by J. P. Bowie
Spartacus smiled grimly, touching my sword with his own, signaling that we should begin. We circled one another, gauging each other’s strengths, the stares of our brother gladiators fixed upon us. A sudden lightening move, and he had closed with me, forcing my sword down and away from his body. For a moment we stood, locked together like two wrestlers, our feet digging into the sand, gaining purchase as we tried to overwhelm one another. It seemed we were equally matched in strength, for as hard as I tried to gain the upper hand, he withstood all my efforts, as did I against him.
I decided to give him the edge for the moment, pulling back slightly, letting him press his advantage. His sword cut through the air in front of me, but I raised my weapon and parried each blow. Then I moved forward, forcing him to retreat. A look of surprise, mixed with admiration, fleetingly crossed his face. Our swords scraped together with a high-pitched whine as, once more, we locked weapons and engaged in a show of strength. Around us, our fellow gladiators shouted encouragement at us both, and I found we were actually smiling at one another, as neither of us would give ground.
Then with a great shouted laugh, he yielded, stepping back to grin at me. “Well done, my Gallic friend,” he said, grabbing my hand and raising it over my head as if in victory. “If we ever meet in the arena, we’ll give them a show they won’t forget in a hurry!”
Lentullus Batiatus, the owner of the gladiator school, came bustling up, his toga flapping about his overweight frame like so much laundry hanging out to dry.
“You’re not here to congratulate one another,” he snapped at us. “I will decide on when you will yield to your opponent, Spartacus. The crowd does not want to see gladiators clapping each other on the back as if they were friends. They want to see men fighting, and their blood spilled.” His piggy eyes alighted on me. “And you are too haughty for your own good, Callistus. Remember, I own you now.”
I bowed slightly as if in deference to his position as my owner, but I caught Spartacus’ eye, and could not quite keep the smile from my lips. Lentullus seemed not to notice, appearing mollified by my silence. I had, from the first day at the ludo, decided to say as little as possible to him, or anyone else there. If there had been a prize for sheer ignorance, Lentullus and his guards would have collected many trophies.
It amazed me that the man had not been taken down, long since. All that stood between him and a painful death at the hands of any one of us, were the brutish men he had employed to protect him and keep us at bay. They were armed to the teeth, and carried whips that they used against any man on a whim.
You may well ask why we did not rise up against our captors to gain our freedom. To do that, a united front would have been needed. Over the years, some men had been driven to desperation by the degradation heaped upon them on a daily basis, and had attempted to escape. But the actions of a few men against many well-armed guards are doomed to failure—the punishment dire. If they are not killed outright, they are flayed alive, then crucified.
Such barbaric treatment raised no indignation from the citizens of Capua or Rome. We were only slaves after all, thought to be dispensable. There were plenty more where we came from—prisoners of war, convicted thieves and felons, bastard children.
But Spartacus had spoken to me of his plan, and the thought of it filled me with elation. We would just have to bide our time, to wait for the right moment. In the meantime, the training kept our bodies lean and strong. Better here than in some rank dungeon, never seeing the light of day, leading an existence of mindless, endless days filled with despair.
Still, my mind would often wander beyond the ludo walls, and sometimes I would think of the young man who had stared at me while I was caged in the slave market—and who had only two days before, witnessed my first private fight.
Lucius, his friend had called him. I smiled as I thought of him applauding my victory that day. He was a comely youth without a doubt, and one who was not afraid to show his enthusiasm in front of his dour friends. In better times, we might have become acquainted, even forged a friendship. Would he be surprised to know that in my own country I was a man of some worth, and that my being enslaved here in Italia was something that my father, had he still been alive, would have moved heaven and earth to rectify? But my father was dead, killed in the battle from which I was taken prisoner while trying to defend his body. It was of some small consolation to me that I sent many Roman soldiers to their graves in tribute to his death.
Perhaps all that would be of little interest to him, for I have found that the Latins have as little time for those less fortunate than themselves as do the Romans. Still, there was something about this Lucius that intrigued me. I could still envision his dark chestnut colored hair, the curls that fell across his brow, his steady gaze from those dark brown eyes, the fullness of his lower lip. A mouth made for kissing.
A pity that we would never know each other better.
× × × × ×
LUCIUS
The tumult at the arena was deafening. I could hear it long before I arrived. The games had already started when I eventually pushed my way through the throng, finding a place near the front. I knew it was improbable that the Gaul might see me there, but I wanted to be as close to him as possible, to cheer him on, and to immerse myself in his presence.
Several bouts went by without much enthusiasm from me, but with the tumultuous cheering that went on around me, my inattention was hardly important. I did, however, sit up and take notice when the man I recognized as Spartacus entered the arena to much applause. His opponent, a Nubian even taller than he, carrying a net and trident, gave a good showing, but Spartacus seemed fearless; walking straight into the man’s line of fire, taking him down within a few seconds. The crowd gasped at his sheer nerve, then some booing rent the air when he would not kill the Nubian.
