time of haggling at markets, where I went to buy Roman goods, and then there in the mines, I had had to pick up many latin words, and though I was far from fluent, I tried to learn at least one or two new words every day.
By the next morning, I was laoded with half-a-dozen other men onto a slave-cart, and we headed out on our long over-land journey towards the great capital city of Rome. I, of course, had never been anywhere near the place before, but had naturally heard many tales of it. Nothing prepared me though, for when, three weeks later, I looked through the small view-slats in the wagon, and out onto a world that I could barely believe. The first thing I noticed was the noise. Everywhere was the noise of thousands of people, all yelling and jostling and laughing. And then there was the smell: A terrible aroma hung in the air, the smell of animals, and sweat, and dung, and any number of rotting things. The buildings though were amazing, they seemed to be made of white stone, and they soared high into the air, as high as the birds. Even in the Roman settlements in Germania there was nothing to match these gigantic buildings, and these columns, and shining white temples.
After this, our cart stopped, and we were all herded out the back, through a courtyard, and then down into a long dark corridor, where we were each locked into individual cells. Almost immediately, I lay my sore body down on the cool stone floor and fell asleep. After having awakened, I felt grateful to be there, for as uncomfortable as all this was, it was not half so bad as the mines, and I at least I had a chance of surviving -for a little while longer anyway. I had no idea what they intented to do next, but was not frightened, as my new masters would never have taken all the time and expense to bring me all this way just to kill me.
Suddenly, a Roman guard appeared, and told me to stand up. I obeyed at once, and waited for a moment until two slaves, one man and one woman, came and stood before my cell. The guard got out his keys and opened the door, then ordered me to step out. Once in the corridor I was bidden to follow the slaves, and they led myself and several of the other men down several twists and turns, until we entered a large narrow room that looked out over a small courtyard. There were what looked to be a dozen or so large wooden tubs that had been filled with water. One of the chief slaves, a medium-size balding man, came over and told us to drop our loinclothes. The cloth I wore was filthy, and I was glad to be rid of it. He then told us to get into the baths, one man per tub. I climbed into the waist-deep warm water, and felt the pleasantness of it.
Back home, we always washed in cold water at a stream, using butter or bear fat as soap, but I had not even had a bath like that in over two months, and had never had one like this. I could no longer smell myself, but imagined I must be pretty rank. The slaves did a good job of seeming not to notice though, especially the women, and two of them came behind the tub and begin rubbing down my body in some sort of oil. They asked me to kneel in the water. I did, and it felt wonderful. The dirt came off of me and almost created a cloud around me. I even dunked my head fully underwater, and left it there for as long as I could, enjoying the sensation. When I came up, one of the women took hold of my hair, while the other used a pair of shears to cut my long strands off. It had not always been this long, but had become so as I had not sheared it for some time. Next, they rubbed more oil onto my face and used a sharp blade to cut all the hair off. After they were done, they rubbed more oil on to sooth the cuts, and then I dunked my head under the water again.
When this was all complete, I was dried off and taken down a different corridor this time, then was shown into a different cell, this time on an upper floor of the building, which overlooked a great arena floor full of sand. I took it that this was the training area. The cell into which I was told to enter was much cleaner and nicer than any I had ever seen before, and even had a straw mattress which was elevated off the ground on a stone platform. On the ground was a bowl of food and one cup of wine and one of water. I was told by the head slave to eat, and to rest. I would be called for in the morning.
I did not have to be told to eat, and quickly devoured all that was in the bowl, and drank the cups dry to the last drop. Then I lay down on the mattress, which felt to my bruised back, like a bed of clouds must to a reclining god.
CHAPTER THREE
The Ludus Magnus
I was awakened by the sound of jangling keys in the lock on my cell door. A harsh voice called out for me to get up, and I just had time to stumble out of bed before the door swung open and the head of a unkempt-looking uniformed guard glared into my cell.
"On your feet I said!" he growled. "You'll learn to jump when I give orders from now on."
I made my way out the door and onto the landing, where the scruffy guard and one of his subordinates were waiting impatiently. I knew better than to ask any questions, and so just followed them as they walked, softly padding behind them in my bare feet over the cool floor. There was still a chill in the air, and I shivered. The sun was just now beginning to come up over the roof of the school, and for the first time I got a good look at the structure. It was three stories high, and shaped as a rectangle, with the cells of the gladiators spaced out evenly on all three floors. There had to be at least a hundred and twenty cell doors by the look of it, and each floor was upheld by a series of columns.
It was the center of the building that caught my eye though, which was a huge courtyard, for though I had had a glimpse of it the day before, I had not been able to fully appreciate the sheer scale of the thing. The arena in the center of the courtyard was giant, easily big enough for a thousand men to stand in comfortably -a huge oval of sand, which the first rays of the sun were just now beginning to shine down upon. Around the arena, there was gradually inclined seating, and I guessed that there was enough room for ten thousand spectators or more. Such a number of people I had never seen before in my entire life. The seats were now empty, but I tried to imagine them full, and found it difficult. Overlooking everything, were three balconies that ran around the entire length of the building, as well as what appeared to be a fourth balcony, which ran round the rim of the arena, and upon which even more spectators could stand. I was dumbfounded by the complexity of what I was seeing, and could barely take it all in.
