Swords of Rome

by Christopher Lee Buckner

  Antony, who had grown bored with his own games followed Gaius as he broke from the adults and crossed through the crowd, making his way over to the small stand.

  Once he drew closer, Gaius saw that the stand seemed to sell all sorts of medallions, each of them of artistic quality. He looked across the trinkets that lay stretched out before him on the table, or hanging off from the poles that held the shop up. They came in all shapes, sizes and substances, such as gold, silver, wood and clay. Symbols of various Greek and Roman gods, historical figures, heroes of old, and creatures of fantasy, representing dozens of cultures: Hellenistic, Persian, Egyptian, Gallic and Roman adorned the medallions.

  Antony fumbled through them, picking one up, and then setting it back down. He didn’t seem as interested in them as Gaius. The old man said nothing as he sat, legs crossed, smoking his pipe, watching the boys. And then Gaius’ eyes caught sight of one medallion, in particular. It wasn’t made of fine metal or engraved with gold, silver or ivory. The object was simple, round and made of hardened clay. However, it was the image of the white wolf engraved on it, which fixed his attention.

  Gaius’ eyes fixated on it, taking in every detail as he stared into the animal’s unblinking eyes, as it were, the same wolf he had seen earlier in the forum — in fact, he was sure that it was the beast, down to the last detail.

  As he was about to touch it, the old man spoke abruptly.

  “Ah, so your eyes gaze upon Lupus? Good choice, young Roman.”

  “Excuse me?” Gaius asked as he pulled his hand back.

  The old man stood to his feet, propping himself up with the help of a thick cane that looked as if it was from an un-carved tree branch. He limped over toward Gaius, keeping his eyes on him and not taking notice of Antony, who took a step back.

  “That is Lupus, the She-Wolf — mother of Rome,” the old man spoke again as he reached out and picked up the medallion, holding it for Gaius to see more closely.

  “Here, take it,” he urged it closer for Gaius to hold as he continued.

  “It is said, those who are drawn to Lupus are protected by her; that they have a destiny. You do know her story, don’t you, young master?”

  Gaius glanced over at Antony, who stood next to him, also looking down at the medallion that Gaius now held in his palms. “No sir, I do not believe that I do. Could you tell us?” Gaius answered.

  “Of course. A strong Roman boy such as you should certainly know the story of our city, and our protector,” the old man replied with a wide smile.

  “Then please tell us, sir,” Gaius asked eagerly.

  The old man smiled as he stood a little taller. Still, as he began, his words were directed towards Gaius even though Antony’s own attention was interested in the tale.

  “Well, our story begins a long time ago, many generations now past, with the fall of a great king who was removed from his throne by his brother, Amulius. The king’s daughter, Rhea Silvia, was forced by her uncle to become a Vestal Virgin, which meant she was forbidden from bearing children. If she were, then they could claim right to the throne, as heirs to the true king. However, the god of war, Mars, came down from the heavens and took an interest in Rhea Silvia. He saw greatness in her and knew that she would bear him not one powerful son, but two, both of whom would carry his banner and build a new nation that would honor him unlike any before.”

  The old man paused, the boys hanging on his every word.

  “I will spare your young minds the more intimate details of that night, but by the winter's end, the young and very beautiful Rhea Silvia indeed carried two children, as Mars had foreseen; two sons whom she named Romulus and Remus upon their births. However, when the usurper discovered the infant boys, he had Rhea Silvia murdered and the brothers cast down the Tiber River. At the same time, the Fates had other plans for the twins as they were found by Rome’s guardian mother, on this very spot.”

  “Lupus?” Gaius interrupted.

