The Exiled

by David Barbaree

  The girl is crying and furious. ‘I’ve already lost my parents. I can’t lose Alexander as well.’

  ‘But Sulpicius could kill you,’ Marcus says. ‘Despite his promise.’

  ‘If he kills Alexander,’ Olympias says, ‘I might as well be dead.’

  ‘We can rescue your brother,’ Marcus says. ‘We can break into Sulpicius’s compound tonight.’

  ‘You haven’t seen it, Marcus,’ Theseus says. ‘Breaking in would be impossible.’

  ‘This is cowardice.’

  ‘Damn it, Marcus!’ I say. ‘Enough. You can’t always use your fists. You need to think. Haven’t you learned this by now?’

  Marcus storms off in a fury.

  ‘Please, Master Lucius.’ Olympias grabs my arm. ‘You have to let me do this. I cannot let my brother die.’

  Olympias is a slave. She seeks permission for everything – even when to end her escape.

  ‘It is foolish to make a decision now,’ I say. ‘What I propose is this: we will escort you to the market tomorrow. We shall keep you in disguise and leave it for you to make the decision whether to come forward or not.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Olympias says, and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  *

  All of Antioch has turned out for the chance to see a boy crucified. The forum, according to Doryphorus, is overflowing with people. I can feel their numbers, the pulse of the crowd around us, as we push our way into the market. The mood is sombre, but there is a sense of expectation one feels with mobs, of violence bubbling below the surface, like a pot about to boil over.

  All four of us have come with Olympias. We are armed, a sword or dagger tucked into our belts – though I would probably cause as much harm to myself as I would to an opponent. Olympias is hidden under a hooded cloak. She intends to come forward, but with her face hidden, she could change her mind until the very last moment.

  ‘There is a platform at the other end of the market,’ Doryphorus says. ‘Sulpicius is on it, with the boy. And his gladiators. There are dozens of them.’

  ‘And the governor?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s here as well. He’s on a separate dais, with his soldiers.’

  ‘Good. Maybe there will be some semblance of order. How does the governor look?’

  ‘Bored. Like he thinks the sun is too bright and wants to go inside.’

  We push our way closer to the platform. Sulpicius’s deep baritone carries across the forum. ‘It is the sixth hour,’ he yells. ‘If you are here, Olympias, speak now. Otherwise, true to my word, your brother dies.’

  ‘He’s holding a blade to the boy’s throat,’ Doryphorus whispers.

  ‘Please don’t,’ Marcus whispers behind me. ‘You cannot trust him.’

  I can feel Olympias push her way past me.

  She calls out, ‘Stop! I’m here.’

  ‘She’s pulled back her hood,’ Doryphorus says. ‘Sulpicius has lowered his blade.’

  There is a commotion all around us – not just the normal ebb and flow of a crowd. This is something different.

  I hear swords being drawn. A man cries out in pain. Someone grabs me by the arms, throws me to the ground and drags me towards the stage. I’m dropped onto the wooden planks of the stage, and I feel cold steel touch my neck.

  Another man cries out in pain.

  It sounds as though Theseus was not as easily coerced as I was.

  Sulpicius yells, ‘put down your weapons or your patron dies.’

  Silence.

  The crowd waits to see whether Theseus will give up his sword.

  Sulpicius must have had gladiators hidden in the crowd. He must have known Olympias had help to keep hidden for so long.

  ‘Stop!’

  A new voice. One that is annoyed and dripping with authority. Has our governor decided to do more than watch? He may be our only hope to survive Sulpicius’s brutality.

  A body drops beside me. A distinctive moan tells me it’s Doryphorus. ‘The governor has come down from his dais,’ he says. ‘His soldiers have their blades drawn. I’d say there are as many gladiators as there are soldiers. If there’s going to be a fight, it will be a bloodbath.’

  ‘Sulpicius,’ the governor says, ‘what is the meaning of this? I thought you were after one slave, not aiming to start a riot.’

  ‘These men,’ Sulpicius says, his voice quaking with rage, ‘have made a fool of me. They hid my slave – my property – while enjoying my hospitality.’