After having gone through a series of large doors, and down several flights of stairs, I was ushered into a rather large room. The air in this room smelled strange, much like herbs and plants and medicinal things. Several of the men I had travelled by wagon with were standing about, as though waiting for something. The guards stepped back a bit, and left us waiting. I then heard the cry: "Next!" and one of my fellow slaves stepped forward. A pale stooped old man stood up from his chair and began squeezing the man all over, and inspecting him as though he were a rare specimen of fungus. I took it that this was the Medicis, and that we were being checked for our overall health and fitness.
After a few more of the men had gone, it was my turn, and I fought the urge to recoil as the old Medicis's knobby old hands squeezed and pinched my body all over.
"Cough," he said curtly.
"Why?" I asked.
"You're not here to ask questions," he said dismissively. "Do you want to be a gladiator or not?"
"Yes, but I don't see what coughing has to do with it."
The man let out a cackle of a laugh, as though I had just said something very funny. "By the gods!" he sneered. "This one is a right barbarian. Doesn't know much by the looks of it. Good muscle tone, but not much in the way of brains. If you take my advice sonny, you'll ask no questions and do as you'r
e told, if you don't want to be sent back to whatever hell-hole you came from. A slave in these parts who doesn't know his place doesn't usually last long, if you take my meaning. Now I am examining you, to see if you will be fit enough to withstand the rather demanding training you are to receive, so cough."
I coughed, and then again, and again, until the Medicis was satisfied.
"Yes, yes, you'll do." he said tiredly. "Go stand over there with the others."
After this rather humiliating performance, we were then ushered by the guards down another hallway, then through a large opening in the spectator stands, and out onto the sands of the arena. By now, the place had become a hubub of activity, and there were at least two- hundred men going through exercise routines, and dueling with wooden swords and spears. The early morning air resounded with their grunts and cries, and I watched them with fascination. We were then led through the still cool sand to the base of a large podium box, which was elevated far off of the arena floor. The guards ordered us to line up and stand at attention. We would be hearing from our new master soon, they said, and we were to remain silent.
We waited for a full fifteen minutes, before we saw a group of people mount the platform. This was obviously our new master, the Procurator of the entire Ludus, Tiberius Flavius Incintatus. He was a tall man, probably in his mid-fifties, and had grey hair. His body, over which he draped an elegant robe, looked powerful, and I guessed that at one time he had probably been a soldier himself. Behind him was a retinue of slaves and guards. He gazed upon we gathered men for a moment with sharp and predatorial eyes -the master surveying his wares.
"Slaves," he said, in a clear, high-born voice. "You are the lucky ones. You were, each of you, in your various ways, condemned to die. I dare say most of you deserved it. But now, thanks to myself, you have been given a second chance. In all likelihood you will still die, and very soon too, but at least now you can exit this mortal coil gloriously, and not in some hellish mine, and not as a galley slave. You have the opportunity to make something of yourselves, and to give pleasure and entertainment to your betters, if only for a moment or two. This should make you proud, because it puts you miles ahead of most other slaves... But, don't think for a second that you deserve this second chance which I have so generously bestowed upon you. If you had any real courage, you would already be dead, for no one but a coward allows himself to become a slave in the first place. If you hate me, or hate Rome, that is good, for that will make you strong. Remember, that strength is the great overcoming of weakness. We are all weak, that is the soil we grow in, and are condemned to from our birth, but the mighty strive in every way to defeat weakness in themselves and within others ceaselessly. That is the Roman way, which you will learn, and that is what Rome is, and what the games are. They are the great punishment of weakness, and its overthrowing, and when you achieve this -should you achieve it- then the crowd will cheer for you, and for a brief moment, may love, or even worship you. But you will never attain this if you do not train, and train hard with all your heart and soul. Remember that this Ludus, this gladiatorial training school, was here long before your father was a twinkle in his father's eye, and it will still be here after you are dead and forgotten. It is the greatest of all the Ludus's in all the world. We train here every type of fighter, from Myrmillo to Hoplomachus, and have more than one thousand Novicii -which is what you are- and Tirones, which you aspire to one day be. Your task is to please your trainers and myself, and then the crowds, and perhaps one day, you may even please the Emperor himself. If you fail me in this duty you will simply be sent back from whence you came, or worse. So obey my guards, and all your betters, or you will be ruthlessly punished... That is all."
And with that he turned abruptly, and strode away, taking his retinue with him.
As I was trying to absorb what I had just heard, there suddenly came from behind us a barked command: "About, turn!"
All of us immediately spun around, and did our best to remain at attention as we did so. Standing about twenty paces in front of us was a group of six men. Each of these men looked as though he had been a fighter all of his life, for not only were their stances and glares hard and intimidating, but even from where we stood it was possible to see the many scars that criss-crossed their arms. The man in the center of this group, a bald fellow with a patch over one eye, stood forward.
