Spartacus: Morituri

lives within me.” He thumped his chest with a clenched fist to demonstrate the fact. “My very veins run with sand and sweat. The blood of many, spilled and long forgotten. The world of gladiators is both business and passion. When my warriors enter the arena it is not only livelihood but my very life at stake.” He paused, raising a finger. “This fact is but irrelevance for some, those with ass on warm seat with simple hope of entertainment. Perfectly understandable but not a thing I feel. Good Hieronymus, what in your estimation is most vital in the craft?” He fixed his eyes on the merchant.

As ever, Hieronymus hid behind his smile. Spreading his hands he said, “I would not presume a guess in such experienced company. I am barely tested pupil of the games, and await your words of enlightenment.”

“Honor,” Batiatus replied, his voice suddenly quiet, his manner sober. “Nobility. Notions by which we stand. We lanistae may tussle and bicker outside the arena, but within it fair sport holds sway. Would you find agreement in that, good Solonius?”

Solonius regarded Batiatus thoughtfully. At length he nodded.

“Words truly spoken.”

“A pretty speech,” Crassus said.

“You disagree with such sentiments?”

“You speak of gladiators as though pure as gods themselves. The truth holds them as slaves-unrefined warriors, natural savagery honed to kill more efficiently. Their only instinct to spill blood and prolong miserable existence. You call this noble? You call it honorable?”

“I do if they do not seek to gain advantage. If they but meet opponents on equal terms.”

Crassus snorted. Still smiling, Hieronymus said, “I’m sure we would find agreement on this matter.”

He looked at Solonius, who nodded, and then at Batiatus, who looked back at him, his face set and stern.

Batiatus’s features retained their stone-like impassivity for a few seconds longer, and then abruptly twitched into a beaming smile. He raised his goblet once more, encouraging the others with a nod to do the same.

“It is certain we would,” he agreed. “All present are men of honor, are we not?”

Perhaps there was something in it, after all, Lucretia thought. Now that she had seen Mantilus at close- quarters she could more readily believe him capable of sorcery.

Just like Batiatus himself, she had scoffed at Ashur’s suggestion that Hieronymus’s attendant may be a creature risen from the underworld. She found it almost as difficult to accept that he possessed the ability to influence the bodies and minds of men simply by method of savage ritual learned in some far-distant jungle. The very idea of such a thing outraged and terrified her. She was a Capuan, and by extension a Roman citizen, and as such she possessed the arrogance and absolute assurance of her upbringing. She and her kind were as close to the gods in nature as it was possible to be on this earthly plain. All other races were inferior in every aspect-there to be conquered and enslaved, to serve only the glory of Rome and its citizens. It was unthinkable, therefore, that this savage, this barbarian, could be blessed with powers beyond the capabilities of his superiors in the civilized world. The fact that she might be forced to accept that he was so blessed destabilized her beyond measure.

As a result of their earlier encounter with Mantilus, relatively innocuous though it may have been, she and Ilithyia had retreated to her furthermost cubiculum, there to drink wine in an effort to allay the shivers of fear that still occasionally gripped them. However, such had been their shock that the alcohol was having the opposite effect. The more they drank the more frightened and paranoid they became.

“You must expel him from your house,” Ilithyia wavered.

Her own fear and helplessness made Lucretia snappish.

“Expel him by what method?”

“Inform Batiatus of the matter. As paterfamilias the duty is his. He can compel your slaves to remove him from villa. Or better still that you set your gladiators to the task. Pitch the creature over the cliff to jagged rocks below.”

Lucretia made an exasperated sound.

“Suggestions beyond all reason dearest Ilithyia! Mantilus is Hieronymus’s man. It would cause outrage.”

“Then ask Hieronymus to leave. The creature will depart with his master.”

“Impossible. Quintus would forbid it. And what of Marcus Crassus? Should we dispense with his favor as well?”

Ilithyia curled her lip-a momentary re-emergence of the spiteful child.

“You do not have his favor.”

“Not yet perhaps. But to do as you suggest, would be to render it unattainable.”

Ilithyia pouted.

“This is insufferable! The creature should pay for its insolence.”

“It spoke not a word in our direction,” Lucretia pointed out.

“It stuck out its tongue at us! Its serpent’s tongue.”

“At you and me? Are you certain? Remember that it is blind, Ilithyia.”

Ilithyia looked unconvinced. Lowering her voice, she said, “It gives appearance of blindness. But perhaps it sees with other than eyes.”

Both women shuddered in unison. At that moment Naevia appeared in the doorway.

“What is it?” Lucretia asked.

“Dominus sent me. He requests presence, domina. For presentation of gladiators.”

Ilithyia raised her eyebrows.

“Perhaps gleaming muscle will provide protection against magic. Particularly if Crixus is among them,” she murmured unguardedly.

Lucretia felt her cheeks flush. She gave Ilithyia a withering look. “Perhaps,” she said. “His loyalty is comfort against any provocation.”

“I assumed no more,” Ilithyia said, her eyes wide and innocent.

Lucretia grunted and stood up.

“Will you return with me?”

“And face the snake again?”

“Cower here if you wish.”

With a weary groan Ilithyia hauled herself upright.

“I will come. We will stand together in defiance of the creature’s wrath.”

“I’m flattered that you risk body and mind for sake of friendship,” Lucretia said wryly.

“What else to risk it for?”

“Perhaps promise of oiled muscles and stiff … bearing?”

Ilithyia gave a tinkling laugh and finished her wine with a single swallow.

“You possess persuasive reasoning,” she admitted.

Batiatus had taken center stage, his guests gathered around him. With a goblet of wine in one hand, and his other upraised like an orator addressing the Senate, he looked in his element.

“Friends, honored guests, citizens of Capua,” he cried, barely slurring his words, “gratitude for gracing the House of Batiatus with venerated presence this evening. I am certain that you will join in welcoming the noble Hieronymus to our humble city, made arcadian by his presence, and in congratulations for recent victory in the arena-a triumph made more impressive by being the opening engagement of noble friend’s ludus. In inflicting heavy losses on good Solonius’s stable-” Solonius raised a hand in scant acknowledgement and smiled self- consciously. “-Hieronymus has in single contest made considerable mark upon the arena. He may yet be a fledgling, but already he has spread wings and declared himself an eagle!”

He roared out the last word, sweeping his arm in a flourish. The crowd responded with a cheer and a prolonged round of applause. Hieronymus, ever smiling, bowed over and over, accepting the plaudits.

Batiatus waited for the applause to die down and then continued. “Let us also welcome Marcus Licinius