Murder In-Absentia

by Assaph Mehr

  I looked out to the circus as well. The inner ring, the one closest to the sands of the arena, was lined with booths like ours, shaded at the top and partitioned. To our right, about a quarter of the circle away, was the large box for the governor of the Kebric Isles. While I have not been introduced, I recognised him from the foyer below. A thin, light coloured man in his forties, named Aulus Paulinus I believe.

  Above the inner circle rose tiers of stone benches, now full of excited people. Between them I saw slaves walk around with trays of food and drink, no doubt paid for by the governor’s quaestors hoping to win votes in coming years. Above hung large cloth sails, tied together on projecting beams and manipulated with ropes and pulleys to provide shade for the seats.

  A fanfare sounded, and I lowered my gaze to the arena. Today was the conclusion of the Ludi Florae, the part most common people were interested in. Yesterday’s celebrations included the opening ceremonies, theatre plays and other observances and festivities. Today was to include the concluding sacrifice, which the governor has elected to offer, somewhat unconventionally, as gladiatorial games.

  In walked the governor’s lictors, bearing fasces with axes, signifying the power of life and death about to be witnessed, their crimson leather sandals on the bright sand looking like pools of blood. Behind them came the trumpeters, followed by acrobats and clowns. After the entertainers followed the rudis bearing his referee staff and the palm fronds for the victors, and in his train walked the gladiators.

  For the opening ceremony, the gladiators were dressed in fancy garb, ornate silver armour plates shining brightly with reflected sunlight. Their helmets were sporting plumes of ostrich feathers, long horse tails, and metal fish heads. On their belts hung thick knotted cords, showing their tally of previous wins. Seven gladiators walked in the parade, and I wondered if the special treat would be a one-against-two fight.

  The procession circled around the arena, the lictors and entertainers disappearing back inside while the gladiators and rudis stopped in front of the governor’s box. Aulus Paulinus rose and with a clear orator’s voice delivered a short speech. An uninspired thing he mercifully kept it short, touching on the importance of the Floralia to our people, how in spring life is celebrated with a touch of death, and ending by building up the excitement for the surprise main event.

  The gladiators went back inside to change into combat armour, and the crowds settled in their seat with the program, to discuss the merits of each gladiator and place bets.

  * * *

  The first fight of the games was a classic match of a myrmillo against a hoplomachus. They walked on to the bright sands of the arena, saluted the governor and drew apart. The summa rudis — the senior referee — raised his staff and lowered it in a neat arc, and the match began.

  The two men circled one another for a bit, the hoplomachus feinted with his spear a few times, finally throwing it when he thought the myrmillo was expecting another feint. The myrmillo caught it on his shield, deflected and advanced. The two men closed, clashed with shields, drew back. Exchanged more feints, stabs and clashes. They were obviously from the same school, and have trained with each other before. The myrmillo kept his larger shield in the way, effectively blocking the hoplomachus’ shorter dagger from getting past it but at the same time not able to deliver meaningful blows with his short gladius. The hoplomachus with his small round shield and dagger was more manoeuvrable, yet unable to push the myrmillo or get around him. He was fighting a retreating battle, letting the man with the heavier armour chase him.

  Eventually the hoplomachus’ tactic showed. When the myrmillo was backing him into the wall, he feinted right, threw his small shield against his opponent’s head with all his strength, disengaged and ran quickly to pick up his spear. The myrmillo followed him, but his heavier shield and greaves kept him from catching up in time. The hoplomachus grabbed the fallen spear with both hands, clutching his knife along the shaft of the spear, and started hammering the myrmillo with both ends using it effectively as a staff as well as a pointed spear.

  A crazy tactic, dropping a shield, yet vindicated as the myrmillo slowly retreated under the barrage of blows, tired now and unable to find an opening. The hoplomachus did not have long to wait. Taking a step back he threw his knife at the myrmillo. No finesse to the throw though none was needed. As the myrmillo lifted his shield to block the incoming knife, the hoplomachus took a step sideways and stabbed him in the ribs with the long spear held in his left hand. The myrmillo recoiled back, staggered and fell to his knees.

  The crowd yelled with excitement at the sight of the first blood on the arena sands. I was excited as well, but for other reasons. As the myrmillo fell, Cornelia maior had clutched my arm. She was staring keenly at the men in the arena, as was indeed everyone else around us, and the gesture could have come as a purely unconscious action. At least until she added, “I do find the sight of men fighting oh so exciting, don’t you?”

  The hoplomachus resumed his battering of the kneeling myrmillo, and with a mighty kick pushed his opponent’s shield out of the way and gave a harsh blow with the butt of his spear into the man’s helmet, denting it in the process. The myrmillo fell on his back, unconscious.

  The rudis placed his staff across the chest of the hoplomachus and stayed him from skewering the prone man. He stepped to the fallen myrmillo and prodded him with his staff. One of his junior assistants ran out to him carrying a hot poker. The rudis nodded, and the assistant held the bright red poker to the fallen man’s thigh. As this happened close to our seats, I could smell the stench of seared human flesh rising from the arena.

