The Forgotten Legion

by Ben Kane

  He gave the three men a long, hard stare and was gone.

  The Greek threw a muttered curse after the haruspex, and shoved the incident from his mind. He had no wish to remember the brief encounter. There had been a glimpse of Hades in the stranger's eyes.

  Tarquinius strode away, his spirits soaring as he remembered Olenus' words. Everything was starting to make sense.

  Two gladiators become your friends.

  The gods continued to smile on Tarquinius.

  A day later, dusk was falling and Secundus was preparing to go in search of some food. Most evenings he would spend his takings on a chunk of roast pork and a few cups of vinegary wine in one of the rough taverns which dotted the city's streets.

  'Come with me,' he urged, tapping the only memento of his army career: a bronze phalera that always hung from his tunic. 'Still haven't told you the full story of how I won this.'

  Tarquinius smiled. The warm breeze was telling him to stay put. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

  'The fleapit on the corner one street over. You know the one.' Secundus scowled. 'As long as there aren't too many collegia thugs throwing their weight around. Otherwise it'll be the place beside the Forum Olitorium.'

  'Keep a seat for me,' the Etruscan said. 'I won't be long.'

  The one-armed veteran knew better than to ask why his friend wanted to linger outside the Lupanar. All his tactful enquiries had been met with complete silence. And since the blond trader was still paying him ten sestertii a day, Secundus had long since decided that prudence, rather than curiosity, was called for. He nodded, expertly rolling up his blanket with one hand. 'See you later.'

  The ex-soldier was quickly gone into the falling light, a hand gripping the sheathed knife that was slung from a strap over his left shoulder. Already the streets were emptying of decent folk, to be replaced by the unsavoury types who favoured the hours of darkness.

  Tarquinius was not scared of being on his own. And the local lowlife knew better than to tackle the slightly built stranger. When four of them had jumped him a week previously, there had been a flurry of blows so rapid that afterwards neither of the survivors could explain it. One thug had gone down instantly, blood bubbling from a gaping slash in his throat. While his companions gaped in dismay, the haruspex had opened another's chest with his gladius. Then a third had sustained a nasty wound to his left thigh, leaving only one man to escape unscathed. Tarquinius had not even suffered a scratch and now thieves gave him a wide berth when they met him on the street.

  The Etruscan leaned back against the wall, pulling closer his lacerna, a lightweight open-sided cloak with a hood. He loosened his gladius in its scabbard, keeping it close to his right hand. His waiting was nearly over. Tarquinius could feel it.

  It was not long before the flicker of torches could be made out through the gloom, followed closely by the noise of drunken voices. Preceded by large slaves armed with clubs and knives, five toga-clad nobles weaved unsteadily towards the Lupanar. It was a common sight. After a day spent in the stuffy atmosphere of the Senate, politicians liked to relax with some wine. And after that, a whore.

  Tarquinius pulled up his hood. This was not just another group of senators – Olenus' murderer was amongst them. Old, unfulfilled rage bubbled up from deep inside but the haruspex breathed deeply, keeping himself calm. Now was not the time to lose control. He glanced up occasionally as the party neared his position. The poor light meant that he would not be able to recognise anyone until they were virtually on top of him.

  'Come on, you drunkards!' cried one of the nobles. 'I've been wanting to get here all day.'

  'This place better be worth it,' growled another.

  Recognising the voice, Tarquinius stiffened. Lifting his head carefully, he peered at the figures now only a few feet away. But none of the equestrians was facing in his direction: they were staring lustfully in through the open door of the Lupanar.

  'Take a look, Caelius,' said the nearest. 'You won't be disappointed.'

  The Etruscan watched as a stocky man, his greying hair still tinged with red, shoved forward to take in the prostitutes who were visible in the brothel's reception area. It was Caelius. Older and slightly fuller at the waist, but the same bastard who had changed the haruspex' life for ever fifteen years before. An involuntary sigh escaped Tarquinius' lips.

  At this, one of the slaves gave him a cursory glance. He was not troubled by what he saw. A small shape, wrapped in an old cloak. Probably a leper. Nothing six burly men couldn't handle.

  Arguing over who wanted what type of girl and in what way, the nobles passed through the arched doorway and out of sight. The slaves were left to stand outside until such time as their masters' pleasure had been sated. Tarquinius stirred. Inevitably, their attention would be drawn to him, the only beggar left on the street. And there were too many of them for him to attack Caelius anyway. Tarquinius was not troubled by this. Now was not the time.

  Scooping up his gladius in a fold of his cloak, he stood up awkwardly, affecting a bad limp. No one even watched as he shuffled off into the gloom.

