XXVI
It was difficult to move in the crush of the twenty thousand spectators that filled the grounds surrounding the Pompeii amphitheater. Vendors sold their gladiator-themed oil lamps, glassware, pottery, and other merchandise faster than the supply servants could replenish the display shelves. Stalls selling miniature statues of the gladiators and hunters in action poses were the busiest. Figurines of Amazonia sold the best, followed closely by icons of Taurus and Vulcanus, the popular local fighter. Gaius had brought in a dozen foremen from his vineyard to keep an accounting of all the souvenirs trading hands. The shady vendors could certainly not be trusted to voluntarily turn over the correct percentage to the editor. To increase his take, Gaius had set up four stalls of his own, selling his wine in souvenir goblets.
Shortly after sunrise the cavea gates opened and the crowd streamed in, scurrying to claim the best of the plebian seats. Fistfights broke out as newcomers attempted to shove their way to the head of a line that had begun forming two days earlier. Legionaries from Campania assigned to handle security quickly brought the scuffles under control. Gaius was not about to have a repeat of the ugly Pompeii amphitheater riot nearly a decade earlier, which had cost dozens of lives.
But the atmosphere on this day was much different. A spark was in the air that ignited a special passion for this fight. Although this was the Pompeiian troupe’s hometown crowd, there was still a strong feeling of respect and admiration for the visiting Familia Gladiatoria Petra. A combination of their spirit, their guts, and their tenacity endeared them to the locals. A friendly rivalry had even developed between the residents of Pompeii and those of Herculaneum who, after a month of hosting the visiting troupe, had adopted them as their own.
The audience could see they were in for a unique spectacle from the moment they entered the cavea. A full quarter of the arena floor had been dug away and filled with water to form an artificial lake. A variety of trees and bushes planted around the waterhole created a dramatic oasis in the sand. Most of the morning discussions speculated on what beasts would soon lurk beneath the water’s surface.
A few straggling politicians made their way to the lower seats as a trumpet fanfare from the orchestra announced the arrival of the magistrate. The old administrator entered the podium, stopping periodically to wave to the crowd on the way to his seat. Because he was not sponsoring these games, a fact which he probably now regretted, this would be his only time in the spotlight today.
“Thank you, my friends,” he said as loudly as his frail voice would allow. “Today you must save your hurrahs for the man who has put together this noble event for you. I give you my predecessor, Gaius Tadius Magnus!”
The orchestra commenced a stately ceremonial march, and the heavy arena gates swung open at the musical cue. Onto the sand rode a chariot drawn by four white horses and containing a smiling, waving Gaius. The crowd had indeed saved their hurrahs for the editor, and a tremendous cheer erupted from the throng. His successful term as their previous magistrate had already endeared him to many in the crowd, and even those who had disagreed with his policies while in office were his allies today in light of this spectacular presentation.
In the tunnel, the sudden burst of sunlight temporarily blinded Quintus. As his eyes adjusted, he was overwhelmed by the sight of twenty thousand spectators in an amphitheater twice the size of the Londinium arena. He was among the first out of the tunnel, leading the Britannia troupe in their march behind the chariot. Beside him were the other primus and secundus palus veterans, along with the top audience draw, Amazonia. While the men were dressed in their traditional subligaculum, Amazonia wore a sky blue two-piece outfit boasting a tightly tied loincloth and a matching top overlaid in silver mail. Black boots and a flowing white cape helped punctuate her entrance into the arena, which was greeted by another tremendous roar from the crowd. As they marched side by side, Amazonia’s beauty and Quintus’s rugged good looks and painted torso seemed to mesmerize every member of the audience, both male and female.
“We seem to be a hit,” Quintus said.
“Wait until they see the fighting costume Gaius had designed for me,” replied Amazonia. “That should get some hearts beating.”
As Quintus expected, the cheering grew even louder as the Pompeiian troupe made their entrance. Chants of “Vulcanus! Vulcanus!” rose from the crowd as the pompa made its circuit. Quintus kept his eye on the man who would be his adversary this day. The senior Pompeiian fighter, a large man with a ruggedly handsome face, acknowledged the crowd’s devotion with an occasional pose that emphasized arms the size of tree trunks.
