XXIX
It had been four years since Quintus had seen Rome. Now, from the bed of his transport cart, he watched intently as the majestic Circus Maximus passed by. The long caravan of 25 carts and assorted oxen, mules, and horses had entered through the Porta Capena, the city’s south gate, and was proceeding along the Via Triumphalis. The usual ban on wheeled vehicles in daylight hours had been lifted temporarily to allow the citizens to witness the arrival of the visiting fighters from Pompeii.
“Is it as you remember?” Lindani asked, staring up at the massive buildings.
“Some areas, yes, but most, no. It looks like the great fire did more damage than I imagined.”
They were interrupted by yelling from the congregation lining the street. Most of the spectators offered up friendly applause mixed with good-natured jeers, but the more rabid fans hurled everything from venomous insults to rotten vegetables.
“Not exactly the welcome we got in Herculaneum, is it?” Amazonia said, dodging a flying egg.
“Welcome to the big city,” Quintus replied. “Things are different here.”
Lindani pointed out more hand-painted wall signs advertising their big two-day event. It was being promoted as “The Rome vs. Pompeii Challenge.” As in Herculaneum, each ad heralded a specific fighter or hunter.
“At least they have spelled my name correctly this time,” Lindani said.
“And nobody has altered your anatomy,” Amazonia added with a wink and a sexy smile.
Much to Quintus’s chagrin, each sign included the line “Presented by Quintus Honorius Romanus” in large red letters.
The procession turned left onto the Via Sacra, heading toward the Campus Martius. A few fighters in the cart excitedly pointed ahead. Quintus strained his neck and caught a glimpse of Nero’s Domus Aurea, the Golden House. The afternoon sun reflected brightly off the white marble walls and gold-leafed ornamentation, producing the intended heavenly appearance. Quintus studied the grounds of the palace, then suddenly realized where he was.
“By the gods, I used to live there,” he said, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. Everyone in the cart looked at him.
“You used to live there?” Lindani asked, pointing at the Golden House.
“Not in that palace, but my villa used to be just there, beyond the giant lake in that park.”
The setting brought a wave of emotion on Quintus. Vivid memories replayed in his mind of his beloved mother and father, and of Aulus, his friend and protector from whom he learned so much. He could picture the villa that used to sit on the hill, recalling every detail—the sound of the atrium fountain as it echoed off the colorfully muraled walls; the smells of the fresh breakfast bread his mother would lay out for the family; the look of the yellow sunlight as it stole through his window each morning and crept across his bed to force open his eyes. But the pleasant memories were tarnished with thoughts of Lucius, although the visualization of him dressed again in his olive drab slave tunic brought a grin to Quintus’s face. As he watched the hill pass, his mind went to that day, at that very place, when he and Lucius tangled in the garden fountain over the broken toy boat he had so cherished. Without realizing it, his hand went to his side and thumbed the outline of the tiny terra-cotta boat captain he still carried in his leather pouch. And now, once again, the bastard was sponsoring games in which Quintus would fight. How had he ended up in Rome? And in such a high position?
Commotion rose again in the cart as they approached the Campus Martius. Just beyond the Capitoline Hill, the outline of the Amphitheater of Taurus came into view. As the contours of the impressive arena materialized, so did Quintus’s realization that he had come full circle. He was about to fight in the very amphitheater where he had sat as a child with his father and watched the gladiators. He was about to fight in the largest arena of them all. The thrill and anticipation was almost overwhelming. Yet deep inside there was heartache, as he thought of the people from this place he had loved and lost.
The troupe was housed in the barracks of the Ludus Magnus, which adjoined the amphitheater. This time, there were no petty squabbles over not enough room to quarter the visitors. The procurator who ran the Imperial school was too sophisticated for such foolishness. All one hundred twenty-five fighters and hunters from Pompeii were easily accommodated at the ludus, which housed and fed an average of two thousand fighters on any given day. The three days leading up to the games were spent on the ample practice field and in the small arena built within the walls of the ludus. A few hundred elite citizens were allowed to view the sparring matches from the tiered seats surrounding the practice arena.
The evening before the games brought the usual pre-fight banquet, although the Pompeii troupe had never seen such a large public turnout. It seemed half the population of Rome wandered freely about the ludus training field and the Campus Martius. Quintus sat with Amazonia and Lindani at a long wooden table with veterans from both the Britannia and original Pompeii troupes, including Vulcanus who had acquired—the hard way—a lasting respect for Quintus. The fighters from the Familia Petra and Familia Facilix were finally beginning to mingle now that they needed to work together against a common foe. But while the mood was light, there was not the festive party atmosphere that had permeated the Herculaneum banquet.
