We were nodded past them, and I watched Ox. His eyes were curious, and then they fixed into my side, where the tunic had two bloody smears from the two wounds, one on top of each other. He frowned.
We were led below the levels under the house. There, we walked through many iron barred doors, always locked, and went forward to a land of oil lamps. A bathhouse, surprisingly large had been delved into rock there, and we entered a corridor behind locked doors, and there were cells where we would be kept, in semi-dark.
We obeyed and walked that corridor, until they pointed out a roomy one for us.
We went inside.
Red stopped to look at us. His eyes were feverish. “Medicus, then we decide what you will be. Murmillo? Thraex? We will see. And do not go near the champions. The First Pole and the others. They do not like you. They do not respect you. And you do not survive here if you think too highly of yourself and you do not earn that respect. You saw what Varro is like. His uncle was better. This one wasted all our coin on bets he couldn’t possibly win.” He looked glum as he locked the gate. “He is unpredictable. He hates this life. And it is still honorable life in the vermin infested shit hole of Rome.”
We looked at each other as he left.
Blaesus scratched his head as he walked around. “So. We are now linked to you. What you are, we are. What you do, we do.”
I sat on a bed. “Looks like that is so.”
He laughed. “And that bastard,” he said. “Varro. He is interested in coin. So is Pollio. They could fucking poison us just to get a result they want?”
“Or,” Pig suggested with a snort, “Varro will agree to do that, and do the opposite, bet all he has on it, and then escape.”
I smiled. “Looks like we will have fun here. You two shits have plenty of imagination, so you can tell me stories.”
Blaesus shook his head desperately. “We’ll be fucked.”
“Only if you don’t keep an eye on the Pig,” I suggested. “He looks like he might climb on you.”
The Pig grunted with mirth.
Blaesus did not. He was dour, and nervous.
***
For days, we were kept separate from the others.
We listened to the happenings of the gigantic ludus from below, like rats in the deep cell block.
Blaesus seemed bored to death. The Pig was asleep most of the time, save for when we were brought bowls of food and some water.
There was a guard, one with short spear and dozens keys in a keyring, and when the others came down to bathe at the evenings, they made sure the corridor was kept hidden behind curtains. We could wash when other had washed and saw nobody but another tall guard with an ax on his belt, walking the corridor as we cleaned ourselves. There was no massage, just chilly water. During the days, we were cold, bored, and wondered when and if we would be allowed up again.
“We are properly fucked,” said Blaesus again, and I began to agree with him.
The Pig woke up just long enough to grunt an agreement. “We are, but not like our Brennus is. I think they are trying to decide who will put the old man out of his misery.”
“Brennus,” Blaesus cursed. “Germani posing as a Gaul. It is a travesty. All of Rome is.”
I smiled at him, rubbing my eyes. “They’ll come when they come. Rest up. It’s an opportunity.”
Blaesus cursed again, and then spoke. “Anything to be out of this shithole, even if they molest and defile us up there,” he moaned, and rubbed his strong face. “Anything but this. Why are they keeping us here?”
I touched the wounds on my side. “You think a lot about sex, Blaesus.”
“I do not!” he cursed and shook his head. “I do, but not…never mind.” He gave me a quick, wondering look. “How are you?”
The fever was gone. “I am better.”
I was healing.
Then his eyes grew large, and he swung his feet on the floor. He pointed a finger my way. “That’s why! I guess they wanted to see if I would die, so they did not have to bother with you. Varro must have been ignored, entirely. The doctores have a play of their own up here.”
“He is right,” the Pig said. “Had you died, they would not need us to be your damned lackeys in the games. We could be made into ordinarii, and forgotten, until we do well.”
“Sorry,” I said, and touched the twin wounds. “Too bad. Here, listen. They are eating again.”
We lifted our heads. There, a hundred men were tramping to the hall. They would sit in their places, each type of gladiators separated from their competitor, and they would feed in silence.
Later, soon, they would go to the yard, stretch, oil their skin, listen to the doctores, and start learning the art of killing, dying, and obedience. Some would be autocrati, there of their own choice, and others would be slaves, and all subject to death and beating.