Gaius’s horses became skittish as they approached the artificial lake, unsure if an aquatic predator laid in wait for them as they passed. Gaius tugged the reins and steered the team away from the waterhole, stopping in the center of the wide arena. Julianus and Justus arranged the fighters in neat rows behind the chariot.
Quintus continued to study Vulcanus a few rows ahead of him. The man seemed calm and collected. From his body language, it was obvious he was a veteran of many arena matches. In those few moments, Quintus knew this would be his most difficult challenger to date. But he also knew the outcome would be positive.
Gaius raised his arms, and the orchestra segued into an extended, trilling note designed to add tension.
“Fellow Romans and guests,” his voice boomed theatrically, “welcome to an epic battle between North and South. The best of Britannia against the best of Pompeii!”
The sustained note became a dramatic fanfare, triggering a thunderous ovation that rolled through the amphitheater. The crowd was not as large as those that filled the huge amphitheater in Rome, but to Quintus’s ears, the noise seemed greater. The ovation gave Gaius enough time to dismount and ascend the steps that had been set up leading to the podium. He took a moment to greet the game judges he had appointed. As the cheering subsided, he addressed the crowd and judges alike.
“This contest will be judged fairly. There will be no preference given to the home ludus.”
A few boos and jeers came from the cavea, a response that brought laughter from the rest of the crowd and Gaius. Quintus wondered if the jeers were truly good-natured. He scanned the podium and locked eyes with Petra. His lanista radiated a look of pride and confidence. Quintus thought back to their conversation as the carts were being loaded in Glevum so many months ago, where the first seeds of this idea were planted. Now it had blossomed into reality. The orchestra played its final fanfare and, with a nod, Quintus turned and marched from the arena, the proud image of his lanista lingering in his mind.
Cassius Petra’s nerves were as tight as a bowstring, but he did his best to convey only confidence. From his seat on the podium, an unusual vantage point for him, he watched his forty-nine men and one woman march back into the darkness of the tunnel. Gaius had insisted that he and Facilix flank the editor’s chair on the podium, an honor not normally granted a lanista but offered on this day in tribute to the unique nature of the games. Petra glanced across at Facilix. Although they had worked together in setting up the massive event, he still held little trust for his counterpart.
Gaius stood in front of his elaborate seat between the two lanistae. As the applause subsided he addressed the crowd once again.
“I want to thank each of you for paying fifteen sesterces of your hard-earned money for this special event. These are the most expensive games ever held in Pompeii. I assure you that not one of you will leave here today disappointed. In this morning’s hunt you will see beasts that most of you have never seen before. But you did not come to hear me drone on. So I say to you—”
Before he completed his sentence, the heavy wooden doors leading to the arena floor burst open and slapped against the stone wall with a loud bang. The noise startled everyone, including Petra. He watched as a lone slave ran across the sand, yelling dramatically; almost too dramatically, he thought.
“Master, Master! There’s a monster in our midst like I have never seen before. It chased me into this arena and traps me here now.”
Petra looked up at Gaius who appeared to be only half listening to the ranting slave. The editor glanced at him with a quick wink. Petra looked around the cavea to see who was being duped by the hoax. Their puzzled and shocked expressions told him most of the audience were falling for the prank, despite the slave’s terribly overblown performance.
Gaius cleared his throat and yelled back to the man in the arena. “Well, slave, then you shall have the honor of being the first to die in the jaws of the mighty water horse!”
Wild shouting came from the dark tunnel. Suddenly a massive, angry hippo potamus charged through the portal. A collective scream came from the crowd, indicating—as Gaius had predicted—that most had never seen such a huge, ugly creature before. Petra knew this was to be Lindani’s prey, but the theatrical entrance was a surprise even to him. The narrow streams of blood running down the beast’s sides showed that the animal handlers had done their job in enraging the beast.
The hippo charged at the slave. Its speed belied its tremendous bulk. The screams of the crowd grew louder as the animal opened its gaping jaws and revealed the four dreadful tusks that made it the most feared water animal in Africa. Vile grunts came from the animal as it ran. The slave moved quickly, but in a short sprint it was obvious the hippo could easily outrun even the fastest Greek athlete. With a swipe of its unwieldy head, the hippo knocked its prey to the sand. The slave screamed in terror as the beast grabbed him up in its powerful jaws, the upper and lower tusks penetrating his torso like four razor-sharp swords. The howls of pain ended abruptly as the hippo began twisting his neck and slapping the top half of the man’s body onto the ground. With the bloody carcass still hanging like a rag doll from its jaws, the hippo lurched across the arena and plunged into the waterhole, drenching the spectators seated fifteen feet above it. Within a few seconds, only the top of the animal’s head was visible above the swells.
