“No other way?” Ariston pressed the Roman.
Decius sighed heavily. “I have not been entirely honest with you. Your suspicions were right. I was the one who betrayed the plot. But…”
Before Decius could finish his sentence, Ariston’s hands were around his throat.
Even as color was filling his face, he gasped, “Listen to me. Let me speak.”
Seeing the terror in the man’s eyes, Ariston suddenly felt the rage flood out of him and he released his grip.
Decius stumbled backward, grasping at his neck. “You are right to be angry. I left you and all the others for dead. But only because there was no other choice.”
“No other choice? It was only so that you could use the situation for your own advancement.” Ariston felt his blood warming again.
“Yes, I used the situation to gain favor with the emperor, but only so that I could secure myself a position of power in the city for when the games were to take place. There are sinister things afoot, Ariston, and more is at stake than the future of one province or people. There is a faction lined up against the emperor. Before the games are finished, they will kill him and attempt to wrest control of the city from the legions loyal to him. The Praetorian Guard is still in the balance. Trajan is a just and respected leader, but his enemies are rich and each day the chance of a revolt becomes more likely.”
“And you knew all this in Illyria?”
“Yes, Cnaeus Cassianus, the man who imprisoned and killed your father, is one of the conspirators.”
Ariston paced back and forth. “How do you know this?”
“Come now. You know that there are men loyal to me in his household. There are few of his dealings which escape my knowledge. One of his slaves managed to copy a letter that arrived from Rome and pass the copy to me. “
“How deep is his involvement?”
“He is only a small player. Pannonia is not a powerful seat, and his not well liked by the military. Still, he will provide another voice of approval to whatever candidate the other will bring forth. But now because of the revolt, I have managed to put two legions in the province, both loyal to me. I am introducing a motion to move a third there within the season. Three loyal legions a short boat ride away from the peninsula will make the conspirators uneasy. In fact it already has; you are not the only one whose life they have made an attempt on. I am sure you noticed the security outside.”
“How is it,” Ariston asked, “that you have procured the money for this mansion and the guards and for the contributions to the games?”
Decius let out a laugh that was not at all happy. “Where else? The money lenders. I have borrowed a sum that I can never hope to repay, but it is what is needed to secure Trajan’s interests, or rather, the interests of Rome.”
“Is he aware of the plot?”
“No, he hasn’t the slightest clue. He is still too drunk off his victories in Dacia and confident in the people’s love, to have given the slightest thought that anyone might want him dead. But he is not a dumb man. He is well protected at all times and will be ready if anything should happen.”
“Who are the other players?” Ariston asked.
“A dozen or so senators, generals and large contingent of the auxilia who have been bought off. Hispania and the north will remain loyal to Trajan. Italy and Greece are nearly even, but I believe we will find ourselves slightly outmatched, particularly in Italy. In a long war, the legions from Britannia, Germania, and Hispania would lend us a decisive advantage, but if Trajan is killed and the city captured, it is likely the generals of the frontiers would begrudgingly accept their new emperor. Africa and the East are Trajan’s too, but they will not send help and if the city falls they will bow down to their new masters. Everything rides on the capital. If they seize the city it is as good as over.”
“Why should I care?” The question was as much posed to Decius as it was to himself. As Decius had revealed to him the details of the plot, he felt himself, for some reason, moved. What did the fate of the empire mean to him? What did it matter which man called himself emperor and doled out unequal justice to the citizens of the empire? Somewhere in the back of his mind, the seer’s words echoed: ‘Your fate is tied to Rome.’ Had the words of some cheap charlatan really affected him so deeply?
“Whether you have any love for the emperor or the empire is irrelevant. These same men that want Trajan dead, are after you as well. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“What would you have me do?” Ariston was not sure where he fit into the picture.
“Fight in the games. And more importantly win! Fame and glory are important currency in this city and it would do to have a man on our side with a good deal of both. If you can win your way into emperor’s tournament, perhaps we can play you off as a double agent.”
Ariston furrowed his brow, unsure of what Decius had in mind.
“You have already gained a name for yourself in the northern tournaments and no doubt you have already received offers of patronage. If you can single yourself out as one of the favorites, I have connections that can set you up with the conspirators. They will want to attach their names to a champion; it will grant them more credibility in the public eye. The man who wins this tournament will be a god in the eyes of the Roman people and who he sides with in the coming conflict will be no small matter.”
The next day Fumbe took Ariston outside the city to see the arena that had been constructed along the banks of the Tiber. It was to host one of the main opening events of the games, a mock naval battle that would pit Carthage against Rome in what was sure to be a spectacle. Stands had been set up around a massive manmade basin that had been flooded with water from the river. A massive naval battle with over two thousand soldiers and thirty ships was to take place on the second day of the games. A smaller battle of twenty fighters who would have to make their way to a central platform would take place the next. Ariston would take part.
“It will be an important event to make your name.” Fumbe lectured as they walked along the banks, “A battle on water is not something the crowds are used to. That is good for you, if you can win. It is not a battle to the death. Contestants who are knocked into the water are eliminated and only blunted weapons can be used. A loss is not catastrophic, but a victory will position us well. The purse is sizeable.”
“Save it, Fumbe. I am not in the mood to discuss the games. I have larger things on my mind.”