  “Yes. Lupus was a wise wolf, with white fur, blue eyes and touched by the gods. Instead of devouring them as any beast would, she took pity on the infant brothers and suckled them until they were strong. She cared for them for many months until she found a kind farmer by the name of Faustulus. Lupus left the boys with him, but was always nearby to watch out for them. When the time came, and the boys had grown into men, Mars returned and told the brothers of their destiny. They would raise an army and marched to overthrow their cruel uncle who left them for dead, and retake the throne of their grandfather. The war was long and bloody, but the gods themselves favored the brothers, giving them knowledge, strength, courage and patience to win back their kingdom. When the war was finally over, the brothers sought to build a new kingdom, one that would honor their father, Mars, and the She-Wolf that had saved them from a certain death.”

  The old man held out his hands and directed them to all corners of the city.

  “They picked a place on the spot that they had been discovered by Lupus, where seven hills rose up and overlooked the land. It was here that the brothers laid down the first stones of Rome, and began our history.”

  “And the Republic was formed?” Gaius asked.

  “Oh, the birth of our Republic would take many bloodier years to come to pass. That is another story entirely, young Roman.”

  “And what became of the two brothers, Romulus and Remus?” Antony asked.

  “Romulus killed his brother and then proclaimed himself the sole king of Rome,” Varro, who walked up behind the boys, answered before the old man could say anything.

  “Is it true?” Gaius asked as he turned and looked up into the eyes of the old man.

  “I’m afraid that is true, young master.”

  “Father, I want this medallion,” Antony said as he took the clay medallion of Lupus out from Gaius’ hand, holding it up for his father to see.

  “There are far better ones than that, my son,” Varro said as he looked down at the clay medallion that his son held up for him to buy, unimpressed by its simple design.

  “But it is the only one of Lupus. I want it, father, please,” Antony pleaded.

  “Very well,” Varro agreed as he took a few coins from his pocket and tossed them down in front of the old man, not caring if he overpaid.

  “Thank you, sir,” the old man replied as he scooped up the coins, biting down on the silver to make sure it was pure. Antony, with the medallion in hand, walked away from the stand with his father as they head towards the arena.

  Gaius watched his friend leave, as Antony held the medallion up, admiring it before placing the string around his neck, where the medallion rested on his chest.

  “Do not fear, Gaius, Lupus watches over you, even now.”

  “What did you say?” Gaius asked as he turned sharply back to the old man, but the man had already sat back down, closing his eyes and continued to smoke his pipe.

  Gaius did not ask his question again as he heard Antony call his name, wanting him to hurry and rejoin them.

  He glanced at the old man one more time, thinking about his story a second before he finally ran off and rejoined his friends.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gaius watched as Antony tried to get his father’s attention. Varro was standing with the men he had been speaking with outside, plus half a dozen other associates. From what he could tell, the men were placing bets on the upcoming bout, the Primus, which normally would be held midday, but had been moved to the evening to signal the end of the festival.

  Antony’s efforts to convince his father to allow him and Gaius see the fights were ignored. He wanted to see the gladiators fight as much if not more than Gaius, so he was rather persistent in his endeavor. Gaius, however, was content with taking in his surroundings, enjoying yet another sight of Rome, he had never seen before.

  The arena was one of the largest ever built. It was only temporary, constructed for these games, and would be torn down when the Festival of Jupiter was concluded. However, the spectacle was worth remembering. It easi
ly seated over a thousand spectators. Hundreds more could watch the day’s events standing if they could find room. Elegant marble statues of classical Greek, Etruscan and Roman figures stood in every archway, set between enormous arches that stood the height of five men. More food and drink stalls were set inside the arena. Hundreds more men, mostly slaves, toiled below the floor, tending to the beasts, other slaves and prisoners who were to be executed, and the needs of the gladiators; and while the games were nearly over, that fact did not slow the day’s work.

  People of all classes, from the poorest Roman citizen to the noble senators and aristocrats, walked shoulder to shoulder through the twisting halls, most carrying food or drink in one hand, and their coins in the other. The spectators eagerly placed coins on their favorite gladiators, or how many slaves and criminals would be devoured by the starving animals in the allowed time. The wagers were varied from a few coins, to a fist full of gold, to the deeds to entire estates. Gaius noticed that the upcoming bout seemed to receive the most attention, as he heard the name Calfax spoke frequently since he had been watching and listening to those around him.

