by James Mace
“Besides, if I let you go fight in the arena, every drunken sod in this city is going to get wind of it and try and prove just how masculine he is by making a complete ass out of himself out there,” Macro retorted through clenched teeth. “And the first time one of our soldiers gets killed or wounded, the commanding general is going to have my head. That is, if Flavius doesn’t crucify me first.” He shuddered at the thought. Macro had always counted himself fortunate to have never incurred the master centurion’s wrath.
“Don’t get me wrong, Vitruvius,” he continued. “I know all about this Sacrovir and his scum. And I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you demolish one of his so-called best. Just understand the really bad precedent that would set.”
Camillus suddenly brightened up. “What if we make it a state sponsored event?” he asked, before hiccupping once more.
“What do you mean?” Macro asked, puzzled.
“Simple, this Sacrovir has lots of money and is willing to foot an expensive wager. We simply run it up the chain to Severus. Have him sponsor Vitruvius, and we make a fortune. And to avoid precedent, we make it the last fight on the last day of the games.”
“Think Severus would go for something like that?” Flaccus asked.
Macro stood, rubbing his chin in his hand.
“If put to him like that, probably,” he finally said. “Most senators love to gamble, and I think if he were assured to take home a large portion of Sacrovir’s fortunes, then yes, I would say so.”
“Good thing you came to me when you did,” Proculus said after Macro had given him the details of his proposal to allow Vitruvius to fight in the arena. In order for him to get the wager approved he had to run it through his superiors, and that started with Cohort Commander Proculus. Next, it would have to go to the master centurion, and finally to the legate himself. Macro was surprised to see Master Centurion Flavius in the same room with Proculus.
“What do you mean?” Macro asked in regards to Proculus’ remark.
The cohort commander looked over his shoulder at Flavius whose arms were crossed, an amused look on his face. “Only that Sacrovir has already posted the fight in every betting house in the city,” the master centurion answered. “Thankfully, Severus has not made his way to any of these yet. If he did before we got to him, he’d have you skinned! Or rather, he’d have me skin you.”
Macro swallowed hard at the statement, knowing full well that Flavius meant every word of it. Never mind that Camillus and the others had acted on their own. As a centurion, Macro was, ultimately, responsible for the actions of his men.
After a few seconds, Proculus waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’ve got a few talents I can wager,” he said. “Those imbeciles have actually posted five-to-one odds against Vitruvius. I figure with a healthy profit at the expense of the money lenders, I can finally build my wife, Vorena, that villa on top of Esquiline Hill she’s always wanted. She’s tired of living in the little hovel we have now.”
Macro snorted at the remark. Given a centurion pilus prior’s salary, he knew that Proculus and his wife lived in anything but a hovel. Just then they heard footsteps echoing in the corridor. Without a word, and with his arms still crossed, Flavius left the room. The two centurions could just overhear his words as he confronted the legion’s commanding legate in the hallway.
“Sir, how would you like to make a little bit of money while we’re here?”
Severus had readily accepted the offer made by his men. In fact, as word of the proposed bet spread its way up the chain-of-command, every senior officer with or without personal knowledge of Optio Vitruvius added their sums to the ever growing wager. ‘The Legionary versus the Gladiator’, became the topic of discussion amongst the social elite. As a mark of professional pride, most military veterans placed their wagers with Vitruvius, while others of a less savory nature placed theirs with the unknown gladiator. Rumor had it the Emperor himself had even placed a large wager on the weapons instructor. This was, of course, preposterous, given Tiberius’ loathing of gambling and of gladiators.
On the eve of the fight, Vitruvius stood on a balcony overlooking the city and the Circus Maximus. He seemed lost in thought.
“Thinking about tomorrow’s match?” Macro asked, walking up to him.
“Just thinking about why in Hades I’m even doing this,” Vitruvius answered, gazing down at the Tiber River.
“Because you have the reputation for being the best there ever was, Vitruvius,” Macro answered. “You’ve never been defeated in battle; no one has ever even come close to hurting you.”
Vitruvius turned to face his friend and centurion.
“‘The perfect killer.’ That’s what the men call me,” he replied.
“Quite the reputation to live up to,” Macro observed.
“Yes,” Vitruvius said as he turned his gaze back towards the city. “And it would seem that it’s all I’ll ever be known for.”
Macro placed a hand on his optio’s shoulder.
“If I bought you a vat of wine and a couple of comely young courtesans, would you lighten up?” he asked, laughing.
Vitruvius found he was unable to control his own laughter. “Perhaps just a goblet…large, and one courtesan,” he replied. “Can’t risk wearing myself out completely before tomorrow.”
Artorius sat at a table, a goblet of wine in his hand. He was leaning forward, staring off into space as soldiers drank and told war stories with the locals of the city. Many of them had never even been to Rome, the heart of the Empire they had all risked their lives to preserve. A gentle breeze blew in from the Tiber. It felt good. It was a far cry from the blood-soaked plains of Idistaviso or the smoldering hell of the Angrivarii fortress. Artorius took a deep breath, slightly shuddering at the memories. He did not even take notice as Magnus took a seat across from him, a local lady of pleasure settling comfortably on his lap.
