The Road to Rome

by Ben Kane

  ‘Why haven’t they sent the damn thing in?’ asked Petronius uneasily. ‘I just want it to be over.’

  Without answering, Romulus studied the crowd.

  Even it had fallen silent.

  Romulus cocked his head and listened.

  A moment later, bucinae blared from outside the amphitheatre. An expectant air fell over the waiting citizens, and the master of ceremonies jumped to his feet, self-consciously patting his pomaded hair. Memor looked over his shoulder, and Romulus gasped. ‘It’s Caesar,’ he whispered. ‘He’s come to watch us.’

  Petronius managed a laugh. ‘Us losers? He’d want to see the Ethiopian bull far more.’

  Romulus smiled lopsidedly. ‘True enough.’

  A party of legionaries led by a distinguished-looking centurion emerged into the box, giving it a quick once-over. When the officer was happy, the announcer was given a nod.

  Raising his hands to attract attention, he stepped forward. ‘Citizens of Rome. Earlier than expected, we are to be graced by the presence of the editor of today’s games!’ He paused.

  Excitement rippled through the spectators, and suddenly all eyes were on the dignitaries’ box. A few of the more enthusiastic in the crowd began to clap and cheer.

  ‘He is the conqueror of Gaul, Britannia and Germania,’ cried the master of ceremonies. ‘Saviour of the Republic. The victor at Pharsalus, in Egypt and in Asia Minor!’

  Always happy to hear of Roman military successes won in their name or otherwise, the audience yelled its approval. Thanks to Caesar’s well-oiled propaganda machine, they were fully up to score with his awesome credentials, and loved him for it. Caesar had been immensely popular for years, and his recent victories over Pompey and the diehard Republicans were regarded by most in the same light as his previous triumphs. A man who lived by the same creed as his soldiers, who always won when it seemed impossible, Caesar embodied the stubborn nature of Rome.

  ‘Descended from Venus herself, and the most important scion of the Julii clan,’ bellowed the announcer. He waved his arms, stirring up the crowd even more. ‘I give you the recent victor at Zela: Julius Caesar!’

  This was met with the loudest roar of all.

  A trio of slaves appeared in the arena. Each bore a placard upon which had been inscribed a single short word. The first read ‘Veni’, the second ‘Vidi’, and the last ‘Vici’. Yet again, Romulus was impressed by Caesar’s self-confidence. I came, I saw, I conquered. This succinct appraisal of the battle had swept through Caesar’s celebrating army, and now it was being used to win over the Roman mob. Judging from their uproarious response, the move was a shrewd one.

  Then the man himself appeared in the box. Clad in a white toga with a purple stripe running around its edge, Caesar acknowledged the peoples’ cries with languid waves of his right hand. A good number of staff officers, senators and hangers-on crammed in behind him, eager to share in the glory. Of course the watching citizens did not give a jot for anyone except Caesar. The applause went on long after he’d taken a seat.

  Meanwhile Romulus and Petronius stood on the hot sand, waiting to die.

  After several circuits, the slaves bearing the placards disappeared from sight, and the self-important announcer waved for calm. There was a gradual reduction in the noise levels as the excited audience sat down, eager for the next part of the show to begin.

  ‘In his generosity, Caesar has today arranged for an animal never seen before in Rome. Captured in the wilds of eastern Africa, it has been transported here for your pleasure. Many men have died to bring it to this arena. Now it will kill two more: the noxii before you.’

  There was a deliberate pause, and the crowd shuddered with anticipation.

  ‘Bigger than the largest of oxen, fiercer than a lion, and with an armoured skin tougher than the legionaries’ testudo, Caesar presents – the Ethiopian bull!’

  Romulus and Petronius exchanged a glance full of fear – and determination.

  Moving silently on oiled pulleys and chains, a large iron portcullis opposite Caesar’s position rose up. Soon a gaping black square was visible: the opening into a cage. Nothing emerged, and Romulus had a momentary fantasy that the creature within had already managed to escape. Loud shouts and the sound of weapons being dashed off bars deep inside the bowels of the amphitheatre soon dispelled this hope.

