by Nick Morris
“Flavia proposes,” he began, feeling increasingly edgy, “a private match between you and Drilgisa.”
“What!” exclaimed Belua. “Has she lost her mind?”
“Please let me finish,” he persevered. “Flavia will back the Dacian. If he wins, Clodian will pay her a yearly dowry of twenty thousand sesterces for the rest of her days. She promises to leave Pompeii and to never return. And, if you win, she will return to her father in Rome, and into obscurity as far as Clodian’s future is concerned. Either way, Clodian’s life will no longer be in danger.”
“Hah! The bitch knows that her days are marked. She fears that after tomorrow’s ceremony Clodian will snuff out her life like the cockroach she is. Does she take us for fools?”
“She’s no fool, and she knows like you and I that Clodian will not have her throat slit, nor drowned while bathing. The boy is very different to his father, and you know this as well as anyone.”
Belua, seeming to be weigh up the significance of his words, asked, “What if we don’t agree to the match?”
“She swears that wherever she may be expelled to, and that will doubtless be her fate, that she will never cease in her efforts to take Clodian’s life.”
“She’s confessed this to you?” said Belua, his voice sounding briefly hopeful. “So we’ll go to the magistrates with it!”
“It will be her word against mine I’m afraid,” said Gordeo.
Belua cursed, turning to the window. He stared far out over the sea, perhaps trying to find an answer there?
Gordeo spoke to his back. “I pray that you’ll not agree to this match. Ten years ago, five even, I would have backed you against any fighter I’ve seen with confidence. Now, if you face the Dacian, it will go badly for you. You realize this too.”
After a long silence, a tired looking Belua turned to face him. “Where’s the match to be fought?”
“In the grounds of Clodian’s family home.”
“When?”
“Three days hence at the twelfth hour.”
“Very well,” said Belua, before adding, “at least it will be cool.”
“Can I say anything at all to make you change your mind?” asked Gordeo, despite knowing Belua’s nature well.
“Nothing.”
“Once last thing,” said Gordeo, getting to his feet with considerable effort. “Flavia insisted that the match is fought to the death,”
“Of course.” said Belua, returning his attention to the window and his view of the city.
“Ahh, that’s better!” commented Belua after taking a long draught of water gingered with a small amount of Falerian, of course. His ludus’ quarters felt cool, although he’d not had the chance to bathe after training, and his body was encrusted with sweat and grime.
He’d recently enrolled the services of two old friends, one being a retired pugile named Malleolus. He’d earned the nick-name the ‘hammer’ for a good reason, being a strong, dogged fighter with a murderous right hand. He was similar in many ways to the Dacian. “But not as fucking ugly,” Malleolus had joked when they met up. He’d told his old stable-mate to push him as hard as he could in training with the match looming. He’d forgotten how tough Malleolus was and how the intensity of sparring could take its toll on the body. His memory was rapidly improving.
The other was Kaeso, another retired gladiator, a laquerarius – a lasso and spear fighter. A renowned competitor, Kaeso had used the money from his early successes to buy his freedom. He’d consequently bought a small fishing boat and now earned a simple living in the bay. Like Belua he’d been a fisherman before the time of the arena. Unlike many other gladiators he’d saved his winnings rather than squandering it on wine and whores. The two of them had shared stories about their common heritage when in the ludus and a strong bond had developed between them. Kaeso was a man of simple tastes, but Belua had rarely encountered anyone with a keener eye and sharper mind.
Kaeso had agreed to guard Clodian now that he was in training. Clodian, in daze after the recent tragic events, had hardly seemed to hear him when he made the suggestion about Kaeso. He eventually agreed. Along with Clodian, Kaeso had moved into the family home. With the manhood ceremony drawing near, the hell-bitch along with her entourage had moved out, purchasing elaborate lodgings near the Ercolano Gate.
Both of his old friends could be trusted, relied upon.