  One of the narrow alleyways close by would serve as a hiding place until Caelius and his friends emerged. It would be easy to follow the equestrians home. When Tarquinius knew where the arrogant noble was staying, he and Secundus could keep watch night and day. Pick an opportune time to strike. The haruspex smiled, offering up a prayer of thanks. His long years of waiting and remembering were nearly over.

  Olenus would be avenged. Soon.

  Chapter XV: The Arena

  The Ludus Magnus, Rome, late summer 55 BC

  Bright sunlight pouring through the window woke Romulus. Brennus was still asleep. The young fighter got up and started his daily routine of stretching, now second nature. The rest had done him good. He breathed deeply, emptying his mind.

  'Time to kill Figulus and Gallus.' The Gaul had woken. He sighed heavily. 'And settle this once and for all.'

  Romulus nodded and kept moving. The end of the vendetta would be a relief to him too.

  Brennus climbed out of bed naked and went to the table. 'Let's eat,' he said. His heavily muscled body revealed a network of old scars. Romulus had seen the fearsome evidence of Brennus' career before but it still filled him with awe. All he had was a thick purple welt on one thigh. Unusually, Brennus' slave brand was on his left calf, while Romulus' was high on his right arm.

  Brennus covered a piece of bread in honey. 'Want some?' he asked, shoving it in his mouth.

  'No.'

  'By all the gods! Sooner we get you to the arena, the better.' Brennus finished eating and pulled on a loincloth. He felt jaded. Can this really be what Ultan saw for me?

  Once he had warmed up, they donned their armour. Bare-chested, Brennus wore a wide leather belt covering the groin, and a pair of bronze greaves. Romulus had a similar belt and manicae for his right arm. A single greave on his left leg completed the attire of a secutor.

  'Use the same shield you fought Lentulus with.'

  'What about you?'

  Brennus lifted a large, rectangular scutum from a pile in the corner and smiled wolfishly. 'Sharp edge on this too.'

  Romulus strapped on his gladius, eyeing Brennus' longsword enviously. He was still too small to wield it.

  'Be careful.' Astoria seemed worried as she kissed the blond warrior. 'Stay together.'

  'Stop fussing, woman!' Brennus gently squeezed her backside. 'Cook me more of those mice.'

  He swaggered outside without looking back. Romulus nodded nervously at the Nubian and followed.

  Most of the gladiators had gathered in the yard to do stretches or sharpen weapons. Fifty men in full armour, ready for battle, was an impressive sight. A dozen retiarii stood, tridents and nets ready, beside ten burly Thracians. Murmillones with their characteristic fish crest helmets, mailed right shoulders and round shields were there. Wearing plumed helmets, Samnites carried rectangular scuta, their thighs covered by fasciae of leather with greaves protecting the lower legs.
Sextus and three other scissores stood off to one side. A group of secutores, dressed similarly to Romulus, completed the tally.

  'It should be interesting today,' said the short Spaniard, inclining his head in recognition. He had refrained from joining in the ongoing feud. Such was Sextus' reputation that Romulus' enemies did not make trouble if he was nearby. Only Brennus commanded the same level of respect.

  'Figulus and Gallus want blood,' replied Romulus, feeling he could trust Sextus enough to confide in him.

  'I heard something along those lines.' Sextus hefted the double-headed axe with a wink. 'Keep an eye out for you.'

  'Thank you.'

  'You would do the same for me.'

  'I would.' Pleased to be recognised as an equal at last, Romulus grinned.

  Sextus and his fellows provided a critical part of the ludus' fighting capability.

  Most gladiators were absolutely terrified of the lethal axemen, who could cut down the unwary with ease.

  Soon all fighters bar the four trusted scissores were forced to have a light chain placed around their necks. Two long files formed up in the yard, held together by iron links. Dressed in a fine belted tunic and carrying a staff topped by a metal hook, Memor led the fighters out through the gate.

  Extra hired archers patrolled alongside, maintaining a wary distance from the heavily armed men.

  The journey to the Forum Boarium began as a real pleasure for Romulus. Since his arrival there had been few outings from the ludus. Even a favourite like Brennus had only been allowed to come and go unsupervised since Memor had the threat of Astoria's safety to hold over him. Romulus stared round him, soaking up every detail. Rome was busy despite the hour, as people got business done before the worst heat. It was a good time to avoid Clodius' and Milo's thugs, who tended not to rise early. Citizens had been encouraged on to the streets by the bonus of extra games with a large group combat.

  Whistles and cries of encouragement filled the air as the procession went by. Ahead of the gladiators groups of acrobats tumbled and rolled, delighting the crowds. Men bearing statues of Mars, Nemesis and Nike, the goddess of victory, took up the rear, flanked by musicians clashing cymbals and pounding drums. Women made lewd comments at their favourite fighters. Everyone supported the Ludus Magnus, the local gladiator school.

