War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One

by Nick Morris

  The crowd roared and the editor continued, smiling. “What lucky girl will you bed tonight Caetes, with your blood still hot from the kill?” The question elicited numerous cheers and crude catcalls.

  “Tonight,” Guntram replied, “I will rest my wounds and thank mighty Tiwaz for granting me victory.”

  “Alas,” The editor answered with an exaggerated sigh, “then some fluttering heart will be disappointed. Regardless, let the fruits of victory be yours!” He gestured to his aides, who handed him a number of items. Firstly, he tossed the palm branch: a traditional token of victory. Guntram casually caught it as it floated lazily towards him. Inverting his hand, the editor let fall seven gold coins; an impressive sum. One of the attendants hurried to retrieve them.

  The crowd continued to cheer, a withering hail of coins spattering the sand. Guntram conveyed his gratitude with a succession of practiced bows to all parts of the arena. He’d learned from Belua and Ellios how to court the crowd’s support, understanding its value in unsettling his opponents during a match. He scoffed inwardly, acknowledging how much they loved him. A tainted, fickle love that someday would free him.

  Turning on his heels, Guntram headed towards the entrance tunnel, his sword thrust high in final tribute to the crowd. On route, he caught a red briar rose in the hollow of his shield. His legs buckled briefly as he compared the flower’s colour to the blood that coated his arm. Then the cool of the tunnel embraced him.

  Easing himself to the floor, Guntram felt hot blood pulse from the holes in his breast. He faintly recognised Belua’s voice nearby, numbness seeped down his arms, and he could not help wondering if the Capuan had finished him too.

  * * *

  Chapter XVIII

  THE CITY

  “Pompeii, a delightful and most desirable place . . .”

  Tacitus

  He leaned forwards, resting his chin on his propped right hand. His heavy lidded eyes were half open, as if ready for sleep. Gordeo regularly commandeered the white-washed room that doubled as Belua’s living quarters when he had business to settle at the school, reflecting often that the room was as sober as the trainer who leaned against the wall at his rear.

  Caetes stood before him.

  “I’m told that the wound is coming along nicely.” Gordeo smiled as he spoke, in very good humour.

  “Each day it improves,” the gladiator answered.

  “Excellent. It’s good to see that Neo hasn’t lost his touch. Then, he should be good, considering the small fortune I pay him for his services?” He craned his neck around. “What do you say Belua?”

  “A sullen fellow at best, but there’s no denying his skill,” Belua replied. “And, the men have faith in him,as I do.”

  “I hope so,” Gordeo said, before pursuing more practical matters. “How soon can he fight again?”

  “A month.”

  “As long as that!”

  “Any sooner, and Neo says and he could tear the wound open before it is properly healed.”

  Gordeo sighed resignedly before addressing the gladiator. “Yet another victory, but not without feeling the Capuan’s claws, eh? Still, you fought superbly, and grow in stature every time I see you perform.” His smile returning, he added, “You also earned me a handsome amount won at the expense of those cocky Capuan bastards.”

  With his face beaming, Gordeo turned to Belua. “One fool gave me odds of five to one on the back of that slippery Prior. Ha! – his face when Caetes opened him up – you’d swear someone had dropped a turd in his lap!”

  “A memorable sight I’m sure,” Belua chorused.

  Focusing his attention on Caetes, Gordeo sensed that the gladiator was curious, but that it was edged with wariness. After contemplating a moment, he stated, “You’ve proven to be a sound investment Caetes.”

  “I’m glad the spilling of my blood hasn’t caused you any loss.” The gladiator’s response was spoken as through a mouthful of sand.

  “Come now, less of the sour wit,” Gordeo said, his good humour undiminished. “Despite Belua’s fear that you’d be crucified before the year was out, you’ve proved him wrong, and me too. You’ve worked hard and displayed an eagerness to learn and improve, which is commendable.” His thumbs tapping together, he sat back. “The wind of fortune has been very kind to you – unusually so, for one so young. And, your recent victories have earned you a generous reward in silver.”

  “Nothing I haven’t earned,” the gladiator’s eyes flared with anger.