Before the shocked spectators had time to react, Gaius was back on his feet beside Petra. “But this beast cannot have all the spoils for himself. He must learn to share. Bring in his companions!”
Once again, the tunnel door opened. A large cart powered by twenty prisoners, ten along each side, entered the arena. Petra could see the terrified looks on their faces even from across the amphitheater. The prisoners were chained to the covered cart to prevent them from fleeing should the hippo decide to claim another victim. Two arena attendants riding atop the wagon prodded them forward with long pokers, glowing red hot at the end.
The hippo kept a close watch as the cart slowly approached the waterhole. The beast raised its head and bellowed, threatening to charge. One of the prisoners closest to the front of the wagon stopped pushing and attempted to hold back the cart. A red-hot poker quickly found his back and left a permanent mark. His agonized scream seemed to momentarily frighten the hippo and it sank again into the pool, its first victim dislodging from the bottom tusks to float facedown in the dark water. The prisoners spun the cart around and backed it up to the water’s edge. On the attendant’s signal, the slaves moved to the two long rods protruding from each side of the covered cargo bed and began to lift. An unearthly hissing emerged from the cart, followed by five large reptilian bodies, which slid from the bed and splashed into the water beside the hippo.
Gasps again came from the crowd. Petra was surprised that few in Pompeii had apparently ever seen a Nile crocodile. The hungry crocs immediately charged for the body floating in the pool and tore it apart in seconds. The hippo seemed more concerned with the cart than in protecting its kill.
The prisoners, happy to leave with their lives, pushed the wagon from the arena twice a fast as they had brought it in. The wild reaction of the crowd told Petra that the unusual start to the games had just the effect Gaius was hoping for. He would have enjoyed it more himself if his mind wasn’t on Lindani, waiting in the tunnel to hunt all of these savage beasts.
Lindani, Quintus, and a top venator from Pompeii stepped aside near the portal to let the cart back through the tunnel. “The water horse is a difficult beast,” Lindani said. “I have helped capture a few for the games in Rome. You must move very carefully,” he warned the Pompeiian hunter.
“Why not just stall for a while and let the crocs eat the water horse?” Quintus asked.
“These two species respect each other. They live side by side in the great river of Egypt. Crocodiles are not stupid. They know better than to taunt an angry water horse.”
“Then give it hell,” Quintus said with a smile. “I’m just glad it’s you and not I who take on the four-legged opponents.”
Lindani grinned as he picked up on their ritual. “And how often do I need to tell you? It’s not the legs, but the teeth that are the problem. And there are many, many teeth in that waterhole.”
The voice of the arena herald echoing across the cavea interrupted their private little rite. “Gaius Tadius Magnus presents to you the best venatores from both the North and the South—the remarkable Lindani and the masterful Danaos! They will work together and attempt to destroy only the water horse, but not the dragons. The judges will award a point for each hit by arrow or spear, and a bonus of three points to whoever delivers the death blow. Additional points shall be awarded for exceptional moves or style.” The herald nodded to Gaius, who stood and bellowed dramatically, “Let the games begin!”
As trumpets blared, the two venatores marched proudly into the arena, spears and bows held high. Lindani attempted to offer some last minute advice to the Pompeiian hunter, but he wasn’t sure if his words carried over the trumpets and crowd noise. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them, the finality of the sound emphasizing their isolation in the dangerous setting.
They approached the pool slowly with arrows nocked. Six pairs of eyes watched warily from water level as they advanced. The Pompeiian seemed to focus on the hippo, watching the ears twitch, as if convinced the movements would reveal some secret code that would forecast its intentions.
Lindani advanced more cautiously from the opposite side. He was surprised at how close the Pompeiian was getting to the water’s edge. The peripheral vision Lindani depended on so heavily in his hunts revealed movement in a crocodile’s tail. He shouted a warning. At precisely the same instant a reptilian head shot from the water, jaws snapping at the Pompeiian’s bare leg. There was a chorus of “oohs” from the cavea. As with all good hunters, Danaos’s reflexes were swift and he jumped back in time to feel only the water spray and cold breath that hissed from the crocodile’s mouth. Lindani saw his hunting companion’s complexion turn a few shades whiter as the blood drained from his face.