  The onlookers knew nothing of the ongoing feud.

  Suddenly Romulus felt keen to get to the arena. Many would die in the forthcoming contest and if their enemies succeeded, he and Brennus would be among them. Romulus had no wish to shed the blood of Magnus fighters, but he would not let someone slip a knife between his ribs either. The sooner it was over, the better. When the vendetta had been settled, normal life in the ludus could resume.

  He glanced at the Gaul. Brennus seemed as calm as if he were going to the market.

  Romulus took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off his face. 'Quite warm already.'

  'It will be like Hades by midday.'

  'At least we won't be fighting then.'

  'Poor bastard venatores,' said Brennus. 'The wild beasts won't be too friendly in these temperatures either.'

  Romulus was glad he had never seen an animal hunt before, usually the first performance of the day. Stories were common of hungry lions tearing gladiators limb from limb, and elephants trampling men underfoot like firewood. Venatores did not live for long and he had only escaped such a career because of his bravery on the day Gemellus sold him. That, or the intervention of the gods.

  Passing through the city gates, they reached the Campus Martius, the plain of Mars. It was the site of elections to the magistracy and the place where citizens were sworn into the army. Pompey's new complex had transformed the huge open space. The most blatant attempt to win popularity ever seen, it contained an ornate people 's theatre, a chamber for the Senate, a house for Pompey and a majestic temple to Venus. Every few moments, a great roar rose up from the packed auditorium.

  Memor led his fighters towards a small doorway to one side of the main entrance. Four heavily armed slaves stood guard outside.

  'State your business,' the largest said arrogantly.

  'What does it look like?' snapped Memor. 'Here are fifty of the finest gladiators in Rome.'

  'The lanista of the Dacicus might disagree.'

  Memor whipped up his staff, catching the man off guard.

  'I meant no harm, Master,' he stammered, the sharp metal hook pricking the back of his neck.

  Memor pulled him closer, drawing blood. 'Like to join the combat today?'

  'No, Master.' Beads of sweat sprang out on the guard's brow.

  'Then open the fucking door!'

  One of his companions swiftly pulled back a heavy iron bolt. Memor released the slave, allowing him to guide them inside. As the fighters passed into the darkness below the stands, the din made by shouts and drumming of spectators' feet filled their ears. It was a sound Romulus had heard before, something that quickened the pulse of even the most hardened gladiator.

  Brennus cocked his head and listened. 'The crowd's excited. Something, or someone, is about to die.'

  There was a lull in the cacophony. In the momentary silence they heard the distinctive snarl of a large beast.

  The hairs on Romulus' neck stood up. 'What's that?'

  'A lion. Angry too, by the sound.'

  People above reacted with alarm as the big cat roared again. A man started screaming and the audience responded with jeers and boos.

  'What happened?'

  'He probably missed with his spear or trident.' Brennus grimaced. 'A goner.'

  The cries outside intensified, then suddenly fell silent.

  'Poor bastard,' said Romulus, even more glad that Cotta had chosen him.

  Inured to the suffering, the guard sullenly brought the fighters along a narrow corridor with a dirt floor. Large empty iron cages stood on each side. There was little light apart from what filtered through gaps in the wooden planks around them. Memor stopped by the open door of the cell nearest the arena. It was marginally brighter than those at the back. He gestured at the empty space and laughed. 'Luxury accommodation.'

  The gladiators trudged in, followed by the lanista's guards, who struck off the neck chains then beat a hasty retreat.

  'We got the best spot!' Memor jerked his head opposite. 'The boys from the Dacicus have been left that one.' The cage across the corridor lay empty, floor covered in bloodstained bandages and damaged armour.

  'No one's cleaned it since the last fight,' Brennus said. There was little surprise in his voice. 'Put them on the back foot having to sit in that.'

  'When it starts, you know what to do.' Memor's fierce eyes bored into each man. 'Stick together. Fight bravely. Kill every last one of those bastards! And remember – a bag of gold if you survive unhurt!'

  'Lu-dus Mag-nus!' A retiarius started the shout. Instantly it was taken up by the rest. 'Ludus Magnus! Ludus Magnus!'

  The lanista grinned, clenching a fist and thumping it off his chest in salute.

  Even Brennus responded to the gesture.

  'He's sending us out there to be killed!' Romulus hissed as Memor turned and left.

  The Gaul was confused. 'That's his job.'

  'So why acknowledge him?'

  'Memor was a gladiator once,' Brennus replied lamely. 'He deserves respect for that.'