  “Easy, my young Hercules,” Gordeo held up his hand, a placating gesture, “there’s no doubting that. So, bite that tongue, because I intend to reward you further.”

  Pushing a money pouch across the table, Gordeo motioned for the gladiator to pick it up. “Add this to what you already have.” Gordeo saw him hesitate, his eyes flicking to Belua. “Go on, take it,” he encouraged, “It’s not a test.”

  “What do you want from me?” the gladiator asked, picking up the pouch.

  “More of the same,” Gordeo replied, more serious. “You do the unexpected well, and you kill with style. The mob has made you their favourite, and that’s good for the Imperial School, and good for me.” Gordeo cleared his throat before continuing. “There’s also another matter that I’ve discussed with Belua. We both agree that we’ve fed and housed you for long enough. You will henceforth fund your own lodgings outside the confines of the barracks...within the city’s walls of course.”

  “From...from today?” the gladiator managed to ask, his look disbelieving.

  “Tomorrow is soon enough,” Gordeo clarified. “Attend the school each day promptly an hour after dawn, without exception. And, some free advice, take it or ignore it as you wish.” He arched his eye-brows. “Try not to screw every whore in the city on your first night of liberty. Also, if you choose, you can leave the bulk of your money at the school for safekeeping. No one will steal it, I can assure you.”

  A brief silence followed, and then Gordeo asked, “Any other questions?”

  Caetes shook his head.

  “Anything to add Belua?” Gordeo enquired.

  The trainer directed his gruff response to the stunned gladiator. “Don’t forget the procurator’s generosity, and remember that you remain the property of the Imperial School, and the price to be paid if you try to run. That aside, your desire to spill your opponent’s guts still leaves gaps in your defence, and is something we need to work on.” It was a statement that brooked no argument.

  Gordeo summoned a cough, then confirmed half-heartedly, “Well said Belua.” Then signalling the close of the meeting with a casual wave of his hand in Caetes’ direction, he quipped, “This rewarding business is thirsty work. Belua, wine if you please, and pray be generous with the ice.”

  Just as the gladiator reached the door, Gordeo added, “Oh! One last piece of advice. Don’t make the same mistake as the Capuan.”

  The gladiator turned around, his look expectant.

  “Believe you cannot lose.”

  *

  As he headed north-eastwards along the Via Dell Abondanza, it became apparent to Guntram that there wasn’t a street in Pompeii without its generous share of shops and bars. Wherever the public gathered, such as the public baths and the temples, the fronts of nearby buildings were turned over to merchants, work-shops and taverns. He also realized that much of the city was split into blocks, with each building joined to its neighbour, and that in the main, commoner and noble lived side by side.

  Following the advice of a veteran living outside the ludus, Guntram headed for The Inn of Asellina, which was reputed to be clean, lice free and reasonably priced. The inn was also a convenient distance from the ludus, the public baths and the Inn of Silius Fagus. Despite his best efforts to convince himself otherwise, the inn’s nearness to Chayna’s work place was the main reason he sought it out.

  City folk on foot jostled all about him, their voices buzzing in his ears. A whip cracked behind him and he moved out of the path of a heavil
y laden wagon, cursing as he elbowed a path through gaps in the crowd.

  Passing one of the city’s numerous laundries, he glanced at a citizen urinating into one of the large clay pots situated on the sidewalk for this purpose. He’d been told that the urine was gratefully used by the city’ launderers to clean garments. He grimaced, thinking, Gods! What a people – bathing their clothes in piss to purge them clean.

  To avoid the wafting stench of fresh urine he crossed the street. After a brief walk he picked out the entrance to the Inn of Asellina.

  Clay jars of diverse shapes and sizes were displayed on the inn’s front counter, and as he drew near, Guntram saw that two of these had been cleverly crafted into the shape of a cockerel and fox. Small dishes mounted on stands displayed to the passer-by what hot food was sold in-doors, and large earthenware bowls embedded in the counter contained a wide range of food and drink, including clusters of small loaves, mounds of fresh olives and variously priced wines. Above the entranceway were the brightly painted characters of a number of Roman gods, foremost among them a garishly depicted Venus; Pompeii’s favourite goddess of beauty and love.

