The Snake Catcher

by Bilinmeyen

  Yes, I thought. They were the symbol of a tyrant, no matter how modest Augustus tried to appear to the Romans. The men waiting around the bookies saw us coming, and I noticed the two men frowning. Some of the gamblers hurried, got their ticket, and as if by magical lightning strike, the men around the table had disappeared by the time I made it there.

  The thin jawed man squinted up at me. “Do you speak—”

  “I speak Latin,” I told him. “And I’m—”

  “Bad for business,” the bald man said plainly. “What do you want. Girl, boy, a bet?”

  “A boy?” I asked, anger trickling out of my mouth. “What—”

  “Castor,” the thin jaw muttered, “has a point. Take your pick. There’s a horserace coming, men wishing to get rich, and we would like to, as well. Are you putting down a bet? If you are, do so and get lost.”

  “I’m looking for a man,” I said, ignoring his scowl.

  He chortled. “A boy, then. Alas, all mine are taken for the day. Try a brothel. I suggest the ones in Suburba. Not sure if it matters to you, but the very clean ones are in the corner of Viminalis Hill. Take Argiletum past the Forum, stop when you see a yellow and blue statue of Mater Magna, and there, close, you see this red bricked domus. It’s really a brothel. There, you ask for the Greek brothers. They serve the best ass—”

  I slammed my hand on the table, and a tavern that had been fairly silent, was now deadly silent. “I’m not looking for such a man. Nor brothers, Greek or from Hel. I seek a man you might know. I’m thinking he is a gladiator. I don’t know who owns him. I only saw him briefly, but I have his name.”

  The man rubbed his chin as he eyes the wound on my neck. “Only briefly, eh? Gladiators? Gladiators don’t often scuttle around on their own, unless they are very well trusted. Does he have a ludus, a master?”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out, you lout. I know the gladiator’s name, I said. That is all I have.”

  The bald man, Castor, looked at the curly hair, who shrugged, frowning at the ever growing group behind us. “Help him,” he told Castor.

  Castor sighed, and pulled out a piece of wood. He looked up at me. “Can you write?”

  I grabbed the stylus clumsily, and ignored the surprised mutters behind me. The Romans didn’t have too much respect for the abilities of the foreigners. “Istros,” I muttered, as I handed it to the man.

  He took it reluctantly, and peered up at me. “I didn’t ask you to say it aloud. I wanted you to write it down. Dacian?”

  “Dacian,” I said. “I guess. He had a snake on his forearm. Tattoo.”

  He took a deep breath, and shook his shoulders, as if to shrug a heavy weight off them. He snapped the note and then dropped it to the dust. “There are a hundred gladiators with such names. Swift. That’s what it means. Swift, indeed. Biter, Swift, Brutal, Killer. They all are called something like that. I know him not.”

  I opened my mouth, but Rochus pulled me aside, and pushed me away. I noticed he held my pouch. The bastard had lifted it from my belt. He pulled out a gold coin. “What’s the absolutely most terrible nag racing today, a beast barely worth the title of a horse?”

  Castor made a cursing sound, filled with greed. He mumbled something under his breath, and the other one understood it all. He spoke with such a soft voice none else herd us. “Elephant. The name says it all. Slow and old.” He looked almost apologetic. “Horrible odds. Terrible.”

  Rochus pulled out a silver coin to accompany the golden one. There were not many there, and I bit my lip. “These two on the Elephant then,” Rochus said with a squint. He held up his hand, and the coins glittered, the thin jaws licked his lips, and Castor sighed.

  The bald man winked me over, and I went to my knee next to him. “There is a ludus near Horrea Galbana,” he said with a sonorous voice. “It’s owned by the Gens Lollia, who lives in a domus by Esquiline hills. They rent it out. Not sure who runs it now. Anyway, they have many Thracians in this gladiator team. There are a lot of Dacians as well. But, the best part is this. It’s called ‘The Snake Pit.’” He was tapping his arm. “Some have tattoos.”

  “Lollius,” I muttered, as Rochus dropped the coins to the big-jaws’ palm. The man bit into one, albeit discreetly, and Rochus received a bit of wood, making him a proud owner of a bet for the horse called the Elephant. He handed it to Tudrus, and I scowled, since it was technically bought with my coin.

