Gladiatrix

by Russell Whitfield

  It was, she knew, an effort to keep her own mind busy. The loss of Danae had hit her harder than she cared to admit and certainly she could not share her feelings with the others. She must remain implacable at all times, an example of Spartan fortitude and strong-mindedness.

  But, in her quiet moments, Danae’s death somehow compounded that of Eirianwen’s. She thought she had buried her feelings deep, but Sorina had re-opened the wound. Always, it was Sorina. Her dreams were once again haunted by Eirianwen’s last agonising moment, and now this image was joined with that of Danae, caring Danae, cut to bloody ribbons by the barbarian. With the return of Eirianwen to the night, so came Nastasen. The death of her love and the rape of her own body could not be divorced in her mind and once again she knew fear in the darkness.

  There had to be a reckoning, and soon. Perhaps killing Sorina would serve to exorcise her of the nightly torments. If she could not revenge herself on Nastasen then at least she could kill Eirianwen’s murderer. Yet, Lysandra knew that she would have to be at her best to match the Dacian. Spartan bravery and courage was one thing but, injured as she was, she would be easy prey for Sorina. She kept well away from her and her coterie, salving her conscience with the knowledge that this was not cowardice, but prudence. It was, she considered, the barbarian way to charge off into a fight with little or no forethought and thus fall to easy defeat.

  Catuvolcos spoke to her often, seeming to sense the darkness of her mood. He did his best to seal their renewed friendship in this time, even inviting her to the city one evening to meet his paramour, Doris. He had at least the good taste not to bring her to the brothel. Lysandra had sent word to Telemachus that she would be abroad, and she was pleased when he agreed to meet them. The four had an entertaining evening, despite the constant interruptions from Lysandra’s admirers.

  She herself found it a welcome diversion from the black thoughts that never left her mind. Revenge was an all-consuming force, she decided.

  The gladiatrices returned to the ludus under heavy guard. Balbus was at pains to keep the various factions separated, as tensions were running higher than ever.

  To her credit, Lysandra kept her women under close control, marching them out of the ludus each day to train on the arid landscape. Though this rankled with the barbarians it could not be helped. But disgruntled was one thing, violent another so, to placate them, Balbus increased their beer rations so that most evenings were clouded with alcohol. The lanista knew that everyone had a price and buying the tribeswomen off with liquor seemed the best solution.

  One morning, he decided to take a look at how ‘the troops,’ as he had come to call them, were progressing. Flanked by Titus and Stick, he rode out to watch the proceedings.

  ‘It follows the same format every day,’ Titus told him, ‘so you will get a good picture from this.’

  The early part of the day was taken up with physical training, each woman carrying a round hoplon shield and eight-foot spear.

  Their armour was the cheap, army surplus chain mail that Balbus had procured at Lysandra’s request: made of tiny iron rings linked to form a mesh, it provided lightweight, flexible protection. However, in a nod to the historical theme of the battle, the women were equipped otherwise as Greek hoplite warriors, the great crested Corinthian helms nodding as they were put through their paces.

  ‘It looks very impressive,’ he observed.

  ‘She has got them up to speed in a remarkably short time,’

  Titus admitted.

  After the running and exercise in the armour, came drill, and this was truly the mark of Lysandra’s success so far. At barked orders from the Spartan and some embarrassingly poor blasts from Thebe on the rusted buccinae — their signalling trumpet — the women formed into the ranks and files with effortless ease.

  They set off at a march and, at specific refrains from the trumpet, they performed a variety of different manoeuvres to Balbus’s delight.

  ‘They look so authentic! ’ he enthused to Stick. ‘Just as I would imagine a hoplite army to look like from the histories. Truly, I had heard that her warrior order in Sparta was the only place in the world one could see a force such as this. But now, we have one of our own.’

  Stick grunted for want of something to say. To him, it was all a silly game.

  The drilling went on for some time, the manoeuvres becoming more complex. Any infractions in the ranks were punished harshly by Lysandra and her seconds in the form of what Titus told the lanista was called ‘beasting’ — extra physical duties. Balbus noted that she had not resorted to the whip that had evidently been used on her in Sparta.

