by Peter Darman
‘There will be no slave markets at Dura, ever,’ insisted Gallia.
‘That’s a pity,’ said Athineos, nodding at me, ‘because it would make him a rich king.’
‘He’s already a rich king, pirate,’ said Domitus.
Athineos looked confused. Alcaeus enlightened him.
‘The Silk Road, captain, which runs through Nikephorus’ kingdom.’
Athineos’ expression changed to one of contempt as he spotted two individuals walking towards his ship.
‘Look sharp,’ he said to us, ‘Roman tax collectors. Blood-sucking maggots.’
The two men, each dressed in a simple beige tunic, sandals and carrying leather bags over their shoulders, stopped at the bow of The Cretan as Athineos’ two other vessels were secured alongside the wharf behind ours. One opened his bag and took out a waxed tablet and used a stylus to note the name of the ship on it. Both were thin, glum-faced individuals with thinning hair and sunken eyes.
‘They look like they haven’t eaten for a month,’ observed Surena.
‘Don’t say anything,’ a worried Domitus told us. ‘They may look stupid but they miss nothing.’
The tax collectors walked up the gangplank, their eyes darting left and right as they examined the vessel. We retreated towards the cabin as they walked on to the deck.
‘You are the captain of this vessel?’ the older official asked Athineos.
Athineos explained who has was and what he and his other two ships were carrying, whereupon the younger official was told to examine the cargoes of the other two vessels. The official walked up to the first cage containing a lounging lion. Athineos followed him.
‘Nice and tame, they are,’ said the captain. ‘Why don’t you give him a stroke?’
The official turned up his lip at the prospect. ‘It will be the port authority’s business to transport your beasts to the holding pens near the arena. But they cannot be moved until they have the approval of the senior editor.’
‘Senior editor?’ said Athineos.
‘The organiser of the games,’ replied the official tersely. ‘He likes to inspect all the animals and gladiators who will take part in the games personally.’
The official looked at our little group attired in black Agraci robes, all except Domitus. ‘Are they pilgrims?’
‘Pilgrims?’
‘Visitors to the Temple of Artemis,’ replied the official tersely.
‘No, they are gladiators.’
The official seemed surprised but said nothing as he took out a tablet from his bag and made a note on it with his stylus. He walked over to Domitus who was obviously the only Roman among us. Athineos introduced him.
‘This is Lucius Domitus, lanista of the Ludus Palmyra.’
‘Here at the invitation of High Priest Kallias and the editor,’ added Domitus.
The official’s tone changed as he spoke to a fellow Roman. ‘Welcome to Ephesus. I would be most grateful if you stayed aboard until the senior editor has greeted you. Can I ask how many fighters you have brought to the city?’
‘Four fighters,’ answered Domitus.
The official raised an eyebrow as he counted six individuals behind Domitus.
‘Plus my wife and the school’s doctor,’ added Domitus.
‘Ah, I see. Thank you for your time.’
He replaced the tablet back in his bag, nodded curtly at Athineos and walked to the gangplank, turning to the captain.
‘I will send a slave to collect the mooring fee and levy on the goods you are carrying captain, to be paid immediately.’
‘I look forward to paying them,’ replied Athineos caustically. ‘Parasite,’ he uttered under his breath.
The slave arrived an hour later and Athineos came close to striking him when he unfolded the note and read the figure on it. He stomped off to his cabin and returned with a pouch full of drachmas, which the slave counted most officiously. This caused Athineos’ blood to boil some more, though he managed to restrain himself as the slave thanked him and hastily departed. The captain bellowed in rage at a sailor who was goading one of the lions.
‘Leave it alone or I’ll feed you to him myself. You think I can afford to lose one of these beasts after what I have just paid to the port authority?’
