by Peter Darman
‘I see from the markings that you proudly carry on your body,’ she continued, ‘that you too are a member of my tribe. I say to you, Acco of the Senones, that the man at your feet is my husband, Pacorus of Dura, who years ago rescued me from a life of Roman slavery. I now ask you to spare his life, not because I, a mere woman, request it but because he has been a friend to the Gauls and to other peoples who have been subjected to Rome’s tyranny.’
After she had finished speaking she remained on her feet and looked at Acco. But there was no pleading in her expression, just a fierce pride in her Gaul heritage, which was matched by Acco who now stood back from me.
‘Kill him, you imbecile,’ screamed Ceukianus.
Acco looked at the editor and spat in his direction, crossed his swords over his thick chest and bowed his head at Gallia.
‘As you desire, princess,’ he shouted in Gaul.
Why did he save me? He was a veteran of the arena who had killed many men on the sand. He was a living legend, a fighter who had won his freedom in the arena who had been lured out of retirement by an exorbitant sum promised him by Ceukianus. He was also a brute, a mountain of raw strength, courage and savagery who thought nothing of killing for profit or pleasure. Why then did he spare me? I do not think it was Gallia’s words alone for he would surely have scoffed at a Roman woman pleading for the life of a man he had defeated. No, I believe that her speaking in Gaul and the mention of his tribe and kings he had perhaps fought under, made him think of a time before he had been a Roman puppet. A time when he was not like a trained animal released into the arena to amuse the Roman crowd, but a free man, a proud member of the Senones tribe with parents, siblings and perhaps even a wife and children.
A referee, a stocky man known as a secunda rudis on account of him being second-in-command to the chief referee, the summa rudis, hit Acco hard on the arm with his stick.
‘Obey your orders, gladiator.’
Acco, perhaps still thinking about his Gaul past, remained stationary for a couple of seconds. But then in a flash rammed the sword in his right hand into the referee’s mouth. He held the blade in place as his victim shuddered and blood sheeted out of his mouth. At the same time Marcus Aristius struck Gallia with the back of his hand, knocking her down.
And all hell broke loose.
The spectators nearest Gallia, enraged, threw themselves at the tribune as he drew his sword and threatened Domitus who had placed himself between the Roman and my wife. The tribune cut down two Greeks but more came at him as the crowd began to assault Roman soldiers. The legionaries nearest to us were literally engulfed by a mob of angry Greeks, the latter wrestling and punching the soldiers and tearing off their helmets. I jumped to my feet and threw of my helmet as Acco whipped back his sword and the dead referee fell to the ground. I picked up my sica and ran to my companions as a religious frenzy took hold of the crowd.
Domitus lifted Gallia to her feet as dozens of her ‘followers’ grouped round her to protect her from Roman weapons. The latter were now raining death on spectators from the rear of the theatre as the archers began shooting indiscriminately at civilians. They easily cut down dozens of Greeks as they nocked arrow after arrow and shot them into the crowd. They gave no thought of what was happening behind them, which they soon had cause to regret when a horde of Greeks crested the hill. Like most Greek theatres the one at Ephesus had been built into the side of a hill, which meant that people could climb the other side of the slope to reach the rear seats where the archers were positioned. I looked up to see the bowmen literally disappear under a wave of Greeks and suddenly the crowd was in control of the arena.
‘Time to get out of here,’ I shouted to the others as the gladiators of the Ludus Ephesus ran forward and began hacking and slashing at the nets so they could get to grips with legionaries battling spectators. They too were followers of Artemis and they too took exception to Gallia being abused.
Behind us the condemned Roman prisoners stood in their chains, staring at the riot that was taking place in front of them, unsure what to do, as were the gladiators from Alexandria. I saw two referees making a dash for the doors.
‘Stop them,’ I shouted at Surena.
He sprinted towards the pair, hoisting his trident up and then launching it to hit one of the referees in the back. The man pitched forward as Surena ran past him, grabbed the second referee by the scruff of the neck and hurled him ahead. The man’s momentum propelled him forward and his face smashed into the wall of the stage building. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, as Surena bent down and slit his throat with his dagger. He turned to me and grinned.
