by JJ Zep
While the proceedings were going on, Marcus Flaminicus arrived at my cell with another man, who wore a wig on his head, and a copious amount of powder on his face. The man introduced himself as Glabius Vitus, editor of the games.
"Is this your man?" he asked Flaminicus.
"This is he."
"Seems rather puny to be facing Germanicus. Oh, well, a quick fight and I'll be home for an early supper. The crowd's just here for blood anyway. What do you think, Thraex or Secutor?”
“Are you joking? Thraex? Germinicus will carve that little shield apart with one heft.”
“He’ll carve the bigger shield apart with two, but as you wish.”
The man rummaged through a wooden crate and threw me a leather tunic, a kind of metal arm guard and a bronze helmet. “Try these for size,” he said, “Then take one of those large shields standing against the wall there.” To Flaminicus he said. “You may want to pick out a gladius for your man, not sure he’d know one end from the other. Has he even handled a sword?”
“He’ll be just fine,” Flaminicus said. He picked up a few swords, hefted them, tested the blades against his thumb, then settled on one. “This will do,” he said and handed it to me. Flaminicus checked and adjusted my armor, tightening the tunic and switching the arm guard to my sword hand.
“Send him through when it’s time,” Glabius Vitus said. He walked down the passage into the arena and I heard the crowd cheer.
“I’ve seen this Vandal fight many times,” Flaminicus said, “so here’s a tip for you. There’s no guile in him. He simply swings that huge battle-axe of his hoping to strike a fortuitous blow. If he lands one, he’ll cleave you in two, even if you are immortal, so keep moving and stay out of reach, tire him out. Not that it will do you much good, he’ll likely cut you down with his first swing.”
From the arena now, I heard the editor say, “Fabius Negritis,” followed by jeering from the crowd.
“It’s time,” Flaminicus said, and led me towards the arena.
XVI
I stepped out onto the sandy floor of the arena and looked up at a crowd of thousands staring down from the stands. A few cheers went up when they saw me, quickly drowned out by a tumult of jeers. In this fight I was clearly not on the home team.
The editor spotted me and motioned me over to stand beside him. In front of me, in the stands, I saw Mark Antony with a distinguished-looking man sitting beside him who I recognized as Julius Caesar. To the other side of Caesar sat a lanky young man wearing a sour expression. I took him to be Brutus. Drusilla sat next to Mark Antony and now blew me a kiss, drawing a look from her husband.
“If it please your honors,” the editor said, “Bring to the arena, Germanicus the Vandal!” Pandemonium broke out in the stands as the crowd rose to their feet clapping and cheering. From the corner of my eye, I saw a hulking figure emerge from the tunnel and enter the ring. He worked the crowd with bows and waves and then lined up on the other side of the editor.
“Raise your arm, pleb,” the editor said and I did, the way I’d seen it done in the movies.
“We who are about to die, salute you!” I said on the editors prompting and I heard the same words repeated in a gruff, Teutonic voice beside me.
With the formalities completed, the editor left the ring and I turned to face my opponent. I’m not sure what I’d been thinking up to that point but the minute I saw Germanicus, I knew I was going to shed at least one of my allotted lives today. He was huge, easily seven foot of brawny, muscle-bound barbarian. He had filthy long hair and a bushy heard. He wore no armor and carried no shield. Instead he had on a shaggy jerkin over rough-hewn trousers. In his hand he carried his battle-axe, its shaft at least as tall as me, its blade curved and lethal. He smiled at me now, exposing a mouthful of rotten teeth and then he took his first swing.
Nothing in my training with Commodus had prepared me for this, and even if it had all of that training was erased from my short-term memory in an instant. All I remembered was the advice of Marcus Flaminicus to move and stay out of reach. Right now, that seemed like solid counsel.
Germanicus swung again, and this time I ducked under the blow and went through his legs as though sliding into first base. The big barbarian seemed momentarily confused then turned to see me standing behind him. All the humor had gone out of him now and there was murder in his eyes and a low rumble in his throat.
“Jitterbug, if you can hear me, I could really use your help right now,” I muttered under my breath. But if the little imp was around, he didn’t answer. Knowing Jitterbug, he’d probably placed a bet on Germanicus to win.
Germanicus approached more cautiously this time, shuffling left and right, trying to tempt me into a move. He feinted to swing high, no doubt hoping I’d try my first base trick again, then he swung the axe low, aiming for my ankles. But the feint was so obvious and I spotted it easily and jumped over his swing. And so it continued with him chasing me around the arena and me ducking and diving.
Eventually the crowd began to become annoyed. They’d come to see a bloodbath, not a comedy routine, and the jeers soon became curses. I felt a stone rattle against my helmet and then more stones rained down.
Germanicus faced me across the arena, a frustrated and angry giant who wanted nothing more than to split me straight down the middle with his battle axe. Another stone struck my helmet and suddenly an idea popped into my head. I dropped my shield and raised my sword holding it two handed with the grip just under my chin. Germanicus unleashed a terrifying barbarian battle cry and charged, his axe held above his head. Another stone sailed in my direction and I swung the sword, catching it as sweetly as Babe Ruth popping a home run over center field. The stone rocketed across the arena, straight into Germanicus’ gaping mouth and down his throat. The barbarian stalled in mid-charge, dropped his battle-axe and clawed frantically at his throat. Then he slumped to his knees before pitching face down in the dirt.