For the most part, Quintus enjoyed meeting the spectators and discussing technique with the more learned of the fans. But he was getting tired of answering questions about his stigmates. An hour into the feast, he had already explained to more than fifty people that the markings did not come off when he sweated. He did not mind, however, reviewing that fact once again with the two attractive females who squeezed their way onto the wooden bench alongside him. The girls spent the next few minutes tracing their fingers along the designs, a practice Quintus never discouraged so long as the fingers belonged to young ladies. He used the opportunity to turn the questioning around.
“So tell me about the editor of these games,” he asked, “this Quintus Honorius Romanus. What do you know of him?”
“Well, I heard he single-handedly crushed a rebellion by a fierce Briton tribe,” one of the girls answered, never taking her eyes off the black-ink Minotaur on Quintus’s chest. “As a reward, they appointed him Imperial Advisor for Britannia Affairs.”
The second girl leaned in closer and glanced around to see that no one else was listening. She spoke in a sultry voice. “It’s also widely known that he enjoys the company of his own aunt, and I mean for more than just social gatherings. They even live together in a single bedroom, according to some of the slaves in the State apartment.”
“So they live in a State apartment?”
“Yes, the big one along Clivus Sacer that overlooks the Forum.”
Quintus was surprised. The building was less than a half mile from the site of his old villa. It was fascinating how some structures were leveled in the fire while others just a few blocks away were left untouched.
“Is he well-respected in Rome?”
“He’s gaining a reputation as a real political animal,” said the second girl, while her friend continued to trace her finger around the stigmates. “He and his aunt know who to fuck to get ahead.”
Her friend giggled then looked into Quintus’s eyes. “Speaking of knowing who to fuck, why don’t you come join me and Panthia for a while in the barracks?” Her hand had now moved off Quintus’s chest and on to her friend’s. She rubbed and squeezed Panthia’s breasts and both women gave him an inviting smile. “We know the perfect room,” she said. “We’ve used it before, but never with such a fine gladiator.”
Quintus considered the offer, but before he could respond, the moment was ruined by the ranting of an obnoxious lout who had parked himself across the table next to Amazonia. The drunken fan was loudly making a similar offer to Amazonia, but the female fighter was ignoring him, trying to eat her dinner. Quintus saw the drunk’s hand slip under the table, then watched Amazonia’s eyes widen. She spit a mouthful of pheasant back onto her metal plate and threw down the roasted carcass. Her oily hands disappeared between her legs. Quintus switched his focus back to the drunk as his face contorted from a look of devilish lust to one of profound pain. From under the table, Quintus heard the unmistakable sound of a cracking finger bone, followed by a howl that startled everyone within a thirty-foot radius of the table. Quintus stood, looking to defuse the situation quickly.
“...And that’s how she does that move!” he said with a loud laugh. “Amazing, isn’t she? Run along now, dim-wit, before she shows you her deadly spin kicks.” He smacked the drunk hard enough in the side of his head to let him know his time at the table had expired. The drunk took the hint and stumbled off, holding his limp right hand under his left arm.
“I’m sorry, ladies,” Quintus said to Panthia and her friend, “but I’m afraid I need to speak with my colleague here for a moment. Please excuse us.” He motioned with his head for Amazonia to follow him.
“You’d better behave or you’ll be facing lions tomorrow instead of a fighter,” he said quietly as they walked toward the dark side of the ludus grounds. “Romans don’t take well to visiting gladiators assaulting their citizens.”
“So I’m supposed to sit there and quietly eat dinner while he finger-fucks me?”
Quintus laughed. “No, you’re right. He deserved it.” They walked on toward the gate opposite the amphitheater. “There’s tension in the air tonight,” he said. “I think we all know we’ll be up against some tough fighters over the next two days. And I can tell you from experience that the Roman mob likes to see blood spilt, so fight hard tomorrow.”
“It wasn’t long ago you were part of that mob calling for blood,” Amazonia said. “Now you’re on the other side of the arena wall.”
The roar of a lion being loaded into the holding pens broke the quiet darkness near the arena gate. Quintus leaned against the wooden lattice of the fence and looked up at the Amphitheater of Taurus across the walkway.
“One of my favorite memories of my father was sitting in this arena, watching a naumachia and a bridge fight between two top gladiators. That night, he took me to an Imperial banquet on a barge right there in the flooded arena. As long as I live, I’ll always remember that day.” He felt if he stared at the arena façade long enough, he would see through it to the very seat in which he sat. “I remember a man behind us saying that I should be teaching the fighters instead of watching them because I was able to predict everything that happened.”
“Here I am, back to fight in the same arena.” He finally broke his gaze from the structure and looked down at the stone street. “I wish my father was here to see this.”