“When will they ask for our oaths?” Blaesus asked.
Pig snorted, half asleep with his hands between his knees. “Ask the boy, that bastard who still feeds us their scraps. And empties the bucket.”
A boy did all that. The guards would be close, but a bushy haired boy did take care of us.
I had seen him at Pollio’s, coming out.
“Wonder what they are having,” Blaesus said, not really asking. “They’ll have fish. They will eat it all, and we get gruel. Cold and nasty.”
The Pig snorted and grunted. “Hordearii. That is what they are. Damned barley eating bastards. They come from every place under the sky to Rome, from lands rich with meat, fish, and wheat, and here, they eat barley. Like damned donkeys or the draft horses. Shit.”
I joined them in their disgust. I hated barley.
I had little stomach for the featureless, dry gruel they served in the Dead Mars.
Sure, it made you strong, but also, it made you restless, and in need to shit far too often. I listened to the hundred men making their way from the barracks and sitting.
I did smell fish.
We would get none.
“What did that Varro say?” Blaesus wondered. “First Pole, Second, Third?”
“Each of their different houses,” I said, “have three top fighters. Retiarii, murmillo, all of them. They have the poles in the yard, the oldest ones, slightly before the others.”
“Save for,” the Pig grunted, “these special ones. Those cutters and other odd bastards. There are even riding kind, and archers. They are rare. Never seen one. But I suppose their champions are going to introduce themselves soon, Blaesus. They will come here with whores, figs, and wine to make friends. I dreamt of it.”
Blaesus shook his head. “I’d not mind that dream coming true. How many are here of their free will?”
“How many?” I murmured. “Half? Free or slave, life is hard out there.”
“Women?” the Pig asked. “I dreamt of fighting a horde. They did not take me but killed me. Any of them fight?”
I shook my head. “Some. They do not train here. They are trained privately.”
“Probably best,” Blaesus cursed. “In any case. We need to discuss.”
“Discuss,” I said simply. “I am not going anywhere.”
“We are tied down to your fate,” he said. “And they expect us to die. They are planning for some devilry, and it will not end well. I was thinking, if you could do us a favor.”
“Leave you two out of it?” I said. “I can ask. I doubt it matters.”
“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But ask.”
The Pig grunted. “Unless you want to tell me about that guard you spoke with. There was something odd about that.”
“Not right now,” I said.
They looked at each other.
Blaesus smiled. “So happy you are not unreasonable. We do not have to poison or stab to escape you. And Pig’s right. You spoke with that man. He spoke to you. It was odd. He was far too handsome to be a guard, I think.”
I rubbed my head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
He cursed. “Fine. Whe
n will we—”
Juppiter seemed to have heard him.
There were steps outside in the corridor.
Blaesus turned away from me to gaze outside, and Pig rolled to sit on his bed. I angled my face to see who was coming. There, the tall guard with the ax was leaning on our bars, and the other one, the one with a spear, was walking to stand in the shadows beyond the tunnel. There, suddenly, stood an old, grizzly man, and there was the young, bushy haired boy carrying a bag. Also, Varro, and Red, and Ares were there. One bald man stayed back, staring at us mulishly. It was the other doctore, the Egg Eater.
The old man snorted. “You didn’t lie, Red. This one is old. Good for beasts? Maybe make them fight girls…why did you take them? Only because … it will be a bad match.”
Varro shrugged. “He is Brennus. Money.” He stepped forward to speak to us. “The medicus will check you out. Then, we shall see.”
“Oh, Juppiter’s balls,” the old medicus moaned. “Make them a distraction for a recess. Make them chase an elephant. Useless.”
“We’ll see,” Varro snarled. “Check these dogs.”
The guard opened the doors
The old, grizzly man stepped forward, shaking his head.
Varro pointed a finger his way. “Chirurgii. Medicus. He will check you. One wrong move, friends, and you’ll go into a mud pit to sweat half you muscle off.” He nodded the man inside. “Make your inspections, medicus. Make sure they are positive.”