‘Shouldn’t you be getting your wife?’
I turned to see Acco next to me, swords in hand.
‘Seeing as she kept you alive you should rescue her from those filthy Greeks,’ he said.
The ‘filthy Greeks’ were doing a splendid job, despite many being cut down by Roman swords as they battled the guards. I looked to where a great press of them was still shielding Gallia. I saw her blonde hair and Domitus’ close-cropped skull. I nodded at Acco and ran forward.
‘Keep that door open,’ I shouted at Drenis and Arminius.
The nets had disappeared and the Ephesus gladiators were assisting members of the crowd in fighting legionaries. I jumped onto the front row of seats, stepped over a dead legionary and two Greeks and hopped on seats to get nearer my wife.
‘Gallia,’ I shouted but it was impossible to make myself heard above the racket.
I continued to tread on dead bodies and marble seats, taking me closer to the press of worshippers. They pointed at me and clenched their fists.
‘Protect the daughter of Artemis,’ someone screamed.
I stopped and gripped my sica as more anger-filled faces turned on me. They edged forward aggressively but then stopped in their tracks as Gallia spotted me.
‘Leave him,’ she shouted.
The mood changed instantly as she pushed through the throng and we embraced. They cheered and patted me on the back. I kissed her on the lips as Domitus also appeared.
‘We need to get out of here,’ he said, ‘the governor will mobilise the garrison to deal with this lot.’
‘A Roman with some common sense; most unusual.’
I turned to see Acco, much to my surprise. He bowed his head at Gallia.
‘Princess.’
She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek.
‘I am in your debt, Acco.’
‘We must leave, now,’ insisted Domitus.
Guards were still battling spectators as the governor and his fellow dignitaries retreated from the theatre, protected by a phalanx of legionaries. Some had their shields raised to protect their superiors from the arrows that were being shot at them. A Greek in front of me screamed and collapsed, an arrow in his back. Arrows were being shot in all directions as those who had overwhelmed the archers picked up the weapons and loosed missiles blindly. Domitus was right – it was time to leave.
Another arrow struck a man to my left, who pitched forward and collapsed over a seat.
‘Protect the daughter of Artemis,’ arose the cry as Gallia’s supporters suddenly turned and raise their arms to shield her with their bodies. My wife was holding the hand of a clearly distraught woman with raven-black hair and dark brown eyes – Anca.
I smiled at her. ‘I am delighted to meet you at last, lady, and hope…’
‘Move!’ shouted Domitus. ‘All of you.’
We jumped over seats to reach the sand of the arena as fighting filled every part of the theatre. Greek gladiators were fighting Roman legionaries, Egyptian gladiators were battling enraged spectators filled with bloodlust who had jumped onto the sand to kill anyone who looked like a Roman, and the governor and high priest’s entourage was still endeavouring to make their escape from the scene. I picked up a gladius and scutum beside a dead legionary and held the shield up to protect Gallia as we ran towards the open door being guarded by Surena, Drenis, Arminius
and Burebista, who had discarded his helmet. He embraced Anca as Domitus began to shove everyone through the door. Arrows were now landing on the sand, or striking the unfortunate condemned legionaries.
‘What about them?’ I said to Domitus as Gallia and Anca were ushered into the stage building.
‘What about them?’ he answered. ‘They are dead men either way.’
I saw the governor and Kallias among the press of high-ranking officials surrounded by soldiers, the latter trying to hack their way through the mass of Greeks trying to get at the Roman dignitaries. Some of the spectators had smashed the statues on the right side of the rows of seats and were pelting the Roman legionaries with chunks of marble. As with the arrows their aim was poor and many pieces of rock were falling in the arena.
‘Get Alcaeus,’ I ordered Drenis and Arminius, who nodded and ran to the steps leading to the first floor.
I was standing in the doorway to the arena and was about to shut it when Surena ran past me.
‘Come back, you idiot,’ I called after him, to no effect.
