The Beast of Verona: Book I of the Decimus Trilogy

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  They stood in silence for a moment, both staring at the helmet, drinking in the details. For once, Marina didn’t speak.

  “And this piece?” Howard finally asked, nodding to the glass display case that contained the helmet.

  “This was uncovered in Pompeii near the gladiator barracks.” Marina then proceeded to tell him all about the disaster at Pompeii and why the helmet had been so preserved. Once again, Howard was an exceptional active listener.

  “You know a lot about this stuff,” he said as her mini lecture came to a close.

  Marina shrugged and felt a faint smile spread over her lips as she wrapped her arms around her middle, crinkling the soft fabric of her blouse. “It’s a hobby.”

  “History or gladiators?”

  “History in general, but especially my history.”

  “Your history?” Howard gave her a sharp inquisitive glance.

  “Yes. The history of Italy and the Roman Empire. I am Italian, after all. Those who don’t learn their history are doomed to repeat it.” Marina threw that old adage out as if that were a reasonable excuse for her obsession with these artifacts. There was a bit of truth in it, but that wasn’t the only reason she loved history.

  Howard turned back to the helmet and seemed to get lost in the display. His eyebrows pinched together in a thoughtful frown, silent and contemplative. Was it something she had said?

  Marina was about to ask if he had any other questions when her cellphone trilled in her pocket. She sighed, made a quick apology and answered in Italian.

  “Ciao?... Oh, yes, I forgot. I’ll be right there.” She tapped the red button on her screen and looked back to Howard, who hadn’t moved since she answered the phone.

  Marina observed him for the moment, the grim set of his jaw, the way the light from the display case refracted in his bright green eyes, the erect posture as he stood at attention in front of the helmet, the curve of his arm and chest muscles under his navy blue t-shirt and the way his faded jeans hung low on his hips. He was so perfect. The thought came to her mind that she could easily picture Howard in full gladiator gear, standing victorious in the middle of the colosseum.

  “Hey,” she began, “I have to give a tour to a school group. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to tag along and listen. There’s still a whole museum full of history to learn.” The way she spoke, it was as if she naturally assumed he would be interested in what the rest of the museum had to offer. It never occurred to her that he only came for the gladiator exhibit until she finished her offer.

  Howard broke his gaze away from the helmet and turned his attention to her once more. She could stand under his stare forever if her hands would stop shaking. In an effort to hide them, she slid her fingers into her khaki pants pockets and waited with baited breath.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll take one more turn around the exhibit first. I’ll get to the rest of the museum in a little bit.”

  Marina tried not to take it personal, but she couldn’t help but think that the real reason he didn’t want to join the tour was because he was tired of hearing the sound of her voice. One might think she enjoyed it herself with how excited she became while talking about the way the Roman baths worked.

  “Oh, ok,” she said, trying to not sound disappointed. “If you have any more questions, feel free to ask.”

  He flashed her a charming smile. “Thank you for all your help.”

  Marina gave him a quick nod and swerved around Howard to retreat from the exhibit, slightly embarrassed, but not regretful that she had spent most of her morning in the presence of a fellow avid history lover.

  As she began to leave the room, she slid a glance back to Howard. He was staring at the helmet again. But his gaze was far away, as if he were thinking of other thing besides the helmet itself. What she would have given to know what was going on inside that handsome head of his.

  Ludus Gladiatorium, Verona 71 AD

  Caprasia, having snuck away from the chaperone her father had elected for her, now stood at the entrance to the ludus. The stone perimeter was tall and imposing, no doubt built to keep the fighters caged within the school.

  She understood that many were slaves, pressed into servitude for the entertainment of the people. But, she had heard her father talk of wealthy men, even fellow politicians who had sold themselves to the school and lanista for a term so they may pay off overwhelming debts or earn infamy in the arena.

  Two guards were posted at the gate, their armor shining brightly in the evening sun. She stretched her neck to appear taller and strode towards them. She had to stay confident and ignore the anxious twisting of her innards that she truly felt.

  One guard spotted her and blocked Caprasia’s path. She could almost see the training field just past his bulky shoulders.

  “This place is off limits to civilians. Especially to young ladies,” he said.

  Caprasia would not be deterred. “I’ve come to see a gladiator.”

  The other stepped forward. “You can see the gladiators in the arena when they are fighting.”

  She would not tolerate any teasing. She produced the sachet of coins. “I wish to give this to a gladiator inside as a gift for his bravery in the games this afternoon.”

  The guards exchanged glances. “We can deliver it to him with your compliments.” The first guard outstretched his hand to take the pouch from her, but Caprasia snatched it back out of his reach.

  “I wish to deliver it personally.”

  The two guards were growing frustrated with her stubbornness. “Where is your chaperone?” the other asked, his words flavored with indignation.

  “I am of the age where a chaperone is not required. I demand to see the gladiator.”

  It might not have been wise to be so brusque with these men, considering her gender and true age, but Caprasia was adamant in her resolve to see Lupus in person and introduce herself.

  The guards sighed and despite their fierce glares, nodded their consent. “Who is the gladiator?” they asked.