He could feel Amazonia staring at him. “Do you really? Or do you simply wish you could see him again?” Quintus did not answer. “How do you think a parent would feel sitting in the cavea knowing that, with a flick of a blade, their son—or daughter—could be lying dead in the sand? Could you watch your son do what we do? In my case, I doubt my father would care, so long as he didn’t wager too much money on me. But in your case, I’ll bet your father would much rather see you a successful merchant than an arena hero.”
Quintus thought about her words. “I needed a new family,” he said after a while. “I had nothing left. That’s what drove me to the arena. That, and the pride in having the mob cheer for me.”
“You don’t need to justify it to me,” Amazonia said. “You forget that I’m here for the same reasons, although the money probably means more to me than to you.”
Quintus turned away from the gate and looked at her. “You’re right. It’s best to let the memories drift on their own current than try to steer them where they don’t belong.” He studied her for a moment and unexpectedly saw a more delicate woman. Perhaps it was the glow of the torches against her auburn hair. Or was it the sense of understanding in her eyes? A quiet moment passed. Then a sudden vicious image of the two of them facing off in an arena, weapons in hand, flashed through his mind like a lucid nightmare. He turned away quickly.
“Thank you for listening,” he said and stepped from the gate.
She paused a moment, then followed him. They walked quietly back toward the pool of torchlight at the center of the ludus grounds. The shouts from a group of arena workers caught their attention as they passed a dark walkway leading to the loading area. At the end of the alley, silhouetted against the open lattice of a wooden gate, stood Lindani. Beyond the gate, six animal handlers were herding a group of lions and leopards into their cells, prodding them with long poles through the cage bars. Lindani appeared to study each animal, especially the lions. Quintus and Amazonia approached him from behind.
“Do you think the lanistae were paid well for this fight?” Lindani asked without turning around. Quintus could never understand how the African always knew what was going on behind him.
“I’m sure Lucius has my aunt paying the lanistae extremely well for a real spectacle. Why?”
Lindani finally turned from the loading area and looked directly at Quintus. The seriousness of his tone was uncharacteristic for the confident African. “Because I do not know how many of the venatores will survive these next two days.” He looked back toward the loading activities. “These are the most vicious animals I have ever seen. The animal procurers of Rome know how to mistreat the beasts so they put on the best possible show. That is good for the crowd, but bad for the venator. A legionary once told me the cats used in Rome are not merely starved, but are trained to attack and devour humans. The handlers use Christians and other criminals as training bait and food.”
A wild roar from the caged catwalk interrupted Lindani. One of the largest and angriest of the male lions had spun and grabbed at the pole that prodded his flanks. The worker desperately tried to untangle his wrist from the leather strap at the end of the pole, but not before the lion had his arm. With a quick snap of its long incisors, the lion cleanly ripped the man’s arm from his body. The scream of the worker carried to the ludus banquet, inducing lewd comments and riotous laughter among the patrons. Lindani simply turned and looked at Quintus, his point graphically proven.
“Well, perhaps now you’ll want to fight the two-legged animals, like we do,” Quintus said with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. A few well-placed arrows and they’ll be falling like rain on the sand.” A loud cheer came from the banquet. “Come on, let’s finish our meal.” He wrapped an arm over the African’s shoulder, and the three walked down the dark passageway together.
They turned the corner in time to see the ludus procurator on the small torch-lit stage complete his introduction with the words: “I give you ... Quintus Honorius Romanus!” Quintus stopped in his tracks. He stared from the darkness as Lucius stepped onto the stage to the cheers of the crowd. Once again, his lifelong enemy had materialized from the shadows and reentered his life. Lucius stood waving, flanked by Petra, Facilix, and Tiberius Lupus, the Roman procurator. As Tiberius applauded, his face suddenly registered alarm. Quintus followed his gaze and saw an enraged Julia waiting impatiently for her introduction. Tiberius quickly stepped forward before Lucius began speaking.
“My sincerest apologies. May I also introduce the lady Julia Melita, the cosponsor of our games.”
Julia smiled and dipped her head, reveling in the loud whistles that greeted her semisheer yellow stola. Quintus was pleased to see Lucius give her an annoyed look for stealing the wind from his sails. It seemed their partnership was getting a bit competitive. Lucius finally raised his arms to reclaim the crowd’s attention.
“Welcome to the banquet of the Rome versus Pompeii Challenge!” A chorus of cheers rose from the crowd and continued as Lucius skillfully roused the attendees, instigating a cheering match between the supporters of the Rome troupe and the Pompeii troupe.
Quintus remained in the shadows, blending in at the periphery of the crowd. Lindani and Amazonia stayed close by his side. Quintus was again astonished at the change in Lucius. Not only was he physically bigger, but he radiated an even stronger sense of self-confidence than he had as the Aquae Sulis magistrate. His brown curly hair was still closely cropped in the traditional Roman fashion. His phony smile and persuasive voice now had the power to captivate a crowd. He appeared every bit a leader, a refined patrician, and a master politician.
