by Nick Morris
Two were unlike their companions; their silhouettes sleek, sides bristling with oars, with long metal rams spearing forwards from their prows just below the bobbing water-line. There was no mistaking their design and purpose. They were ships for war. Impressed, he watched as their busy crews scurried up their riggings and across their decks like termites.
Then, his ship was docking, its timbers creaking as it rose and fell on the swell of the tide, the briny smell of the harbour strong in Guntram’s nostrils.
Already positioned on deck, his group was the first to go ashore. Each man was shackled at wrist and ankle.
Guntram stepped onto solid ground and his legs felt strangely shaky. There were great numbers of people everywhere, and the warm air was full of smells – freshly cut wood mingling with fish, livestock and strange spices.
The greasy-haired slave agent, Luba, then arrived with the two guards who’d provided for their basic needs on the sea journey. Short swords were slung at their waists and they carried the familiar metal-tipped lashes and wooden clubs that they used freely and without warning. Guntram hated them.
Wasting no time, the guards ushered him away from the sea-front, and glancing back, he saw that the ship’s crew was already unloading cargo.
He was quickly swallowed by a world of jostling activity. He gaped at people of varying size, skin colour and dress that hustled and bumped all around him. Traders bickered over goods, sun-blackened sailors shouted at dock workers and overseers bellowed instructions to employees. Handcarts pulled by men in ragged tunics and others hauled by plodding oxen, dragged cargo from the dock-side to large square buildings that stretched away in both directions from the waterfront. Many of the open-fronted buildings seemed to be either selling food, drink, or both. The whiff of roasting meat reached him on the breeze, and his stomach gnawed at itself. He thought he would kill for a decent meal, yet doubted that he had the strength to put up a decent fight, having lost so much weight on the journey here.
After a short walk, they were brought to halt at the start of a road that climbed gently towards a huge settlement surrounded by a high, stone wall. The wall was breached by two massive arched gateways, through which people and animals entered. It was bigger and stranger than anything Guntram had ever seen.
Brief minutes passed and a company of four males approached. The one in the lead was dressed like a woman. He was shadowed by a man with the shoulders of an ox.
Guntram’s unease returned.
*
“Welcome back Luba,” Gordeo greeted.
In turn, the agent responded with the most extravagant of bows.
Middle-aged, Barrius Gordeo carried himself with an air of importance and dressed accordingly. A single, loose tunic of the deepest blue fringed in gold fell to his knees, and his short, black hair was styled in tight ringlets. Stocky and sallow skinned, he resembled many of his Roman countrymen. He was accompanied by two armed guards and a third bull-like individual.
“Here at last, and I hope with something better than the rubbish that you’ve been serving up of late,” Gordeo continued in a more serious tone.
“You jest of course, my lord,” Luba snickered, smiling.
“Your reputation as the most discerning of procurators is well known both here in Pompeii and throughout Campania. I but try to present you with -”
“Enough!” Gordeo cut in. “Your horse-shit is wasted on me Luba. You’d crawl over your own mother to get at your grandmother for a single coin’s profit. So, enough dallying and show me what you’ve got.”
Luba swiftly gestured to the nearest of the shackled men. “This pair of hardy Gauls was sentenced to death for thieving from a local magistrate. Not overly impressive to look at I grant you, but, with a little work and effort, I’m sure they can be taught to die well.”
“Gauls are as common as fleas. And, I agree...they are unimpressive,” Gordeo complained, shaking his head. “Need I remind you that the last pair of spineless Gauls you sold me died badly, despite the kiss of the irons?”
“Next, something better my lord. A Spaniard who’s fast, with the heart of a lion.” His smile stretched wider. “His crime was that his cock ruled his brains, and he was convicted of rape. As the gods are my witness, he has promise!”
“A colourful tale,” Gordeo quipped. He caught a trace of the agent’s breath and his stomach rolled. “And you wore out the names of our gods long ago. So cease your irritating fencing and tell me if they have any skill with the sword and lance? Any experience of battle?”