There was a momentary, disbelieving silence in the arena and then a cheer went up that soon evolved into a chant of, “Negritis! Negritis! Negritis!”
And so it was that I started my first day in Rome hailed as a god, and my second hailed as a champion gladiator.
XVII
“Good news,” Antony said. “I’ve managed to buy out your fiscal obligation to Numero. That old scoundrel drives a hard bargain, but it’s done. You belong to me now.”
“But…”
“No need to thank me, it’s the least I could do for a friend.”
“I was kind of hoping to get back to my life.”
“What? As a fishmonger? You? You’re the greatest gladiator in Rome, why would you want to go back to being a fishmonger?
“But my wife…”
“A swift and unemotional divorce is always best I find. I’ll make the arrangements.”
“But…”
“Think nothing of it, your friend Mark Antony has matters well in hand. Now, there’s someone very important wants to meet you.”
A man entered the room with his entourage and as he got closer I saw that it was Caesar.
“Bow your head,” Antony instructed.
“That won’t be necessary,” Caesar said. “It is I who come to pay homage.” He looked me up and down. “So,” he said, “You’re the mighty Fabius Negritis. I had heard you were a god, now I find you are Rome’s greatest gladiator.”
“I am neither, sire.”
“Silence!” Antony commanded. “Speak only when invited to do so.”
“Retendo, Tribune Antony. Let the man speak. Perhaps he has some wisdom to impart.”
“I am neither a god nor a gladiator, sire.”
“Modest,” Caesar said. “I had heard you’d been to Hades and back and that the gods had favored you with immortality.”
“An exaggeration, I assure you.”
“So no words of wisdom then, no vignettes from the afterlife.”
“I’m afraid not, Caesar.”
“A great pity. I was hoping
for your counsel on some rumors I’ve been hearing. It appears some senators are displeased with the status quo. Quite absurd really, I’ve heard the name of Brutus mentioned in dispatches. The boy is like a son to me, he idolizes me. Romans, hey, they love a bit of intrigue.” He turned to Antony. “I must away, Calpurnia is unwell, plagued by visions. Congratulations on your victory today.”
As Caesar walked away I felt an overwhelming need to warn him. Don’t ask me why, I knew I couldn’t change history, but I blurted out anyway, “Beware the Ides of March.”
Caesar stopped and turned towards me. “I’m sorry?” he said.
“I said, beware the Ides of March, sire.”
“Why that day in particular?” Caesar said.
“There is a plot sire. Stay away from the senate on the Ides of March.”
Caesar seemed to consider that for a moment then said. “I’ll take it under advisement,” and walked away.
After Caesar had left, Antony instructed Flaminicus to escort me to the Ludis, or gladiator school. “Brutus will want his revenge and he’s sure to dig up some odious Nubian or Gaul or German to put up against you, so your need to stay in shape. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”
I walked the short distance to the school guarded by Flaminicus and four of his men. As we approached the gates of the Ludis, Flaminicus called a halt and pulled me to one side.
“What you said back there about a plot against Caesar, how do you know this?” he asked
“Just a hunch,” I said.
“A hunch?”
“Yes, you know, an instinct, a premonition…”
“I know what a hunch is. But you sounded very certain, like you had foreknowledge of this event. Is this something you learned in the afterlife?”
“Only a hunch,” I assured him.
Flaminicus thought about that, then said, “I trust you, fishmonger. Don’t ask me why, but I do. If you learn anything more about this plot against Caesar…”
“You’ll be the first to know,” I assured him.
XVIII
The Ludis was run by a retired gladiator by the name of Aurelius Scarus, a flame-haired man with a jagged scar across his face. “I saw your performance in the Forum,” Scarus said. “Shameful, you run like a chicken and fight like a girl. But don’t worry we’ll soon whip you into shape, by the god’s I’ll make a proper gladiator out of you, even if it kills you.”
“His honor Mark Antony instructs that Fabius Negritis is to rest today,” Flaminicus said.
“Pah! Rest! I urinate on rest! I defecate on rest!”
“Still, Antony was quite insistent.”
“Oh, very well. Although how he expects me to train his fighters when he treats them like pampered Patrician brats, I’ll never know.”
I was taken to a barracks building and pushed into a tiny cell, a bowl of gruel was thrown in after me.
“Enjoy your rest, fishmonger.” Scarus growled. “You’re going to need it.”
After he left I examined the cell, which was not much bigger than my cubicle back in Hades. The walls were rough plaster and there was a single barred window and a solid, reinforced door. There was no bed in the room, just some straw tossed carelessly in a corner. Not that I had time to think about rest. I had to figure a way out of here. Tomorrow was already the fourteenth and I had to be out of here by the fifteenth, hopefully with Bacchus safely jarred. Right now, I didn’t even know where Bacchus was.
