It's not that I was trying to become a Roman though, so much as that I felt it would be useful to be able to know what was going on about me. Most of my fellow Germans didn't even bother with such things as this. They either had no interest, or felt that they would soon enough be dead, and so didn't think it worth the effort. They preferred to lose themselves in pointless arguments, or in trying to entice the slave girls who helped them to bathe. It seemed like too much of a betrayal to them, to learn the language of their enemy, but if I planned to live, and to live in this part of the world, I would first have to learn to live in it.
On days that were not as intense, we also learned other skills that would be useful for a gladiator, but that were not necessarily physical. One thing that Doctore Furius insisted upon, on pain of death even, was that each of us was to learn to perform in front of an audience. It was not enough to die, he had reminded us again and again, as it was fundamental that one die well.
"Your first allegiance," he would tell us, "besides you allegiance to this Ludus, and to your Emperor, is to virtue. And what does it mean for a dog like you to have virtue?"
I had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to tell us.
"You, who have never done a noble thing in your lives. It is simple, and it is this: You must show the Roman citizens how they too may face death with contempt. Did you know that people regularly say to one another: 'He died like a gladiator,' and mean it as a compliment. You must never, in any circumstance, bring shame upon this house, or upon its master. Now..."
He began to show us what he was talking about by striking various heroic poses over the imaginary body of a fallen gladiator.
"This, this is how you show that you are victorious."
He then raised his hands high above his head, and turned to face an imaginary crowd.
"And this," he said, "Is how you bow in supplication before the ruler of all, his divine grace the Emperor Tarantulla. If you should live to see the day, I shall expect you to carry out these movements just as I am showing you now. I expect it, and more importantly, the crowd expects it, and they will never elevate one who does not observe and respect the rituals."
Furius then went on to explain, and demonstrate, or to have one of his assistants demonstrate, all the various movements and rituals of the arena, everything from how to properly deliver the killer blow, to how to antagonize and hary one's opponent. There was even a proper way to walk, and to turn, and we learnt a variety of hand signals as well. The noise of the arena, he said, was so great, that it would often be necessary to communicate with one another, before and after the fight, and with the Umpire during the games, using nothing but simple gestures.
I revelled in this aspect of the training, for it appealed to the natural showman in me. At first, I had been conflicted about the public relations side of things, but once one has felt the roar of even a small crowd, such as the kind that gathered in the stands to watch us train, one very quickly began to crave it. I found that I loved to show off my now rippling torso, which had become like bronze from being baked in the sun day after day. I had never felt physically better in my life, and enjoyed the sensation of being stared at by a hundred hungry eyes -the women desiring me, and the men desiring to be me. All of us, the ones who had made it this far, those who had not been sent back to the mines for some infraction of the rules, had started to look more and more like the really experienced gladiators, to the point where only an expert would have been able to tell us apart.
I had been training for almost a year and a half by this point, and as I got nearer and nearer to the time when I would begin to fight professionally, the tension began to grow within me. It was easy to see that I was as gifted as any of the men who had started with me, but it would be all-important to know what my official standing within the school would be. Each group of men who had begun together would be separated into four different groups, the Primus Palus being the first, and most important -meaning that we were the ones who had shown the most promise so far. Then came the Secundus Palus, the Tertius Palus, and finally the Quartus Palus. All this was meant to signify who stood best before the wooden Palus we most often trained upon with our wooden swords.
One day, while we were at the baths, Doctore Furius came through the door. This was an unusual sight, as he almost never came into this area of the Ludus.
"Men," he said "Rest well tonight -for tomorrow will come an important test. This test will determine your ultimate standing within the brotherhood of this Familia. If you do not pass it, you could very well find yourself back where you were, in the mines. Those who do well will officially become Tirones, or probationary gladiatores. This will be one of the most important steps you can take before being able to enter the minor games, and then, perhaps one day, the Great Arena itself. Not all of you who make it will deserve this honour, and not all who fail will deserve failure, but you shall fight for the first time with real swords, paired against one another, and the winner will pass onto the next level. Now is the time when all of your training will either bear fruit, or not. If not, then exclusion or injury will be your fate. If yes, then you shall stand amongst the elect, the Titans of the Ludus, and heir to all the greats who have gone before you... You will no longer just be a spectacle, but will have become spectacular... Tomorrow at dawn, we shall separate the beasts from the men, and the men from the gods!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
By Force, a Way is Made
The next day, the tension was so great amongst the men that you could have cut it with a knife. Each one of us had spent most of the night awake, pacing back and forth in our cells. That was normal. Much depended on what woud happen in the following hours, much that would determine our futures.
The only one of us who seemed light-hearted, was of course Titus. I met him out on the arena sands where everyone was gathering. In the centre of the arena, slaves had set up a large wooden structure. It was basically an elevated wooden platform, with ramps leading up both the front and the back. We had used one of these in training, and the idea was for one of the pair of fighting men to occupy the platform, while one had to try to push the other off and occupy the high ground himself. The man who would start out on the platform was decided by the flip of a piece of bone. So much of it really came down to luck.
