Spartacus

by Robert Southworth

  Spartacus was busy putting a deadly edge to his sword, a duty he would allow no other to do. He observed Plinius heading for him.

  ‘Ah Plinius …some wine?’ He asked brightly.

  ‘Please,’ Plinius replied, not knowing how to tell Spartacus what Thulius had said. He greedily took down a large mouthful of wine. He was about to speak but was beaten to the words by Spartacus.

  ‘You should not think too much on what Thulius told you,’ Spartacus said, a knowing look upon his face.

  ‘You know what he says?’ Said Plinius. He required the answers.

  ‘Many soldiers and gladiators have woken to say such things. Some claim a vision and others just have a feeling deep within them,’ Spartacus replied.

  ‘But tell him he's wrong!’ Plinius demanded.

  ‘Is he Plinius? The man believes it is so. No amount of talking with me will change that and I cannot order him not to feel that way.’ Spartacus looked across to Thulius as he spoke, a familiar feeling of foreboding touching his soul.

  ‘Then drop him from the tournament,’ Plinius argued.

  ‘And risk five to save one? Plinius, the man has a belief and it's one he has accepted. He will fight for his friends in the arena just as hard as before. If the Gods do decide to take him then they will do it and no intervention from you or me will interfere with that.’ Plinius looked at Thulius and yes he looked sad, but the man had obviously accepted whatever fate was to befall him, and he would do it with a sword in his hand. Plinius rose, poured an extra goblet of wine and re-joined Thulius, handing him the drink.

  They stood facing the enemy, the sand reflecting the brilliant sunshine up into their faces. They watched the enemy who wore no armour, just blue uniforms made of a sturdy cloth. Each of them carried a long, curved sword and a small round shield. Everything about them said they should not have reached this far in the tournament. But Spartacus observed the way they moved, it was like a serpent. They barely caused a ripple in the sand below them. Each of them seemed to undulate, almost moving with the breeze. He had heard of the style, spoken as legend within the gladiator schools of the empire. He remembered the crowd speak of these warriors, it was said they fought as wisps of smoke. Make a thrust with a sword and they simply bent around the blade and became whole again. Bull also had heard those rumours. He spoke, but to no one person in particular.

  ‘Do you think it's true what they say?’

  It was Spartacus who answered.

  ‘Look at them, everything about them suggests speed and tricks, and to get this far they will be good. But trust me, make contact with your blade and it will make the smoke bleed just like any man.’ He paused then roared his defiance at the enemy.

  It was the ultimate test of power against speed. The slower, armoured gladiators of Cassian's men tried to use their power to crush the enemy, to pin them down and prevent the enemy from using their greater speed. Whereas their opponents would strike, move and strike again, trying to take advantage of a shield moved too slow, or an exposed piece of flesh.

  Two individual skirmishes got too close to one another and four fighters crashed into one another, sending all to the floor in a heap. The crowd roared, sensing the blood that was to follow. Bull lay motionless on the floor, knocked cold by the fall but before his opponent could take advantage Thulius, who had risen first, ran him through the throat with a well placed lunge. Almost simultaneously Thulius received a blow to his thigh. He staggered and his opponent sensed victory. Spartacus removed the head of his enemy with a backward slash of his weapon, a move which was met by the crowd erupting in raptures. He managed to get between Thulius and his aggressor to prevent a fatal blow being delivered. He was rewarded with a slight cut to his cheek.

  Spartacus roared his anger and, trapping the opponent's sword under foot and bringing his shield up, took the man under the chin. The man was launched into the air, his back arching. He would not have chance to regain his feet for, before he hit the ground, Spartacus thrust again and the blade burst through him. He landed with the point pinning him to the sand.

  A terrible roar came from behind Spartacus as he tried to retrieve his weapon, but the blade held firm anchoring on the ribs of the fallen man. The enemy from behind lunged towards Spartacus, whooping at the thought of an easy kill, but the weapon stopped short of its intended victim. He didn't realise what had happened at first but Spartacus had seen the unarmed Thulius place himself between the enemy and himself. The blade drove cruelly into him, but his actions gave Spartacus all the time he needed. He quickly took a step and dove at the man, no sword in hand. The unsuspecting enemy crumpled beneath Spartacus and, within a heartbeat, he was dead, his neck broken.