There were two main entrances to the theatre seats, both at the bottom of the seating rows, to the left and right near the arena. The governor’s makeshift testudo was inching its way towards the exit on the left as viewed from the stage building doors. This brought it close to the arena and close to Surena who ran across the sand with his trident held at shoulder level. The nets and posts were all broken down now and he had an uninterrupted view of his target: the lumbering figure of Timini Ceukianus. I saw the editor’s fat head and his white toga but only glimpses as scuta were raised in an effort to shield him and the other luminaries.
Surena ignored the rocks and arrows landing around him, slowed and hurled the trident forward. I watched its trajectory as it flew through the air straight as an arrow and struck Ceukianus in the side of the neck. I saw the editor fall and Surena yell his defiance.
‘I am Surena of the Ma’adan and kneel to no man.’
He turned, clenched his fist and bounded back to the entrance.
Thus did Timini Ceukianus leave this life. He died as he had lived: overweight and repulsive.
‘Give me a sword, warrior.’
I heard Gallia’s voice and turned to see Acco hand her one of his weapons. She ran from the ground floor into the arena that was rapidly filling with people: rioters, Romans and Ephesian gladiators, the latter two groups engaged in their own private war. The Alexandrian gladiators, meanwhile, feeling left out of the violence, had decided to butcher the condemned legionaries and were going about their task with gusto.
‘Gallia,’ I shouted as she raced past me.
I ran after her, as did Acco. I saw her making for a portly, middle-aged Roman in a shabby toga who had left the rioting in the seats to seek sanctuary in the stage building via the arena, having spotted that the doors of the former were open.
‘Dear husband,’ she shouted as she ran up to the Roman and thrust the gladius into his stomach.
His eyes bulged wide and his mouth hung open as she extracted the blade and stabbed him again, and again and again, the front of his toga turning red. She pulled out the blade once more and he fell on his back, dead. But then she started to slash wildly at his corpse as I reached her.
‘Gallia, we must leave this place.’
She spun round, her eyes filled with fury and her face contorted in anger. I thought she was going to stab me but then she recognised me and her anger was replaced by cold contentment. Acco stood looking at the butchered corpse.
‘Behold Lentulus Vatia, lanista of the Ludus Capua,’ she sneered, ‘slave owner, degenerate and all-round Roman bastard.’
‘That’s my fee gone,’ remarked Acco, who began to laugh uncontrollably.
Gallia handed him back the blood-smeared sword. ‘My husband will reimburse you, Acco.’
I grabbed her dress. ‘Time to go.’
We ran back towards the door, my shield held over Gallia as we did so. I heard Acco grunt and saw him stagger but he regained his footing and followed us through the door, which he slammed shut. I saw an arrow in the back of his shoulder. It took a few seconds for my eyes to get accustomed to the dim, stinking interior, but when they did I saw Alcaeus standing with Drenis and Arminius.
‘We have to go,’ I announced.
‘To where?’ queried Alcaeus.
‘Back to the house to collect our bows and then to the harbour,’ I said. ‘The only way out of this city is by boat.’
Alcaeus saw the arrow in Acco’s shoulder.
‘Let me see that.’
Acco waved away his concern. ‘I’ve suffered worse.’
There was banging on the doors as individuals were thrown against them.
‘Move,’ I ordered.
The ground floor was empty, slaves and animal handlers having fled in the confusion. I assumed that the remaining gladiators were still on the second floor but the absence of any guards was of more interest. We ran past the almost empty animal cages and through the gates to enter the street outside. Already looters were at work, pillaging businesses and starting fires. The city was degenerating into lawlessness.
The ten of us moved speedily back to the house where we had been lodged and then imprisoned, skirting the agora where religious fanatics, looters, shopkeepers and frightened citizens battled for control over lives and property. Drenis and Arminius had discarded their helmets to lighten their loads but retained their shields and weapons. I had a gladius and scutum but Surena had only his dagger. Fortunately we only encountered either anxious slaves or the odd citizen disappearing into his home.
‘We shall have to overcome the guards,’ I told my companions as we came across the narrow road that led to the terrace houses.