“Hey Artorius, you would not believe what these ladies are willing to do, for only a couple of copper coins no less!”
“Anything for my brave boys,” the young woman replied, her hands in Magnus’ blond hair, gently biting on his ear.
Magnus was cheerfully on his way to becoming drunk and was laughing incessantly. “Come on man, you’ve got to go and get yourself one before they’re all taken. Valens is trying to get a couple to go swimming naked with him in the Tiber.”
“Not tonight,” Artorius said as he took a drink of wine, continuing to stare off into the direction of the river.
Magnus was suddenly aware of his friend’s need to talk and immediately sobered up. He slapped his lady friend on the rump and sent her off.
“I’ll be waiting for you back in my room,” she whispered into his ear.
Magnus motioned for her to leave at once, before turning his attention back to his friend.
“So what’s on your mind?” he asked. “Thinking about Vitruvius and his fight with the gladiator tomorrow?”
“What?” Artorius looked surprised. “No, I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“Didn’t think so. So what is it?” Magnus persisted.
Artorius let out an audible sigh. “You remember when we first joined the army and I gave you my reasons for joining?”
“Sure,” Magnus shrugged. “You joined to avenge your murdered brother. You told me after Idistaviso you felt like you had done that. So where’s the problem?”
“That’s just it,” Artorius threw his hands up. “I’ve done what I went there to do. I avenged my brother. I killed gods know how many of those barbarian bastards over the last two years. So now that I’ve gotten justice and revenge, I’m not sure what else to do. Don’t you understand…avenging my brother was all I ever thought about from the time I was a boy. Now that it’s over, I’m not sure what else to do with my life.”
Magnus leaned forward. “You see those men over there?” he asked, pointing to where Decimus and Praxus were becoming friendly with a couple of local ladies. A pair of merchants continued to buy them w
ine while tossing dice with Decimus. In the distance, they could just make out Valens running towards the riverbank, tearing his clothes off, and yelling enthusiastically as he tossed them aside, a pair of scantily clad women close behind him. “What do you see when you look at them?”
“I see Praxus negotiating a fare with his lady-in-waiting and Decimus about to lose his ass to those two merchants who aren’t as drunk as they appear,” Artorius retorted.
What they didn’t notice was Decimus slipping something into the merchants’ drinks.
Magnus raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Well, fair enough,” he conceded. “I mean when you really look at them what do you see?”
Artorius shrugged and shook his head.
“I’ll tell you what I see,” Magnus continued. “I see Rome. Rome is not about politics, the Senate, nor is it even about this city. You said so yourself at Idistaviso.” He gestured at everything around him in order to emphasize his point. “Rome is an idea, an idea that lives in those men, even when they’re drunk. It is an idea that lives in us, too; that the entire world can be brought together in one civilized, advanced, and orderly society. Rome is alive; it lives and breathes through us. As long as we live, Rome will continue to live.”
“So our reason to live is so that Rome can continue to live,” Artorius observed.
Magnus raised his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “Exactly.”
Artorius nodded in contemplation. “Oh, I suppose there are worse things in life to live for,” he said as he took a long gulp of wine. “And it doesn’t hurt that they pay us adequately and let us enjoy some of the finer things in life.” He looked over at where Praxus and Decimus had left with their lady companions, the two merchants were passed out with their heads on the table.
“I guess they were as drunk as they looked.” Magnus laughed, rising to his feet and smacking his friend across the shoulder.
“And now I’m going to enjoy some of those finer things, especially since I’ve already paid for them.” With that he ran back towards the tavern.
Artorius smiled, took another drink of wine, and turned his attention back towards the river. She really is beautiful, he thought, especially at this time of year.
His thoughts turned to the events coming up over the next few days. The games would be over soon, followed by the triumphal parade and then back to the Rhine. Time was running short, and he had yet to hear from his father. The thought disturbed him. He thought he would at least have gotten a letter or message in reply. Surely his father had to know he was in Rome. The whole of the Empire knew about their victory over Arminius, so why had his father not made contact with him? The thought vexed him as he finished his wine and contemplated taking a walk along the river. No sooner had he risen, a voice caught his attention.
“Artorius?” It was a woman’s voice, one that he had not heard for some time. He turned to see Camilla standing there, her hands folded in front of her. “I’ve spent the last three days looking for you.”
“The Army of the Rhine is quite large. I’m surprised you were able to find me at all.” His face betrayed no emotion.
Did she really think he could still have feelings for her after she ran off and married a magistrate’s son only so she could live in luxury? Camilla ran towards him and wrapped her arms around him. Artorius remained motionless.
“Why did you not write to me?” She asked, trying to ignore his coldness.
“You have a husband and should not be pining after a lowly legionary,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest as Camilla took a step back, leaving her hands on his shoulders.
“Oh, don’t hate me for getting married,” she pouted. She then placed her face next to his ear. “I told you, Marcellus may be my husband but I still think of you as my lover.” She then flicked her tongue against his ear.