“I was about to discuss these very skills.”
“Then get on with it, and do not think to feed me goat for venison. Belua will soon discern their worth...or not,” the procurator warned, indicating his brutish companion who stood in close attendance, before adding, “Don’t forget that you are one of the many who creep to my door for a living.”
Luba swallowed hard. “The Spaniard was tutored as a youth in the use of the gladius, a weapon his countrymen are well acquainted with. As a result, he has good skill with the sword.” Luba paused, gauging the impact of his words, then went on, more confident. “Also, he has some education and his Latin is good.”
“Tell me about the others.” Gordeo dabbed a scented handkerchief at the sweat that seeped from his hair-line onto his face and neck, and damp patches were appearing on the front of his tunic, the fabric clinging to the tacky flesh of his paunch.
“A conquered people,” Luba responded, “the Gauls’ skills are now those of the hunter. Skills that will stand them in good favour in the arena, against men or beasts.”
Gordeo yawned, before pointing directly at the tallest of the group. “Tell me about him.”
“Lastly, something special.” Luba placed his hand on German slave’s shoulder.
Gordeo watched the slave flinch, then tense his muscles as if he was about to strike. He has spirit, thought Gordeo, even in such grim circumstances.
“A rare specimen from the wilderness of Germania, he is one of the savage Cherusci,” said Luba. “His people were all but wiped out in a raid into that black land beyond the Rhinus. This tiger claimed the lives of two of our brave soldiers before he could be subdued, and by all accounts was lucky to avoid crucifixion before I purchased him on the Gaulish frontier. He’s young with a great future!”
Gordeo waved the agent aside, taking a step nearer to the slave. “A German, you say...not a common sight it’s true.” His gaze unwavering, he studied the slave for long moments before speaking. “A sturdy race, with a fierce reputation. This one, hmmm...Yes, he has good muscle tone, clear eyes. Show me his teeth.”
Gordeo saw the German’s neck and jaw muscles stiffen as the agent prised his lips apart. Satisfied, Gordeo continued, “It’s true that he’ll attract attention, but, he has an impudent look about him and there’s no mistaking the hatred in his eyes. Tell me truthfully Luba, did he try to escape or perhaps throttle one of your guards?”
“My lord, I swear he did not,” Luba professed, with a look full of surprise. “I’m sure that under Belua’s expert instruction he’d become a favourite with the crowds.” He addressed his last remark towards Gordeo’s brawny companion, who stood looking on.
“So, you’re telling me that he has some measure of restraint, which would imply some intelligence too,” Gordeo said. “An intelligent slave is certainly something to be nurtured. A cunning one is something else.”
Pursing his lips, Gordeo turned to the silent trainer. “Belua?”
The trainer stepped forwards, positioning himself directly in front of the German, and asked, “Can he understand me?”
“A little,” Luba replied, “the Spaniard’s been teaching him.”
Gordeo watched with interest as the German matched Belua’s steady gaze.
“Do you hate Rome, slave?” the trainer asked, his voice deep with a rumbling growl at the back of it. He carried a metre long vine-stick, held casually in his right hand. Lifting its tip to the German’s chin, he commanded,
“Answer!”
Only silence.
Cat quick, the trainer struck the German a stinging blow across his face with the vine-stick. Bright blood welled up from his recent wound, trickling down his cheek to drip onto his chest.
“You’d like to see the colour of my blood, spill my guts wouldn’t you?” the trainer taunted.
Gordeo sensed that the German understood, but was unlikely to reply. Seeing Belua’s wrist flex, he guessed what was coming next. “Belua, if I choose to buy this savage, you’ll have ample time to educate him.” His voice was firm. “But, let’s not damage the goods before any sale has been agreed.”
“As you wish,” the trainer rasped, stepping back with a nod of the head.