The medicus grunted, not making commitments, and made his way to our cell. There, he sat down on a stool and stared at me mulishly. “You’ll have to be examined. Thoroughly, even when I am told you have already passed, eh?” The medicus gave me an apologetic smile. He waved his hand. The boy and a young woman came forth, carrying bags. The latter was a tired looking female, with a permanent scowl, dirty hair, and dark rings under her eyes. Perhaps the daughter of the medicus, she was efficient and quick. Her face was delicate, and she would probably be pretty if she looked less tired, and she was, I decided, not incredibly young.
The boy was a dutiful sort, moving briskly as the medicus nodded to a table. He set about placing tools for his trade there.
“Now, men,” the medicus mumbled, “tirones…”
“Not yet,” Varro rumbled. “Soon.”
“Soon, trainees,” the medicus said. “I have worked with gladiators for thirty years. From here to Capua, I have seen it all. My daughter,” he said, and nodded at her, “Julia, has spent her half her life helping me show flaws and issues in your flesh, and minds. And I know some of you take exception at what I am about to ask. You are not slaves by birth, eh? Undress.”
I hesitated.
The Pig had little need for modesty, and he opened his belt and pulled off his tunic. Blaesus was cursing as he followed suit and stripped off his loincloth.
Red shook his head with spite. “You too. Show us your size. Julia has seen it all. The bigger the men are, the smaller their cocks. Remember, Julia? That one bastard? His cock was so small, the nutsack looked like it was swallowing it.”
Julia looked down and was silent.
“Do it,” Varro said.
I cursed and obeyed. I stripped and then stood there, my fists balled. We were tall, naked, and angry, and crisscrossed with scars. We looked like mangy, old wolves.
The medicus was nodding as if he was contemplating a field of flowers. “They look fine, and well hung. Do we need more?”
Varro sighed. “Contracts. Legal issues. We must make sure. Search them.”
The medicus walked to Blaesus first. He was looking up to his face, and at his tattoos, some I had missed, and touching his scars, muscles, and he checked the teeth. He went about his business, as Varro and the others were leaning on a wall and the cages. I watched the girl and the boy hovering around Pig, who was smiling like his name-sake, his eyes small and evil. And finally, the medicus turned to me. He began walking for me as his eyes took in my muscles. “That last one has broken some bones. His own, I mean. He has a slight limp. He is a horseman.” He squinted at me. “This one too. Though I’ve never seen a horse that can carry a man that large.”
“I rode a bear back home,” I said tiredly.
Varro lifted his eyebrow. “Shut it. Be still, Raven-hair.”
Raven.
But hair. He did not know who I was.
The medicus walked around me. “More scars…this one, like the other one, has seen battles. Many battles. Shieldwalls. Barbaric battles. This one should have died. Many times. Sword, spear club, and sickness has ravaged him.” He placed his hand near my wounds. “One old, the other new one. Different cuts. One is a very sharp sword. Aye, a walking corpse. What do I always say, Julia?”
She cleared her throat, as she turned away from the Pig. “If they live past their twenties, they might live forever.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. He started to check out my scars, and muscles, and only when he touched my balls, did I push him back.
Varro growled, Red spat, and the bald one pulled out a stick.
“Touchy one,” said the medicus, waving them back and turned me brusquely around. He touched my shoulder and frowned. “Julia, come and bring me a knife. He has a bit of arrow sticking just under his skin. Shoulder, not ball-skin.”
Julia scuttled over and nervously walked past me.
She was rummaging around a bag and produced a tiny blade. I stood there, as the medicus cut into my shoulder, shivering with the slight bit of pain.
I did not look away from Varro. I watched Red’s eyes betray a brief hint of interest at my indifference to pain.
Varro, finally, bored with the operation, shrugged. “So?”
“They pass, of course,” the medicus said, and came away with a tiny bit of arrow, something I had not known I had had lodged in my skin. He dropped it to Julia’s hand, and she smiled nervously at me, as she turned to look at Varro.