  There was a series of annoyed grunts and then an immense brown-skinned animal trotted on to the sand. Hairless except for the tips of its wide ears and the end of its tail, it had a long, sloping head. From its nose projected two sharp, fearsome-looking horns. Its feet were large and three-toed, and there was a prominent hump of bone at the base of the skull, between the ears.

  The rhino paused, its small, piggy eyes squinting as they adjusted to the bright light.

  As one, the audience gasped with shock at the creature’s outlandish appearance. This was stranger than the giraffe and zebras imported by Pompey, and more exotic than the elephants they were now used to seeing on a regular basis.

  Romulus’ heart stopped. It was bigger and more dangerous-looking than he remembered. ‘If we stay still, it won’t see us,’ he whispered to Petronius.

  ‘What damn good is that?’ the other retorted.

  Knowing that the two soldiers might try this ruse, Memor nodded at the archers, who loosed half a dozen arrows into the air. Aimed carefully, they smacked into the sand a few paces short of the pair’s position. Their message was clear: move, or the next ones won’t miss.

  Romulus took a step forward, his mouth dry with tension.

  Smirking, the bowmen relaxed.

  The rhino’s head turned at the movement. It snorted with suspicion.

  Romulus froze. So did Petronius, who was picking up an arrow.

  The armoured beast squealed a few times, and then pawed the ground. It had seen them.

  Closing his eyes, Romulus prayed with all the fervour he could muster. Let me die fighting at least, great Mithras. Not like this.

  Lowering its head, the rhino charged.

  Chapter XII: Romulus and Caesar

  Within a few heartbeats, the rhino was thundering towards them at full gallop. Although the arena was large, it would be upon them in a few moments. Despite this, Romulus’ feet felt anchored to the spot. His life was over. In slow motion, he scanned the watching crowds. The wealthy toga-clad nobles and the grimy poor in their threadbare tunics. Caesar, on his velvet cushion, with his followers and soldiers arrayed around him. The greasy master of ceremonies. Memor, who looked delighted now that Romulus’ fate was sealed. The guards on the edge of the enclosure with their bows and spears.

  A daring plan took root in his mind.

  ‘Quick! Grab an arrow,’ hissed Petronius. ‘It’ll be some kind of defence.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ muttered Romulus. ‘You go left, and I’ll go right.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The beast can only follow one of us. When it does, the second can try to grab a spear from a guard.’ Romulus jerked his head at the nearest. ‘Look. It’s pointing downwards, in case he needs to use it quickly. A lot of them are standing like that. Jump up, give the shaft a hard yank and there’s a chance of gaining a weapon which would actually be useful. Then the one who’s armed can protect the other.’

  ‘The archers will be ordered to shoot us down if we do that,’ breathed Petronius. A fierce spark lit in his eyes nonetheless. ‘Won’t they?’

  ‘Probably. It’ll be dangerous for both of us.’

  There was a heartbeat’s pause as both considered the obvious: whoever the rhino pursued would die.

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ said Petronius after a moment’s consideration.

  ‘Better than just dying like cowards.’

  ‘It is.’ Petronius took a deep breath. ‘Ready?’

  The ground was already shaking from the rhino’s approach. Its head was down, presenting the most terrifying of sights: its long front horn, which could gore deep into flesh. If it missed, the cr
eature’s wide skull, backed up by the weight of fifteen men, would smash bones, crush ribs, or both. Helpless from any of these injuries, its victim would then be trampled to death.

  ‘Go!’ shouted Romulus. Arms and legs pumping, he sprinted off to one side. His fear gave him an extra turn of speed, but he dared not look around until he’d counted fifteen or twenty paces. Then, not having been run down, he glanced back. His heart rose to his mouth as he saw the rhino charging after Petronius. With a daring jink to one side, the veteran avoided its first attempt to gore him in the back. He was now running in the opposite direction to it. Not for long. The enormous beast turned remarkably fast and pounded after Petronius again. With nowhere to hide, it would only be moments before it caught up.