Gordeo saw the look in both men’s eyes as they locked stares, each trying to beat down the other’s as if it were a sword, the challenge unspoken but acknowledged. “What do you think?” he asked the trainer.
“He is big and will get bigger, and has the sense to control his anger. He could do well,” the trainer answered confidently. “But first, like the young stallion to the bit, I’d need to break him a little, because the defiance in his eyes would hinder his progress for sure. Regardless, it can be curbed...as it can with any man.”
“Belua, I know you can break any man, but, like the blade in the forge, can you temper this barbarian without breaking his fighting spirit? Without killing him?”
“Not an easy task, but it can be done.”
“Good,” Gordeo said, relieved. Then deciding to bring matters to a close, he addressed Luba, whose edgy smile was waning despite his best efforts to keep it in place. “Luba, I’ll give you eight hundred sesterces for the German, four hundred for the Spaniard, and five hundred for the Gauls, and be thankful I’m taking them off your hands.” It was said with authority.
“You are generous as always my lord, but I was expecting at least nine hundred for the German, five hundred for the Spaniard and three hundred a piece for the Gauls. The cost of transport, their food, the armed escorts, sadly grows ever more expensive. For myself, I ask but little -”
Gordeo cut him short. “Granted, the German has potential, but he has a mule-like look to him. It’s a fair price for the Spaniard, as he’s probably more skilled with his cock than a sword. And, by the look of the Gauls they’ll be lucky to survive their first contest.” He dabbed at his brow. “Decide! The day grows hotter, and my offer is final.”
“I concede to my lord’s knowledge and foresight. Seventeen hundred sesterces it is,” Luba replied. “Shall I call at your residence for payment today my lord?”
“Yes, yes. My clerk will settle with you and issue the necessary papers. Now, I need to get out of this heat!”
“Good health my lord, and may the gods continue to watch over you and your house.” Smiling, Luba bowed low.
Gordeo flashed a wan smile, and swallowing down the sour taste of the man, waved his handkerchief in farewell.
*
Guntram had listened carefully, understanding some of the words. Enough to realize that some kind of barter had taken place between Luba and the new group’s leader – one involving himself and his fellow captives.
Slave. That’s what the exchange made him. A slave owned by the Roman dressed as a woman. But Guntram would never belong to anyone. Never in his heart, he swore to himself. At the same time, he thought of Strom and Jenell and dared to hope that they too might be deemed worthy of being kept alive.
His face on fire, he studied the one who struck him as he spoke with their guards. To Guntram’s keen senses danger oozed from the man. It hummed like a nest of bees in the forest. Heavily muscled, his bare arms and huge fists bore the marks of old wounds, still visible despite the darkening effect of the sun, and his voice sounded strong, comfortable with giving orders. But, it was his face that Guntram found most shocking. His nose was flat with bands of long healed scars framing both his mouth and eyes, giving him a hooded look, like a bird of prey. He puzzled what sort of torture or weapon could do this to a man without killing him.
Despite the hot glow of his anger, Guntram knew that this man, Scar, was not to be lightly crossed. He knew also that his barked words and the stick was a test. A test he had passed.
Guntram watched as the finely robed leader departed in the direction of the great stone settlement. Shortly after, the foul breathed Luba disappeared into the surrounding crowd along with his men. The remaining guards positioned themselves to the fore and rear of his group, and, on command, they were steered in the wake of the leader. Scar strode forwards at their head.
Taking a deep breath, Guntram moved onto the road that rose steadily towards the entrance of the settlement. He glanced down, marvelling at the large, evenly paved stones beneath his feet.
As he shuffled upwards, he turned to study the long stretch of the bay that piled endlessly into the distance to the north and south, noting that the settlement dominated the whole of the coastal plain. He looked to the south-east, and saw the thread of a river entering the bay, shining bright silver in the day’s growing heat.