  We walked out.

  Lollius hated Tiberius; Adalwulf had told me so. It would make sense. I smiled and felt my plans were coming together. I’d not have to hurt Cassia, and my soul sang.

  I stopped to lean on the wall.

  Tudrus grunted and shouldered me. “Well. Some answers. Will you tell Livia of this?”

  “We don’t know anything yet,” I answered. “Not a thing. We need to find out more. If this Lollius is involved, it will be hard. The man also has the ear of Augustus.” I shrugged. “We go and see the ludus, and make inquiries.”

  They stood there, looking foolish as I didn’t budge.

  “Well, are we going?” Wandal asked. “We’ll get lost so many times it will be late when we get back to the Block.”

  “Wait,” I said, and then, we didn’t have to wait any longer. Brimwulf appeared. He was not smiling, and I sensed something was wrong.

  “Where did you go?” Tudrus asked. “Got lost, or found a girl?”

  “No,” he said with a hurt voice. “I never get lost. And I have a girl. I found the man.”

  I looked into his eyes. “There was someone following us. I set Brimwulf on him. Where is he?”

  He nodded towards the porticos. “Come see for yourself.”

  We walked forward, and saw a crowd of men and women. I frowned and kneeled to look past their legs. There, a man lay, dead.

  Or a boy.

  It was the boy of Julia’s, Lucius, his yellow tunic smeared in blood.

  I got up and cursed. “You killed him? I wanted to—”

  Brimwulf shook his head. “I captured him. I was dragging him to you. Then, suddenly, a crowd surrounded us, and I heard him scream. Someone stabbed him. I saw a man, lithe and cloaked.”

  I rubbed my face. Julia was spying on me. Someone had seen us capture the boy. Someone had made sure he’d not talk. Julia was being guarded. It would be a miracle if she didn’t know about me, and my association with Livia and Tiberius.

  I felt eyes on us on all sides, and decided there was nothing to be done. Not then.

  I snatched my pouch back from Rochus, who grinned weakly and spoke forlornly. “I can see from the look in your face we are fucked.”

  “We have been fucked for years,” I said unhappily, “but yes, we are more fucked than we need to be. Let us see to the ludus.”

  ***

  Later, in an hour, after walking through markets filled with cows and vegetables, taking many a wrong turn, we found the ludus. It had been one, but no longer was. There were no sign, no lights, and it had been abandoned, not too long ago. Nobody knew where the Snake Pit had moved to.

  We returned to the Block, and I remembered what Cassia had told of the medicus of the Block.

  I’d have to figure out a way to get to him, I decided.

  As it turned out, that was the least of my worries.

  CHAPTER 12

  There was training ongoing that afternoon, and men were sparring with wooden swords and spears in a mighty display of the practice only Romans put their warriors through. It was repetitive, brutal, and merciless, producing killers who did not flinch in a most desperate fight.

  We stood around like lost lambs, seeing there was no Adalwulf in sight. Some of the fourth were training with them, others were probably running outside. I looked at Wandal, he shrugged, and Rochus nodded towards the barracks. “If they want us, they’ll tell us.”

  And they did want us.

  Kleitos surged out of the praetorium of the Block, and rushed after us for the barrack. He leaned on the doorway, looking
down at us as we were putting away our gear and weapons. “Did you get lost, Guard?” he asked and slapped the doorway so hard some dogs slunk away to hide.

  Maximus appeared and stood half in front of him. “What the Prefect is saying, is that you should make your way back to the Block immediately after duty.”

  I nodded. “We got lost.”

  “And your men?” Kleitos grimaced. “Did they also get lost?”

  “Yes,” I snapped. “We all got lost. We went to the city,” I snarled. “We took many wrong turns, wandered around like drunks in a feast, and now, we are here. Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

  He snapped the fingers. “Get out there. Instead of cavorting in the city, your men should be here, training. You guard the family, don’t you? What if they need to fight someone proficient with a sword, one day? It’s on my head, isn’t it? Where is your Decurion?”

  Maximus flexed his shoulders. “Sir, he is training men out of the castra.”