  “The first victor of the games from today. Lupus.”

  At the utterance of the name, the two expressions of the guards changed so suddenly that she unwillingly flinched. They appeared more than a little concerned now, tainted with confusion and fraught with an indescribable fear of something she was nowhere near aware of.

  “We can’t allow you to see him,” one said hastily.

  “And why not?” Caprasia’s words were stern, almost scolding as if she was enforcing a right that didn’t exist.

  “We simply can’t. The lanista has orders that no one, under any circumstances, may visit Lupus.”

  Caprasia was facing an authority she did not expect. She knew there may have been resistance at the gate, but to have the whole ludus against her was something she was not prepared for. “Why would he make such an order? Surely the lanista lets the gladiator enjoy the company of other fans of disreputable reputation.”

  The two guards nearly staggered as the young lady before them talked of such scandalous things. Yes, Caprasia was well aware of loose women and their business with gladiators.

  “Marcus allows absolutely no one to visit Lupus. He’s too dangerous.”

  Caprasia had to suppress the burst of laughter. Lupus? Dangerous? She couldn’t believe such things. If he were truly dangerous, he would have shown no restraint in the arena against the Murmillo. Yes, he appeared terrifying to her at first, but she intuitively knew that the man was only putting on a show for the crowd.

  “Then perhaps you may assign guards to escort me to his barracks to ensure my safety?”

  The two guards were pensive for a moment, and then nodded. “I suppose that would be acceptable. But not for too long,” he cautioned.

  With that, they stepped to the side and admitted her into the ludus.

  Caprasia’s took in the scene of shirtless men training in the field. Some were battling one another with harmless wooden swords, others practicing techniques against wooden lo
gs suspended from a frame. Men who were more suitably clothed directed the gladiators, critiquing and instructing them in the proper methods of combat.

  The two guards shouted to gain the attention of more guards that were posted around the ludus. Four of them came around her, two in front and two flanking her from behind, to lead her to the gladiator.

  She saw where the barracks were on the other side of the training field, but that was not where they led her. Down twisting corridors, they descended a flight of stairs that led to an underground level below the ludus.

  Torches that were fixed on the walls lit their way through the darkness and soon she encountered more guards and a long hall lined with rooms whose doors were made of metal bars like a prison.

  The four guards that had led her down the stairs retreated back up the steps and she was permitted into the hall. With hesitant steps, she passed several of the cells and the curious guards who were on duty. Inside the cells were a variety of beasts such as lions, tigers, and even a bear. Their hungry eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness followed her as she passed them by. Some cages were empty.

  Just as Caprasia was beginning to wonder if the men had misunderstood when she asked to see Lupus, she came to a cell that did not cage a beast, but a man sitting against the wall with his legs bent to support the weight of his propped arms. It was her gladiator.

  She stopped and watched him for a moment. In the flickering torchlight, his features were half in shadow and half illuminated by the amber glow. Even in the darkness, he was magnificent; clothed in a long tunic that had slid down to the middle of his powerful thighs.

  His gaze was fixed in front of him, staring at the opposite wall of the cell while he sat in profile to the cell door. How could anyone think he was dangerous? His expression lacked the ferocity that he once portrayed in the arena. Certainly there was some mistake.

  In spite of the thrill of victory, she found herself wringing the pouch of coins between her nervous hands. Caprasia had never met a gladiator before, let alone a man who was as handsome as he was.

  A few silent minutes passed on and Lupus turned his head to regard her. His lips were drawn into a thin line as a frown formed between his dark brows. And then he spoke.

  “A child? Why are you here?”

  Caprasia’s chest seized at the deep, husky, masculine voice that graced her ears. He sounded just as she expected him to.

  She took a wary step closer to the bars and held out the pouch, being careful not to let the coins jingle inside and announce her trembling hands to him. “I wished to reward you for your brave battle from earlier today.”

  Lupus’s eyes shifted from her face to the leather pouch she was beginning to slip through the bars. An eyebrow arched in puzzlement at the gift and then he scoffed, rolling his head away from her.

  “I don’t need your money. See, I have plenty,” he proclaimed, waving his arm out to display the small barren room he was confined to.

  Caprasia bit her lips together to refrain from laughing. Handsome and witty. How did she get so lucky?

  A tense, silent moment went by and the gladiator did not look at her again. She lowered her pouch and clutched it to her stomach, willing for the unrest within her to recede.

  “They tell me you’re a great gladiator,” she said, her words echoing against the stone walls. Caprasia wasn’t sure if she were posing that phrase as a question or a mere statement to gain a reaction from him. Either way, he did not respond.

  She shifted awkwardly, her sandals scraping against the sandy floor. “They call you Lupus. Is that your name in the arena or your real name?” Her father had told her of gladiators who took on stage names for themselves to promote publicity.

  “Why do you care to know?” Lupus questioned, his stare fixed on the wall again.

  “I am simply curious.” Caprasia was dismayed to hear her own voice come out as a timid whisper in response to his harsh reprimand.