  Romulus turned away. Every single instant was vital. If both of them weren’t soon to be bloody corpses on the sand, he had to forget Petronius. The guard he’d seen slouching over the low side of the enclosure was about two dozen steps away. Gripped by the action, the man hadn’t moved, and his dangling spear was just within arm’s reach. Acting as if he was searching for an exit, Romulus ran along the brickwork, silently counting his strides. He was careful to keep his gaze averted from the spearman.

  The air filled with insults as the nearby spectators showed their contempt for his perceived cowardice. ‘Miserable dog!’ ‘Trying to save your own skin? Fool!’ ‘Spineless whoreson!’ Romulus ran on regardless. In the distance, he could still hear the angry snorts of the rhino. There had been no screams however, which gave him heart that it had not yet killed Petronius. Ten steps. Fifteen.

  Romulus gritted his teeth as he drew closer. The guard had to be watching whatever was happening to poor Petronius, or he was lost. Twenty paces and he risked a look up. The broad-leafed blade was pointing downwards, its dull-witted owner oblivious to his approach. Mithras, help me, he thought. One more step, and Romulus bent his knees, leaping high into the air. With both hands, he grabbed hold of the shaft just below the head and pulled downwards. There was a strangled cry of surprise as the guard followed his weapon into the arena. Landing awkwardly, he found himself staring up at his own spear, which Romulus had reversed to point at his heart. The man had enough sense not to reach for his sword.

  ‘Stay there, you bastard,’ growled Romulus before tearing off to help Petronius. As he ran, he could hear the angry shouts of the other guards and the shocked cries of the spectators. Arrows and spears would be loosed at him any instant, but he couldn’t think about that. What was happening before his eyes was far worse than that. Romulus cursed himself that he had not run faster. The rhino had already struck Petronius a glancing blow. Although his friend was still running, he was listing to one side and clutching his ribs. His free hand clutched his only weapon, the useless arrow. The damn beast was right behind him too.

  Romulus gauged the distance between them. Thirty paces at least.

  If he threw the spear now, it had little chance of even hurting the rhino.

  If he didn’t, Petronius was a dead man.

  Romulus slowed down, and closed his left eye. Taking aim at the armoured beast’s shoulder, he hurled the spear forward in a powerful curving trajectory. As he did, his gaze locked with that of Petronius. The veteran gave him the tiniest of smiles. It spoke a thousand emotions. Pride that Romulus’ attempt had been successful. Respect for his courage and ability. And the love that comrades bear each other.

  The spear came down at speed, striking the rhino squarely between the shoulder blades. It glanced off its thick hide.

  ‘No!’ Romulus screamed.

  The creature’s front horn hit Petronius in the middle of his back, lifting him high in the air. Punching through his abdomen with ease, it emerged red-tipped from just under his sternum. A great cry of agony left Petronius’ lips. Spitted like a wild boar on a spear, he struggled to free himself as the rhino shook him effortlessly from side to side.

  Cheers of excitement rose from the crowd. Mingled with these were shouted commands.

  Overcome by grief, Romulus paused. He was dimly aware that no one had shot him down yet, but he did not know why.

  Blood dribbled from Petronius’ lips as the rhino dropped its head and let him fall. It moved back a step, preparing to smash him into a pulp. Then it saw Romulus. Pawing the ground with a huge foot, it bellowed with anger. Here was another troublesome human to kill. Ignoring Petronius, it began to move towards Romulus.

  That’s it, he thought, looking at the spear, which was lying on the sand behind the rhino. My effort was wasted, and I’m a goner.

  Somehow Petronius dragged himself partially upright. Along with the blood which was streaming from the gaping hole in his belly, there were loops of torn intestine and faeces visible. ‘You ugly brute,’ he shouted, ashen-faced. ‘Come back.’

  As Petronius had intended, the rhino’s attention was drawn from Romulus. Grunting, it turned around.