“Be careful, the crocs are very fast,” he warned, without taking his eyes from the waterhole. “We must wound the water horse just enough to get him to charge and leave the pool of crocs behind.”
Lindani saw his opportunity as the hippo’s back surfaced briefly. He fired his first arrow. It struck the beast in the lower back, just above its tail. The animal bellowed. Spray flew from the waterhole as three tons of bulk began to move rapidly. Once again, everyone in the amphitheater screamed, astounded at the speed generated by the four stumpy legs. Although Lindani was the provoking hunter, the hippo charged the closest target, which was Danaos. Lindani sensed this before the animal had left the water and ran toward the hippo rather than retreating. Danaos managed to fire his arrow, striking the bulbous snout of the animal. The shaft buried deep but did nothing to stop the beast. The shot only seemed to enrage it further.
As it left the pool, it picked up speed and within a few seconds trampled over the Pompeiian hunter, crushing one of his legs. Before he went down, Danaos slid his spear from the sheath on his back and managed to bury the point in the animal’s belly as he fell. The hippo seemed stunned for a brief second, which was all the time Lindani needed to plow into its side at a full run. It was like hitting a solid wall for the lanky African, but it startled the hippo enough to leave the injured hunter behind and charge Lindani, the spear dropping from its belly in the first few steps. The crowd responded with a deafening cheer. This visitor had just saved the life of their venator. The judges were impressed enough to begin awarding bonus points.
But Lindani had more on his mind than earning extra points. He had a decent lead on the hippo, but the large beast was gaining ground on him. He began weaving from side to side, confusing the animal and keeping it at bay. They ran across the length of the two hundred-foot arena until, gradually, the hippo slowed to a stop. Lindani turned and faced the beast. The hippo let out another roar of rage. Without flinching, Lindani roared back at the animal, echoing the beast’s voice exactly. The amphitheater erupted in laughter as the African enchanted the crowd with an extended display of his animal mimicry.
As he taunted the hippo, Lindani kept an eye on Danaos. He had hoped the distance would allow the injured hunter time to crawl to safety. Even across the wide arena he could see the man’s left leg was a bloodied pulp below the knee. But instead of crawling away from the pool of hungry crocodiles, Danaos sat up and pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and lined up on the hippo. Lindani saw the move for what it was: an attempt to draw attention away from the visiting hunter and earn points for the home ludus. He also knew the decision was a foolish one.
“No! Do not fire!” he yelled just as the missile flew from the bow. It took a full two seconds for the arrow to fly the length of the arena. It struck just behind the hippo’s front leg, but did not have the power to penetrate to the heart. The animal spun, now delirious with rage, and focused on Danaos. Sand flew as the stubby legs began to carry its massive weight back toward the injured hunter. Anticipating what was about to happen, Lindani launched into a mad dash after the hippo. He reached over his shoulder for his hunting spear, while considering how to steer the hippo’s path. With three mighty leaps he was alongside the accelerating animal. He planted the butt end of his spear into the sand and used his momentum to catapult himself into the air. He landed hard on the back of the galloping hippo. The beast hardly noticed. Lindani brought the long pole forward and repeatedly whacked it hard against the left side of the hippo’s face. The enraged animal charged on, focused only on finishing off the aggressor who had now attacked it three times. Lindani dug his heels into its soft wet sides to stay upright, his long beaded braids slapping against his neck in beat with the galloping rhythm. Unable to withstand the constant beating, the hippo’s head slowly began to turn to the right as it ran, causing its path to curve in the same direction. Finally its head turned beyond the point where it could see what was coming, and the galloping hippo became disoriented. It did not see the large crocodile which had crawled from the water, attracted by the scent of blood streaming from Danaos. The hippo’s two front legs struck the reptile and collapsed. Its giant nose plowed into the ground, throwing Lindani into the air.