He stalked the deck like an ill-tempered hyena and everyone avoided him, but his mood changed when the senior editor arrived. We spotted his carriage first, a lectica carried by eight tall slaves and surrounded by more slaves and four legionaries who shoved aside anyone in their way to clear the wharf of traffic. The lectica was a type of mobile bed, made of wood that had four poles at each corner to support an overhead canopy. From the canopy hung curtains to provide shade and privacy for the occupant. Two other poles were fastened to the sides of the lectica and these were the means by which the eight strong slaves carried their master on their shoulders. Inside the lectica the occupant lay on a soft mattress, with a bolster and pillows to allow him to sleep or read.
Athineos paced the deck nervously as the slaves placed the lectica carefully down beside the gangplank. All his efforts in transporting the lions to Ephesus and keeping them healthy came down to these few moments, when the editor would decide if they were suitable for the arena.
Once again we stood near the cabin as a slave pulled aside one of the lectica’s curtains to allow the occupant to exit. Gallia stifled a laughed as a balding, fat Roman in an off-white toga was helped to his feet by the slave. Another slave carrying a sunshade immediately came to the Roman’s side to prevent the sun’s rays caressing his pink crown.
‘A magistrate,’ said Domitus, observing the broad purple border on the Roman’s toga. ‘A man of some importance.’
‘And size,’ said Gallia, prompting Surena to laugh.
‘Quiet, boy,’ snapped Domitus.
One of the Roman’s slaves stopped at the top of the gangplank and announced his master.
‘The magistrate Timini Ceukianus, Senior Editor of the games at Ephesus and nephew of Quintus Caecilius Metellus, Governor of Ephesus, conqueror of Crete and lord of all Asia.’
The magistrate waddled up the gangplank with two legionaries in front of him and the slave with the sunshade behind. Athineos stepped forward and tilted his head as Ceukianus stepped on to the deck.
‘Welcome aboard, sir, I am Captain Athineos.’
Ceukianus waved a hand at him and walked past him when he spotted the cages.
‘And these are the lions, captain?’
‘Some of them, magistrate, the rest being on my other vessels.’
Ceukianus’ piggy eyes opened wide as he peered at the beasts.
‘They appear to be in excellent condition. My congratulations.’
Athineos stood beside him as Surena engaged in a staring match with one of the legionaries, until Domitus jabbed him in the ribs and told him to keep his eyes down.
‘This one near tore off a slave’s arm at Tripolis.’
Ceukianus clapped his puffy white hands together. ‘I would have liked to have seen that.’
He turned to give the slave holding the sunshade a murderous look, pointing up at the sun. ‘Keep the shade on me, wretch, otherwise I will feed you to this lion.’
He waved forward another slave who had come on deck. ‘Arrange to have these animals and the others taken to the holding pens immediately.’
The slave bowed. ‘Yes, dominus.’
‘You will be paid the full fee for your lions, captain.’
A wide grin spread across Athineos’ face. ‘Thank you, magistrate.’
Ceukianus focused his attention on us. ‘These are the gladiators from Palmyra?’
Athineos held out a hand to Domitus. ‘The lanista Lucius Domitus, magistrate.’
Ceukianus’ top lip lifted into a sneer as he regarded Domitus. In Roman society owning gladiators was a patrician pastime and was seen as glamorous, but managing them was regarded as beyond the pale of respectable society. Even to be seen in public in the company of a lanista
was to risk scandal.
Ceukianus ignored Domitus as his eyes rested on the handsome face of Surena. He walked over to my former squire, the pungent smell of his sweating body entering my nostrils. He was perspiring profusely despite being kept in the shade, the great amount of fat that encased every part of his body producing copious amounts of sweat. He licked his lips as he halted before Surena.
‘You are a fighter?’
Surena, slightly perturbed by the obvious attention of this fat Roman, just nodded.
‘And what is your speciality.’
‘Retiarius.’
‘Ephesus is lucky indeed to have such a handsome gladiator grace its arena,’ drooled Ceukianus. ‘And the Retiarius fights bare chested. How marvellous. I will keep an eye out for you.’
Surena’s expression was hardening and I knew that if the Roman boy lover carried on he would probably strike him. I stared at Domitus to get his attention and nodded at Surena. Fortunately he too was aware of the danger.
‘Would you like to be introduced to my other fighters, magistrate?’