  “Tell him to get these rats in line,” he hissed. “True professional fighter would—”

  I spoke so icily the man blanched. “They’ve killed plenty of professional soldiers,” I said mulishly. “And sir, I think we are due some sleep after an all-night guard duty the bastards gave us.”

  He looked astonished. “Bastards? You don’t approve of your duty? It is a punishment, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I said with a frown. “I need the sleep.”

  His eyes flashed, as he gave Maximus a long look. The Decurion shrugged. “The Prefect is right. Your men cannot use sword. They hack around with it like it was a club. A disgrace they are. So you will have to train, night duty or not. You’ll bathe and sleep a few hours before your next duty, but before that, you must train.”

  Kleitos pointed a finger to the yard. “Get ready, then. Are you trying to make us look bad? Make me look bad? Strip away from the armor, and join them.”

  We did. We did it sullenly, and disrespectfully, and I knew Kleitos was looking for any excuse to try to boot us from the Guard. Not that he could, but he was relentless. We made it up to the field, where men turned to glance our way, apparently aware we had pissed off the Prefect.

  Maximus shrugged at me apologetically as I approached the training. “Adalwulf’s out for the day. Take part for an hour, or two. He’s not totally wrong, you know. Your men have to learn the sword.”

  “Fine,” I said, trembling with fatigue. “Let us.”

  “He wants you to fight Ulrich,” Maximus said, giving me a warning look. I turned to inspect the gigantic Germani, who was already eyeing me back.

  “Another Grim,” I whispered.

  “Grim?” Maximus asked, confused. “What do you mean? In fact, I’d like to speak to you about Grim. He—”

  “Isn’t here,” I concluded, and walked to the group of training men, picking up a heavy wooden sword and a shield. Kleitos, shaded by a slave with an odd contraption, was standing nearby, and pointed his finger at me, then at Ulrich.

  Tudrus pulled at me, whispering urgently. “He’s out to hurt you. It’s not a training session. It’s a setup. You’ll get hammered into a pulp.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He is going to try. But, I could use some medical attention.”

  “What? Can you take him?” Tudrus whispered. “What shall I tell Cassia, if your spine is broken?”

  “You want me to back off? Beg them? Tell them I’m ill?” I hissed. “Don’t have much of a choice. Tell Cassia to kill me, if I lose and still breathe.”

  Wandal slapped my back. “Go for his balls, eh?”

  “Made of iron, no doubt,” I muttered and turned to look at the man.

  Maximus was pushing my friends to take their gear and face off against opponents, though it was clear there would be no fighting, before they all saw what would happen in ours. The Germani nodded at me. His neck was like a tree trunk, and chest wide as a pillar in one of the mighty temples of Capitolium or the Forum. He was a man nearly seven feet tall. He was bigger than Leuthard had been, and his eyes were clever. He had a trimmed dark beard, ruddy face, sunburned chest, and his eyes sought out Kleitos for just a moment. I knew where they had failed in the night, they’d succeed during the day. Kleitos wanted to make a cripple out of me, since he failed to kill me. I stretched my shoulders, cursed the sleep that I lacked, and saw a thin, hawk nosed man make his way to Kleitos, holding a parchment. Kleitos, distracted, growled orders at the slave shading him to step back, and leaned over to look at what the man was showing him.

  I pulled at Maximus discreetly. “What’s that?”

  Maximus nodded towards the central keep. “His scribe. Kleitos would be fucked without him. Keeps his stuff in order.” He winked at me. “The scribe also keeps his loincloths in order.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “They share bedchamber,” Maximus said wryly. “Kleitos has a soft side as well.”

  “Scribe and a lover,” I said, wondering. The scribe smiled at the Prefect, who waved him off. “Where is Kleitos’s office?”

  “The keep,” Maximus said. “Bottom floor. Too lazy to climb up. Had to place the medicus and the sick on the second floor. He slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Take a beating like a man, now.”

  “He’s out to do more than that,” I whispered and moved to confront the Germani.

  The others kept to their training, but I heard them making bets all around us.

  The huge man stepped near me, squinting as he looked at me. He was taking in my grip with the sword, and I cursed myself for looking proficient with it. “Used one before?” he asked uncertainly.