  The defeated man was truly unconscious. The rudis looked up at the governor, who as editor of the games gave the sign of life. The crowd cheered, though from scattered boos I think they would have preferred to see more blood. No doubt the lanista of the gladiator school instructed them to aim for knocking each other out, and the governor elected not to pay the compensation for dead men.

  Satisfied that the fight concluded, the assistants dragged the body of the myrmillo by his heels out of the arena. The hoplomachus jogged around the ring for a victory lap, and was awarded the palm frond of the victor.

  Musicians and acrobats provided a short interlude while slaves raked the sands. The crowds attended to nature calls, got snacks from tray-bearing vendors, and reviewed the program for the next round of betting. Cornelia maior was talking to her sister, sitting well composed again.

  The second fight was another a classic match, between a secutor and a retiarius. They circled around on the sands, the secutor, wearing his heavy helmet with two round holes for eyes and his large shield, trying to avoid being trapped by the retiarius’ net, while the retiarius was free to move and trying to manoeuvre, yet unable to risk getting too close to the heavily armoured man, as he bore no shield and wore no armour except for one greave on his left arm.

  Once, twice, thrice he cast his net but failed to snare his opponent, the net sliding on the secutor’s smooth helmet, unable to tangle him.

  At last the secutor managed to catch the net with his sword arm. In a smooth movement he simultaneously blocked the trident thrust with his shield and yanked hard on the net. The retiarius, now armed only with his trident, faced a steel wall in the form a large shield advancing on him. His chances looked grim.

  The secutor kept slashing with his short gladius, easily blocking the trident. Not giving up, the retiarius used his mobility to his advantage, wearing his opponent out.

  At last a slower stroke of the sword gave him his chance. With deft precision, the retiarius managed to catch the secutor’s gladius between the prongs of his trident and twist hard. It was not enough to rip the sword out from the man’s hand, but it was enough to unbalance him — an advantage the retiarius was quick to capitalise on. He slammed his shoulder into the shield in front of him and sent the heavy secutor reeling back. A flurry of jabs with the trident, the secutor retreating unable to get his balance, a high feint, a slash at
the feet, a kick followed by a might stab around the shield.

  A moment frozen in time, the secutor standing staring in horror at the trident sticking into his abdomen all the way to the fork, his arms hanging limply at his side. And then with a mighty cry and a heave the retiarius yanked his weapon out, the backwards facing barbs of the prongs ripping skin and organs, and guts spilled steaming upon the sands from a belly now cut open.

  As the secutor fell, the retiarius raised his trident above his head in a wordless cry of triumph. The crowd, finding this more to their liking, roared their approval of his victory. I saw the governor give a sign to the death, combining mercy and crowd-pleasing. The retiarius put the dying secutor out of his misery, cutting his last scream short by driving his trident into his throat. The secutor’s hand and feet twitched and jerked as his life’s blood gushed onto the sands, and then lay still.

  The crowds were not the only one pleased. At the sight of the human viscera spilled upon the sands, Cornelia maior hooked her arm in mine and held tightly. She now looked away from the ring and into my eyes, and with a most excited twinkle in her eyes said, “Now that was a good fight, wouldn’t you say? A good sacrifice to Flora for a bountiful spring, and also very pleasing for us to witness.”

  The last fight promised to be the most interesting. Two dimachaeri walked onto the arena, their twin curved swords held in their hands. They made their salutes and faced each other, the rudis gave the signal and they started their intricate dance.

  Slow at first, feints and careful slashes. Then faster, harder, sparks flying from their short swords. They walked back and forth across the sands, circling, slashing, parrying, stabbing, diverting. A great concentration upon their faces — not having shields, only arm guards and a light helmet, they had to rely on the sword in each hand to both attack and defend.

  Their skill was superb. Whoever they were, however they trained, they put one of the best gladiator shows I have seen in long years of attending games. Evenly matched and at peak condition, their dance accelerated to an incredible speed, a constant blur of motion, the swords only visible as they locked and threw sparks.

  Cornelia, the gladiator aficionado, was very much excited as well. Her eyes never left the combatants but her hand was resting on my thigh, gripping it tightly. Not a soul in the crowd would have seen it as all eyes were on the show.

  The fight lasted long moments. The gladiators being men of flesh and blood and eventually started to tire out. One slowed down from his frantic pace, not much, just enough for his opponent to nick him on his ribs. The crowds voiced their appreciation of this first blood, Cornelia gasped and grasped my thigh quite firmly. And quite up along the thigh too.

  The dance was now serious, lethal, yet no less graceful. Soon more cuts and nicks appeared on both their torsos, shoulders, legs, droplets of blood flying about and shimmering in the sun as the men spun and leaped about.

  The suspense was intense, the whole crowd holding its breath, cheering, gasping as one. Until one misplaced step, one stumble and a dagger made its way deep into a shoulder. The pierced man cried, sank to his knees and raised his other hand, index finger held up. The summa rudis interposed his staff between the two sweating, bleeding men.

  The crowd was ecstatic. A few fists were raised, but far, far more hands clutching handkerchiefs were waved around. The governor scanned the crowd, and the mood was clear. Such talent was appreciated, and should not be wasted. He gave the sign, and the loser of the match was allowed to walk out of the arena with his life. The victor took his victory lap around the circus, and accepted his palm frond with a bow.