“...And may Hercules watch over each of you,” Lucius concluded in a booming voice. “May he protect the bravest of the men ... and women...” He paused for the expected laughter. “...and grant the people of Rome a glorious two days of games.”
The applause was loud and lengthy as he and Julia stepped from the stage. The Pompeiian lanistae cheered loudest of all, and Quintus could understand why. Although Petra saw the greed and evil in Lucius, business was business and Petra could not overlook the vast amounts of money he had made off Lucius’s rise to power. The substantial fee of six hundred thousand sesterces being paid to the Pompeii ludus, combined with the winner’s bonus of another two hundred fifty thousand, would make this a lucrative trip for Petra and Facilix.
Lucius and Julia slowly made their way through the crowd, smiling broadly and treating total strangers like they were long-lost relatives. While Lucius focused on the Roman citizens at the banquet, Julia quickly became distracted by the hard bodies and earthy rhetoric that surrounded her.
Quintus watched as Lucius drifted closer and closer. He considered confronting him there and then. After all, he now had little to fear from these two. He had become one of the most popular fighters in the Empire. There was little chance the lanistae, or the public, would stand for him being accused as a runaway slave or horse thief. He was simply too valuable. He stood his ground. But as Lucius approached, a change began to come over Quintus. Ghosts conjured in his mind. He suddenly saw himself as a slave once again, shoveling horse dung in the Viator stables. He remembered Lucius belittling him in front of the staff and family. And he heard Lucius speaking of Quintus’s parents as his own. The final thought brought a rush of adrenaline he had felt only in the arena. He knew the feeling well. Taurus was emerging.
Lucius was only fifteen feet away now. Quintus’s fingers curled and his sweaty hands turned to potent fists. His breathing became labored. He struggled to control himself. Part of him considered the dire consequences of harming the editor of Rome’s games, while another part prepared to wrench arms from sockets. Did he really want a confrontation here at the ludus? Was this the right place? Or the right time? Lucius reached out to touch hands with the old matron standing beside him. Quintus battled to control his rage. To control Taurus. But it was a battle he feared he might lose. Lucius said a few words to the old woman, then got ready to move on to the next handclasp. That would be Quintus. Sweat poured. His heart pounded. His blood raced to saturate every muscle in his body. He began to shake uncontrollably. In a final desperate moment, Quintus’s mind sought to command Taurus’s feet. Turn and walk away. He stood frozen for another instant, then miraculously, he felt his legs begin to move. One step, then another, away from Lucius.
He passed Amazonia and Lindani, and realized they had been watching him. Lindani said nothing, but Amazonia followed him. “The Fates have brought you two back together. Why not face him now and get it done?”
“Leave me,” Quintus said as he continued walking. “I can’t do this now.” His pulse began to slow and his mind cleared.
“Why not? He wouldn’t dare challenge you tonight, especially here. You’re surrounded by friends, tough friends. He knows he’d have a hell of a fight on his hands.”
Quintus stopped for a moment and turned to look back at Lucius. The master politician was still shaking hands, a phony smile etched into his face. Quintus took a deep breath and looked at Amazonia’s strong eyes. “No. The time is not yet right for this. I’ll know when it’s the right hour to face that spineless bastard.”
Lindani stepped forward and took hold of Amazonia’s arm as Quintus turned and walked into the darkness.
Lucius spotted the auburn-haired beauty he was seeking. She stood with a thin African, staring into the darkness.
“And you must be the great Amazonia I’ve heard so much about,” he said as he approached. The statuesque warrior turned and faced him. The soft shapely curves of her back and hips gave way to a harsh scowl. Lucius was taken aback for a moment, then applied his counterfeit smile. “I’m looking forward to watching you fight tomorrow,” he continued. “I hear your wardrobe is truly something to see.” He allowed his gaze to drift off her face and linger on her chest.
Amazonia stood stone-faced. “Yes, well, my fighting wardrobe has been known to give men erections. But that’s assuming you have a prick to begin with.” She flashed a condescending smile at him and walked away.
Lucius was stunned for a moment and looked at the African, who shook his head and shrugged.
“Women—what are they good for, eh?” the black hunter said, then turned and followed Amazonia toward the ludus cells.
Lucius was left standing awkwardly alone, puzzled at what had just happened. A familiar giggle caught his attention. He looked across the crowd to his right and caught a glimpse of Julia, arm-in-arm with two large gladiators, headed toward the barracks. He shook his head and smiled to himself. It looked like his “aunt” would be making the most of her visit to the Ludus Magnus this evening.