All of those who were not yet fighting, crowded around the demarcated boundry lines set up in a square around the platform, and waited for the first match to begin. An Umpire and Doctore Furius were overseeing the games, and making sure that all of the rules were followed, while Procurator Incintatus watched the proceedings from his box seat high above. The first up were a German Myrmillo, and a Thracian Thraex. Both were armed with dull swords, which were still fairly lethal, and a helmet. They were not yet allowed to have a full complement of armour, which would have the effect of making them both far more cautious.
Titus leaned over to me, and smiling, whispered: "Shall we place a bet? I shall not deprive you of the opportunity of supporting your fellow countryman, and would never bet on a German besides, and so will place ten sesterces on the Thraex. I have seen him train and he is a real brute. I truly fear for the safety of your man."
"I do not place bets, especially where the life of one of my countrymen are concerned," I said seriously.
"Well, look at it this way," said Titus with a mischievous grin, "I will bet upon the Myrmillo then, and that way, if he loses, you shall have the consolation of offering him your winnings. That should go some way towards healing his wounded pride."
Titus sometimes displayed a remarkable skill with words, and I felt that if he were a snake, he could hypnotize you into sitting still while he bit you. I knew for sure that he was bending me to his will, but gave in anyway.
"Ten sesterces on the Thraex then," I said skeptically.
"Did I say ten?" he replied with mock innocence. "I meant twenty."
"Twenty then."
We both then turned our attention to the fighters as they readied themselves. A tru
mpeter blew a note that signaled the beginning of the fight, and both men instantly took up a semi-crouching position, which meant that they were ready for action. Both seemed hesitant at first, as though they did not quite know how to proceed. The Myrmillo had won his place on top of the platform, and the Thraex was proceeding with infinite caution up the platform ramp. They were still a good six feet apart, had not yet traded blows.
A full minute went by and then Doctore Furius, who had been watching impatiently, yelled out for some action. "Attack now!" he bellowed.
The Thraex, breathing heavily through his bronze helmet, which he was not used to wearing, now lunged at the Myrmillo, who swung his sword at the approaching figure. This brought on a mad cheer from all of us, as much to encourage them, as anything. We all knew that soon enough we too would face our greatest test yet, and wished that there was some way that both men could come out winners. I had been talked into betting for the Thraex, but within myself I was cheering for the Myrmillo. I could never, no matter how Romanized I became, root against one of my own.
Now the fighting took on a new intensity, as both men got more and more used to the swords. It was stange to hear the clanging of iron against iron, rather than the clacking of wood upon wood. No doubt, this was the sound we would be hearing from now on, and the wooden swords would be left to the Novicii. I did not envy the men who were just now beginning on their journey here at the Ludus. It seemed an age since I myself had arrived. Titus had come earlier, but had been set back after he had failed this test one year ago. He was determined not to fail again this time. His entire financial future depended upon his skill today, and if he did fail, he would probably be sent away. As a Roman citizen he would not be punished, but would lose everything he had invested so far in his training.
One would not have known to look at Titus though, that his entire future was at stake, as he seemed far more interested in the twenty sesterces we had bet than in anything else. He cheered on his Myrmillo for all he was worth, both encouraging and taunting the man at the same time. Eventually, his efforts paid off, and the Myrmillo managed to kick the Thraex off of the platform, and then jumped down on top of him where he lay in the sand, and simulated a killer blow to the Thaex's neck. The crowd of men went wild with excitement. My Thraex had been eliminated from the runnings, while the Myrmillo passed on to the next level.
Titus reached out his hand to collect his winnings.
"You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?" I said. "You only pretended to be concerned about my fellow German so that I would bet against him. From now on I will leave the betting to you. You may not be much of a fighter, but you sure have a skill at being able to beat men all the same."
I was not really mad of course, and could not help but admire Titus's skill at knowing everything about everything, even the outcome of fights before they happened, or so it seemed. He must have had some inside information, or been keeping a close eye on how the different men were doing in their training. Of course, he knew I was not really mad at him, and he laughed as he counted the coins I had given him.
As the two weary warriors exited the field, the Umpire called out the next two names, which he read off of a scroll: "Flamma, fighting as Retiarius... Versus Magnus Scorpus, as Secutor. Both men step forward."
Almost immediately I began to sweat, as I straightened up and stepped across the boundry line in the sand. Just then Titus reached out and grabbed my arm, and I turned to face him.
"Remember," he said, "Overcome fear, and be the best."
I smiled, nodded to him with a penetrating look, and then turned and strode over to the Umpire. What he had said was a personnal motto that we had come up with together - something to repeat to ourselves when life threw challenges our way.
The Umpire stood tall and erect, looking very stern as he gestured with his stick at myself and Flamma while he explained the rules.
