CHAPTER XVIII
IT IS HOT AGAIN TODAY, VESPASIAN THOUGHT, AS HE STARED out over the massive, bloodthirsty crowd. It was barely midday and already the huge red canopies had been stretched over the arena, shielding the spectators from the sun. After taking a sip of wine, the emperor again looked down at the carnage.
So many skeens, centurions, and wild animals had already been killed that one couldn’t tell whether the sandy coliseum floor was bathed in blood or simply tinted by the sunlight filtering down through the red canopies. Scattered limbs, bodies, and organs lay partly submerged in the sand like bizarre islands in a sea of blood. Shattered chariots and smashed carriages lay about as though they had been tossed there by giants. Dead and dying horses, wild beasts, and weapons of all types could be seen by the hundreds.
And yet the first act has not concluded, Vespasian thought. The games had been going on for four hours, but even now the first group of hard-fighting skeens continued to resist.
The emperor turned to look at Persephone. Sensing his gaze, she returned his glance and smiled. She looked splendid in a yellow silk gown and delicate gold jewelry. Vespasian reached out to grasp her hand. Despite the ongoing spectacle, for a moment her easy smile made it seem as if the insane world inside the coliseum didn’t exist.
She is so beautiful, he thought. And I love her beyond words. Surely she is the best part of me. After taking another sip of wine, Vespasian returned his attention to the games.
This was the seventh day of what would soon become nearly a fortnight of death and mayhem taking place on the coliseum floor. Thousands of skeens and centurions and a host of wild animals had already perished for the amusement of the crowd. Every day seemed to bring with it some higher form of savage cruelty. Surprisingly, the unprecedented games had produced another effect besides delighting the mob. Because he had personally ordered these games, Vespasian’s already great popularity had risen even higher. Moreover, his newly proclaimed campaign against Shashida and his announcement of the successful auspicium had also added to his charisma.
Graffiti had sprung up throughout Ellistium providing adoring testament to the emperor’s bravery, his vision, his amazing ability to use the craft. Heralds had taken to writing their own scripts that proclaimed Vespasian’s magnificence, and they were brazenly reading them aloud from their citywide towers. Young men-each one suddenly eager to become a part of their emperor’s new campaign-were joining the legions in record numbers. For the first time in decades the mood sweeping over Ellistium was wildly joyful. From the most august krithian all the way down to the lowliest phrygian tradesman, each believed that his august emperor could do no wrong.
Vespasian looked around his viewing box. As usual, thePon Q’tar clerics were in attendance, as were the maidens of the Priory of Virtue. But Lucius and the other Tribunes were absent, readying their mighty legions for the new campaign. Those forces of the Imperial Order that were afield had been sent new directives telling them to withdraw from their current struggles and to turn north toward home. Vespasian realized that an order of that magnitude would surely alert the Shashidan Ones that something was brewing, but that couldn’t be helped.
When the forces stationed in the capital were ready, they would move south to join their brothers. There they would regroup and head toward Shashidan territory. While the barges sailed south on the six rivers, the legions would curve around from the west and east, devouring Shashidan towns and armies while approaching the mines in a gigantic pincer movement. One week from now the capital troops would be ready to depart Ellistium. Once they joined their fellows, the combined invasion force would dwarf any in Rustannican history.
Hearing the crowd roar again, Vespasian looked back down at the grisly spectacle. The combatants were reenacting the Rustannican victory at Messalina, a city that had been lost to the Shashidans three centuries ago and then retaken in one of the bloodiest and most protracted battles ever fought in the War of Attrition. Reenacting Rustannican victories was something that the mob especially relished. Although no details about the new campaign would be made public, its impending start was reason enough for the crowd to revel even more joyfully than usual in today’s retelling of a Rustannican military triumph.
Vespasian watched as the Gates of Life swung open. Another ten chariots bearing three tribunes each raced into the arena to go charging toward the Shashidan skeens still alive on the sandy floor. Each chariot held a driver, an archer, and a lance thrower, every man an expert in his field.
Of the one thousand skeens that had been shoved into the arena at the start of the day, only thirty remained standing. Most of them were bloodied and broken, and Vespasian doubted that they would survive this fresh onslaught by the tribune charioteers. Even so, he reminded himself that he could be proved wrong. The surviving skeens were clever and battle-hardened, and like all Vigors worshippers they would fight to the death. The crowd knew this and reveled in it. Chanting and stamping, they watched breathlessly as the ten chariots thundered in.
Unlike other spectacles, battle reenactments were staged affairs that more or less accurately portrayed famous Rustannican military victories. With help from the craft, the entire coliseum floor could be flooded, allowing mock warships to actually fight and sail atop the waves. Reenacted sea battles were especially popular, and sometimes the small ocean entrapped within the arena walls was filled with sharks and other man-eating creatures, adding a brief but grisly flavor of unpredictability.
Although their outcomes were a certainty, these reenacted battles were not entirely without a twisted brand of fairness. The Games Master was always careful to set equal numbers of centurions and skeens against each other. No craft use was allowed by the centurions, because all Shashidan skeens had been stripped of their power to use magic. The skeens were well armed and given various forms of terrain that they could use as cover. Beasts were often conjured from the mosaics adorning the arena walls to threaten and kill centurions and skeens alike, adding another unpredictable facet to the spectacle. The skeens were even granted food and water so that their strength would not falter and anger the crowd.
Because the battle to retake Messalina had been fought in rugged terrain, a miniature mountain had been constructed of wood, painted gray, and placed in the center of the arena floor. Measuring nearly fifty meters across and nearly as high, during the previous night it had been brought piece by piece into the arena, where it was painstakingly rebuilt. Complete with rocks and foliage, from a distance the small mountain looked amazingly genuine. Wild man-eating animals that had been starved nearly to death roamed the entire area, threatening skeens and centurions alike.
Despite such concessions made in the name of authenticity, the result was always a Rustannican victory, lest the usually drunken crowd stage a riot. And so ever more centurions-usually volunteers who were paid handsomely for the privilege of showing off their various skills before an adoring public-were continually sent in until the last of the skeens and the wild beasts were annihilated. If the skeens were proficient, killing them might take an entire day. Despite their contrived outcomes, the finales always resulted in jubilant crowds. Whenever a land or a sea battle was reenacted, the best seats often went for double the normal price, and the bet takers, wine merchants, and prostitutes were even busier than usual.
Vespasian watched one chariot speed straight toward a group of skeens who had not been quick enough to take refuge on the mountain. The specially crafted chariot was a beautiful thing-too beautiful, Vespasian thought, to serve such an ugly purpose.
The chariot was painted dark blue and adorned with gold filigree. Two magnificent black stallions sped it across the sand. The axle shafts running through each wheel hub had been extended, reaching a good two meters sideways from either side of the cart. The wildly spinning axles were also adorned with gold, and along their sides lay sharpened steel blades that spun madly with the revolutions of the chariot’s wheels. As the driver whipped the team the archer drew back his bow and the lance thrower hoisted his shining spear over one shoulder, preparing to strike.
But the clever skeens acted quickly. Banding together, they placed their shields side by side and over their bodies, creating a dome that would provide them cover. Knowing that he had little time to lose, the chariot archer loosed his arrow. It pierced a skeen shield but did not reach its owner.
Still the driver charged his chariot onward, directly toward the fragile house of shields. It seemed that he was intent on driving his team straight into it regardless of the outcome. Then the lance thrower tried, but his weapon skidded harmlessly across one of the angled shields and fell to the sand.