  “I’ve poked some men with one,” I told him. “You?” I asked brazenly.

  He snorted. “A few. Quite a few. I saw you have a sword of your own. Fancy. Who did you steal it from? A drunk in a feast?”

  “Stole it from a child,” I said apologetically. “You talk a lot for such a big man. They usually eat, shit, and sleep, but little more.”

  His eyes promised me a painful whipping. “Nice scar,” the man said, looking at my face. “Want a matching one on the other side?”

  I scratched my back with the blade. “I doubt you can. A man gave it to me,” I told him.

  “Oh-ho!” he laughed. “The little man’s got balls. Small ones, but balls nonetheless. I like it. I’m—”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Ubii. Yes, that’s it. Ulrich. Of the dregs the Romans moved to the other side of Rhenus River. A miserable offspring of cowards,” I said as he stalked around me, his heavy wooden sword trembling. He was in no hurry.

  “We moved,” he retorted. “We moved willingly.”

  “Oh, right,” I smiled. “I heard your people cried as they did. Not out of happiness, I think. They were coward’s tears.”

  His eyes flashed, but he took a deep breath, and calmed himself. He was not the usual Germani bastard. He had discipline, and his size and savagery would make for a painful lesson in a bit. Tudrus was near, Agetan and Bohscyld with him, and all were ignoring their supposed training partners. Ulrich looked their way. “Those three look like proper fighters. Protective of you, citizen. I’ll leave you alive, and they don’t have to seek me out, eh?”

  I leaned closer. “Is that what the Prefect wants? To leave me alive?”

  He shook his head with amusement. “No, he’d probably prefer you died away. The Prefect doesn’t like you. It’s always like that when someone comes along and seems to be the favorite of the family. And you are not the first Germani coming to the Block with high ideas of themselves. Fight now.”

  He claimed Kleitos wanted me for the threat to his position. But, the Guard had released Antius. No, Ulric was lying.

  I held my sword clumsily, and twirled it. I cut the air with it, and prepared. I lifted the shield, praying to the gods I’d not end up a cripple.

  “Sorry,” he said, and charged. He moved uncannily fast, and he came in low. His shield came at me, and I banged mine at his. He stabbed at my leg, and I danced away, and hacked wit
h the heavy wooden sword. Then I went mad. I hacked and hacked at his shield, like a peasant reaping barley, and the Ubii took the hits casually, his legs crouched. There was a look of confusion on his face, but I kept slamming my shield and sword at him, roaring like a bear.

  He crouched behind his shield, and took all of the hits, his sword ready. He was letting me exhaust myself, but I didn’t exhaust easily, no matter the lack of sleep. I pushed him, hacked, and spat and cursed. There were snickers and groans all around us, as the men anticipated my pain.

  Then the strike came.

  His power was undeniable. He ground his shield into mine so suddenly I nearly twisted an ankle. The shield pushed me back savagely, and the man kicked at my leg painfully. I hissed with the pain, let down my guard for a second, and the man stabbed his heavy wooden sword into me, and I jumped back as it struck my chest.

  The men yelled encouragements. My friends ground their teeth together. Brimwulf actually took a step forward, until Agetan stopped him.

  They had seen it.

  The hit had been aimed at my throat, and I had barely managed to step away.

  “Try again, hay maker,” Ulrich grumbled.

  I nodded and charged.

  Shield slammed into shield, my blade thrummed into his. He roared and slammed his fist for my temple, but it only clipped my forehead. I hacked at his leg, his arm, always hacked. He disdainfully, impudently blocked all such efforts.

  “I’m disappointed. You need training, you do,” he panted at me as he threw me back.

  He was good.

  The blade again punched at me, coming snake-fast from behind his shield, and stuck the air near my throat. I slammed his shield and sword with my guard, and roared with mad rage.

  He walked in again, relentless, and I hacked at him, again, in rage. The blade slammed to his shield’s rim, and he grunted as the tip scratched his forehead. Woden’s anger was whispering to me now, speaking of violent ending to my foe, promising victory. I felt the demanding presence, the power coursing in my blood, but I held it back, trying to remain a man, not an animal, even for a moment.