"I am Furius," he said, through a clenched jaw, "And I will be one of your trainers, or Doctores. You will refer to me from now on as Doctore Furius, and you will refer to each of these men behind me by their title and name, which you will learn soon enough"
As I stood listening, the sun was beginning to shine into my eyes, and the sand beneath my feet was heating up. Doctore Furius waved a long, menacing-looking stick, which he carried in his right hand, and used to punctuate his words.
"Each of us represents a differant type of gladiator. I trained as a Secutor, and am now a Doctore Secutorum. I earned these scars you see upon the sands of the arena, and you will do likewise should I feel that you be worthy. I train Novicius dogs like you in the art of the sword and the shield. Artemis, over there," he pointed to a tall, gangly, yet tough-looking veteran behind him who stepped forward, "He will train the Retiarius in the art of killing with a spear and a net. Training will begin in earnest tommorow, after the selections have been made. You will be chosen, if you are chosen at all, based on your body-type, speed and agility and so on. In the meantime, we will see what each of you is made of, if anything. At this point, you are all just rough material. Any one of those Tirone gladiators, who now train behind me, could kill you without even breaking a sweat. And one day, if you make it that far, you too will become a Tirone, or part of the Familia Gladatoria Incintatus, which means The Family of Gladiators of the House of Incintatus... And take these words to heart, from now until you die we are all you have, even should you live to see the day of freedom. Remember, that no respectable citizen will ever wish to associate themselves with scum like you. Starting today, you will eat together, train together, and will most likely die together. So work as one, and aspire to become something more than you are, which is nothing. From now on, you obey all Doctores, and especially your own Doctore, as though he were Jupiter himself. Is that understood?"
We all mumbled, "Yes, understood."
"That's Doctore to you Novicius dogs!" Furius screamed, the veins standing out on his battle-scarred neck.
"Yes, Doctore!" we all shouted in unison.
"Good. Remain at attention while you receive inspection."
Now the Doctores all came forward, and much like the treatment we had been given from the Medicis not long before, we were again poked and prodded all over. Only this time, we were asked to do other things as well, like leaping into the air, or doing front lunges. Then they even gave us wooden spears and swords to handle and do manuevers with. Doctore Furius tested my reflexes by having me try to lunge with my sword at his open palm. He was impossibly quick, and I missed every time, but must not have done too badly, for after discussing things with the other Doctores in private, he came over and gestured for me to follow him. Myself and one other Novicius followed the Doctore through the searingly hot sand. He led us off the arena floor and into a small room. In the room was a table and several chairs. He did not ask us to sit down, but sat down himself and took out a stylus with which he began making etching marks into the wax coatings within a wooden tablet.
"Novicius," he said simply, referring to myself. "I have seen fit to begin your training as a Secutor Gladiator. You will work under myself, or one of my assistants, both night and day. Whatever your name was, it no longer is. You will now be issued with a Roman name, as part of the process of civilizing you. You see, the crowd in the Amphitheater, should you ever be fortunate enough to fight there, will have to be able to pronounce your name, and remember it."
"May I speak, sir?" I boldly asked.
"Yes," said Furius. "If you make it snappy."
"May I be known as Magnus
Scorpus?"
"Why that name in particular?" asked the Doctore curiously.
"It's just that Magnus is part of the name of the school, and means great, and Scorpus is much like the Latin word for Scorpion, which is deadly. I want to be both great and deadly, Doctore, and to become a great fighter for this school."
I did not remind him that I was from Germania, and that my land was called Magna Germania by the Romans. I wanted to keep some connection to my homeland alive.
The Doctore, I noticed, allowed himself a brief smile.
"Yes", he said. "Many come here with great dreams. Let's just see if we can get through the first bit of training, for you might not find it so pleasant. Many dreams of glory have been shattered within these walls -more than you or I could ever count. But as for the name..." He smiled slightly again. "Yes, you may be known by this. I don't see why not. It is Roman enough... Now you are dismissed. Report at once to the mess hall, and eat well. You will need your strength for what is coming."
CHAPTER FOUR
Spectatus
On the second day of my training, I was again awakened just before dawn, only this time I was told to go straight down to the mess hall. Long lines of gladiators filed down the many passages, all the while watched vigilantely by dozens of heavily armed guards. In order to eat, one had to get a plate and then wait while the more senior gladiators, the Tirones, were served first. Then it was our turn, the Novicii, and we took our plates of food and jugs of water and sat alone on benches or leaned up against the wall. This entire process was carried out in total silence by the new men, as there was absolutely no talking allowed for the Novicii. I figured that they didn't want any of us slaves getting together and becoming friendly. Such cliques could no doubt lead to thoughts of rebellion and escape. With total silence demanded at all times, it made it very difficult for such conspiracies to develop in the first place. He who broke this rule of silence, could expect at the very least a lash across his back from one of the guards.
Blood of a Barbarian Page 2