  Romulus came alive again. Even as he died, Petronius was trying to buy him time. He could not waste that. As the rhino smashed its head down on his friend’s already broken body, he darted around the bloody sight to the spear. The long wooden shaft felt hot in his hand as he swept it up. It was a heavy hunting weapon with a leaf-shaped iron blade, suitable for killing boar or lion. Romulus had no idea whether it could do the same to the mighty creature which had killed Petronius. For that was surely what had happened. The rhino had now struck his comrade several times with immense force. He’d heard a muffled cry after the first impact, but nothing since.

  Something made Romulus look up at the nearest spectators. Without realising, he had moved to stand just below the dignitaries’ box. Not twenty steps away was Julius Caesar, his face alive with interest. Romulus glanced at the closest guards, who had their weapons raised and ready. Remarkably, they were not aiming at him. I am being allowed to fight on, he realised with a thrill. Turning his gaze back to the rhino, Romulus winced. It had finished with Petronius’ corpse, which was now nothing more than a misshapen bundle of bloody rags. It hadn’t seen him. Not moving a muscle, he waited to see what it would do.

  Snorting through its broad nostrils, the beast walked away from Romulus.

  Its eyesight really is poor, he thought with a flush of excitement. It gave him the tiniest window of hope. Now I might have a chance of striking a lucky blow. But where? Before he’d moved a step, Romulus despaired. The rhino’s hide was thicker than the chain mail worn by legionaries. Stabbing it in the hind quarters or even its belly would not kill, or even wound it badly enough to stop it goring or trampling him. Its massive bony head was invulnerable, and the great muscles of its neck afforded no weakness either. Its heart, he thought. Somehow I have to reach that.

  The rhino was now about twenty paces away, and impatient members of the crowd were throwing things at it to make it turn around. All this did was to anger the creature even more, and it trotted towards the far side of the enclosure.

  Romulus took a step towards it, and another. Each one he took made it easier to continue, but then he had to pass by Petronius’ mangled remains. Romulus couldn’t help himself. He looked down, and revulsion filled him. His friend’s features were barely recognisable amid the blood and broken bones of his skull. Fury bubbled up in Romulus that a trusted comrade had died like this. It was so unjust. The least he could do was to make a good attempt at killing the rhino. With renewed determination, he gripped the spear with both hands. Instead of advancing, he retreated towards the timber planking of the enclosure’s edge. A truly desperate idea was germinating in his mind.

  Catcalls and jeers erupted from the watching citizens.

  They died away when Romulus shouted at the rhino. ‘Come on,’ he yelled. ‘Here I am.’

  Despite the clamour, the creature heard his cry. Spinning more gracefully than he could have imagined, it raised its head and bugled a challenge. Its front horn was red and sticky all the way down to its base. That’s Petronius’ blood, thought Romulus with a tremor of fear. Warm wood touched his back and he s
topped. Mine will soon join it – but maybe not, if the gods are willing. Either way, this is the end of the line. He was glad that it would be over quickly. This level of dread was hard to live with. Planting his feet wide, Romulus watched as the rhino gave more indications that it was about to charge. Pawing the sand, it flattened its wide ears and snorted. Its head went up and down a few times, and then it came for him. Picking up pace, it quickly reached the speed of a galloping horse.

  Shouts and cheers rose from the spectators, who were at last getting what they wanted. Their jaded palates had been tickled by the bizarre-looking rhino, but all the running about was boring. Soon this idiot would be crushed against the wall, and then the gladiator fights – the real entertainment – could begin.

  Although it was utterly terrifying, Romulus stood his ground. Where could he run to anyway? At least now he was armed, and could give a good account of himself before he was sent to Elysium. His pulse was going like a trip hammer, and all he could think of was the people he had loved. His mother. Fabiola. Juba. Brennus. Tarquinius. And brave Petronius. His sister was the only one who was definitely alive, but he would still never see her again. Gods grant that Fabiola is well, and happy, thought Romulus. I will see her one day, in paradise. With that, he readied himself for the only move he could think of. He tossed the spear off to his right, making sure it landed straight, with its point towards him.

  The audience responded with incredulous laughs. ‘Too scared to use it now?’ shouted one man.