He slapped his belly, and then pinched the layer of fat that covered the bands of muscle beneath.
“At least you could look as if I’m not already in the ground,” he jibed at Neo, who sat stoically observing him.
“Your body is not used to training in such a way. You risk tearing a muscle or worse. And the task you face is great enough as it is.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Training yes, but not recklessly. Even Malleolus was out on his feet.”
“Malleolus can look after himself, and the old ways have always worked for me,” said Belua, taking another drink.
“Leaving the Falerian alone will also help.”
“I knew that was coming.”
“You’ll not listen to me, you never have. But, I have something that will help you during the match.”
“I’ll not cheat,” retorted Belua indignantly.
“We have formidable opponents, have we not?”
“Yes.”
“Then we use must use all the skills at our disposal. Don’t argue, just trust me on this.”
“Very well, if it makes you feel better, and as long as it won’t make my tool drop off.” He made a snorting noise through his nose, keen to change the topic of discussion. “How is Clodian?” he ventured.
“Quiet, not leaving his home apart from each morning visiting the room where Orbiana was…where she died, with Kaeso in tow. He seems drawn to that place, as if he will find an answer there to explain her actions. He keeps asking me what I think were her reasons, and I have told him that we are all as puzzled as he is. I haven’t the clear answers he needs; to give him a little peace.”
Belua swirled the contents of his cup around. His face was glum when he spoke.
“I blame myself. Firstly for purchasing the girl, and after for not suspecting what was at play. She fooled me totally. I really felt that she loved him, particularly after the way she acted on the night of the assassin’s attack. She could have finished him off then if she wanted him dead.”
“True,” said Neo. “But, it was unfortunate for her that others quickly arrived; witnesses to her actions or lack of.”
“Clodian told me that she fished him out of the sea, when she just could have let him drown.”
“Perhaps she was under instructions to act only if the assassin failed? Or, maybe she did have some feelings for him and simply hesitated at that vital moment?” proffered Neo, rubbing his temple with his finger.
“Yet, if I’d bought a different girl,” said Belua.
“You’re too harsh on yourself,” consoled Neo. “Your intentions were good, with Clodian’s welfare your prime concern. And the girl fooled us all. I’m just mystified by her motivation. If she told Clodian the truth he would have endeavoured to protect her, as if it were his own life. Flavia’s influence over her must have been great – something we’ll likely never know.”
“My father told me that there was nothing as strange as us mortals, and he was right,” confirmed Belua.
Neo scratched his forehead thoughtfully. “You know we cannot trust Flavia’s word, no matter what the outcome of the match. The woman is envenomed to the core.”
“True, but what other choice do we have? And you know what my remedy would be. I thought Clodian may change his mind after what happened with the woman, but he’ll still have none of it.”
“He’s in a dark place,” said Neo. “Where life has become a terrible lie. He believed he had something good, special. Then it was snatched away in the bat of an eye, and part of his soul with it. When the dust of his loss settles, I think he will be a changed
man. Will he be able to trust again? Who can know? Regarding your remedy – he has seen so much blood the thought of more is a canker to him. He may one day think differently.”
Mulling over Neo’s words, Belua posed the question, “And, if I fall, who will then protect him? Apart from Kaeso…You?”
“Don’t underestimate Clodian’s durability, and you know he has courage. Don’t underestimate my resourcefulness too,” said Neo wryly. He stood, and with a casual swiftness that surprised Belua, scooped up the amphora of watered wine.
“What the-” he blurted out.
“As you rightly pointed out,” Neo reaffirmed, “you’re not in the ground yet.”
Chapter 35
MASTER OF HOUSE CAESILIUS
Belua had rarely seen the three city magistrates, but he recognised each of them. Their pompous expressions and over-elaborate finery easily identified them as they stood at the side of the family altar.