Ceukianus’ rising lust was rudely interrupted. He moved his plump face towards Domitus, his massive double chin wobbling as he did so.
He looked at me with barely disguised disgust.
‘This one has a scar on his face. Most unattractive.’
‘He’s a good fighter, sir,’ said Domitus. ‘A Thracian.’
‘I prefer the Retiarius. How much do you charge for a private display?’
Surena’s nostrils flared with anger as the editor licked his lips.
‘We can have a display here, sir, now,’ said Domitus.
Ceukianus waved forward a slave holding a towel who used it to dab his porcine face with it.
‘No, I am finished here. I would prefer a more intimate setting. Besides, this heat is intolerable. An official from High Priest Kallias will assign you quarters for your stay here during the games.’
He gave Surena a lusting glance. ‘There is plenty of time for private amusements.’
With that he waddled across the deck and descended the gangplank to his lectica. He broke wind loudly as he bent down to sit on his overstuffed mattress, the slaves remaining stony faced as he disappeared behind a curtain and the litter bearers hoisted his bulk above their shoulders. As he and his entourage disappeared Drenis and Arminius doubled up with laughter.
‘The only Romans I have seen of late have been legionaries wanting to kill me,’ said Drenis. ‘I had forgotten that Italy is also filled with fat, lecherous homosexuals with a penchant for handsome boys.’
Arminius placed an arm around Surena’s shoulders. ‘If you are a bit more polite you could be going to Rome as a magistrate’s plaything.’
Surena was far from amused, though, shaking off Arminius’ arm.
‘I should have thrown him overboard.’
Drenis feigned horror. ‘It is not the magistrate’s fault that you are young and pretty.’
‘That’s right,’ said Drenis, ‘you should not have enticed him.’
‘I did not entice him,’ said Surena loudly.
Alcaeus rolled his eyes. ‘It is amazing what amuses the minds of children.’
As the morning gave way to afternoon and the sun rose in the sky we were paid a visit from a representative of High Priest Kallias. In stark contrast to the attitude of the Roman officials this man was both friendly and informative. He came in the company of a score of slaves who were to transport our clothes and equipment on two-wheeled handcarts to our quarters.
He asked to speak to the lanista of the Ludus Palmyra, saying his name was Lysander and that he had been sent by High Priest Kallias to convey the lanista and his fighters to the accommodation that had been set aside for them for the duration of the games. Everything about Lysander was big: his round face, full head of curly black hair but most of all his personality. He never stopped smiling and laughing, welcoming Domitus and Gallia and shaking the hand of Athineos. He smiled when he saw the lions and congratulated the captain on bringing them to Ephesus in such a healthy state. He extended a warm welcome to myself, Surena, Drenis and Arminius and wished us good fortune in the days ahead. We took an instant liking to Lysander and felt at ease in his company.
After the slaves had loaded our chests onto the carts Lysander invited us to accompany him to our new home.
‘A nice terrace house on the hill near the theatre,’ he informed Domitus. He looked at us gladiators. ‘I have been informed that your fighters are not what the Romans call “condemned to the games”, lanista?’
Damnatio ad ludos meant ‘condemned to the games’ and denoted a criminal who had been given a life sentence in the arena, though usually the sentence would be a short one unless the individual was an accomplished fighter. Those who were under this sentence were not allowed beyond the confines of the ludus, as they were often violent criminals who would abscond at the first opportunity, whereas other categories of gladiators, especially those who had volunteered to fight in the arena, were allowed a certain amount of freedom.
‘Don’t you worry about them,’ Domitus told Lysander, ‘my boys are all volunteers, freemen who wanted to experience life inside the arena.’
‘That’s not how I remember my time at Capua,’ said Drenis in a hushed tone to Arminius.
‘Me neither,’ said Arminius, ‘I was captured by the Romans after a battle then hauled off to Italy in chains.’
‘I’m a free man,’ said Surena, ‘no one has ever put me in chains.’
‘That’s because the marshlands where you grew up are too inhospitable for armies to campaign in,’ I said.