He seemed to fly for hours. He could see the oasis pool coming toward him, the yellow eyes watching his every move. As hard as he tried, he could not change his arc of travel. It became all too obvious that he was going to strike the water. His bare feet began kicking before he hit. He landed with a thud and a splash, half submerged in the waterhole. His kicking feet came down on the snout of a crocodile. The reptile snapped but could not get a grasp on the moving appendage. Lindani scrambled from the water, badly cut but with all his limbs intact.
The hippo had regained its feet and was once again charging the Pompeiian hunter. Lindani sprinted after it, snatching his spear from the sand as he went. Danaos had already loaded another arrow. He took careful aim at the beast’s head as it charged directly at him. He drew back the bowstring and fired. The shaft penetrated just below the left eye, causing the hippo to toss its head. But still the animal kept coming. Lindani was now alongside it. His arm drew back as he ran and, with a rapid snap, he threw the spear with all his might. The metal tip pierced the tough hide between the ribs, just behind the first arrow Danaos had fired from across the arena. The spear traveled much deeper than the arrow and struck the animal’s heart. With a tremendous roar the hippo reared its head back then dropped into the sand, plowing to a halt barely a foot from the wounded Pompeiian hunter. Danaos’s hair blew back as the beast’s final breath exploded in his face.
It was the cue for the mob to go wild. Never had they seen such speed and daring in a hunter. They chanted Lindani’s name, to the obvious chagrin of Danaos. Lindani looked every bit the embattled victorious hunter as he stood bleeding at center stage, breathing heavily in his golden-yellow loincloth and beaded headband. He was proud of his performance but also sympathetic toward his competitor, who squirmed in agony as he was placed on a stretcher by the arena attendants.
Gaius shouted his own accolades from the podium and tossed a substantial purse of gold onto the sand. Lindani retrieved the reward and bowed toward the podium. To the side he could see Petra cheering enthusiastically, a sight few had ever witnessed. The stretcher team hefted Danaos off the sand and began moving toward the tunnel. Lindani stepped in front of them and took the wooden handles from the front litter bearer. He left the arena honoring his fallen comrade by bearing his stretcher. He had already won the crowd’s respect for his courage, now he won their hearts for his humility.
The following teams of venatores slowly worked their way through four of the five crocodiles. It had been decided to leave one alive as an added danger to the afternoon gladiator bouts. Zebras, antelope, boars, a cape buffalo, an auroch, and a lion were all dispatched with skill and daring by hunters from both schools. At the end of the morning venatio, the points were tallied and Gaius announced a virtual dead heat, with the Pompeii school in the lead by only a few points.
The lunch period featured a few trained animal acts. It was kept short due to the full agenda Gaius had prepared. Only the patricians and politicians dared leave their seats for the break. The plebeians in the higher tiers stayed put, afraid of losing their place to one of the hundreds still waiting in line outside the arena. Gaius would not have been happy with the dozens of spectators who used his souvenir goblets as portable toilets in order not to visit the latrines.
It took only a half hour to rake the puddles of animal blood under fresh sand and unfurl the wool canopy that would protect the audience from the afternoon sun. The orchestra commenced a second ceremonial march, and the gates swung open to reveal the gleaming armor of the gladiators. Standard bearers carrying the yellow banner of Petra’s ludus and the blue banner of the Pompeii troupe led the procession, alongside two trumpeters with their circular cornu horns. The fighters were arranged in the order of their bouts, marching side by side with their opponents. Tension built as each pair entered the arena, the mob anticipating the final four warriors. Fifty, sixty, seventy colorful combatants passed through the portal. Finally, greeted by the loudest cheering of the day, the top champions emerged.
Mixed within the primus palus fighters were two of the biggest draws, although strictly speaking neither had yet to earn the top ranking. Amazonia was a vision of splendor as she stepped onto the sand. Her prediction of the crowd’s reaction to her fighting costume proved accurate. A golden waist-chain hung loosely over her emerald green loincloth. Above it shone a nude torso, glistening with the body oil that had been liberally applied by the luckiest of the unctores. A crown of three gold horns adorned her head and a brown fur cape billowed behind her, framing her muscular body. Her well-developed bare breasts quickly became the focal point of the entire parade. Most of the shocked audience considered Gaius’s claim of presenting a naked female gladiator to be nothing more than hype, but once again their favorite ex-magistrate had followed through on a promise. Marching alongside Amazonia was Savius, the quartus palus fighter the lanistae had agreed upon as her opponent. His only right to walk among the top fighters in the pompa was his fate in being paired against one of the biggest crowd pleasers.