The oldest of the three was the diminutive Marcus Tullius Parvus; reputed to be the richest patrician outside of the city of Rome. Next to him was the retired general Titus Cornelius Gallus, a wiry sombre man – one to be respected and feared. In his hands he held the pure white toga virilis that would soon be donned by Clodian; the emblem of him becoming a man and a citizen of Rome. At Gallus’s side was the hugely fat Oppius Bruttius Pius, the least influential of the three nobles but still a man of considerable wealth; both in gold and land throughout Campania. Belua sneered inwardly as he studied the great mountain of flesh, with it being known that the degenerate pig regularly took young boys as young as eight to his bed.
Neo shuffled his feet at his side, the only other person in attendance, apart from the three armed guards strategically placed around the magistrates. Clodian had wanted the ceremony held in the family home and to be kept as simple as possible. Flavia, not surprisingly, was absent.
Clodian knelt in front of the three, next to the marble altar decorated with the image of Mars Ultor. He was adorned in the toga praetexta, its broad border of purple symbolising adolescence. It was the last time he’d wear it.
From where Belua stood he could see the unscarred side of the youth’s face. Gods, how much older he looks and so different. Both he and Neo had noted a drastic change in him when they’d met earlier that day. He’d lost that spark, that life-force that was so noticeable to all those who knew him. Like dull pebbles his eyes had lost their vitality. His desperate grief had been replaced by a flat acceptance of what had occurred. Neo had been right – his bitter loss seemed to have filched away that which had made him so special.
Belua swallowed awkwardly, recalling his final words with Clodian before the ceremony commenced. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed to form words that amounted to an apology for blaming Prudes’ death solely on his indiscretion at the beach.
Clodian accepted his apology, stating that he’d still been a terrible fool. He’d asked Belua in his uncluttered way if it meant they were friends once more? Choked, he could only respond with a nod of his head. Clodian had smiled, a gesture that never reached his eyes.
“Clodian Caesilius Ralla,” Gallus’s voice rang out. “Son and heir to our recently deceased and much loved Gaius Caesilus Ralla, I present you with your Toga Viralis.”
Gallus extended the garment draped over his forearms.
“On receipt of this man-cloth you now legally become Master of House Caesilius and a citizen of Rome. Our deepest congratulations and may you live a long and rewarding life.”
Belua watched Clodian slowly reach to the back of his neck. Unfastening the bulla, the gold chain he’d worn since infancy, he placed it gently on the stone altar. Rising to his feet he stepped forward to accept his man-cloth. He bowed to each of the magistrates in turn, and then turned to face his small audience. His expression betrayed no indication of how he felt at this moment, and he simply bowed once more to Neo and himself.
“Hail Clodian! Master of House Caesilius! Hail our great Emperor – Tiberius Julius Caesar!” Gallus’s voice resonated once again. All present repeated the acclamation.
The three magistrates in turn approached Clodian, clasping his forearm and sharing quiet words of good fortune. Then they departed, escorted by their guards.
Belua sighed deeply, glad it was over. Mithras, so much has happened since I first met the lad. He turned to Neo.
“Well, thankfully that’s gone smoothly.”
“You surely didn’t expect any trouble during the ceremony?” queried Neo.
He shrugged. “Not really, and I suppose not even Flavia would risk upsetting those three bastards. But then, you never know for sure with such a woman.”
“That’s why you have the knife concealed under your cloak.”
“You never cease to surprise me, Neo,” said Belua, convinced that he’d adequately concealed the blade so that even the most practiced eye would not suspect its presence in the small of his back.
“Thank you.”
Clodian’s approach captured their attention. He’d briefly retired to change and now wore his new toga.
“You wear it well,” said Belua, gripping his shoulder with pride.
“I agree,” said Neo, also clasping his arm. “Your father would be very proud of you.”
“Thank you for your generous words,” said Clodian, “and my gratitude for standing as my witnesses.”
“We are honoured to be here,” said Neo, risking one of his infrequent smiles.
