‘Come, come my good friend!’ Sextus said, suddenly perspiring rather copiously as he stammered, his hastily delivered words tripping over each other. ‘Here is one I, er, forgot to mention earlier. I was, um, so convinced you’d take the Celt that I, er, yes, I entirely overlooked this specimen.’
Lucius strolled over to join the slaver, and gave the slave a cursory examination, and soon snivelled his nose with distaste.
‘Gods, he’s as hairy as a beast, and he smells like one too! He’s certainly no mountain of a man like the Celt is either. Why would I be interested in this savage? Where’s he from anyway?’
‘He’s from northern Gaul,’ the Nubian guard said. ‘A warrior chieftain among his people, well, he was until the Ninth Legion slaughtered his army in battle. He was one of the few survivors of his side. Friends of mine in the infantry tell me he fought like an enraged lion, and it was only with the greatest of effort—’
Sextus shot his bodyguard a withering glare, and the man stopped mid-sentence, shrinking in awkward silence from his employer’s fierce, cross-eyed glower, abruptly realising that he should not have said any of this. Lucius, meanwhile, laughed slowly and mirthlessly, staring with cold, accusatory eyes at Sextus all the while.
‘Your man’s given away your game, Sextus,’ he muttered. ‘You would sell me a worthless farmer and keep the best gladiatorial material for one of my rivals who would pay a higher price. Is that it?’
‘No, no, I swear, I er, I merely erm, forgot about this one,’ Sextus stammered, many beads of oily sweat now inching a tell-tale passage down his face, his flabby jowls glistening. ‘I would never do such a thing, never!’
‘Relax, Sextus,’ Lucius said coolly, although his gaze remained barbed and jagged with an unyielding iron threat. ‘Just because I’ve caught you out this time, doesn’t mean I’ll no longer do business with you in the future. Or … does it?’ Lucius laughed suddenly, breaking the icicle-thick tension of the moment, and slapped Sextus on his back. ‘I jest, I jest,’ he continued, but anger still simmered in his brown irises. ‘Guard, unchain this one and hand him your weapon.’
‘Do as he asks,’ Sextus muttered to the Nubian.
The guard unchained the Gaul and offered him his sword, as he had done with the tall Celt. This man, however, shook his head and refused the weapon. He turned to Sextus and mumbled something in his guttural language and then spat upon the ground, staring with naked contempt at Sextus and Lucius.
‘What’s wrong with him? Is the oaf as stupid as he looks?’ Lucius asked, looking the man up and down with a disapproving glare that rivalled the intensity of the Gaul’s.
‘He says that he will not fight with the Roman blade,’ Sextus said, dabbing with a grimy rag at the sweat pooling on his jowls and forehead.
‘He said something else too,’ Lucius grunted, keeping his wrathful gaze locked into the slave’s eyes, which were ablaze with unrelenting, prickly defiance. ‘What was it?’
‘He says that your Roman swords are as useless and stumpy as your little cocks,’ Sextus grumbled. ‘He demands a longsword, as he is accustomed to using in combat.’
‘Well, well, well,’ Lucius smirked. ‘You lot haven’t broken the spirit of this one yet, have you? I like him already.’
‘Beat that barbarian until he agrees to fight with the gladius,’ Sextus commanded with a scowl.
The Nubian guard nodded, and, clenching his fists, he squared up in front of the Gallic slave with a look of fierce wrath etched across his broad visage. As he cocked his arm to throw a punch, however, Lucius stepped forward and gripped the Nubian’s wrist.
‘Hold! If the slave is injured and half-dazed, I won’t be able to accurately assess his fighting worth. Listen, I happen to be on very good terms with a dealer of antique and exotic weapons in the marketplace. I’m sure he has a Gallic blade that he’ll gladly lend me.’
Sextus face crumpled into a deep frown, and he folded his arms across his chest in a huff.
‘The other slaves will follow this insolent thug’s example if we concede to his ridiculous demand! No, I cannot allow it.’
‘Give him a longsword, Sextus, and if he proves himself worthy of the arena after his first fight, I’ll pay you a bonus of forty percent of whatever his asking price is.’
Sextus’s crossed eyes immediately lit up with a sheen of fresh greed.
‘Make it seventy percent and it’s done.’
Lucius threw his head back and roared with mocking laughter.
‘Never! My offer was generous enough as it stood, Sextus. Do not insult me with such terms.’
Sextus would not budge, though.
‘Well what if this filthy creature proves as unworthy as the Celt over there? What then, Lucius? I’ll tell you what then: you will have just shown this crop of slaves that they are able to make demands of me! My authority over them will be severely compromised, and that will lead to all sorts of rebellious behaviour, none of which will be of any possible benefit to my purse!’
Lucius nodded sympathetically and chewed on his lower lip, contemplating this point before he replied.
‘That’s a fair point, and I’m a fair man. Hmm…’
Lucius