  “Your curiosity will not be quenched here. This is no place for a child.”

  At his words, she grew vexed and jerked her chin higher. “I am not a child. I’m nearly eighteen years of age.”

  A strange sound erupted from Lupus. It was a boisterous laugh that vibrated through her flesh and traveled down the long hall, bouncing off the walls and bars like a flood of melody. It was a rough laugh, throaty and deeper than the intense gaze of his eyes.

  “You are far too young to understand the meaning of age,” he finally said as he looked to her, his head leaning against the cool stone and his jaw angled ever so slightly so that his honey glazed eyes caught the light of the torches.

  Caprasia cautioned another step towards the bars, so close that she could slip half of her arm through if she wished. “What do you mean?”

  A penetrating silence stretched between them, eyes locked. Caprasia felt it in her soul, the connection that must have been unconsciously made. It was like in the arena when he saw her in the stands. It was thrilling and yet terrifying. As if she were drowning in him, suffocating on the striking, powerful gleam in his eyes.

  Just like before, her knees went weak and she felt as if her whole body would explode with the overwhelming need to be closer, to touch and feel what it was that enamored her so. She swallowed hard to keep her poise before her imposing infatuation with this gladiator.

  Lupus finally spoke up, his words slow and soothing despite their meaning. “You tire me with questions I don’t wish to answer.”

  He broke the trance and looked away to the spot on the wall that seemed so fascinating to him that he should give it his undivided attention. How she wished that she were that spot on the wall instead, to be the object of his consideration.

  “You must be lonely in here,” she said, interrupting the beat of silence that he probably wished for. Caprasia spoke the sentence not as an insinuating thing, but as more of a concern.

  When he did not respond again, she continued. “Why are you not with the other gladiators in the barracks? Are you a criminal? Is that why they keep you caged with the animals?”

  The reaction from Lupus was not expected. She had almost believed he would become violent with her. But instead he heaved a heavy sigh, blowing a long breath out of his nose. Caprasia wasn’t sure if it was done out of the irritation he felt from her pointed questions or if it was out of self-pity because of the answer he could have truthfully given.

  His head twitched suddenly and he blinked, his eyes searching in the darkness as if he had just heard something.

  “I think you should leave now,” he said, his voice dropping an octave and to half a whisper.

  “Why?” Caprasia snorted. “Do you have a pressing engagement to attend?” She was making an attempt at the same brand of humor he had used earlier, but he did not seem pleased.

  Then she heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Caprasia turned and watched as a man came storming down the corridor. Judging by his manner of dress, he must have been the lanista. His cold eyes like two coals glinting with rage.

  “Why is this girl down here?” he demanded from the guards that he rushed past. Caprasia stood tall, knowing a reprimand was on its way.

  “What are you doing here?” the lanista asked, not too pleasantly at all.

  “I came to give a gift to Lupus for his performance this afternoon,” she replied, exhibiting the pouch of coins to the lanista.

  The man snatched the pouch from her and threw his arm to gesture down the corridor. “You’ve given it. Now, get out of here or I’ll have the guards drag you out.”

  Caprasia’s fiery temper flared up in her throat, full of words that she wished she could say. But now was not the time. She took one more look to Lupus, who was finally giving her the attention she had craved earlier. Their eyes met freely, without the stimulation of conversation. If only she could stay a little longer. He didn’t even know her name yet.

  But the impatience of the lanista was tangible in the damp, musty air. She would leave for now, but this was not the
end. She would make sure of that.

  5

  Museo della Civiltà Romana, Rome Italy, 2015

  Howard’s eyes burned with exhaustion. He’d spent the entire day in the museum, combing through the information plaques, examining the artifacts as closely as he was allowed, absorbing everything he could get his hands on and still, he felt like he wasn’t anywhere close to learning about his ancestor.

  Marina had been a huge help in the gladiator exhibit, but there was nothing there that specifically gave him a hint to Decimus. He knew the basics that he was a gladiator, but not the finer details of how he came to be one and how he got out of it.

  He knew about the gladiator schools, the different types of gladiators, their diet, clothes and what they did in their spare time, but that was all for the gladiators that were not like Decimus. Decimus was very different from the typical gladiator, therefore Howard wasn’t sure what information to accept and what to ignore.

  He tried to put himself in Decimus’s shoes. If he were confined to a barrack in the schools, how would he hide his secret from the other gladiators? How did he leave at night? What did he do to compliment his daily meals? But it was impossible for Howard to step back, even mentally, into a time and place that was so unfamiliar to him as the dark side of the moon.

  Trotting down the museum steps, he was more than ready to leave Rome and Italy behind. Perhaps there was a better museum somewhere else that had the information he needed. Or an archive somewhere that he could find hard evidence that Decimus even existed.

  “Howard, wait!” he heard a very familiar feminine voice call out from the front doors.

  He stopped and turned to see Marina hustling down the walkway, her jet-black wavy hair bouncing against her shoulders, dress boots tapping against the concrete and glasses slipping down every few steps. The sight was laughable, but Howard gave her a friendly smile and waited until she caught up with him halfway down the steps.