  ‘Governor Commodus,’ I say, still on my knees. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ I stand up, slowly. ‘I am Senator Lucius Ulpius Traianus. Regretfully, I have not had the chance to meet you prior to these unfortunate developments.’

  ‘A senator? I have never heard of you.’

  ‘No? A shame. We must hold a dear friend of mine in common, given your illustrious posting.’ The governor does not appear to have understood my point, so I add, ‘I mean the emperor, of course.’

  ‘I see. You count Vespasian Caesar as a friend of yours, do you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Our family backed him early in his bid for the Principate. I would invite you to write to Rome to confirm this. Hopefully,’ I add, ‘my throat is not cut by a wayward gladiator in the meantime.’

  More silence as our governor tries to make sense of the blind, talkative senator before him.

  ‘I wonder, governor,’ I say, ‘as you can see, I do not have the benefit of my eyes, but I have the sense half of Antioch is watching Roman business, which I think we can agree is of no concern to a provincial.’

  ‘Quite,’ the governor says.

  ‘And this sun has me terribly parched. Maybe we could find shade and a cup of wine to discuss this like civilized Romans, rather than barbarians, with blades at each other’s throat?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says again. ‘I agree. On all counts. Sulpicius, have your men put their arms away.’

  ‘Two of my gladiators were injured, governor. It looks like one could die. This man’s freedman is to blame.’

  ‘When it comes to dead slaves,’ the governor says, ‘it seems you are in surplus this month. But that is no concern of mine. We will discuss this like gentlemen. Have your gladiators return to your compound. Now.’

  There is an uncomfortable moment as Sulpicius weighs his options. If Sulpicius were smart, he would have immediately followed the governor’s orders. There is nothing to be gained by going to war with Roman soldiers. But Sulpicius is not smart. Ego drives him, rather than reason. For a moment, I think he will order his gladiators to attack. If he does, there will be an awful amount of blood spilled today.

  But Sulpicius proves not altogether a creature of ego and vice.

  ‘You heard the governor,’ he says to his men. ‘Stand down.’

  *

  We reconvene at the governor’s residence. We sit in the shade, around a table. The breeze off the river is cool and pleasant. But it does nothing to soothe Sulpicius’s anger.

  The governor speaks first. ‘Well, Sulpicius, why don’t you outline what your grievance is. I am not sure I followed it before. Not with so much steel on display.’

  ‘I knew my slave couldn’t have stayed hidden for as long as she did without someone’s help,’ Sulpicius growls. ‘I had gladiators in the audience, waiting to see who Olympias arrived with. When she revealed herself, they pounced on the men who’d brought her. Not only did this man, Ulpius’ – he spits the word – ‘steal my slave for his own, he visited my home, enjoyed my hospitality. The gods know what other humiliations he had planned.’

  ‘Is this true?’ the governor asks. He is now mildly interested.

  ‘It is,’ I say.

  Sulpicius slams his hand on the table.

  ‘But,’ I add, ‘you cannot fault me for not returning the girl. You see my nephew discovered her and brought her home. But she was not talkative. It was after her parents’ death, you see, and she was terribly distraught. And we were new to town and didn’t know the particulars of Sulpiciu
s’s missing slaves. We thought, Ah what luck, a new slave, and put her to work.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Please, Sulpicius,’ the governor says, already tired of the conversation, ‘let’s not argue like children.’

  I continue, my voice as innocent as a child’s. ‘And you cannot fault me, governor, for not seeing the mark naming her as Sulpicius’s property – if there is one.’ I point at my missing eyes.

  The governor laughs. ‘Very true. You must agree with that, Sulpicius.’

  ‘Once we realized the girl belonged to Sulpicius, we brought her to the forum this morning. And, governor, let’s not forget, we are discussing property – not the constitution! What problem cannot be remedied?’

  ‘Quite right,’ the governor says. ‘Well, Sulpicius, you have your slave returned to you. What price will compensate you for your trouble?’

  ‘This man and his freedman should be arrested.’

  The governor makes a tsk-tsk sound, chastising Sulpicius. ‘Let’s move forward, not backward, shall we. These are Roman citizens and they will not be arrested for a scuffle that ended with a few nicks to your gladiators. Isn’t that what gladiators are for? Receiving a few nicks?’