  Spartacus wanted to go and tend to Thulius but the bout was not over. The enemy still fought on, but the numbers were on the side of Cassian's men now. However, there was no retreat and these shape shifters died hard, inflicting wounds upon all of Cassian's men. Spartacus turned as the battle ended. He looked at the forlorn body of Thulius still warm, blood covering the sand beneath him but, even from that distance, he knew Thulius was dead and would be paying Charon coin to cross the river of Styx that very night. Victory had been achieved but the cost was heavy, they trudged back to the camp. A mixture of relief at being alive and sadness at losing a fellow warrior filling their hearts.

  The men sat around the fire and watched the flames flicker skywards. Bull raised his goblet to the heavens.

  ‘To Thulius, may the Gods accept him to their bosom.’

  The others around echoed his sentiments. Spartacus thought of the man that, in truth, along the dangerous path they had all trodden had been somewhat of a mystery. He had neither shone for his brilliance or stuck out because of his stupidity. The man had never requested a conversation or praise of any kind and yet he placed himself between a blade and Spartacus, even though the result of his actions was clear. Thulius would lose his life and would do it saving a man who had never taken the chance to spend time with him. He looked around at the men and wondered if he would sit by the fire, regretting the chance not to know them better if they were to fall in battle. He then checked himself, he would not fill what might be his last days with recrimination. Each of these men signed up for a mission and it brought dangers, all of which they knew. Men died, that was the way of things. He wondered if he told himself that enough times, whether he would actually believe it, or whether as always, he would place that which brought him pain to the far reaches of his mind. Then, only on the very darkest nights, when he was all alone would they be able to escape and torment him.

  He glanced to the large white villa almost as dominating a building as the arena. Up there a pompous, egotistical bastard was making it rich from these deaths. He prayed that one day the masses would be baying for that man's blood. He made a promise that, if still alive, he would gladly cheer as loud and as long as any on that day.

  As it was Dido was not happy. He threw a cask of wine at Melachus.

  ‘I thought you said the Parthians were the best.’

  ‘No my lord, I am no judge of such matters, I merely said they were favourites.’ Melachus replied, concerned his promotion would be short lived, and he took a small step closer to the door.

  ‘And what was their condition at the end of the bout?’ Dido asked, hoping his plan had not been a complete waste.

  ‘One dead, all carrying minor injuries,’ Melachus answered quickly and efficiently.

  ‘Ah a minor success then. It seems this group aren't blessed by the Gods after all.’ He smiled. ‘Very well, leave me and send me some sport.’ As he spoke he licked his lips hungrily and Melachus turned quickly to hide his pure loathing and revulsion.

  Whilst alone Dido looked down at his hands. A tremor moved them. There was no doubting the master of the games was beginning to feel fear. He consumed his wine, trying to force the feeling of dread that had lodged in his guts. This was uncommon, it had been many years since he had felt such fear and he did not like it. He decided actio
ns were required to ensure Cassian would not be alive to collect his wager.

  Chapter 21

  Cassian stared at the arena. The throng and buzz of the crowd making their way to the colossal building was audibly larger than ever before. They sensed blood and carnage, a battle to see who would meet the champions of Utica. He swatted a fly from his face, the early morning already producing too much heat. Within the great arena men would struggle against both the enemy and the oppressively close heat, which would tire the already exhausted warriors to the point where mistakes would be made. In the arena mistakes were fatal.

  He had risen early, wanting the time to be by himself, yearning for the simple life. His life before was one of dispatching orders, where men's lives were cheap, he rarely even met them. He would make the plans, send the messages and then actions would be taken. Here though, as he looked at the rest of the men beginning to stir, it was different. Here he stood side by side with the men, learnt of their homes, how the journey of their lives had brought them all to this place, all converging at the same point in history. He raised his hands and stared at them. There was so much blood on them he thought all the water in the Tiber could not cleanse them. He doubted he would ever feel clean again. They had come so far and yet so little had been achieved. The next few days would see if their labours were successful or whether, like so many plans, it all ended in dust, swept away by the breeze like so many good intentions.

  He was not the only person to rise early that morning. Dido had sent for a man, a man who had the means to end this gamble he had made with Cassian quickly and without fuss. He waited, rapping his fingers against the table. He was not used to being kept waiting but he knew that showing anger to this man would more than likely see his head split in two. So he waited, guarding against his own anger, holding it inside.

  Spartacus hardly tasted his breakfast, everything tasted so bland these days. He passed wine to Bull who gratefully accepted.

