Spartacus: Swords and Ashes

own. And if you travel to his home, he must do the same for you.”

“You are a hospes to Pelorus…?”

“Of course I am. That is why I was staying as honored guest.”

“I understand. It is as friendship should be.”

“Yet it is, as I said, more than friendship and must be given due care. The friend of a hospes is also your hospes. Make appearance at the door of one such man, and proclaim your friendship for his friend, and he, too, must act as your host.”

“Now I see why you cannot bestow such friendship on simply anyone.”

“And yet Pelorus seems to have done just that.” Verres jabbed his finger at the name on the papyrus. “Who the fuck is this Batiatus?”

“The lanista? He provides warriors for the games-that we may ensure that justice is done to all the damned. He held some youthful association with Pelorus, but Pelorus never spoke of days spent in Capua.”

“Who would wish to speak of days spent there?” Verres scoffed. “Make no mind, they may treat this residence like a free fucking tavern. To do in this house as he wishes.”

“Can we not deposit them in rooms at greater distance than these?”

Their wandering had brought them back to the atrium, causing Verres to lower his voice before the bier. He cared not for the slaves, but spoke softly in the presence of the shell that had once been Pelorus.

“This Batiatus is a hospes, Timarchides!” he hissed. “Has understanding not yet penetrated? As the executor of the will of Pelorus, I am compelled to welcome him. As the inheritor, you are similarly obliged. My sponsorship of your inheritance is dependent on you adhering to Roman law!”

“Are you my hospes, Gaius Verres?”

“I would like to think so, Timarchides.”

“You reside under my roof, here in Neapolis.”

“It is not your roof until the estate is conferred upon you. An estate which it lies in my power to withhold.”

A curtain of silence rose up between the two men, each struggling to control the urge to truly speak his mind. They breathed, and waited for the passions to pass, while the undertakers fussed around the body of Pelorus like sombre nurses.

“How does one get to become a hospes?” Timarchides said, eventually.

“Only by being deeply, indivisibly, connected to an associate.”

“Can Batiatus bring trouble to our door?”

“His arrival must not be permitted to interfere with our plan.”

“Your plan, Verres. Your plan.”

“I simply forge pleasant results from unpleasant situation.”

“One created by your hands!” Timarchides said, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Did I drive in the knife?” Verres snapped back. “Did Gaius Verres murder your master? The gods may have smiled upon us, but they failed to do so upon good Pelorus.”

“Very well,” Timarchides said, resignation in his voice. “You shall have it your way.”

“Then we are in agreement. Play the host to this Batiatus until time comes that we can be rid of him. You shall handle the funeral games and an end to the slaves.”

“I have done so. Most of the gladiators can be dispensed through-”

“I care not, Timarchides. Just do it, and I shall applaud from the balcony and give you true acclaim. Do any other surprises await around the corner?”

“I have but one question. Though it is probably of no great import.”

“‘The Greeks have left a big wooden horse behind. It is probably not of import,’” Verres laughed.

“Not a line from The Iliad of which I was aware,” Timarchides said.

“My version is the more amusing.”

“I positively shake with mirth,” Timarchides said, without the trace of a smile. “A matter of the schedule.”

“For the games? Were you not charged with the arrangements?”

“During the games. Pelorus expects to be visited by a quaestor.”

“An investigator? With what intention?”

“Perhaps none of concern.”

“And if this proves worthy of concern?”

“Then let us hope no misfortune befalls him.”

The bearers took their rest at the next hilltop, before the descent into the valley taxed different muscles in their legs. Ilithyia slid daintily from the litter, supporting herself without a word upon the proffered shoulder of one of the bearers.

“Oh, this is… tiresome!” she breathed, flapping her fan. The sweat-drenched slaves who had borne her thus far knew better than to say anything. She stretched provocatively, uncaring that her breasts strained against her sweat-dampened silks in full view of the slaves.

Sighing with the effort of being carried for several hours, Ilithyia walked to the edge of the cliff, to gaze down at the long, undulating land that slid away toward the mist in the distant southeast.

“Can you see the sea?” Lucretia asked, as she too stepped away from the litter.

“I am not sure,” Ilithyia replied. “The distant land fades into cloud, as the clouds fade into the horizon.”

Just for a moment, the sun peeked through, glinting on something in the distance.

“A spark on waters?” Ilithyia said. “The bay of Neapolis lies before us.”

“Yet some hours of walking, I fear,” Lucretia said.

“Then let us tarry a while. We are plainly ahead of your husband’s litter.”

“I see no reason why not,” Lucretia agreed, flapping one of the panels of her gown in an attempt to dispel the muggy heat. “We may as well enjoy the open air before the rain’s inevitable return.”

Ilithyia stretched again.

“I shall come to enjoy this road, I hope,” she mused.

“Are you planning on making this journey often?”

“Perhaps,” Ilithyia replied. “There is talk of a new dawn in the fortunes of Neapolis.”

“I have always found it a ghastly place.”

“And yet you accompany me, fearful your own counsel might be mistaken? Rumour has a hundred eyes and a hundred ears. I must see for myself and decide whether to broach the subject further with my husband.”

“You would really consider a move to Neapolis? Your household and slaves? Your life and impediments?”

“Rome may be the eternal city, but one cannot live there eternally.”

Lucretia bit her lip, and thought of the countless citizens who boasted of their connections to Rome, and yet still yearned to see it.

“Does Capua not offer enough diversions for you?” Lucretia enquired with half her mouth.

“It boasts certain primitive charm, of course. Though one mired in heat and dust. Do you not tire of it?”

“The Batiatus family has dwelt in Capua for three generations.”

“Mobility is a virtue.”

“Says one dragged from eternal City of the Seven Hills, her fingernails clawing at the stones of the Appian Way! Perhaps I shall just make us mutual hospes, and then appear at your doorstep whenever I have the urge for sea air.”

“But if my husband were to be made consul…” Ilithyia said.

“An honor that lies yet before him.”

“A course to which he is eminently capable!”

“Of course, Ilithyia.”

“And he shall have some divine aid set to his purpose.”

“Sacrifices? Games in his honor?”