A break in the procession separated the final two competitors from the rest of the field. Arena workers ingeniously used large bronze sheets to reflect daylight through the tunnel, dramatically silhouetting the two consummate specimens who stood in the portal. The beams of sun backlighting them seemed even brighter in the shade of the arena’s awning. The musicians played a special fanfare as Taurus stepped from the tunnel, shoulder-to-shoulder with Vulcanus, the hero of Pompeii. The Minotaur and Gorgon stigmates, accentuated by a liberal amount of body oil, worked their magic on the crowd. The two headlining fighters posed and flexed for the crowd, then joined the slow-moving procession.
Amazonia heard Taurus come up behind her. “Play to the crowd,” he quietly coached over her shoulder. She smiled to herself, knowing how unnecessary the suggestion was. To her it seemed only a few days ago that she was slaving in a local vineyard and whoring in the local bedchambers. Now she was the center of attention; the envy of half the women in the cavea and the fantasy of every man. Reveling in the cheers of twenty thousand fans chanting her name came close to the few sexual climaxes she had achieved with her favorite customers.
“Now you know why I’m here,” Taurus said from behind her. “There is no greater pride or sense of belonging for me than the moment I step onto the sand of the arena.” She suddenly understood that sentiment. It was a feeling that could be described a thousand times, but never truly grasped until experienced for one’s self. “Of course an outfit like that helps to get the crowd going, too,” he continued. She could hear the smile in his voice. She kept her eyes on the cheering fans as she walked, speaking over her shoulder.
“I’m only giving them what they want, just as I did when I was my father’s whore. Only this time, the money is mine.”
From the podium, Petra watched twenty thousand heads follow Amazonia’s every move. If you think this is good, wait ’til you see her fight, he wanted to shout. But he remained quiet, reveling in his decision to pluck her like a perfect grape from Gaius’s vineyard. As if reading his mind, Gaius turned and smiled at Petra.
“A wise move, my friend. Very wise.”
The procession steered clear of the artificial lake and its sole resident. Julianus and Justus arranged the fighters in tight formation before the podium. As the music ended, the trainers gave the signal and eighty polished weapons were raised as one. “Hail Gaius Tadius Magnus,” came the deep chorus of voices. “We who are about to die salute you.”
Petra leaned forward to see the reaction. The look on his friend’s face was a combination of shock and gratitude. Petra knew the salute had only been offered to the Emperor Claudius, but he and Facilix had decided to have their men surprise the popular ex-magistrate with the honor.
“I wasn’t aware you had your eye on the principate,” said the old magistrate seated next to Gaius, with more than a trace of jealousy in his voice. Petra had to stifle a laugh. Gaius cleared his throat and stood.
“Fellow Romans and guests! The judges have scored this morning’s hunt in slight favor of Pompeii.” He was interrupted by clamorous applause. “Had it not been for the African’s remarkable performance, our home team would be well ahead. But so be it. Today’s challenge will obviously be decided with the gladiators.” He addressed the fighters directly. “May Hercules protect all of you, and may he help our judges to fairly and honestly present us a clear victor today. Each triumphant fighter shall receive twenty pieces of gold, whether or not his ludus is declared the overall winner.” The announcement brought gasps from the audience and smiles to the faces of the gladiators, who normally fought for a quarter of that amount. “And the victorious lanista shall receive a bonus of fifty thousand sesterces.” Again the mob reacted. The amount was fifty times the annual salary of a Roman legionary and more than most wealthy business owners profited in a year. Petra was still amazed that he had managed to put such a project together, but to be reminded of the possible payoff was like remembering a long-lost love.
“Doctores, clear the arena and let the fights begin!” Gaius yelled.
The forty Britannia gladiators turned with military precision and marched back toward the tunnel. Watching their proud and determined bearing from on high, Petra felt his chest swell; but whether it was pride or a deep breath of apprehension, he could not tell. He suddenly wondered which of the gladiators before him would not be returning to Britannia. He knew it happened every time he supplied fighters for the games. But this time it was different. These were the best of the best, and there was not one he felt was expendable.
The sound of Taurus’s voice suddenly rising above the din of the cavea broke him from his fatalistic thoughts.