“Oi! Gladiator!” the guard said. “You’ve got a visitor.” The door swung open and a cloaked and hooded figure stepped into the cell and waited while the door was shut again.
The woman removed her hood and for a moment I felt like the breath had been sucked from my body. She was a goddess, a stonewall fox, I believe my nerdy buddies back in my former life would have called her. The woman had raven hair and dark eyes and skin the color of caramel.
“Johnny Black,” she said in a voice that sounded as sweet as a lullaby. “We meet at last.”
“I’m not…” I stammered.
“Spare me the subterfuge,” the woman said. “I know who you are.” She had an accent I didn’t quite recognize, pronouncing her w’s as v’s.
“But how…”
“It’s my business to know. We’re in the same business, you and I.”
“You’re a soul chaser?”
“I prefer bounty hunter. Why mince words, we know what it is we do.”
“And you’re working for…”
“I’m an independent contractor.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Oh yes, lucrative too.”
“Wow, I never knew. I’m sorry, you are?
“Pandora Jain.” She extended a hand that felt fragile, but her grip was firm. She was wearing a fragrance that smelled of jasmine and made me feel dizzy.
“So this is some case we’ve got here,” Pandora said.
“We?”
“Yes, you know, General Bacchus.”
“You’re working the Bacchus case?”
“Of course, he’s the most high-profile runner in Rome right now. Pretty decent bounty, too.”
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this?”
“I thought we could exchange notes. Help each other out, maybe. I’ve been watching your career with interest, Johnny. The work you did in Chicago, genius. Playing one side off against the other, working the margins.”
“Look Pandora, not that I wouldn’t like to help you out or anything but I don’t even know who you’re working for?”
“Underworld,” she said. “But I’ve got a little side deal with Netherworld, that may or may not play out. We’ll see.”
“You do know that I’m working for Hades Correctional?”
“Of course.”
“So in effect, we’re rivals.”
“Rivals,” she said. “Such a confrontational word. Why can’t we just be friends? I could make it worth your while, if you know what I mean.”
She reached over and put a hand on my shoulder and I suddenly knew exactly what she meant. Right then I would have sold my soul (if I still owned it) just to take that possibility further.
“Much as I’d like to help you, Pandora. I don’t even know where Bacchus is being held, right now.”
“Held?” she said. “You said held.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you did. So Bacchus is being held prisoner. Interesting. Thanks Johnny Black, I knew I could count on you.” She leaned forward and kissed me, just a brush of the lips really, and I felt as though I was going to pass out.
Pandora flipped the hood back over her head and knocked on the door. “Oh,” she said just before she stepped across the threshold, “Give my regards to Jitterbug, when you see him.”
IXX
Pandora left the cell, but the smell of her perfume still lingered, making me feel light-headed and confused. This was a new wrinkle that I really didn’t need, a rival soul chaser on the case. Not only that, but a rival soul chaser who could probably extract every bit of information I had just by asking. Already I’d given her a valuable lead. Right now she was probably scouring every jail and lock-up in Rome looking for Bacchus.
I needed to get out of the cell to clear my head, so I pounded on the door. “Guard,” I said. “I need to take the air.”
To my surprise the door swung open and I stepped out, walked down a corridor and into an open yard. There were pairs of gladiators at work in the yard, staging mock battles with wooden weapons. Scarus walked among them, providing direction and reprimands.
Beyond the yard was a gate, locked and secured with a stout chain and guarded by sentries. A crowd of people stood at the gate looking in, watching the gladiators going through their routines. They paid little attention to me, despite my newfound fame as Rome’s greatest gladiator. For some reason I found that disappointing, maybe being hailed as a god and a champion was getting to me.
“Hey look,” a child’s voice said. “It’s Fabius Negritis. He
y Fabius, your autograph please.” At the fence I saw a child in a hooded cape accompanied by a man who appeared to be blind. I headed in that direction.
“So, little boy,” I said. “You’re a fan of Fabius Negritis, are you?”
“Cut the crap, Dexter,” Jitterbug growled from under the hood. “What are you doing sunning yourself when you’ve got a mission to complete.”
“Sunning myself? It may have escaped your attention but I’m locked up under armed guard here. Plus, I’ve been thrown into the arena and almost been decapitated by a giant barbarian.”
“Yeah, I know. Lost me ten denari on that fight, you putz.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” I said. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Commie, no matter…”
“Commie?”
“That’s sire, or lord, or imperator to you, pleb,” the blind man said.
“Commodus? You brought Commodus here? Why?”
“I needed a guide.”
“Oh, so you decided to host your ‘guide’ as a blind man. Touch of genius that.”
“I was in a hurry,” Jitterbug said.
“What’s going on?” Commodus said.
“Nothing to worry about, Commie, just Blackwell here spreading his usual negativity.”
“Negativity!” I said.
“Calm down, Dexter, people are looking.”
“Okay, I’m calm. What’s the plan?”
“The plan? This is your mission. You’re supposed to be the one coming up with the plans. I’m just and observer here, remember.”
“Okay, okay. Just let me think for a while.” In truth, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do, but then a thought occurred to me.
“Find Marcus Flaminicus,” I said. “He’s a centurion with…”