His large, bovine eyes sat in sausage-thick eyelids, squeezed, it looked, from chubby cheeks in the centre of which a curved, beak-like nose was perched. Despite having recently shaved, his acne-scarred jaw was dark with a five o’clock shadow.
‘Indeed, indeed,’ Lucius answered with a smile. ‘This smelly Gaul I’m dragging behind me.’
‘I see. What are you after for this half-man, half-beast?’
‘He insists on fighting with a Gallic longsword, and as it is no doubt his forte, I intend to make a Gallus gladiator of him. I think that on top of the longsword, a bronze Gallic breastplate and helmet would suit him quite well, no?’
The Egyptian rubbed his hairy, perspiration-soaked hands together as he gave the Gaul a quick visual examination, and then he nodded his head vigorously.
‘Yes, yes, he would look suitably terrifying outfitted in the war-dress of the northern barbarian tribes. Actually, I have something that just came in from north-western Gaul just a week ago. Would you like to have a look at it?’
‘Absolutely, my good man! Bring it out, please.’
The Egyptian turned to face a door at the back of the store and bellowed out a throaty command.
‘Boy! Bring me that Gallic breastplate and longsword we added to the inventory last week! And hurry up about it!’
A willowy slave boy, attired only in a grubby loincloth, rushed out from the back-room after a few moments, carrying an ornately decorated Gallic sword in both hands, and he knelt at Ramses’s feet, bowing his shaggy-haired head as he presented the weapon to his master. For this, he promptly received a vicious cuff about his ears.
‘Not to me, you imbecile!’ Ramses hissed. ‘Present it to the customer for inspection! Gods! I’d deal out more thrashings to you, but I think they only serve to dull your already dim mind further!’
Wincing from the pain but remaining mute, the boy rushed over to Lucius and presented the sword to him.
‘Be a good lad and fetch me the breastplate too,’ Lucius said, ruffling the boy’s dark hair playfully, a gesture that elicited a smile of genuine appreciation from the lad.
‘You are too kind to that little imp,’ Ramses growled disapprovingly. ‘Move it boy, the customer gave you an order!’
As the child scampered off to the back room, Lucius held the sword aloft and marvelled at its exquisite craftsmanship.
‘My, my,’ he muttered. ‘This is a finely wrought blade.’
‘It is king’s sword,’ Viridovix commented.
Lucius spun around with surprise.
‘You speak our Roman tongue?’
‘A little,’ Viridovix muttered warily. His eyes sparkled with wonder as he gazed upon the blade.
‘Well, well, well,’ Lucius said with a subtle chuckle, his eyes lighting up as he took in the sight of the Gaul with new wonder. ‘You are full of surprises! The king who once wielded this is now a slave, such as yourself – either that or he sleeps the eternal sleep beneath the soil of a battlefield. This sword will be yours—’
‘Give me!’ Viridovix demanded gruffly.
‘Gods!’ Ramses exclaimed, his mouth hanging open with shock. ‘Such insolence! You must beat him at once!’
‘No, no,’ Lucius said firmly. ‘Calm yourself, Ramses. This one is no serving boy – he’ll be a gladiator. He needs that fighting spirit!’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the Egyptian muttered darkly. ‘No slave should speak to his master in such an impertinent manner. Humph! Anyway, will you be taking this longsword?’
‘I certainly will be. The breastplate and helmet too. I’ll take the sword with me now, and you can deliver the armour to Batiatus’s ludus tomorrow.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘My servants will take care of the payment, as always,’ Lucius said. ‘As you can see, the daylight is fading, and I need to get this beast over to Batiatus’s ludus so that he may begin his training immediately. I’ll be off now.’
‘It’s been good doing business, as always,’ Ramses said with a greasy smile, rubbing his hands together.
Lucius, grinning, strode out of the store, holding the longsword in one hand with a strength that belied the slenderness of his arms.
‘Sword, give me!’ Viridovix yelled again as he trailed behind Lucius.
In response, Lucius simply laughed and shook his head.
‘You’ll get it in time, my eager barbarian!’ he said as they navigated the packed streets. ‘When you’ve proved your worth with the wooden swords of the ludus, you’ll get this one. But even then, you’ll only get to use it in the arena, and you’ll be under heavy guard … and I’ll tell you this, they’ll quickly put an arrow through your skull should you try anything foolish with it. Don’t get your hopes up, slave.’
The Gaul, sullen and reticent, hung his head as he trudged along. After half an hour of walking the men exited the Capua city boundaries and began to traverse a quiet country road, with dusk settling gently about them.
‘Ah, lovely evening for a stroll, is it not?’ Lucius remarked to Viridovix, the magnificent longsword gripped lightly in his left hand. ‘Come now, don’t look so glum. You’re going to be a god in the arena! The crowds will worship you.’
‘No,’ a raspy voice snarled from behind a clump of bushes. ‘He’ll just be dead, like you, wolf.’
Lucius spun around just in time to see a man, armoured in the getup of a Roman legionnaire, spring out from behind a broken wall and fling a javelin straight at his chest. With almost superhuman reflexes Lucius shot out his free hand and caught the javelin in mid-air, its point shivering mere inches from his sternum. Hearing another whiz, he flung himself to the floor, and a javelin streaked through the air and sailed through the space where his head had just been.
‘Kill them both!’ the soldier shouted.
‘Huntsmen!’ Lucius gasped, scrambling to his feet.
As he rose, he spun the javelin in his hands and hurled it with full force at a soldier who burst out of some bushes to his left. The expertly thrown projectile transfixed the man through his throat,