“Who will win these games?”
“Familia Gladiatoria Petra!” came the chorus from his comrades as they marched across the sand.
“How will we win these games?”
“By being the best!”
“Why will we win these games?”
“Because we are the meanest motherfuckers in the Empire!” The final answer was followed by a coarse battle cry that resembled the screams of the Celtic tribes. The Pompeiian crowd cheered the visitors’ spirit. Petra sat back and offered a brief prayer to Hercules.
For the entire afternoon, the audience was treated to some of the best fighting ever witnessed in their arena. Even many of the early bouts, featuring the tertius and secundus palus gladiators, had the crowd on its feet. Because of the caliber and tenacity of the combatants, virtually all the fights ended in missio, and both fighters were allowed to return to their ludus alive. One of Petra’s retiarius lost his life to a devastating slice from a Pompeiian secutor. Another provocator from Facilix’s troupe stepped too close to the oasis pool and was snatched by the fourteen-foot crocodile and drowned. His opponent walked away with twenty gold pieces he had hardly earned. Two midafternoon group bouts saw a close split between ludi—eight victories for Britannia and seven for Pompeii. Both Julianus and Justus were kept busy as referees, but neither required the use of the rod to goad their gladiators into battle. Their fighters were more than ready to fight.
As the games went on, it became obvious that both teams were remarkably well-matched. The point tally fluctuated. Just as one ludus pulled ahead, the other would dip into some hidden reserve and equal the score.
By dusk, with only three fights remaining, the Britannia troupe had managed to gain a slight lead over the Pompeii troupe. The setting sun caused a hold in the action while the awning was drawn back and torches lit around the arena. The games were supposed to have ended by sunset, but the bouts were running longer than anticipated, neither team’s fighters willing to give up points by faltering or capitulating. Gaius wisely insisted on installing the giant torches. He had had a strong feeling that these games might run well into the night.
Finally, the trumpets heralded the resumption of events. As their names were called, two primus palus fighters, Valentinus from Petra’s familia and Paris from Facilix’s familia, rose from the wooden benches in the holding area and walked up the entrance tunnel. Although the games were almost over, the staging area and tunnel were still bustling with activity.
Quintus and Amazonia found a quiet corner where they stretched their muscles to stay loose and to keep their nerves in check. Quintus made a point to isolate Amazonia from the other fighters. He knew the last thing she needed now was to be distracted. She had added a padded manica to her sword arm and a short metal greave to her left leg. Petra had given her a woolen scarf to tie around her chest outside the arena. The distant clashing of swords and screams from the crowd echoed down the tunnel, creating an eerie resonance that seemed to grate on her. Quintus watched her eyes, which continued to glance toward the tunnel.
“Don’t let your nerves control you,” he said. “I made that mistake on my first bout and was lucky to escape with my life.” Amazonia nodded but did not respond. “This Savius you will fight,” he continued in a low voice, “remember that Julianus said he appears to have weak vision in his left eye. Stay to his left and you’ll have the advantage.”
“I know, I know,” Amazonia replied. “We’ve gone over this a million times. I’m ready. Just let me get in the arena.”
The arena manager called for the next two fighters. “Amazonia ... Ursus ... Stand by the gate.”
Something about the order caught Quintus off guard. He jerked his head up and looked at Amazonia.
“Ursus? You’re to fight Savius.” He looked beyond her and watched a stout fighter stand and walk toward the tunnel entrance. “What’s happening? Who is this Ursus?”
“I don’t know,” Amazonia said, shrugging casually. “But I’m ready to kick anybody’s ass right now. Just put me in that fucking arena. I can’t stand this waiting anymore.”
“Let’s go!” yelled the testy arena manager. “The fight on the sand is winding down.”
Amazonia casually untied the scarf and tossed it on the floor, then picked up her helmet. Quintus walked with her toward the tunnel. “Amazonia, be careful. They’ve changed your opponent. Something’s up.” The arena manager suddenly stepped in front of Quintus, blocking his path up the tunnel.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, pretty boy?” he growled into Quintus’s face. “You have your own fight to worry about.”
Quintus knew then that this had been a pre-arranged substitution. Surely the dominus would not allow the match to go on. He stared into the manager’s eyes for a moment then returned to the staging area.