  “Come Varro, come. The match is going to start soon,” Marcus, the fat man who had been latched to Varro like a pet all day, eagerly said. He was like a child who squirmed wanting seeing his favorite hero in person.

  “I want to come, father!” Antony demanded once again, but even as his father was quite literally being pulled away by his friends, he turned and demanded that he and Gaius stay where they were, calling back, “I shall return shortly. Remain where you are. Is that understood?”

  “This is unfair!” Antony blurted with frustration as he crossed his arms, watching as the crowd swallowed his father from view.

  “What can we do about it?” Gaius shrugged as he stood next to Antony.

  Antony’s eyes widen as he watched several slaves head down a flight of stairs.

  “Come with me. I know where we can get the best seats in the arena.” Antony grabbed Gaius by his hand and led him towards where the slaves had gone.

  “Where are we going?” Gaius demanded as he nearly tripped trying to keep up with friend

  “Do you want to see the match or not?” Antony yelled back, increasing his speed with each step.

  “Of course I do, but your father said that we were to stay where he left us.”

  “Bah! We will see the match and return before he knows we were gone.” Already the two boys could see the growing light that cast down on the arena floor, as they ran through the tunnels.

  A few minutes later, the boys found what they were looking for as they ran over to a large, closed iron gate on the arena floor. They latched onto the gaps between the bars and lifted themselves up a few steps, so they could get a better look. It was, from their point of view, quite possibly the best seat in the house as they were right on the ground-floor, which at the moment was being circled by three horse-drawn carts, while men in the rear of the wagons tossed fresh loafs of bread into the crowd while a dozen men were quickly sweeping the sand, leveling it for the next bout.

  Gaius released any reservations he had a few minutes ago. Now, he looked out at the arena with his mouth open, gazing up at the row upon row of seats, filled with people that cheered as the three carts tossed their goods to them; a sea of fingers eagerly grabbing for anything that was thrown towards them. When the carts emptied, they departed through one of the side gates, leaving the arena.

  Gaius and Antony noticed a man with rosy cheeks and a curly bright-red wig step on top of a large podium, and raised his flabby arms as, he signaled for the crowd to be silent. After a few minutes, the mob finally did begin to settle as the editor of the games started to speak. Through the oval arena, his broad voice carried like the wind.

  “My fellow Romans, esteemed senators, honored guests, and freedmen, I welcome you to the Games of Jupiter!” The editor paused and allowed the crowd to roar once more, as he nodded his thanks to the audience as their praise was directed towards him.

  “This week we have seen blood and much death, and great warriors live and die. Now, I promise you that the final bout of this grand celebration will be one for the ages. Each of you here today shall remember this battle for as long as you shall live. You will one day speak to your grandchildren about it,” the editor boasted joyously, drawing out with his words the magnitude of the final battle. “Without further ado, Rome is proud to present to you, your challengers from the House of Brutus!”

  Across from Gaius and Antony, one of the gates similar to the one they were now hanging from opened up. Seconds later, as the crowd began to roar, throwing down flower petals that fluttered like rain, five men, bigger than any Gaius had ever seen, emerged from the darkness and stepped out into the arena; arms help up as the crowd cheered furiously for them.

  Antony roared as loud as his lungs could muster, but Gaius' own mouth stayed closed as he studied each of the men, who stood in the center of the arena, in a perfect half circle waiting for their opponent to enter.

  The five men, three white, two black-skinned, carried an array of weapons: spears, short Spanish swords, a trident, and small shields that cupped their hands. Two of the gladiators wore large fish-bowl helmets that concealed their faces from view. One of the black-skinned men wore a tight formfitting helmet; while the other dark-skinned man, as well as one of the white men had their heads exposed, wrapped simply by a long brightly-colored cloth, clear for all in the audience to see their scarred but still youthful faces.

