Could he eat it? Would they be cooking with shit covered hands? Would he get some kind of dysentery because of it? The sound of the shackles and chains clinked in the quiet air around him. The slaves moved like silent specters; their eyes cast down. He was amazed at the size of the ludus; the modern ruins were only a fraction of the Ludus Magnus’ actual size. He thought perhaps it was because a lot of buildings were built atop of it. It would be too costly to tear down modern buildings, just to unearth the original structure. He saw the squat man, Glaucis and thought he was like the Scauras fellow. Like some kind of management. He had no idea how something like this was run or even managed. Like some kind of business or sports franchise. Maybe this was where it all started.
The men turned down a hallway and the scent of food was more prevalent. They were brought to a large outdoor dining hall with numerous wooden tables and benches. Dean noticed there were a few awnings that were pulled back and he thought they might be used in inclement weather. There was short cropped grass and flowers that were sprinkled about and there were several goats chomping away at the grass and balls of goat poop laying in small clumps. There were a few shade trees scattered about and on one wall, an opening. Dean saw that there were people within and realized that was the kitchen. He saw several large men standing in line with wooden trays. A slave stood and handed out the wooden tray, a wooden bowl and spoon. There weren’t many men and they looked to be gladiators, only because they were well built and several were heavily muscled.
Dean looked around and saw that several tables held men eating. On each of the tables were jugs and clay cups. He turned and looked when Cato said something and he looked to Thad.
“He said we get in line and get our food. Then we go to the far table over there and eat. When we’re done, we take our trays over to that slave and then we wait for him,” Thad said, pointing to a table somewhat removed from the other furniture and then to a slave who stood by a large barrel. A few of the men looked over at Thad and Dean figured they had never heard English before. He didn’t even know if the British even spoke English during this time. His Italian was coming along, but when people spoke fast, it was hard for him to keep up. He knew that Marco spoke Spanish and that he had an easier time of it. He and Greg would have to hurry to catch up.
Dean and his friends moved to stand behind the last man in line. The large man ignored them and Dean studied him. The man’s back was a crisscross of scars. Most of them looked old but there was a fresh scar with stitches on the back of the man’s arm. He shivered, there were no painkillers here during this time he was pretty sure and he’d be damned lucky not to die from a small cut. He stepped forward and was handed a tray. The slave set a wooden bowl atop and a wooden spoon. He wondered just how clean the utensils were but didn’t look too closely. He no longer had the luxury of being picky or squeamish, those were modern notions, here it was pitiless indifference.
Dean moved to the opening and a slave slopped a ladle full of lentils into his bowl. The next slave handed over a large chunk of bread and cheese. The next ladled out some kind of wilted vegetable greens onto the tray and the last gave him a handful of dried figs and a withered orange. He moved forward and made his way over to the table carefully. He was pretty sure if he tripped and spilled his food, they wouldn’t give him any more. Dean didn’t see any of these people as being overly compassionate, he was a slave after all. He set the tray down and then sat on the bench and then swung his chained feet around and under the table. It was awkward and the chains bit painfully into his ankles.
He had noticed that the other men were not chained and he hoped at some point soon, that he would have the fetters removed. He looked over and saw Thad heading over and Greg was behind. Both men were careful as they walked. Dean lifted one of the jugs and sniffed, it had wine in it.
“Screw it, I need a drink,” he muttered to himself and poured the wine into the clay cup. It was weird to sit here butt-ass naked and eat lunch, as though he were in some kind of nudist colony. He shook his head and tamped down the urge to go run screaming. It was some kind of next level mindfuck. Thad and Greg put their trays on the table and gingerly got situated. Marco was coming up behind and followed suit. Once they were all settled, each man looked at the other. They had a bit of privacy now; Cato was sitting with several gladiators and they could hear their laughter float over toward them. Dean was glad they had a bit of privacy and a chance to talk.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Marco said as he picked up his spoon. Dean felt the guilt of it all wash over him and he said nothing. He took a drink and almost spit the wine out. It was potent and slightly sour.
“At least they feed us and aren’t going to starve us,” Greg said and took a bite of the lentils. Dean picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl. The lintels