  ‘They will soon rest and go on to the usual gladiatorial training,’ the veteran trainer advised Balbus.

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ Balbus responded, and rubbed his hands together before turning his horse about. Just as he was about to nudge the beast away, a sweating Lysandra called after him. Balbus pulled his mount to, thinking that she looked very military, with her helm tucked under her arm and her greaves all dusty. Still, he had noted that she had not taken part in the training, evidently nursing her wound. She had such good sense, he thought to himself.

  ‘I am very impressed,’ he said before she had spoken.

  ‘Good,’ she responded shortly. ‘But it is not enough, Balbus.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He regarded her carefully.

  ‘This is heavy infantry. I need other types of troops if I am to succeed. The barbarians will use hit and run tactics, I think, if the legends of the Amazon wars are anything to go by. I will need to train some of your new… slaves… as light troops — archers and slingers, and…’ She trailed off.

  ‘And?’ Balbus thought the demand reasonable. After all, he did not care how Lysandra trained the women, only that they performed on the day, and she was proving her mettle as a gifted ‘commander’.

  ‘Cavalry,’ she said quickly. ‘Heavy and light.’

  ‘Cavalry?’ the lanista sputtered. ‘Horses! But the cost… No, Lysandra, it could ruin me!’

  ‘ Lanista, I have seen a squadron of Thessalian women that are used in the execution of criminals at the Games of Aeschylus.

  And I have heard of an Egyptian troupe that wear heavy armour and perform ‘tricks’. I am sure that more such women could be found. If you want things to be authentic — and you want us to win — I must have this support.’

  Balbus decided to be reasonable. ‘Lysandra,’ he said, ‘I appre-ciate that you are trying to make things true to the myth and you should be commended for your thoroughness, but…’

  ‘Spartans are always through, lanista,’ she interrupted. ‘I must have these horses.’

  Balbus pursed his lips at her impertinence but realised that such a change in attitude was inevitable given the freedoms he had invested upon Lysandra. On the other hand, he knew that she was the only woman in his entire ludus that could be trusted to maintain discipline given such latitude, so he tolerated it. ‘The cost of keeping horses is too prohibitive, Spartan,’ he said, knowing that referring to her in such a manner would be flattering. ‘I am already constructing a new wing at the ludus and purchasing a huge amount of… troops for your army.’

  Lysandra pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘You are but one man, Lucius Balbus. The forces arrayed against us are the product of many schools banding together. On aggregate, they can raise more cash than you, and as such they can buy horsewomen. The barbarians you say will comprise the enemy are famed for their skill on horseback, even their women. If we face such on the field of battle without adequate support we will be cut to pieces.

  There will be no way that I can make use of the terrain — we are to fight on an open field, I presume.’

  ‘Well, that is so,’ Balbus was forced to admit. ‘What would be the point otherwise? People will need to see what’s going on, and we cannot transport the whole mob to a battleground of your choosing, Lysandra.’

  ‘Precisely, lanista. If I were to choose a battle ground for an infa
ntry against cavalry action, I would ensure that I had higher ground at least, and my flanks unassailable at best. In our scenario, this will not be the case. I do not know the disposition of the enemy, and if they are heavy in their use of horse soldiers, I could be out-flanked by these faster-moving troops. I cannot predict how the enemy will array herself, so I will have to array myself in accordance to correct military practice. This could result in a defensive action, or worse, a complete exposure of my force if the enemy arrays non-conventionally. For instance, a refusal of flank could be disastrous unless I have my own fast-moving troops to engage theirs. After that the phalanx can do its work. But the phalanx can be exposed…’

  Balbus held up his hand; it was getting far too technical for him. He glanced at Titus and could tell by his expression that Lysandra evidently knew what she was talking about. He sighed.

  ‘This is dependent on the ‘enemy’ having horses.’

  Lysandra nodded.

  ‘I will make an investigation. If I find that the other schools are preparing cavalry, I will seek extra funding and you will have your horses. If they are not, then there is no need for any of this.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Balbus thought that she was about to salute him, but evidently she thought better of it and turned away without another word.