‘Right, then,’ announced Domitus, ‘let us go to our new home.’
Lysander smiled and Domitus took Gallia’s hand as he led her down the gangplank. I was the last to leave the ship, Athineos pulling me aside before I went down the gangplank.
‘Now listen, I still think you are engaged in a mad scheme that has no hope of success. I will be staying here for the duration of the games but no longer. But I can leave at any time before that if you come to your senses.’
I offered my hand to him. ‘Thank you but no. You should have more faith, Athineos.’
‘That is what your slave general, Spartacus, said to me once. And look what happened to him.’
‘Hurry up, Nikephorus,’ shouted Domitus, ‘don’t dawdle.’
I hurried down the gangplank and joined the other three ‘gladiators’. Behind us the slaves pushed the carts containing our possessions. It took a while to exit the port, which was filled with wagons, dockers loading and unloading goods, slaves on their way to be sold, port officials, sailors and Roman marines. There was also the unusual sight of pilgrims leaving two ships that had just docked, long lines of white-clad men and women either singing prayers or mumbling chants as they shuffled down gangplanks.
‘Pilgrims from the mainland,’ Lysander informed us, ‘visiting the Temple of Artemis.’
‘Is it in the city?’ asked Gallia.
‘No, lady. It is situated just beyond the city walls. It was built on the spot where an ancient temple devoted to the Goddess Cybele was sited.’
‘The mother of the gods,’ said Alcaeus.
Lysander nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
The great warehouses were filled with wine, olive oil and grain for shipment to Greece and Rome, while pallets stood along the dockside stacked with slabs of marble for shipment to Athens. I had never seen the harbour that supplied Rome with its everyday needs but it cannot have been bigger than the one at Ephesus. Moving through the crush of people and goods we eventually reached Harbour Street, which was the main entrance to the city from the docks. It had obviously been designed to impress visitors because the slabs under our feet were marble and there were marble colonnades on either side of the thoroughfare.
Lysander told us that the street was six hundred yards long and twelve yards wide, with monumental arches along its course and shops on either side along its whole length. He informed
us with pride that beneath the marble flagstones were water and sewage channels, the latter carrying the city’s waste to the river where it would be carried out to sea. But his moment of supreme pleasure came when he pointed out the street lights positioned along the whole length of Harbour Street.
‘At night watchmen light the oil lamps so the street is illuminated for pedestrians and charioteers alike,’ said Lysander who was revelling in his position of tour guide. ‘This street is but one of the twenty-six others that are paved with marble, though the others are lined with statues rather than street lights.’
‘Street lights,’ I said in wonderment to Drenis. ‘I have never seen such a thing.’
‘This place is dripping in wealth. No wonder the Romans wanted it.’
‘The same reason they want Parthia,’ I said bitterly, ‘they would love to control the Silk Road.’
‘Why isn’t the city called Artemis if the temple was the first building here?’ asked Gallia.
‘A good question, lady,’ replied Lysander. ‘But according to myth the city itself was established by the queen of the Amazons, Ephos Hippo, hence the name Ephesus.’
He looked at my wife, her head covered by a shemagh. ‘Have you heard of the Amazons, lady?’
All eyes turned to Gallia, which was noted by Lysander.
‘Vaguely,’ she replied.
‘They were fearsome women warriors,’ said Lysander, ‘famed for their courage and mercilessness in battle.’
‘They sound most interesting,’ remarked Gallia casually.
We continued along Harbour Street, Lysander offering Gallia and Domitus litters to take them to their quarters but they declined. He made no offer to us; clearly the notion that gladiators were at the bottom of the social order had reached Asia. We passed shops selling food, clothes, pottery, gold and silver jewellery, wine and olive oil. Many of the buildings were two-storeyed, the ground floor being a shop and the first floor containing living quarters.
We saw few Roman soldiers, Lysander informing Domitus when pressed that for the most part the governor restricted his men to manning the walls and four gates into the city.
‘Of course High Priest Kallias has his own temple guards,’ said Lysander, ‘who maintain security at the Temple of Artemis and the other temples in the city.’