"Any variation," he warned, "on the rules of the games, and you will feel this stick across your backs. The gladiator motto is: 'Glory in wounds, and a contempt of death.' "
I liked the motto Titus and I had come up with more, but bowed respectfully to the Umpire, and then turned to receive my sword and helmet from a slave boy, while Flamma received his Triton spear -points dulled of course, as were my sword's edges- and his mesh net. The sword felt light in my hand, as it hung by my side. It was only half the weight of the wooden swords I was used to, and I had to adjust to this change. The helmet, though, which I was not used to at all, seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
I had been hoping not to have to face someone like Flamma at my first big fight, and wished I had been given a weakling. Unfortunately, there were very few weak men about, especially if they had made it this far in a Ludus. Still, Flamma, who was also known as "The Dove," for some reason, was about as fierce as they came. The trouble with him was that there was no fellow-feeling at all between him and any of the others, as there was between Titus and myself, for example. As a Syrian, and one of only a few such men from that region in the entire school, he did not have any of the allegiances which bound the rest of us together. He was in this game entirely for himself, and he affected a smirking and contemptuous air.
Still, this might just be the opportunity to wipe that smirk off of his face.
Once I had fitted my helmet on, I turned to face the Umpire and Furius and Flamma. The Umpire asked me if I chose heads or tails on the piece of bone, and I thought for a second before replying that I chose tails. The Umpire then threw the bone into the air, and watched as it fell into the sand.
"Heads it is," he said flatly.
I was glad I had just sworn off betting, for luck rarely seemed to be on my side in these types of games. Hopefully, my hard training would see me through. I looked at Flamma through the two small holes in my helmet, and saw that he was smirking at me. In his own mind he had already won the fight. He was probably not wrong to think this, because as difficult as it was for one swordsman to dislodge another from the platform, the long reach of the Retiurius's spear gave him an even greater advantage.
After we had taken our places, the trumpet sounded, and the Umpire signalled the beginning of the fight. I took a deep breath and approached the ramp. Damned difficult to see and to breath through this helmet I thought, as I tried not to stumble. From the crowd, I could clearly hear the voice of Titus cheering me on. He had no doubt placed a bet on me winning - or had he placed it on the other man? Hard to be sure with him. That made me smile to myself.
After some hesitation, I decided that there was no delaying what was to come, and so charged headlong up the ramp. Sword met spear in a sudden clanging clash, and I just narrowly missed being trapped in Flamma's net as it swished over my head.
This bruiser knew what he was doing, and I would have to be more careful.
I retreated down the ramp for a moment in order to collect my bearings. Flamma obviously saw this as some sort of victory, for he raised his spear into the air and encouraged the crowd to cheer for him, which they were happy to oblige him by doing. Out of the corner of my eye, I risked a glance up at the box seating, where Procurator Incintatus seemed to be watching the games with a great intensity. I knew that this was the best chance I had yet had to impress him, which would no doubt be useful to me in the future, and so decided then and there that this matter must be concluded as swiftly as possible.
I leaned forward, as though leaning into a stiff breeze, and with all the determination I could muster strode up the ramp again. This time I made a sudden lunge to the left, as though I were trying to get around Flamma, but when he thrust his spear in my direction, just as I had hoped he would, I swiftly dodged to the right and then brought my sword down with full force upon the shaft of the spear. It cracked, and I managed another quick blow before Flamma was able to withdraw. The second blow was enough to cause the front-end of the spear to come off, and to go tumbling to the ground below. All at once the expression of Flamma's face changed, from that of a smirk, to one of sur
prise, rage and terror. In an instant he had lost his most important weapon, and was left with nothing but his net. Before he could rally himself, and use the net on me, I turned the blade of my sword sideways, and slapped the flat part of the blade across his mouth. This sent him sprawling onto the platform, while one final kick sent him over the edge and into the sand.
The crowd erupted louder than it had yet, as I strode as gracefully as I could down the ramp, to where Flamma kneeled in pain. As I approached him, however, my mood instantly changed from one of gloating victory to one of almost pity. I knew to guard against pity, as it was the enemy of the gladiator, and could get one killed, but the hunched-over shape before me was no longer a threat, and I delivered my simulated death-blow without any relish in the task. Luckily, my face was covered, so that none of my trainers could see the look of disgust upon my face. They would have reprimanded me severely had they known, for having shown weakness in combat.
As it was, all the other men congratulated me on my seemingly easy victory. It would turn out later to have been the fastest victory of the day. Still, as the men all slapped my back, I turned to watch as Flamma limped off towards the Medicis, clutching his mouth, and helped along by a slave. I had certainly humbled him, and it would be more difficult for him to smirk now with a few less teeth, and yet the only pleasure I felt about the whole thing, was when Titus told me that he had bet on me, and that he wanted to share the winnings.
Good old Titus.
As the day progressed, I fought two more times, winning both bouts, and achieved high scores for my prowess. Titus won two of his fights, and lost one, which didn't seem to phase him a bit. In fact, he was more angry with himself when he won, as he had taken the unneccessary precaution of betting against himself. By the end of the matches he was stone-cold broke again, and I had to save him by giving him back the money he had offered me from my own fight.
Blood of a Barbarian Page 5