The medicus sighed. “Pollio will want the lot. I am sorry.”
The medicus was Pollio’s man.
Varro was cursing and kicked at the cage. “Really?”
“Really,” the man said. “I am sorry.”
“Now,” Varro said with deep resentment, “you will be giving oaths. Then you shall never disobey me. Or Pollio, your new master.”
I belonged to Pollio.
It did not mean I would serve him like Ox did. Ulrich had not, apparently. At least I had not seen him in the house we burned down.
I cleared my throat. Red shook his head. I ignored him and spoke. “Since there is oath-making soon, let me ask my questions now. Is there,” I asked, and made all the men tense in that room, “a way for me to survive this service?”
Varro looked at me with pity. “You heard the medicus. I have no say in the matter. Do your best. I cannot promise you will. You see, Rome expects Brennus to lose. You might be given missione, mercy. You might. Fight well. You could win. Perhaps. But fuck it, I no longer care. At least I have Agamemnon.”
“You asked me what I wanted. I would like to survive the service,” I snarled. “I’m old. I want to spend the rest of my years in the north. Away from Rome, and scum. This is what I want. Back to my family. I am ready to do anything for Pollio. Kill, and serve.”
The medicus shook his head.
Red and the bald man both spat, Blaesus sighed, Pig grunted, and Varro sneered.
“I have heard you,” he said. “Pollio won’t. You are here for good and at his mercy. Today, you will become one of the Brothers. Auctorati, you are not. Not even that. Slaves. That is what you are. After the oath-making, you shall never again ask me anything of the sort. Do not try to manipulate Pollio. You do not know him. Know your duty instead. Oil yourself, and deal with wounds. You are worth gold to the bastard, and I want to be rid of my debts. I suppose giving you over to him helps a bit.”
The medicus nodded. “A bit.”
I grunted. “The warning. It has been delivered. Now, what shall we be?”
Varro was r
ubbing his chin. “We do not know yet. Do we, boys? Red is a doctore for the murmillo. Timon, or the Egg Eater, the bald shit, is the doctore for the hoplomachi. Not one of you can survive as a fast one, a chaser. Secutor is out of bounds. Nay. Fire god is not for you. Thraex is no good either. Sword or spear, we need both. I think you should be murmillo.”
Pig grinned. “I could be a cook. I could just stand there and cook away.”
They ignored him.
Red was looking at me, and at Blaesus. “I would make them murmillo, aye. I will make them a bit fatter, and a lot tougher, and we will do well. Secutor is not a bad idea, in my opinion. You saw how fast he moved.”
“Secutor is a dashing thing, young and handsome,” Varro murmured. “Murmillo. They’ll fight well,” Varro said. “This evening they join us. Prepare them.”
He left. The medicus and the Egg Eater, all save for Julia, and Red, and one guard followed him.
Red pointed a finger at us. “Oil your disgusting skins, while you are at it. You shall sleep with the murmillo. The worst bunks, and the first cells. You will not like the way they will look at you. Murmillo are tough as nails. You will hate it. Make yourself a Brother, and they would die for you. Forget Pollio, at least today. Get them ready, girl.”
Julia took out a jar of oil. “It is extremely hot today for fall. You will need it. Head, face, arms. You know how.”
The Pig grinned. “Can you show me how to do it? It would be helpful. I am quite clumsy”
“Shut it,” Blaesus said. “A guard can show you. He’ll grease you.”
The guard did not look amused.
Red cursed softly. “Get on with it.”
Julia shook her head. “You oil your skins while I shear one of you.”
And we did. We oiled our skins, we found our clothing, and Julia sat us down one by one, and cut our hairs and the beards.
The Pig went first, then Blaesus. She used shears for the hair, and an odd, bronze instrument she held around her fingers, with a small blade for the beard. She scraped both clean and then splashed some ointment on their reddened skin.
“Pig’s oil,” I murmured, as the Pig was trying to smell what was in it. Then he licked his fingers.
“Oil, vinegar, perfumed ointment, and spider webs,” Julia said with a smile, as Pig was gagging.
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