  Guntram stepped up to the stone counter. He was greeted by a thin, pinch–faced woman, who identified herself as Asellina. In response to his blunt request for a fair rate, he was told to pay what was asked or take his custom elsewhere. Guntram’s scowling silence prompted Asellina to outline the mandatory house rules for guests: no fighting, no pissing in the bar and no whores to be brought onto the premises. In relation to the last rule, she added that if needed, the house would be happy to provide the services of one of a number of resident chambermaids, for a reasonable additional sum of course!

  Consequent to Guntram paying the stated fee – in advance – Asellina motioned for him to follow her up the nearby stairway and onto a narrow landing leading to the rooms.

  They entered a room overlooking the busy street. Asellina, with a theatrical sweep of her arms, announced that this was his room and was the house’s largest. The room spanned roughly four metres by six, containing a single bed and a small wooden table on which sat an oil lamp, a basin of water and two clean towels. A small urine pot nested under the bed’s sturdy, wooden frame.

  On Asellina’s departure, Guntram walked to the window. He looked down into the street, still suspicious. He wondered if the ludus was watching him, afraid that he’d run? His newfound freedom to walk the city unhindered felt strange, and he questioned if Belua and Gordeo really trusted him?

  If he fled and was captured he knew he’d be crucified – a terrible death. But, that was not the reason he’d stay. He needed to track to down Servannus, because the noble was his best chance of finding Jenell and Strom. He’d taken his first step and was free of the ludus’ walls. The next step was to be free to travel outside the city, and that meant having enough money to buy his freedom or winning the rudis. He had some money, but nowhere enough. The rudis remained his goal.

  He’d pledged to take his revenge on Servannus and the empire that had spawned him, and it was good that he was so close. But, he needed to be patient. I must plan my attack from a position of strength, he told himself. Just like I tracked and killed the great bear of the forest.

  And, there was another reason to stay. He had to see Chayna again. He worried that she may reject him, but, he knew this would not prevent him from trying to see her, to explain that he had no choice in what he did.

  He’d hardly noticed the aching in his chest, the stitches pulling as the flesh knitted. Closing the window shutters, he walked to the small table, where he used the small basin to briskly wash. After rubbing himself dry with the towels provided, he lay down on the bed, the soft mattress moulding to his frame. It felt wonderful after the lumpy, straw mattress in his cell.

  Tracing the beams of scattered light filtering through the window shutters onto his legs, he felt his eye-lids droop, then close.

  * * *

  Chapter XIX

  THE INN OF SILIUS FAGUS

  “What is here given by the

  Gods more desirable than a happy hour?”

  Catullus

  It was early evening and a sea breeze swept through the city. The cool gusts provided welcome relief from the listless heat of the day as they funnelled through the busy avenues and side streets. People were beginning to venture out from their homes in increasing numbers and Guntram was among them, seeking out the Inn of Silius Fagus, and Chayna.

  The sun was just setting as he arrived at the inn located along the busy Via Stabiana, and his sense was that the inn was little more than a cheap watering hole for the districts’ drunken poor. A handful of drinkers sat on the adjoining pavement, with a few others propping themselves against the inn’s front wall. Wine jars of various sizes were embedded into the inn’s rough stone counter, each clearly marked according to price and place of origin. Inside, there was a small area for people to sit and drink, where customers gathered around three rickety tables. A further two tables sat empty in the rear of the small bar.

  Guntram stepped across the threshold, and was greeted by a man who he assumed was the owner – a fat, greasy man, with teeth the colour of moss. He smiled thinly as he greeted Guntram, wiping his hands in a stained cloth at his waist.

  “Welcome sir,” said the man. “If it’s food you want, I’m afraid there’s only a limited choice, but we could serve you up a mutton stew, or some bread and cheese if you wish. On the other hand, I have a fine selection of wines that may be of interest to you.” He pointed to the counter. “The wines you see on display are of the finest grapes in Campania, and I would definitely recommend the pale red from the reputed vineyards at Nola – it’s my cheapest wine, and a best seller.”

