schools.
Crespas drove through the entrance way to the walled enclosure, passing armed guards. Looking neither left nor right, he brought the horses to a sudden stop, nearly throwing Casca from the chariot.
'Out,' came the short order to Casca, and Crespas indicated for Casca to stand to the side.
The dust had not settled before a house slave had the reins in hand and was standing respectfully by. The schoolmaster saw the approach of the chariot and quickly moved to attend the drive. The master came wearing the dress of the Galli heavy swordsman. Bringing his sword to the salute position across his chest, he called out:
'Vale. I am the lanista of this school. I am Marcius Corvu at your service, sir.'
Crespas nodded in approval. Apparently he liked the man's looks… tough… his carcass well-scarred from many fights… heavy-muscled… confident. His face contained several deep gouges and scars, and Corvu wore his hair cropped close to the head, the gray resting on his square-boned skull like a tight cap.
'Greetings, Corvu. I am M. Decimus Crespas. I wrote to my friend Abascantus about my bringing a slave here for training. I presume you have been made aware of this?'
'Indeed, sir. We have been expecting you anytime for the last week.' He pointed his sword at Casca. 'Will this be our newtiro?'
Crespas nodded in the affirmative. 'Because of his size and muscular development I thought that either the school of Galli or that of the Mirmillones would be best for him. And as my friend and colleague Abascantus owns this establishment, I have opted for your school of the Galli.'
Corvu walked around Casca, looking him over closely. He ordered Casca to raise his arms, bend over, show his teeth, and flex. Then, without warning, he drove the pommel of the short sword into Casca's gut. Casca grunted with the impact, and the round butt left an imprint in his stomach, but he did not go down as Corvu expected.
Turning back to Crespas, Corvu said: 'You have made the right choice, noble sir. This one has the earmarks of a fighter, and he is tough. The guts are the weak point for most men, yet he took that blow well enough. You are right; he is much too large to be a Retarii or Thraces. No, he definitely belongs in the heavyweight class, and here we specialize. I myself fought for over ten years in the arena and have won the wooden sword twice as a Galli.'
Corvu was not above blowing his own horn. Besides, he wanted this potential client to be aware of his expertise.
Crespas nodded. 'Yes, I have seen you fight on more than one occasion, my good Corvu. That is the final factor in my determining to place this slave with you. Take him now so that I may be gone to my home. Remember, the slave is mine, and I will not have him crippled in training, and he is to be fed the best you have. You may, of course, beat him, but not to the point of crippling. He is mine, and I have an investment to protect. Train him well, and I will see that you do not lack for some form of appreciation from me.'
Raising his hand, Crespas mounted the chariot and gave one quick 'Vale,' turned the chariot around, yelled that his steward would drop by later to arrange the billing accounts, and disappeared in a clatter, heading with all haste to his home, only a mile away and like the school, outside the walls of Rome.
'Your name, slave?'
Casca caught Corvu's eyes, looking directly into them, his own blue-gray eyes seeming even lighter as they forced Corvu to look away. In irritation Corvu repeated his question and whacked Casca with the flat of his blade.
'Speak, slave.'
Controlling himself, Casca replied, 'I am Casca Rufio Longinus.'
'Were you a soldier?'
'Yes.'
'When and where, slave?'
'It does not matter. I am here now. That is enough.'
Corvu looked closely at him. 'Slave, you have a lot to learn. Here I am the master, and I hold your life in my hands,'
Casca said nothing, merely smiled.
Corvu became angry at himself for not being able to impress this insolent slave properly, but he held his rage.
'Enough. You will learn before we are through who is the boss here.'
Thinking to himself that Corvu was probably right, Casca followed the lanista as he led the way across the enclosed compound and into the training area. Here men were fighting with both sharp and dulled blades. Most of the trainees were slaves, but Casca understood that there were a number of auctoratti, men who voluntarily put themselves in bondage to the school for a specific period of time in exchange for being trained-and fed while training-for the arena. All were big men, tough men. Most were in their late twenties or early thirties, hard men who had been around, and they looked good to Casca's professional eye. Whatever the schoolmaster Corvu might be, he was right about one thing-he did know his job.
They walked across a miniature arena. Casca understood that here private shows were sometimes staged. Corvu would use these private affairs to thin his ranks of bad material. Those who couldn't cut it were culled here- and at a profit. Calling a gladiator, Corvu turned Casca over to him and told the man to show Casca the ropes and familiarize him with the rules of the school.
So… this would be his home! Casca looked around him.
Walls surrounded the compound, and on them were several men patrolling with spears and bows. Private guards to discourage escape. There were two sets of barracks: one for the slaves who had to be locked in every night, the other for the freemen who on their own took up the job of fighting for money. The latter-and a few special slaves-were granted the freedom to come and go. Casca was put in the locked barracks.
He was here.
Tomorrow he would begin to learn the trade of the arena.
The word 'arena' meant sand.
Sand where men and beasts tortured each other and died for the pleasure of Rome.
SEVENTEEN
The days rolled by and became weeks. The weeks flowed into months.
And Casca became more and more proficient at the fine art of slaughter.
At the school, retiarii-the net and trident men — were brought in for mock battles so that the trainees could learn how to deal with them. The Thraces were lighter-armored, and not as heavy as those of the Galli school. The Thraces relied upon their greater speed to achieve victory. For the most part they wore winged helmets. Corvu knew his business, Casca acknowledged. Bringing different styles into the training activities did make a difference.
As Casca progressed, he was moved to a different area of the barracks. Corvu kept his gladiators together by their degrees of skill. As a man progressed, he was advanced, and thus given more status in the eyes of his colleagues.
Casca grew quicker and quicker and rapidly climbed the ranks. He trained constantly-and when no one was looking, on the rare occasions when he was alone-he went over the movements that Shiu had shown him. He repeated each of them every chance he could get until they became instinctive, requiring no thought, only action when needed.
Unknown to Casca, one did watch him.
Crysos, a Sicilian slave, tended to the needs of the gladiators, washed their clothes, brought them posca-a bitter mixture of vinegar and water to rinse their mouths out with when they got overheated-cleaned up the barracks, and emptied the chamber pots. It was menial work. Crysos was a man who wanted more, but he had not the strength to make it for himself.
In Casca, though, he saw someone different from the others. Instinct told him the big man might provide the answers to his own problems, so he studied Casca intently. The difference between Casca and the other gladiators was marked. As they grew in strength, they also grew in pride and meanness. Not Casca. He stayed to himself and