Artorius shuddered slightly. It did feel pretty good and besides, Camilla had blossomed and grown more womanly curves since he left two years before. He smiled. If she wanted him to be her lover, so be it; but it would be on his terms not hers. A series of wicked thoughts came to his mind.
They took a walk to a block of flats. Camilla opened the door to one and ushered Artorius in. It was plain and unadorned; Camilla and her husband were simply renting the space while they were in Rome. Or could she have gotten it on her own, in anticipation of meeting her proposed lover?
“So, where is your husband this night?” Artorius asked as he stepped inside.
“Off at one of the brothels, I do believe,” Camilla replied. “You know, under Roman law sex with a married person is not considered adultery if one is paying for the service.” She then placed her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.
Artorius felt his body tense, blood rushing through his veins as he felt the beast inside him come unleashed.
He gave a guttural growl and bit her savagely on the neck. Camilla gave a yelp of surprise and mild pain. Artorius then swatted her hard across the butt before picking her up and throwing her roughly onto the bed. He was immediately on top of her, snarling and tearing her clothes off. Her garments tore in places as they were discarded. Camilla’s eyes were wide, her breath coming in near panic gasps. He leered at her.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Artorius growled into her ear. His lovemaking of Camilla was utterly savage and animalistic; at times it bordered on brutality. His deviant mind conjured up things to do to her that she had never even contemplated. Her screams were, at times, a mixture of ecstasy and pain and were loud enough to wake the entire block. At one point he roughly turned her over onto her stomach and pulled back on her hair, biting her once more on the neck.
“Oh my,” Camilla panted, her face dripping with sweat. “What are you going to do to me now…” Her eyes grew wide in surprise and she bit hard into the pillow as Artorius answered her question, thoroughly violating her in ways she never expected.
After a number of hours, when he had ravaged her to the point where he knew she would not even be able to walk the next day, he finished, took a brief moment to catch his breath, and then started to get dressed. Camilla simply lay there whimpering. He laughed to himself when he saw how her clothes were torn up, not to mention the very visible bite mark on her neck, which would be swollen and purple by morning. As soon as he was dressed, he rummaged through her things and found a pouch with some coins in it. As he took one out, Camilla struggled to sit up.
“What are you doing?” she asked, surprised.
“Keeping you from getting into trouble,” he said, showing the coin to her. “Like you said, it isn’t adultery if the service is paid for. And the way I see it, you owe me one denarius for my services. And now, I will bid you good night.” As he started for the door, Camilla started to climb out of the bed, only to find that her legs refused to function properly, and she landed in a heap on the floor.
Artorius laughed out loud, shook his head, and wandered out into the night.
“Artorius…wait.” Camilla found her entire body ached from the ordeal. He was, after all, perhaps two-and-a-half times her bodyweight, with strength, power, and endurance far beyond her comprehension; not to mention his deviancy and savagery. She shook her head and started giggling to herself about the entire affair as she curled up on the floor.
Chapter XXVII: The Legionary versus the Gladiator
***
The last day of the games took place two days before the triumphal parade. That morning members of the Second Century accompanied their optio to the gladiators’ entrance at the arena. Vitruvius was in full legionary armor. The terms of the wager were that no missile weapons would be allowed, that Vitruvius would use standard military arms, and that his unnamed opponent could use whatever weapons and armor he pleased.
It was dark and dank underneath the arena where the gladiators prepared themselves. It stank of sweat, flatulence, metal, and blood. Vitruvius turned to his friends.
“Go on and take your seats. I’ll meet up with you when this is over,” he di
rected.
With pats on the back and a few words of encouragement, the legionaries left their optio to his meeting with Sacrovir’s gladiator. As soon as they had gone, Vitruvius walked around, surveying everything in the dungeon. There were racks of weapons, most of which were semi-rusted and in need of work. He looked down at his own gladius, still strapped to his belt. His was a fine weapon, one that had served him for years. It would serve him effectively once again this day. But what was he fighting for?
In another part of the dungeon, on the other side of the arena, a small, sallow-faced man paced back and forth in front of his most prized possession. The gladiator was completely hidden in the shadows, but his deep, nasally breathing could be heard.
“Today will be your finest day,” Sacrovir remarked as he continued to pace back and forth, “and I want you to make sure that pompous soldier suffers for his outrage towards us. Make him bleed… hamstring him… humiliate him… make him beg for his death. Do that and you shall have whatever you ask.”
“I want my freedom,” a deep voice boomed.
Sacrovir raised a hand. “Don’t be presumptuous, man. You are my best fighter, my champion. Besides, you can understand that it would be bad business for me to release you upon society. Surely there is something else to satisfy your hunger? A certain girl, even a boy perhaps?”
“You promised me freedom a long time ago. I have done everything you asked of me!” The voice was becoming loud and incensed.
“And so I did,” Sacrovir answered, raising his hands in resignation. Though his champion was by far the best gladiator he had ever owned, to say nothing of the wealth his victories had added to Sacrovir’s coffers, he was beginning to fear that he was slowly losing control of his most prized fighter. “Very well, slay this uniformed upstart and you shall have your freedom. But I want a good show. I want this to be our finest hour, and I want that soldier begging for death before it is over. Am I making myself clear?”