  Their powerful, well-toned bodies glistened in the falling sun as they stood proud, taking in the endless admiration from the audience who cheered each of their names. They knew what the next match meant, that unlike most gladiator bouts, this one would be fought to the death. However, they waited, absorbing the energy from the crowd, ready and willing to do what was demanded of them for the pleasure of the mob.

  “Now, for our main attraction!” the editor called out as the loud as he could; arms raised as the eyes of thousands turned back towards him. “The man you've all come to see. The greatest warrior to walk the Earth since the time of Achilles, Hector, Heracles or Cincinnatus; a man who knows no fear; a man who has defeated a thousand men across the whole of the Republic; a man who needs no introduction — I give you, Calfax of Sparta!”

  The announcer’s words were easily drowned as the crowd erupted into a thunderous applause that shook the grandstands like an earthquake. Gaius saw a few of the spectators faint as the big Spartan stepped out into the arena and took his position between the five other men, who quickly circled Calfax.

  Antony, while he didn’t know who Calfax was, was so swept up in the excitement that he cheered as loud as the audience, or at least tried. Even this low to the arena floor, Gaius could barely hear his friend’s joyful admiration for the gladiator.

  The gladiator Calfax wore a tight-fitting Spartan helmet, made of bronze, which was topped with a bright red feathered crest. He was bare-chested; his torso and arms lined with hundreds of scars that stood out even more with the oils that had been rubbed over his body and muscles before he stepped into the arena. In his hand, he carried two swords, no shield. One sword was curved, a falcate, while the other blade was a short dagger, about half the length of the other.

  Once the crowd began to die down, each of the gladiators looked up towards the fat editor of the games. He was seated with several other men and women of notice, each dressed in expensive clothing and adorn with jewels and gold. Gaius recognized Varro among them too. He figured they were the financiers of the games, so were awarded the best seats.

  Gaius turned his attention back towards the gladiators as each of them spoke the oath, “We who are about to die, salute you.”

  It took Gaius a few moments to realize that Calfax was going to be squaring off against the five gladiators on his own. And as the five men lowered their weapons, staring with focused attention on the lone Spartan, the crowd once again erupted into a frenzy of excitement.

  G
aius felt his mouth dry as he watched, never taking his eyes off of Calfax, who stood, seemingly unconcerned. He kept his focus forward, on one of the dark-skinned gladiators who carried the trident, which he twirled, readied to attack any second.

  Gaius looked down at Antony, who seemed to be climbing the bars as high as they would take him. He was yelling with the crowd as his eyes were fixated on the six men who were nearly close enough that the two boys could smell their sweat. And then, as Gaius turned, the first strike came, suddenly and without warning.

  Gaius felt his heart skip a beat as he watched one of the white-skinned gladiators charge from behind Calfax, who shifted his stance slightly as the first opponent lunged at him. That man’s thrust missed, coming a few inches from piercing the Spartan’s back.

  Calfax struck down with his right blade, which cut deep into the man’s upper arm.

  The man, who wore no helmet, screamed. However, his cries of pain were silenced a fraction of a second later as Calfax stepped quickly to the side and struck with his dagger, tearing through the nape of the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord before the tip of the blade tore through the front of his throat.

  Blood squirted from the wound like a fountain of red water, which sent the crowd roaring as Calfax drew first blood, with amazing speed and ferocity.

  Gaius glanced toward Antony once he realized his friend’s cheers had suddenly stopped. What he saw now was a pale-faced young boy bent over near the corner of the gate, vomiting up everything the two had eaten before the fight.

  As he turned back around to the arena floor, Calfax ran his dagger through the stomach of the second dark-skinned man. His entrails spilled out from his gut, which the gladiator tried in vain to keep inside his body. However, Calfax ran behind him before he thrust his blade in between the man’s shoulders, silencing his screaming.

  A sword came at Calfax’s head as his back was turned momentarily. Sensing that the strike was coming, he ducked just in time as the blade sliced across the red crest of his helmet.