  ‘Well this is it then. Win today and we get to grips with those so called Utica champions,’ Bull remarked.

  ‘Easy to be champions when all you fight is remnants of men who have been through the tournament.’ Spartacus spat out the words as if they added to the distaste of the food. He had little respect for such men.

  ‘We'll see. I haven't even caught a glimpse of them, difficult to judge a man out of sight,’ Bull said thoughtfully.

  ‘We will see them soon enough,’ Spartacus said confidently.

  ‘You aiming to put the record straight against Colossus then?’ Bull asked, a smirk on his face.

  ‘I won't need to go looking for him, he will come for me. He knows I should have defeated him the last time we fought but my inexperience cost me the bout. That will not happen again,’ Spartacus replied.

  ‘Is he as good as the crowd think he is?’ Bull looked down to hide his concern.

  ‘You saw him! He is powerful, made all the worse for his height. His blows rain down from above, the reach of the man is ridiculous. But for all his power he has weaknesses and if you're quick and don't linger for too long then the bout is there for the taking,’ Spartacus replied, eager to get to grips with the man.

  ‘So your plan is to stay out his bloody way,’ Bull joked.

  ‘Hmm yes! Sounds about right,’ Spartacus laughed. Plinius perched himself down next to them. Bull threw a casual arm around him.

  ‘Why so glum Plinius? Not long now before that beautiful young maiden of yours wraps those golden thighs about you,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘I'll settle for a drop of that wine,’ he motioned to the wine before continuing, ‘Cassian was up with the sun this morning.’

  ‘A leader's heart always weighs heavily before an important battle,’ Spartacus said, before he could stop himself.

  ‘He should look to himself today, there's enough to worry about just staying alive,’ Bull added.

  ‘If only it was that easy,’ Spartacus replied. ‘A proper leader grows attached to his men, which in turn makes him doubt the plans he has devised for the upcoming engagement and to second guess whether he was right to bring his men down this road,’ Spartacus spoke thoughtfully as he remembered the battles he orchestrated with his army of slaves.

  ‘A man could go mad with all that going on his head. Simplify it, see the enemy, go kill the bastards,’ Bull replied.

  ‘If only Hannibal had you advising him, Rome would have fallen in a day,’ Spartacus teased.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Bull retorted.

  A knock at the door made Dido glance up. Melachus entered.

  ‘My lord your guest is here,’ Melachus said, trying to gauge the mood of Dido. He wondered how his master would handle the man who stood waiting just beyond the door. A broad, sickly smile spread onto Dido's face.

  ‘Ah thank you Melachus, be so kind as to show him in. There will be no need for you to stay.’ Melachus showed the man in and quickly left, hoping Dido would say the wrong thing and have his head ripped off. The man entered.

  ‘I am quite busy. I have some business in the arena today,’ the man boomed.

  ‘Colossus, do forgive me but I had some rather important business for you myself and I believe it would be most beneficial for you…wine?’ Dido was in deal mode. He wanted a task completed and if he must pamper this oaf then he would, despite his loathing for a man with muscle for a brain.

  ‘Very well. What is it you want?’ Colossus replied.

  ‘As I understand it you have certain issues with this Spartacus which you mean to resolve in the arena,’ Dido said. It was not a question but a statement of fact, there was little which escaped Dido's knowledge within Utica. Colossus did not answer, merely nodded his head.

  ‘I would appreciate it if you concentrated your skills on Cassian Antonius, at least in the beginning. Kill him and then you can do what you like with Spartacus,’ Dido's eyes narrowed in anticipation of the answer from Colossus.

  ‘And why should I do this?’ Colossus replied. Dido felt the sensation of joy inside, when the other party asked why, it meant how much coin would they get. He had coin by the wagon load, the negotiations were already won, it was just a matter of the price.

  ‘Did you see the wagons of Cassian? I will present you with one of those chests. All that gold for one man.’ He thought it too much but much more than coin depended upon the right reply, so he made it an offer the man could not refuse.

  ‘Ah I'll take your money. I was going to kill him anyway, may as well get paid well for it,’ Colossus whooped with joy.

  Dido watched the man leave. He thought to himself what an unbearable piece of scum, I must remind myself to tell my champions to chop him up into little bits. A cruel smile spread across his face, after all a whole chest of coin for a man like that would be merely wasted.