“Why do you fight the Dacian?” Clodian asked, looking directly at him and taking him by surprise. Belua looked accusingly at Neo, feeling his temper rise to the surface.
Clodian held up his hand.“I have learnt to invest in eyes and ears of my own of late. Neo has said nothing, I can assure you. And, I would appreciate a forthright answer.”
Belua studied the young noble’s face. The long red scar gave his visage a peculiar aspect that attracted the eye. It was strangely thoughtful, sad. He knew there was no room to lie to such a face.
“Very well,” he began. “In brief, Flavia has promised to cease her treacherous plotting against you if I fight the Dacian.”
“But, what if?–” Clodian began.
He cut him short. “This way the possible outcomes will all be the same: to keep you safe from the beaks of the hawks. You’ll also have to pay a painful amount of silver to the witch for her to disappear for good. It could be worse.”
“Worse than your death?” posed Clodian, and then addressing Neo. “And, you agreed with this…deal?” His voice now had an angry edge. “And not tell me!”
“I advised against it, but he would not listen.”
“I will not let you risk your life for me, Belua. As you have said many times, I am now a man of wealth and influence. Surely I can now protect myself against this woman. I can employ guards, many guards, to watch over me.”
Belua placed his hands on Clodian’s shoulders. He thought carefully before he spoke, hoping to phrase words that the young noble could understand and respect. “You are right of course. You could hire a legion of guards. But, just imagine a life whereby you will always fear the poisoned cup, a knife in the shadows and the assassin in your employ who’s unable to resist the lure of gold. A life forever wary of others and looking over your shoulder. It would not be a life but the mere shadow of one.” He coughed awkwardly before adding, “Unless, you allow me to dispose of Flavia for good.”
“I…I wish I could,” said Clodian. “I just cannot, despite all that she has done. I would become that which I despise most.” He raised his hands to his eyes, as though very tired.
“Then, there is no other way,” said Belua
“There must be, somehow!” said Clodian, grasping his arm.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve given my word regarding the match, and I cannot withdraw it, not without staining my honour.” He bent his head forwards, peering deeply into the youth’s troubled eyes. “And my honour is dearer to me than anything. You understand that, don’t you?”
/> After long moments, Clodian reluctantly nodded his head, admonishing Belua’s words, his wishes. He then asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes. We can stop all this jabbering and let me get back to my training,” he replied with a lop-sided grin.
The ludus’ gate materialized ahead of him as he crossed into the Via del Teatri.
It was unusually hot and the gate’s iron spikes seemed to shimmer in the sun’s glare. It was usually too hot to train during the middle part of the day, but Belua had no time to waste before the coming match and Malleolus would be waiting for him. It would be another brutal session. Clodian had said that he would sacrifice a bull to the gods, to bring him success, but Belua had little time for the gods, having always relied on the strength of his own right arm. And he was glad that Clodian had agreed to retain the services of Kaeso for the present, to watch his back. He knew of no better man for the task.
Although never regarding himself as a religious, superstitious man, he’d said nothing to anyone about the dream he’d had two nights earlier.
It had been late when sleep had finally claimed him, and even then his slumber had been restless, and then the dream came.
Eagles were flying in a clear, bright blue sky. One of them, the strongest, flew high above the rest. Abruptly it swooped down to drink from the cupped hands of a man whose face he could not recognise. The man had a proud bearing, the look of a champion and wore a crown of dull iron on his brow. He allowed the great bird to drink its fill. Sated, the eagle emitted a shrieking cry and then tore at the man’s face with its cruel talons before climbing high in the air to join the others. Suddenly, its mighty wings began to flutter, as if broken. With a desperate cry it fell heavily to earth, to lie dead at the man’s feet.
He’d awoken in a cold, damp sweat, the dream troubling him as he pondered its meaning. Resolute, he’d thrust it to the back of his mind, determined to leave the dreams to the dreamers…
Chapter 36