In Capua, we did not demand that a beaten man must die in the arena. Indeed, the gladiator owners would rather their men survived these bouts, even if badly wounded. But recently, some factions from Rome had been attending, and as was the practice in the Roman arenas, called for the death stroke. All eyes went to the consul’s box for his decision, but Spartacus ignored all of us, and simply walked away, leaving his opponent to struggle to his knees. I’m sure with a keen sense of relief.
When the noise of dissension had abated, the horns sounded, and there he was, my Gallic warrior, looking splendid in burnished armor that covered his shoulders and his legs, from the knee down. His chest and thighs were bare, his skin glistened in the sunlight, his hair once more tied back behind his neck. I remembered how it had looked that first day I had seen him, and my hand itched to loosen it, to let the silken waves weave around his shoulders. The man he was to fight entered behind him, and I couldn’t stop my gasp of dismay at the sight of him. He was huge —a hulking monster that looked like he could easily crush even a man like Callistus.
My heart leapt into my mouth as they faced one another. The people in the stands had become quiet and attentive, as if they could not quite believe this match up. Both men were armed with short swords and shields, and it soon became obvious that Callistus’ advantage would be in his ability to out-maneuver his slower, brutish opponent. The bigger man was slow on his feet, depending on his sheer size to intimidate. Callistus, once again showing his speed and dexterity, danced and weaved about him, parrying every clumsy blow, time and again getting past the brute’s defenses, inflicting a cut here, a gash there.
Roaring with rage, the giant pressed his attack, his sword slicing the air, but never coming close to injuring the Gaul. The crowd surged to its feet with excitement, yelling for blood. I found myself screaming encouragement at the top of my voice, until I was hoarse from it.
“Callistus! Callistus!” My shouting was quickly taken up by those around me, followed by all present eager to find a hero, if only for a fleeting moment. The air came alive with his name, and like it had given him wings of power, he leapt forward hooking his right foot behind that of the bigger man, s
ending him sprawling onto his back. In a flash, Callistus’ sword was at the man’s throat. I almost collapsed with relief as the crowd screamed its approval.
He stood in the center of the arena, his sword raised in triumph. His gaze swept through the crowded stands, and I wanted to believe he was searching for me. Then, amazingly, his eyes fixed on mine. That same broad smile lit up his face, and he raised his sword even higher. One or two voices called for his opponent’s death, but that went mostly ignored. It seemed that the crowd, satisfied with the Gaul’s dazzling display, and perhaps by his beauty, was content to let the losing man live to fight another day. I wanted to leap from the stands, race across the arena to where he stood, but then he turned away, and with the sound of the crowd’s cheers still reverberating around the arena, disappeared from my view.
My euphoria dissipated quickly after he had gone. I let myself be swept up by the masses as they pushed and shoved their way to the exits. Despite being surrounded by the crowd’s excited chatter and laughter, I could not lift my depression. All I could think of was that moment when his eyes had met mine, and he had smiled at me. That memory alone should have made my heart exult with joy, but instead, it seemed to have widened the gap between his life and mine. He was a gladiator, and I the son of a respected and wealthy member of the upper class. What possible future could there be for us?
I found myself walking aimlessly away from the arena, using streets that normally I would never have dreamed of venturing into. They say the gods protect the foolish, and it must be so, for I was not robbed, nor even set upon by the denizens of this poor part of town. Perhaps my despair had given me the appearance of one who should be left well alone. I walked until I reached the outskirts of town, where the fetid streets and shacks gave way to the edge of the surrounding countryside. Ahead of me, I could see wide cultivated fields and orchards, and it was then that I realized just how far I had traveled.
I looked up at the darkening sky, my heart sinking at the prospect of making my way back home in the dark. Although I felt I could defend myself well in a fight, I was unarmed. The gangs of thieves and robbers who roamed the poorer sections of town at night would find me easy prey, should I be unfortunate enough to cross their paths.
Again, the gods were smiling on me as I began to retrace my steps back to town. Out of the shadows came two torch bearers, eager for a few denarii, to guide me home. With a sigh of relief, I followed my escorts through the shabby, narrow streets, ignoring the hostile stares of the inhabitants, secure in the knowledge that the presence of the burly men on either side of me would give any villain pause before thinking of attacking us.
As we were to pass by Dido’s house on the way, I told the men they need go no further. I thanked them and added another denarius to their fee. Dido and Turio were sitting in the courtyard, enjoying their evening meal.
“Lucius!” Both of them gaped at me, and it was then I noticed my own disheveled appearance. I looked down at my dust-covered tunic, my sandaled feet covered in dirt.
“Where in Hades have you been?” Turio demanded.
“Were you robbed?” Dido’s eyes were wide. “Come sit and have some wine. You look terrible.”
Gratefully, I sank onto a chair at the table, accepting the goblet of wine she passed to me.
“Well?” Turio was looking at me sternly.
“I went to the arena to see the Gaul fight.”
“And you joined in?” Dido giggled at her remark.
“No, I got sort of lost afterward.”
Turio raised an eyebrow. “What? How can that have happened? Were you alone?”