  ‘This could ruin me,’ he said again, this time to Titus.

  ‘Aye, it could.’ The grizzled trainer laughed. ‘But it would be a show like no other before it, Balbus. You have to admire her spirit.’

  Balbus’s answering grin was a little forced but he concurred with the trainer. ‘I’ll get Falco to look into it,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, Titus, with this much investment going into this spectacle, I want very much to win.’

  ‘I was a soldier before I came to this,’ Titus said, and Balbus braced himself for a lengthy anecdotal story from an old legionary sweat. ‘She will win, lanista, I can guarantee it. If she is given the materiel she needs. She reminds me of a young tribune I knew when I was serving in Germania…’

  ‘I will have Falco look into it,’ Balbus cut in quickly.

  Titus looked crestfallen and turned his attention back to the training.

  XLIV

  ‘He’s coming? Here?’ Sextus Julius Frontinus was as close as he ever got to panic.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Diocles, a Greek freedman, regarded his former owner calmly.

  ‘When?’ Frontinus clambered from his couch.

  ‘Perhaps three months.’ Diocles ran a hand through his thin-ning hair. ‘Perhaps sooner. The letter is dated July and we are close to September now.’

  Frontinus began to pace. ‘But this is unscheduled,’ he accused, as if there were something the secretary could do to alter the matter.

  ‘Rome feels no need to observe protocol, Governor,’ the slender freedman commented, slightly disdainful. ‘She makes protocol.’

  Frontinus glowered at him. ‘Shall I tell you what this is, Diocles?’

  Diocles nodded, a man who had no choice in the answer to the question.

  ‘This is a spying mission. There’s no other explanation. He’s coming here to make sure I don’t botch the preparations for Domitian’s birthday celebration. These new men think we of the old guard can’t take a shit without their help.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Diocles said, keeping his expression neutral.

  ‘Well, I’ll show this Trajanus how we do things in Halicarnassus.

  Not by half measures, eh, Diocles?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Three months, Diocles. Not long to put an extravaganza together for his elucidation. But, this is something we must do.

  Can’t have Rome saying my province wasn’t up to scratch!’

  ‘My thoughts exactly, sir.’ Diocles injected enough boredom into his voice to let Frontinus know that he was rambling and that decisions should be made — and quickly at that.

  The governor bristled for a moment and then laughed. ‘Well, no sense in panicking over something we can’t change.’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Well, let’s start to call in the debts and the favours, my boy.

  Get me Balbus. Get me that Syrian whoremaster — you know the one. Get me…’

  ‘I am sure that I can find what you are looking for. Catering, entertainments, both visual and sensual — and, of course, a games.

  Accommodation for him and his retinue — et cetera, et cetera. ’

  ‘Yes, Diocles, that’s it.’ Frontinus sat back on the couch and mopped his brow. ‘The buggers thought they had the General outflanked! Well, not this old soldier.’

  ‘Of course, my lord. I shall make sure all is in order.’ Diocles smiled slightly, inclining his head, and turned away. There was much work to be done.

  ‘It’s going to be huge,’ Balbus told his retinue of trainers. ‘Bigger even than the Games of Aeschylus. In fact, the perfect prelude to the grand battle we plan next year. I want the women in top shape,’ he added, stabbing a finger.

  Stick lounged on a couch. ‘What about the growing army?’ he said. ‘ General Lysandra will be most displeased if her training regimen is interrupted.’

  ‘I think all will be well with that,’ Titus broke in. ‘She has her daily routine off to a fine art.’ He turned his attention to Balbus.

  ‘Did Falco get back to you with reports on the acquisition of mounts for the other schools?’

  Balbus did not want to let the conversation gravitate to matters totally concerned with Lysandra but he realised the veteran very much saw this as his own project. ‘Yes, and Lysandra was right, an annoying habit of hers. Word is that the other lanistas are playing to their strengths, and are investing heavily in their women’s natural skills in horse riding. So, our Spartan shall have her way.

  Frontinus, however, is being tight with the purse strings, now that we have our visitor from Rome to contend with. But I am sure the proceeds from this next game will more than cover our expenses.’