“Ahh, the Illyrian is worried. The plots of corrupt Romans are not his concern and yet he is preoccupied.”
Ariston replied with venom. “It was that fool you took me to that has put this concern into my head. I do not know what to believe anymore.”
Fumbe stood silent and looked out onto the water.
Ariston grew impatient. “Will you say nothing? What is the point of even fighting? There is no reason for it.”
“Illyrian, do not be foolish. Decius has told you why you must fight.”
“Am I to fight then so that I can be a pawn in Decius’s plans?”
Fumbe shook his head and crouched to the earth. He picked up a handful of dirt and held it out to Ariston. “An emperor is a thing, Illyrian. Do not forget that. Whoever controls this earth here controls the world, not because he is ordained or because he has a right: he does because he does. It is no more complicated than this. Forget Decius’s plan, but remember his words. He is right. The man who wins the emperor’s tournament will be a god to the Roman people, and the Roman people love to be ruled by the gods.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Fumbe shrugged. “And why not? Stranger things have happened and no doubt your fate is not an ordinary one. The conspirators will be looking for a figurehead. If what Decius told you is true, then the conspirators do not yet have a suitable candidate, but out there,” He swept his hand out across the water, “You will give them one.”
Both men paused and the silence stretched on for several minutes before Ariston spoke.
&nb
sp; “You would have me be a pawn for corrupt men?” Ariston stared out at the water and felt uneasy.
“It would not be the first time that an emperor, installed as a puppet, has become a lion. Let them think that you will bow to their demands and when the time comes to assert your power, let it be done.”
“What is your motivation, African?” Ariston asked, uncertain why his master would want his slave to become Emperor of Rome.
“Power of course.” Fumbe laughed. “Do not think that because I have saved your life and treated you kindly that I am a good man. I am simply a man. And like all men, I wish for glory and fame and power. In my time I have realized that eternity does not exist. A glorious name fades fast in the minds of the people, but a common name is never there at all. I will take what I can get and as much of it as possible. I am too foreign for these people. I am not brave and strong, but I am cunning and wise and I am a good judge of men. I told you that when we met. What do you say, Illyrian? Do you wish to run the empire with me?”
Ariston scoffed. “You ask the question as if all it takes is my assent to make it real. I am a common slave and a gladiator of little repute. You are a trader, who has more riddles than gold and we have an aged swordmaster and a corrupt senator as our colleagues.”
“Empires have been built with less. Or have you forgotten the story of this city? We have little and little is there to lose. But time moves with each day Illyrian and death will come soon enough, better that we rush out to meet it and perhaps win ourselves a day of fame before we go.”
“I told you before that I would fight and kill if it was commanded of me. But ask me no more than this.”
“I am afraid I must ask you much more, Ariston. You have nothing left in this world. The cruelties of fate and men have robbed you of your family and your freedom. You owe nothing to the gods or to men. Why not take what is there to be taken? There is nothing left, but might and strength and will, and perhaps that is all that there ever was. I have never seen your equal in the arena and I have seen your victory in my dreams. You will become a name, Illyrian. And whether you like it or not your fate and the fate of Rome are tied together. To fight it will do you no good.”
“I have not asked for any of this!” Ariston shouted, suddenly agitated. “I do not wish to be a champion or a warrior, an emperor or a legend. There is nothing that I wish more than to return to the life that I had and to rest. I did not choose this fate.”
Fumbe laid a hand on Ariston’s shoulder and his eyes were full of sympathy.
“And what man chooses his fate? I have not chosen mine. I believe I told you once that I would tell you my story and I believe that now it is time to hear that story.”
He took a deep breath and began:
“I was born in a land far south of Carthage, across the deserts, and deep into the jungles that are unknown to your people. Our people were warriors, as were the tribes that surrounded us. My father was an elder of the tribe and one of the most respected warriors. My mother… my mother was a kind soul, though little do I remember of her; she died shortly after my birth and I was raised by the women of the tribe. If you ask my father, their sympathy for my condition, ruined me. I grew up different from the other boys of the tribe. I detested war and blood and all the professions of men. When it was time for me to become a man and kill my first enemy, I refused my father and shamed him in front of the tribe. According to law, a son is the property of his father and in his anger and shame he sold me to slave traders.
“If I had been made into a worker or servant or even sent to die like the gladiators of Rome, I would have been happy. But no, I was sold to an Egyptian who had a taste for dark boys. I was employed in that oldest of professions to satisfy the desire of my master and many other magistrates and officials of the city. What I would have given at that time to be back with my tribe! Gladly would I have killed and murdered and been a man in all ways and forms, but we do not know the consequences of our decisions and we do not get second chances.
“It took years, Illyrian, but soon enough I died and was reborn, bitter, hard, and cold. I was detached from any reality and it was all that saved me. It was a game to be played and once I realized this, I was able to play it well. And that is all that saves me now from the demons that haunt me. I have no illusions of goodness or morality, of purpose, or happiness. All I care for is winning the game, Illyrian. And with you there is a chance to win it quite convincingly.”
Ariston shrugged. “What other choice do I have?”
Fumbe nodded. “There is nothing to return to, Illyrian. We might as well fuck the world, before it is the gods’ turn with us.”
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Note from the Author
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Bryan Andrews
Ariston: A Stranger's Promise Page 6