I nodded. “I ended up in a part of town I didn’t know very well, then before I knew it, I was in the countryside and it was getting dark. Fortunately, I met two torch bearers who saw me as far as here.”
“Oh, but you cannot trust those men,” Dido exclaimed. “There have been tales of them robbing and murdering poor unsuspecting citizens.”
“But these men were honest,” I said. “And I was very glad to accept their services, I can tell you.”
“So, did the Gaul win today?” Turio was tiring of my story.
“Yes—and he smiled at me as he accepted his victory.”
“Oh, by the gods, what nonsense!” Turio snorted with derision. “Out of countless hundreds of people in the stands, he saw you? Lucius, you are truly besotted, my friend.”
“And I suppose you wanted to give him his own private victory, by leaping into his arms,” Dido said, giggling again.
“The thought did cross my mind,” I replied, with a rueful smile. “But it might have proved a trifle unseemly.”
My friends laughed aloud. “Indeed,” Dido cried. “Scandalous even—but what food for gossip!”
“Lucius, Lucius...” Turio shook his head at me, his smile fading. “You must give up this senseless infatuation with the slave. It cannot end well for you. People will begin to think you have lost all sense of propriety.”
“Perhaps I have,” I murmured.
“Oh, it’s but infatuation.” Dido laughed lightly at my glum expression. “In a few days some other fine-looking specimen will have caught your eye, and the gladiator will be forgotten.”
“Do you think me as shallow as that?” I asked, bridling at her comment. “When have I ever given you the notion that my feelings are superficial and insincere?”
“Come now, Lucius,” Turio scolded. “Dido was merely jesting, were you not, my darling?”
Dido ignored him, and gave me an appraising stare. “Are you saying that your ‘feelings’ for the Gaul are as strong as say, a man’s for a woman?”
“If you mean do I consider Callistus or myself in a woman’s role, then the answer is no,” I replied. “What I am attracted to is his obvious strength—”
“You mean his body, then,” she interrupted.
“That, of course, because I have not ever spoken with the man. Yet, I feel that if I could get to know him, I would find that strength also in his character.”
“And what if you discover that he is all brawn and no brain?” She goaded me with a supercilious smile.
“I would be disappointed, of course. But as the occasion of our meeting is next to impossible, all this is mere speculation.”
“True. I was just curious as to what it is you, as a man, find attractive in another man.”
I smiled. “Many things, Dido. Most likely, the same things you find attractive in a man.”
“So you look at him as a woman would?”
I sighed. “If it pleases you to think that way, go ahead. I don’t think my mind works quite the same way as yours, but…” I shrugged my indifference. “I have found that it is generally useless to debate a subject in which the other person has so little understanding.”
Dido scowled, and I apologized, getting to my feet. “I’m sorry. I am a guest in your home, and should not upbraid you in such a manner. Perhaps this subject is better left alone.”
“Well, if I had but known you were so sensitive about it, I would not have broached the matter,” Dido said, her tone decidedly cool.
Yes, you would have, I thought, but I remained silent, and after bidding them both a good night, took my leave.
Later, as I lay in my bath at home after having assured my mother that my appearance did not mean I had been in a street brawl, I thought of the day’s events, remembering again the big smile Callistus had bestowed upon me. Dido’s words still rankled in my brain, but I pushed them away, preferring to fill my mind with thoughts of Callistus rather than her spiteful observations.
Of course, I knew that I was behaving irrationally, and that my actions did not befit someone of my station —and yet, I knew that I would give anything if I could only be in the Gaul’s company, even for just a short while. If only to prove Dido’s criticism wrong—that he was not all brawn and no brains.
To simply be near him, was what I longed for. To talk with him, to hear his voice, feel his touch—to know him. But, even as I lay
there in the warm, soothing water, I knew that what I yearned for could never be. That his life and mine were worlds apart, and any effort of mine to bridge that chasm would surely end in disaster for both of us.
Realizing this to be the truth, tears of despair welled in my eyes; the pain in my chest increased until I thought my heart would break.
Forget him... An insidious voice whispered in my ear. He will destroy you.
I cannot, my mind replied. For now I knew, without a doubt, that what I felt in my heart and soul was not mere infatuation.
It was love.
CHAPTER FOUR
A few days later, I was sitting in our garden room watching my sisters as they pored over their study books, when my mother called to me.
“Lucius, we must talk of the future.” She indicated that I should sit and listen. Even in her mourning dress she looked beautiful, though now her face was creased in a frown. She looked down at her finely manicured hands as she spoke. “Your father left us many debts, I’m afraid. His illness kept him from his business for over a year, and the doctor’s fees have been exorbitant.”
I looked at her with surprise. “But what of the family fortune? The one our grandfather left us?”
“All gone.”
“I see.” I stood and paced about the small room with irritation. “Why did he not tell me of this before he died? I could have found work—”
“What can you do, Lucius? You are not trained for a career in business.”
“I can teach. My education prepared me for a life teaching others.”
“Your father thought that beneath you.”
“And so now we are penniless, is that what you’re saying?” I railed at her. “His hubris has left us destitute!”