  “You can keep the horse piss for those stupid enough to drink it,” Guntram told him, before asking, “How much for a flagon of Falerian?”

  “My young guest jokes of course!” The man struggled to hold his smile. “The Falerian will cost you three sesterces, but it’s a wine to please the gods themselves.” Taking a deep breath, he enquired, “Could I be so bold as to ask if you are Caetes, the young champion of Ludus Gordeo?”

  Guntram’s sheer size had attracted the usual attention, and more heads turned at the mention of his name.

  Guntram gave the man a dark look, prompting him to babble nervously, “As...As regards myself, I am Silius Fagus, the owner of this humble inn.” Guntram remained silent, which seemed to heighten the inn-keeper’s discomfort. “Well, I, I thought it was you. Your size, your hair and your...your face.” He dragged his gaze away from Guntram’s face, and the scar.

  “I’ll pay two sesterces for the Falerian,” Guntram’s voice echoed in the confines of the inn, “and I’ll sit.”

  “Of course!” the relieved owner blurted. “For a champion and honoured guest such as you, the price is definitely two sesterces. Please follow me.”

  Half-running to the back of the inn, Fagus pulled out a chair from one of the vacant tables and beckoned Guntram to sit. The chair creaked under his weight as he watched the inn-keeper drag his grimy rag over the table top, mopping up the sticky pools of drool and spilt wine.

  Guntram scanned the room. Customers touched by his gaze turned quickly back to their drinks.

  Fagus scurried to the inn’s rear wall, and pushing a heavy drape aside, shouted, “Chayna, move your feet girl! A flagon of my best Falerian for a special guest.”

  Guntram’s neck hairs prickled at the sound of the woman’s name.

  The curtain parted and Chayna stepped into the room. She wore the same faded dress as she had on their first meeting. She recognised him immediately, her face lighting up. “It’s you,” she stated simply, smiling. Coming to his table she filled his wine cup.

  Guntram took a sip.

  “You...remember me then?” Guntram’s words struggled out.

  “Yes,” Chayna clasped her small hands together, “at the arena.”

  “Can I ask why you were there?”

  “My
master sometimes makes me sell wine at the arena,” said Chayna. “I hate it – the men touching my body and...all the killing.”

  Guntram saw her lip tremble.

  “I feel sick every time I go. The killing of the criminals reminds of my poor mother’s fate. She was falsely convicted of theft and was sentenced to death in the arena.” Her eyes were moist with tears. “And you know the kind of death they...” Her words tailed off.

  “I do,” said Guntram, feeling uneasy, not sure what to say.

  “Chayna! There are customers waiting to be served!” The inn-keeper’s voice rang out across the bar. “Move yourself, or you’ll feel the back of my hand!”

  Before Chanya could take a step, Guntram had surged up from his seat, quickly reaching the startled Fagus. He gripped the inn-keeper’s tunic front, then lifted and slammed him hard against the wall.

  Cries of surprise rang out from the few drinkers who saw what was happening.

  His face squeezed crimson, Fagus looked as if he was about to cry. Up close, he stank of garlic and stale wine

  “You need a lesson in manners!” Guntram drew his free hand back across his body. “Let’s see how you like the taste of my hand, you stinking tub of guts!”

  “No! Please! Please don’t!” Fagus blubbered.

  A light pressure tugged at Guntram’s drawn arm, and he spun about. It was Chayna’s hand.

  “Please Caetes, put him down.” She looked frightened as she spoke. “If you beat him, the watch will come and you’ll be in trouble, for my sake.”

  “If the watch come, I’ll deal with them,” Guntram growled.

  “I’m grateful for your concern, but if you hurt him I’ll be punished in other ways, after you go.”

  Seconds passed, and then Guntram dropped Fagus sack–like to the floor. His brown eyes seethed with anger and Chayna took a step backwards.

  I seek to shield her and yet she protects this pig, Guntram thought, his frustration growing with every breath. Yet, he was drawn to her. The upturned face with its soft, full lips slightly parted, the dark eyes imploring, held and disarmed him.