Amazonia was cool and focused as she walked up the tunnel side by side with her new opponent. She glanced over at him to see whom she would soon be killing. The scarred, bearded face of an ugly Thracian grinned back at her. He made a point of lowering his eyes to study her bare breasts, which bounced as she made her way up the slight incline of the tunnel.
“What’s the matter, asshole. Never seen a pair of tits before?”
The Thracian’s grin took on a more evil look as they reached the arena gate. “This is going to be more fun than I imagined,” he said, then placed his crested helmet on his head. The scars on his body and his confident attitude told her that this man had seen arena combat many times before. Petra’s order that she would not fight higher than quartus palus level had obviously been ignored. Her nerves began to tingle as she donned her helmet, but she forced herself to focus.
The wooden doors in front of them swung open, and Valentinus, from Petra’s familia, was carried through the portal by two arena workers, a large gash across his abdomen. He groaned and rolled his head to the side. Amazonia looked out into the arena, now bathed in orange torchlight, and watched the Pompeiian fighter receive his reward.
“Britannia’s fallen behind again,” said the arena manager who had hobbled up next to her. “Let’s see what you and that beautiful body of yours can do to earn some points, honey.” She would have loved to bloody her gladius with the imbecile’s guts, but she held her rage for the arena.
The herald announced the next bout. “From the city of Pompeii, but fighting now with the troupe in Britannia, Gaius Tadius Magnus presents to you the radiant Amazonia!” She stepped forward onto the sand and raised her sword. The oil and sweat on her naked torso reflected the flickering flames of the torches. The crowd reacted with cheers, whoops, and catcalls. She knew the catcalls would stop once they saw her fight. The herald continued. “Her opponent from Pompeii, fighting as a thraex, is the great Ursus!”
Petra jumped to his feet on the podium. He made his raspy voice heard over the crowd. “Gaius, that’s not her opponent! What’s happening here?”
Gaius checked his program. Petra reached around and pointed to Savius’s name. Gaius raised his hand, and the herald shouted an authoritative “Halt.” The fighters had walked to the arena center, but were stopped by Justus and Julianus before the first blow was struck. Petra could see that Julianus, too, realized something was wrong when the unfamiliar, bearded fighter entered the arena.
Petra and Gaius looked at the Pompeiian lanista seated across from them. He was huddled with one of his attendants. “Well, Facilix, what’s the meaning of this?” Gaius asked.
Facilix waved the attendant away. “I’ve just received word that Savius became ill this afternoon and had to be replaced.”
“What?” Petra yelled. “This is bullshit. I’ve never seen a fighter replaced for becoming ill. Most gladiators are ill before a fight!”
Facilix shrugged and put on a face that said “It’s out of my hands.”
Petra could hear the crowd near the podium becoming restless. “What is this Ursus’s ranking?” he yelled across the podium at Facilix.
“Not to worry. He’s also a quartus palus fighter.”
Petra looked at Julianus on the sand in front of the podium. The trainer shook his head. It was obvious from the mannerisms, body language, and scarring that Ursus was higher in ranking than Amazonia’s original opponent.
A murmur was beginning to grow in the cavea. A spectator in the plebian seats shouted, “Let them fight!” The fickle crowd was obviously not picky about who Amazonia faced in battle. They just wanted to see her naked body embroiled in sweaty combat. The cry quickly became a chant that filled the arena. “Let them fight! Let them fight!”
Gaius leaned over and spoke to Petra in a low voice. “We both have an interest in seeing Amazonia survive her first arena battle, but it doesn’t take much to get a riot started in this amphitheater. I suggest we let her fight, my friend. Otherwise there’s no telling what this mob might do. I think Amazonia can take care of herself.”
Petra looked at Julianus in the arena. He knew his trainer was wrestling with the same impossible dilemma.
“Let’s go!” Amazonia yelled over the chanting crowd. She rocked side to side and slapped her gladius loudly against her large shield. “What difference whose balls I cut off? Let’s do this!”
Julianus smiled. He looked back at Petra and gave a nod.
“Fine,” Petra said. He leaned forward, looking past Gaius, and snarled at Facilix, “But if she’s killed, you and I are going to have a little talk.”
“Let the fight begin!” Gaius yelled. The roar from the crowd was deafening.