  ‘ We’re putting the money up for the horsewomen?’ Stick was incredulous.

  Balbus made an expansive gesture. ‘Speculate. Accumulate. If Lysandra loses, we’ll be ruined. If she wins, we’ll all be rich beyond the dreams of avarice, with fame to match. But moving on to more immediate matters…’ Balbus determined to get the discussion back on track. He prided himself on his man-management skills. ‘There can be no mistakes, men,’ he said, feeling rather like a general himself. ‘Our women must perform to their best in front of this advisor of Domitian’s. Rome must hear of our work and, perhaps…’ He trailed off, his eyes swimming with visions of the capital and the adoring Roman populace. He brought himself back to the present. ‘Our reputation will stand on these… Games of Trajan, as they are coming to be known. This means that we cannot afford internal strife. Let the women know that Romans are enthusiastic with their granting of freedom in such events. Let them know that any infractions between them will result in not only severe punishment, but also they will be denied the chance to appear at the games.’

  ‘And so deny them a chance at freedom.’ Titus looked satisfied with that. ‘A worthy solution, Balbus.’

  ‘I thought so,’ the lanista agreed smugly.

  New slaves began to arrive in increasing numbers, wide-eyed and frightened at their unfamiliar surroundings. Lysandra realised that Balbus was doing his best not to scrape the bottom of the barrel and was grateful: the newcomers were of sturdy Hellenic stock for the most part, hands worn from the loom and the washing stone.

  These recruits would form the main part of her army. Though she was well pleased with the women she had trained in the hoplite fashion, she knew that her force must be more flexible than the outmoded formations of centuries ago. Given the historical theme of the spectacle, she could not equip her women in the modern style but she felt that arming the main part of her troops after the Macedonian fashion would not be stretching the rules too much.

  Thus, the bulk of the army now found themselves wielding the huge sarissa,
the eighteen-foot pike used by both Phillip’s and Alexander’s soldiers with such deadly efficiency. When formed correctly, the phalanx presented an impenetrable wall of spears.

  On this wall she would impale the enemy and hold her fast whilst her elite troops finished the task.

  Lysandra was keen to root out the Rhodians and Cretans amongst her women. The majority of the former were shepherd-girls, well skilled with the use of the sling; an ancient weapon long used to keep wolves and other predators away from the flocks though, its use in war was undeniably effective. The Cretans used the bow for much the same purpose and Lysandra knew that, by combining the ranges of these two weapons, she could rain down a withering hail of missiles on the horsewomen she would face. To supplement these troops, Lysandra also began to form a detachment of lightly armed women: peltasts, would act in concert with the islanders as skirmishers to break up and disrupt enemy formations.

  As before, she trained a core herself, and then allowed the natural leaders that emerged to train the newcomers: it was proving a most effective form of administration and a necessary one.

  Though much of her focus was on the training, she could not ignore the fact that a lavish spectacle was planned in the near future, and she could not afford to ignore her own preparations.

  But now that she had a command structure in place, the army was largely running itself.

  ‘Hard to tear yourself away from the soldiers, General,’ Thebe mocked gently after they had sparred one afternoon.

  ‘Indeed,’ she said, sitting, mopping her brow. ‘There is a sense of satisfaction to be had when one sees one’s genius come to fruition.’

  ‘Of course.’ Thebe grinned. ‘Only you could have achieved such a feat, great one.’

  Lysandra mulled that over for a moment. ‘Perhaps you are right,’ she agreed. ‘Though any priestess of Sparta may have my skills, I feel that it is my natural flair and charisma for leadership that has been effective thus far.’

  Thebe grimaced; Lysandra was so arrogant it was almost endearing. ‘Alexander himself would be envious,’ she said, and was rewarded with a self-depreciating smile from her friend. If anything had come from the tragic death of Danae and the barbarian Eirianwen, it was a slight softening in the Spartan’s attitude. Certainly, she was still stiff-necked and haughty, but Thebe had seen her ‘discipline’ some of her recruits of late and there was no evidence of the horrific beatings and tortures that Lysandra advocated as ‘the Spartan way’.