A short climb brought him to the west-facing gate, a paved ramp leading into the gates’ two archways. People were passing through on the left, and animals and light carts carrying goods from the sea on the right. He entered, and looking up was impressed by the dark masonry that curved over his head. Once inside he saw that the two roadways continued upwards, still separated, and that each was slightly raised in the centre. He thought it was a good plan, guessing that it would allow water to drain into its gutters. He saw that the gutters themselves were filled with many kinds of filth, including rotting food and man-waste.
Their route took them across a paved area of considerable size, its surface bleached white by the sun. Many people were gathered there; talking, shouting, and laughing. Impressive rows of stone pillars – between which merchants had set up their stalls – fringed the busy square and its frantic activity. Led onto a wide avenue, he stared at gleaming buildings and figures shaped in stone. Spellbound, he puzzled how this race of killers could shape such beautiful things.
His size and appearance drew the attention of curious males and females alike, and he glowered back, before his attention was drawn elsewhere; to one of the many shops, taverns and bars that lined the busy thoroughfare. He picked out a bronze smith’s and a shop selling clothes, but others he didn’t recognise.
Numerous small entrances to dwellings were set between the shops, and bright paintings of men, women, and god-like figures decorated nearby walls. Women with gaily painted lips and eyes, and bared breasts, called out to his group from upstairs’ windows, and his guards shouted back rude words Guntram had come to recognise. The women laughed as they passed and he was amazed, repelled, all at once. They pushed by sellers laden with trays of produce and squatting workers sharing bread. The guards’ sharp elbows and shoves were met by curses and angry looks, and then by a scramble to move aside as Scar was recognised. He glimpsed walls painted with bright scenes that appeared alive and he felt drunk on the sheer wonder of it all.
As he shambled on he saw that smaller roads branched from theirs, and his group turned into one of these, heading south. Eager hands reached out to touch him and he flinched away, trying to focus on the road head. After a while the crowd thinned out and they approached a great structure in the shape of a half-moon. Guntram stared up at its towering height, and then a barked command re-routed them into a covered alleyway and with it abrupt relief from the sun. At its end they were delivered into the shadow of a large two storied building, hobbling to stop before its iron-gated entrance.
The height of three men, the gate was tipped with spikes and manned by two armed guards. Guntram peered through the gate’s stout grid, and saw an open area of ground that was surrounded by buildings on all four sides. Closer inspection revealed the presence of more armed guards. Scar barked a command and the gate opened. They were herded in.
Quickly brought to a halt, Scar spoke to them, his voice a harsh
rasp. The Gauls started murmuring to each other. Scar thundered a command, and there was silence.
Scar then spoke again, briefly. Guntram picked out certain words, although many were new to him. At his side the Gauls were murmuring again, and he recognised the look of fear.
* * *
Chapter V
LUDUS GORDEO
“You are gladiators in order to die and
we are sending you where you will die.”
Procurator motto.
Following a brief exchange with the guards, Belua barked a command for the gate to be opened. His party was ushered inside and quickly brought to a halt.
“I am Belua, head trainer of this gladiator school.” He went on, the words familiar, well used. “Some of you will understand what I’m going to say. Those who don’t, it doesn’t matter, because it will change nothing. This is your new home, where you will live and train to kill others like you.”
He paused, and the Gauls started to mumble to each other.
“Silence!” he thundered. “You have much to learn, but remember that you are the property of the Imperial Gladiator School of Rome. In practice, it means you are mine, and that you will train when I tell you, and also eat, sleep and shit when I tell you to. Disobey me and you’ll suffer badly.” He paused again, briefly. “Most of you will live only a short while before you fight and die in the arena. This aside, I will teach you how to die well, and with pride.”
He drew a deep breath into his chest. His closing words to the party were spoken with undisguised candour. “Work hard, listen well and you may live a little longer. Welcome to Ludus Gordeo.”
As if on cue, Belua was joined by two of his fellow trainers. Both were hardened veterans of the arena, and similar to Belua, both had won their freedom on the sand of the arena. Belua joked and smiled with the shorter of the two as they approached the new recruits.