But when we reached the house we found no guards, only open gates and a seemingly deserted residence.
‘Have a care,’ I warned as I led them through the gates, Domitus, Arminius and Drenis positioning themselves either side of me so we could lock our shields together.
We entered the building to see Lysander standing in the hallway, quaking with terror. His demeanour changed to utter relief when he saw us, but changed back to apprehension when he remembered our imprisonment and saw the weapons in our hands.
‘Where are the guards?’ I said.
‘Gone, all gone, majesty.’
‘Fetch us water and food,’ said Domitus.
‘And bandages,’ added Alcaeus, staring at the blood oozing from Acco’s shoulder.
Gallia pushed past us to go upstairs to our bedroom so she could change her clothes as Lysander relaxed a little and scurried away to find the kitchen slaves. Domitus ordered Arminius, Drenis and Surena to stand guard at the gates while the rest of us changed into more suitable attire as Alcaeus examined Acco’s wound in the andron. I changed into my leggings, boots, silk vest and white shirt as Gallia donned the same attire.
‘Thank you for saving me,’ I said. ‘How did you know Acco was one of your tribe?’
She shrugged. ‘I recognised the tattoos on his neck and chest instantly. And you are welcome.’
I stood and cupped her face.
‘Once again I owe you my life. To think, I always thought that the tattoos that decorate the bodies of Gaul warriors were meaningless swirls.’
She kissed me. ‘That is because you are an uneducated barbarian.’
We went back downstairs to the storerooms to collect our weapons. In their haste to leave the Romans had ignored our swords, bows and quivers, though they had plundered all the gold that I had brought from Dura. I ordered Lysander to attend me as Gallia and I strapped on our sword belts and slung the quivers on our backs, positioning the feathered ends of the arrows at the top of our left shoulders for ease of retrieval.
‘Why did the guards leave?’ I snapped.
Gallia tucked her dagger into the top of her right boot.
‘A messenger arrived at the house, majesty, reporting trouble at the theatre. We have heard nothing since, only the
sounds of rioting, that and the plumes of smoke.’
We fitted the bowstrings to the ends of our bows and tested their strain.
‘The followers of Artemis are rioting,’ I told him, ‘accompanied by the looters and arsonists who always appear when violence erupts inside cities. The Romans have their hands full.’
‘What of High Priest Kallias?’ asked Lysander.
‘What about him?’ I said. ‘The last time I saw him he was skulking from the theatre in the company of the governor.’
I pulled back my bowstring. ‘Unfortunately I did not have my bow with me so I could not kill him or the governor.’
He said nothing but I could see he was sweating.
‘Go and attend to our refreshments,’ I told him.
Gallia was holding something in her hand.
‘What’s that?’
She held up the silver statuette of Artemis. ‘I hid it beneath our bed. The goddess smiles on us.’
‘It was that old witch on Cyprus we have to thank. Who’d have thought a quiver filled with arrows painted silver would save our hides?’
I winked at her. ‘And your blonde hair and blue eyes, of course.’
‘We are not out of danger yet, Pacorus.’
It was now mid-afternoon and though the immediate area around the house was deceptively quiet I knew she was right. We had to get to the harbour fast to get on board Athineos’ boat. We gobbled down fruit and barley cakes, washed down with water, as Alcaeus extracted the arrow from Acco’s shoulder and irrigated the wound with watered-down wine. The Gaul did not flinch as he did so but merely stared at Gallia’s martial appearance.
‘You fight like a Senones, princess.’ He glanced at me. ‘So this one is your husband?’
‘He is,’ said Gallia. ‘He is a king in Parthia and the victor of many battles.’
Acco seemed unimpressed. ‘Where’s Parthia?’
‘East of Ephesus,’ I answered, ‘which is where we are heading.’
‘You are coming with us, Acco,’ said Gallia.
Acco winced as Alcaeus slapped honey and fat on the wound to staunch the flow of blood and assist the healing process. He then began wrapping a bandage around Acco’s shoulder and under his left arm.