  ‘His gladiators are marvellous, governor,’ I say. ‘I’ve had the pleasure of hearing them practise. I am truly sorry for the misunderstanding and the damage caused. To make reparations, I would be prepared to offer one hundred thousand sesterces.’

  The governor is impressed. Now he has a sense of my wealth, and he is the sort of man who is impressed by wealth. ‘A more than fair offer.’

  ‘Two hundred thousand,’ Sulpicius demands.

  ‘For two cut gladiators?’ I say.

  The price is ludicrous but what do I care? I have a fortune I couldn’t spend in one lifetime.

  ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘An overpayment, but I wish to make amends.’

  ‘Good,’ the governor says. He mutters, ‘Well done, Sulpicius.’

  ‘And,’ I say, ‘while we are at it, as I’m making you richer by the hour, how much for the girl and her brother? They’ve cost you too much trouble to want to hold on to them.’ To the governor, I say, ‘the girl makes a sort of cinnamon tea I cannot live without.’

  The governor chuckles.

  ‘She’s not for sale,’ Sulpicius says, fuming. ‘Neither is her brother.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Everything is for sale,’ I say, ‘name a price.’

  Sulpicius’s chair slides back.

  I forgot who I was dealing with. Logic and reason are not Sulpicius’s allies. I should have appealed to his ego, rather than call him silly.

  ‘If I want more of your money,’ Sulpicius says, ‘I will take it. You will regret crossing me, Ulpius.’

  We listen to Sulpicius’s shoes slide along the colonnade.

  ‘Thank you, governor,’ I say, trying to hide my frustration at letting Olympias remain in Sulpicius’s clutches. ‘Your intervention today is most appreciated.’

  ‘Yes,’ the governor says, ‘we were able to keep it civil in the end, I suppose. But I think you should take Sulpicius’s parting remarks as a threat.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it was. Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘I think you will need to leave Antioch and very likely all of Syria for now.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  I bite my tongue. The governor is lazy and weak, and rather than disarm Sulpicius for his insubordination and threats, and strip him of his gladiators, he prefers the easier course, to send me away.

  ‘I’m afraid so, Ulpius. I do not do it without regret. I can see I am saying goodbye to one of the few real Romans this side of the Adriatic. But I cannot afford more unrest in the area. I need to focus on the rumours coming in from Thrace.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘What rumours?’

  The governor leans in. He reeks of garlic and rosemary. ‘Rumours of a man claiming to be Nero himself,’ he says softly.

  My heart stops.

  ‘Another False Nero?’

  The governor laughs. ‘You are a true friend of Vespasian, emphasising the false-ness of the imposter. But it’s an intriguing rumour, is it not? Nero alive and well, plotting to take back the throne.’

  ‘You think Nero is alive?’

  ‘Whether or not the last of the Trojans is alive, I don’t know. But this most recent imposter is certainly not Nero.’ The governor’s voice softens to a whisper. ‘We have a man who deserted from the False Nero’s fledgling army. He arrived here, in Antioch, three days ago. He was wounded, on the verge of death, begging to speak with me. He said the man posing as Nero was a fraud. A former soldier, apparently.’

  ‘Oh.’ I cannot help but lean forward myself, waiting impatiently for more information.

  The governor continues: ‘This deserter . . . he had believed the man claiming to be Nero was actually Nero.’ He chuckles. ‘He followed the imposter for months, blindly. When he discovered the truth, that the man claiming to be Nero was only an imposter, he tried to flee the camp. But he was stabbed and nearly killed.’

  ‘Did he give the name of the imposter – his real name?’

  ‘He did.’ The governor’s voice is no longer a whisper. ‘I’ve written it down somewhere. But believe me: you’ve never heard the name before.’

  ‘I would like to speak to this deserter,’ I say. ‘I would be interested in what he has to say.’

  ‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea,’ the governor says. ‘The emperor is quite sensitive when it comes to the False Neros. You know what he was like with the last one. I probably shouldn’t have told you anything at all. You’ll keep what I told you to yourself. Yes?’

