IV
Aurelius Scauras sighed heavily and scratched his naked belly. Glaucis had been by earlier for dinner and had left a little while ago.
“Those men are settled in. Aulus says they are healthy and fit. He said he’d not seen better specimens in a long time,” Glaucis said.
“I thought that might be the case. They just materialized down in the tunnels. They said they weren’t soldiers, but you can tell that they are,” Scauras said and Glaucis snorted with amusement.
“You would have to be a fool to miss that, their posture alone radiated aggression and confidence. Doctore will get them in hand and train them. I see a bright future and plenty of coin coming our way,” Glaucis said.
Scauras snorted in amusement thinking on their dinner conversation. Plenty of coin was correct. He sighed heavily and scratched his rump. He reclined back on his couch and there was a light breeze blowing into his third story balcony. He had one of the best suites of Ludus Magnus in the completed section of the large complex. Glaucis had the second best. His rooms had been completed the previous year and he was not disappointed.
He had to entertain up here, when sponsors came to visit. Sometimes he had the very wealthy guest to come by for a private show of two men fighting, though most exhibitions were done down in the training arena. He didn’t necessarily enjoy entertaining, but he and Glaucis needed the support of the rich and that was just how the world worked. He had the running of the amphitheater and Glaucis ran the Ludus, but Scauras was the highest ranking official and Glaucis essentially worked for him; he had the care of the gladiators.
Who could have imagined a boy from the south becoming a gladiator and surviving? He had been young and strong when he’d been taken from his home, a fishing village. He had served the Roman legionary as a servant for many years and when he’d seen his first gladiator fight, Scauras knew what he wanted to do. He knew he didn’t want to be a kicking boy for the soldiers and their ill tempers.
His unit had passed through Capua and he had run away and joined the ludus of a low functionary. He was only fourteen at the time and had trained for two years, gaining strength, stature and skill. Fighting was in his blood, but he had not wanted to become a soldier. He had seen how they lived and how they had been treated. Only the highest ranks enjoyed any kind of luxuries, the common foot soldier’s life was one of servitude and hardship. Scauras had seen how the most popular gladiators were treated and he wanted that. He wanted that adoration, no matter how fleeting.
He looked around his home and smiled, well satisfied. He had personal slaves, rich food, expensive clothing and the respect of the merchants and citizens. He even had several friends among the senate. The gladiators that he and Glaucis managed brought him wealth. He coordinated and ran good performances in the arena. He had a good eye for talent and knew how to achieve his goals. He groaned in enjoyment as one of his slaves rubbed his neck and shoulders. He closed his eyes and smiled. It had been a good day; the production had gone well and he had gained four men. He chuckled to himself and groaned again in pleasure. He opened his eyes when another slave brought over a goblet of wine and he took it and sipped the sweet mulsum. He nodded a head at his feet and the oldest of his slaves knelt down and began to rub and oil his feet. He groaned in delight.
He looked over in the corner, where four pairs of shoes sat. He’d had one of his slaves gather the discarded footwear when the four young men had been taken to the arena.
“Bring me those sandali,” he ordered and the slave who had served the wine went quickly and gathered up the shoes in her arms and returned to her master. He took one of the sandals, the largest one belonged to the large man, the one who spoke his language. He lifted his foot and put the sandal on. It was too large. Too bad, it was a nice shoe, well made and the leather was of high quality. He tossed it to the floor and took the next sandal and examined it. This shoe had come from the man with the USMC tattoo on his arm.
He had recognized some of the lettering on the man’s arm but didn’t understand their meaning. He knew what the eagle was and of course the anchor, he had grown up by the coast and his family had been fisherfolk. Though what each had to do with the other, he did not know. He thought that the tattoo was well done, just as the other man’s dragon that was across his back. Scauras thought about how odd that dragon had looked, with its colorful beard and scoots. He lifted the sandal and placed it on his foot. He smiled broadly; the sandal fit.
He handed the sandal to another slave and picked up the odd-looking closed leather shoe. He thought this was from the shorter blond man. He slipped his foot into the shoe but his heel wouldn’t fit down in it. He sighed and threw it to the floor. He picked up the last shoe and it looked very odd. He fingered the laces and thought they were made of some kind of woven fabric and not leather. He ran the tip of his calloused fingertip along the side of the shoe and he turned it over in his hands. He looked at the tread and turned the shoe over