  Cassian led the group up to the arena. The crowd were going crazy, all pushing and shoving to catch a glimpse of the warriors who threatened to become legend. The tournament had never had two groups with such talented fighters reach this stage with so many members intact and, maybe, the champions of Utica would finally have a battle to test them. They walked out onto the sand, the dried blood patches now in evidence all over the arena floor. It was strange, despite the din of the crowd Cassian still believed he could hear the flies buzzing in his ear as they searched for a suitable corpse upon which to land. He thought they would not have long to wait.

  Colossus and his men filed into the arena from the far side. He seemed to have grown even more since the last time they saw him. He raised his arms, milking the crowd. He carried a gladius and a large hammer like weapon which had undergone alterations, sharp spikes attached to the shaft of it. It was a weapon designed to cause damage and agony, not only death. The two groups moved towards one another like two powerful lions fighting for control of the pride. They circled one another looking for weakness. Then the two beasts collided and the crowd exploded with pure excitement.

  Spartacus could not understand it, he thought Colossus would seek him ou
t, but the huge man had avoided him and, instead, Spartacus found himself fighting two men intent on gaining reputation by slaying the mighty Spartacus. Cassian avoided the mighty blow aimed at his head by Colossus. He flicked out his own blade, causing a cut to appear on the huge man's thigh and quickly danced away to avoid the hammer blow which was sure to follow. Time and time again fighters from both sides would fall into a trap set by their enemy but, as the crowd sensed a death blow, they showed their skill, managing to avoid the fatal blow and making the crowd fall to silence with disappointment.

  Aegis faced a man who was at least a head and shoulder shorter than himself but the skill the man showed with trident and net was breathtaking. Aegis only just managed to avoid entanglement in the net on a number of occasions. Then the crowd would have its first victim, for Aegis was struggling. The smaller man was just too quick for him. Further and further back he retreated until he could go no further, his back thudded against the stone perimeter of the arena. A faint twist of the shoulder and a lunge, and the trident speared Aegis’ left hand to the wall. Bones, muscle and sinew were smashed to pulp by the powerful weapon. The smaller opponent saluted the crowd as they cheered him, then pulled a dagger from his belt and thrust it towards Aegis heart. In one quick movement Aegis caught the hand of his opponent and used its momentum. The blade missed Aegis by a fraction. It continued up, taking his opponent under the chin, rising up through brain and skull and tipping the man's helmet off, as it burst from the top of his head. Aegis was victorious but bleeding profusely. His tournament was over, he stumbled to the safety area holding his shattered hand down by his side. He slumped to the floor of the safety area and managed to tie a piece of cloth around his mangled hand, the pain and loss of blood making his surrounding world blur.

  Cassian parried a massive blow, the weight of which forced him back. He was feeling tired now and hoped that his gargantuan opponent was too. However he was not confident of the fact as Colossus’ blows remained constant in both speed and weight. He side stepped another thunderous blow and saw an opening. He took it and opened a gash along the forearm of Colossus. The crowd cheered and Cassian delayed slightly too long due to his euphoria at scoring an injury upon his opponent. The huge hammer like weapon swept down from above, taking Cassian in mid thigh before he could scamper from the giant's massive reach. The agony was unbearable, blood poured from the wound as muscle and layers of fat were exposed to the sunlight. He managed to parry the next two blows and began to stumble towards the safety area. He chanced a look to see how far away it was and Colossus noticed the look and sensed victory. Blow after blow rained down on him, his vision becoming blurred, the loss of blood sapping all energy from him. Suddenly he was grasped from behind and pulled towards safety, his would be protector standing between him and Colossus. Bull was no match for Colossus, so he did not try to fight him but merely guarded the retreating Cassian. The crowd cheered, the strange sight of one gladiator virtually chasing two others across the arena, one race which Colossus seemed destined to win. Now within steps of sanctuary Colossus had to make his move. He trapped Bull's sword and raised his huge foot. The kick took Bull in the chest, the force of it knocking wind from his body and sending him and Cassian flying. Both landed beyond the lines of the safety area but this seemed not to concern Colossus, he raised his weapon high. Cassian, his mind dazed and flitting from reality due to his wound, was pinned to the ground by the unconscious Bull. He glanced up and saw the weapon rise. He never saw it fall or felt the blade impact, a cloud drifted over his mind and a young servant girl stood before him smiling.