  * * *

  One last fight remained, the promised special event. After the ring was cleaned, the sand raked, the musicians and acrobats done their pieces, the governor rose to his feet.

  “Dear people of the Kebric Isles,” his voice carried clearly, “you are now about to witness a very special event. Very few such spectacles as you will soon enjoy have ever been done in the history of our great nation. Not even the city of Egretia will have such a wonderful event this year for the Ludi Florae, or indeed I imagine for any other games! You are undeniably lucky to be here, under the governorship of Aulus Paulinus!”

  He sat back in his chair and waved his hand majestically at the arena. Then, instead of the doors opening to admit the rudis and the gladiators, something most peculiar happened. Slaves ran around the circus, drawing a strong net made of thick ropes across the inner ring of seats, hauling it up and tying it tightly to posts and projections. The result was a sandy arena enclosed fifteen feet above it by a huge net. Murmurs ran through the crowd as speculation mounted. Bets about what was coming were yelled and accepted amongst the spectators.

  The rudis reappeared inside the governor’s box. He raised his staff and banged it on the marble, and an excited hush descended on the crowd. First the doors on one end opened, and in strode the seventh gladiator, alone. He was wearing padded arm and leg greaves, a leather cuirass covering his chest and back, and a crested round helmet. He carried a spear and a whip, but no shield. This was no doubt a bestiarius, which left open the question which beast would he be given to fight?

  The bestiarius strode to the centre of the arena, spun around holding his spear upright, and ended facing the governor’s box. He gave his salute, and turned to face the heavy gates at the other end. The rudis once again lifted his staff and banged it down upon the floor, the echoes of the noise bouncing inside the enclosed amphitheatre.

  Slowly the large double doors creaked open, revealing a dark, cavernous maw in the wall. At first nothing, and then with a mighty screech that set my teeth on edge, came a golden blur of movement out of the doors and into the centre of the arena. People all around cowered and jumped back at the noise, and Cornelia huddled and clutched me. The thing crashed into the net and stretched it taut, and for a moment a baleful yellow eye above a sharp beak stared directly at me.

  The thing was pushed back by the net, landed on the sands and shrieked in frustration again. We could now all make out what it was, and the crowds roared wordlessly. Before us stood a mighty gryphon, big as a horse, head held high and proud. The golden feathers of its fore-claws blended midway with the golden lion’s fur of its back, right behind where the two magnificent wings sprouted from its shoulders. It gave a horrible shriek again, like a thousand birds of prey all at once, and rose into the air. It slashed the net with the claws on its front legs and tried to snap the ropes with its large hooked beak, but the net held against the assault.

  From where Aulus Paulinus had got such a creature, and what it must have cost him, I did not know. Gryphons are creatures of high desert mountains, not the sea islands. To have managed to acquire the beast and import it in secrecy to the islands was no mean feat. His name would surely be remembered for years.

  The bestiarius made the first move against the gryphon, sending his whip cracking against its hind legs. The gryphon landed on all fours and looked at him malevolently. The gladiator cracked his whip again, this time towards the beast’s face in order to enrage it. The gryphon reared on its hind legs wings outstretched, and bellowed its anger at the man facing it. It thumped down and flapped its wings forward, creating a dust storm to blind the bestiarius. The man moved sideways, and made a stab at the creature of myth with his spear.

  All this excitement reflected in Cornelia too. She had her hand on my thigh in a way most inappropriate for a public event, and one that distracted me greatly from a fight the likes of which I never hoped to witness.

  For those few who are not familiar with our Egretian togas, bear in mind the following. The toga is made from a large swath of wool, an uneven rectangle with the corners rounded measuring fifteen feet by seven feet or thereabouts. To don a toga by oneself is an impossible feat. A slave is required to properly drape and fold and tuck the garment to achieve the correct effect.

  Once togate, the left hand is practically immobilised holding the folds. The body must be kept perfectly erect while
standing, walking, sitting. A swift movement and the thing comes undone. Because of the complexity and restrictions on movements men don only a short tunic underneath. Other than that, we Egretian men wear nothing else underneath the drapery, so that calls of nature could be attended to in ease.

  And thus, sitting rigidly with back straight, left hand clenching at the folds of fabric at my chest lest they come undone, the crowds roaring around us, none noticed my gasp as Cornelia’s hand expertly and deftly found its way past the sinus of my toga and down between my legs.

  In the arena meanwhile, man and beast were clashing. The man was tall and muscular, a fine specimen of manhood in its prime. Yet next to the gryphon he looked as a child. The creature shrieked and flapped and tore at him with its claws and wings, yet the man moved deftly about, darting around the circular walls of the arena. He cracked his whip to distract and enrage the beast, and stabbed his long spear whenever it got too close.

  The man’s skill was superb. He looked as if he was training all his life for this fight. On a couple of occasions the gryphon managed to swat his spear away with his wings and get close enough to claw his guts out or tear at his face with its hooked beak — and yet each time the man managed to duck and roll, never losing his weapon and never sustaining more serious wounds than small cuts.