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘What will you do with this information?’

  ‘Very little for now,’ the governor says. ‘I’m not sure what I could do. I will need to confirm this information before informing Rome. And I don’t even know where this False Nero is. I’m sure it will all sort itself out.’ He claps his hands for more wine. ‘Shall we have dinner tonight before you get on the road tomorrow?’

  *

  Marcus is upset. He cannot accept that Olympias belongs to Sulpicius.

  ‘There is nothing we can do,’ I say.

  Marcus is fighting back tears. Did he love this girl after so little time? How long did it take me to fall in love with Acte? An hour, maybe. Two at most.

  ‘You are a coward,’ Marcus says, reviving our argument from yesterday. But his voice is dejected rather than angry.

  ‘I know you are angry – angry at being born a slave, angry at losing your friend in Rhodes, angry at losing Olympias. You are furious at the cruelty of this world. But unless one has an army, brute strength gets you little in this world. You need to use this.’ I point at my right temple. ‘You need to apply reason. That is the only way you will distinguish yourself.’

  ‘Do not lose hope,’ Theseus says. ‘This is not over. The outcome is only delayed. I’ll tell you a story. When I first started as a gladiator, there was another slave, a Gallic everyone called Roach, who trained with me. He was a foot taller and twice as strong. My master at the time, he favoured Roach – with food, women, wine. Meanwhile, I was beaten and starved. I was meant as fodder for Roach’s blade. When we trained Roach would pummel me. He would disarm me and hit me again and again with his wooden sword. I would have cried at night, but I was too sore and exhausted to spare the energy. My first match in Rome was against Roach. He nearly killed me. If the crowd had had its way, I would have died that day. Roach was about to cut me down, and the crowd was cheering him on, but the gods – a god – intervened. You should have seen Nero with the mob. He was a force to behold. They would follow him over a cliff. Caesar signalled that I should live. The crowd shifted and cried for clemency. I lived. Nero bought me that very day. He trained me, fed me, educated me. It was more than a year before I fought in the arena again. I was stronger, faster, better trained. Years later, after I had made a name for myself, I was pitted against Roach fo
r a second time.’

  ‘Did you win?’ Marcus asks.

  ‘Of course, he won,’ I say.

  ‘Did you kill him?’ Doryphorus asks.

  ‘Better than that,’ Theseus says. ‘I humiliated him. I toyed with him, like a cat with a mouse, and he begged me to spare his life. You see, I won in the end. It only took time. And patience. Real victories aren’t won in a day. You must swallow your pride and anger, and wait.’

  ‘You’ll help me get her back?’ Marcus asks.

  ‘You’ve my word,’ Theseus says.

  ‘All of us will,’ I say.

  I kick Doryphorus and he says, ‘yes, all of us.’

  ‘And what about this False Nero?’ Theseus asks. His voice is suddenly tired. He is sick of chasing my enemies across the empire.

  ‘I want to speak to the deserter. I want the False Nero’s real name.’

  *

  The moon is full – or so Theseus tells me. He guides us to the prison gate. By the sounds of it, there are two guards.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  ‘Friends,’ Theseus says. ‘Friends with coin.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘There are two guards,’ Theseus whispers. They are likely slaves. Possibly soldiers. Either way, they could use extra coin.

  ‘We’d like to see the prisoner,’ I say, ‘the injured one.’

  ‘No one is allowed in to see that prisoner. Especially at this hour.’

  ‘We are prepared to pay,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah?’ one guard says.

  ‘What’s that?’ the second guard asks. ‘One coin? You’ve got to be joking. It will cost more than that.’

  Theseus is holding up a coin. In the moonlight, they can’t see its colour.

  ‘Not any coin,’ Theseus says. ‘Here.’

  He tosses the coin.

  One of them catches it and whistles. ‘Gold.’

  ‘Give it here,’ his colleague says.

  ‘How many will it take for us to get inside?’ I ask.

  There is a long pause as these men try to guess the highest number we would go.

  ‘Three?’

  ‘We will make it five a man,’ I say, ‘but you let us have some privacy with the prisoner. Agreed?’