to see Rome again. Julia's first birthday ought to be celebrated at home. And anyway, why should we stay? I had no client employing me.
Justinus provided the answer: “Have you heard the rumor running wild? There's a needle-match planned for tomorrow's Games. Saturninus, Calliopus, and Hanno have agreed to arrange a special three-sided bout.”
“What! How's that?”
“It's all rather mysterious, but I heard that each is putting up a gladiator for a fight to the death. It will be the final event-something to make the rival groups from the different towns really yell their heads off.”
The tingle I had felt all day increased. “Hades! That sounds as if this could degenerate into an occasion when the amphitheater erupts.”
“You haven't heard the best. The part that will interest you, Marcus, is that this bout is supposed to settle a legal claim. There's an unusual twist-whichever lanista owns the last man left alive has agreed to pay compensation to a certain Scilla in a suit she has against them all.”
“Io! That means they'll want to lose, surely?”
Justinus laughed. “All three of them are supposed to be putting up some complete no-hoper so it turns into a comedy. The fighters won't want to die-but for once their lanistae will be trying to persuade them to go down.”
“Oh very colorful.”
“From what I heard in the marketplace, there is a curious interest in the deadbeats.”
“Do they have names?” asked Rutilius, just beating me to it.
“None that I heard. All sorts of rumors are flying-freaks with two heads each are the favorite suggestion. Fascinating, eh?”
“Sounds enough to crank up interest,” I said.
“It's high,” Justinus confirmed. “Large bets being taken, perfectly openly.”
“This is it then,” I said. I was speaking to no one in particular, though both of my companions must have known just what I meant.
Somewhere in Lepcis that night menagerie keepers would be starving a lion.
Somewhere too, gladiators of various qualities were enjoying the traditional lavish eve-of-fight meal. It was their privilege-and could be their curse. It was often the clincher when the following day dawned; they would be tempted to enjoy all they could, since it might be their last chance. But indulge too much, and that would count against them in the ring.
On the way back through town Justinus and I did make a feeble attempt to get into the main local training school-the Saturninus spread-with a view to inspecting the men at their feast. Members of the public were being barred. We thought it best not to make an issue. For one thing, I reckoned any special combatants would be shut away somewhere secret.
I spent an uneasy night. To save Helena worrying, I pretended to sleep perfectly peacefully. All the time, thoughts churned in my head. I was damned sure whatever happened, this special bout the three lanistae had planned was not intended to be fair. Each of them would be going into it with his own evil plans.
From the president's box it would be impossible to intervene in any emergency. Justinus and I had racked our brains wondering how we could overcome that. The only useful place to be was out in the ring-but I had had to promise Helena I would not in any circumstances go out there to fight.
58
A BLAZE OF SUNLIGHT swathed the arena from the first hour. Slowly the stone seats and the brilliant white sand on the arena floor began to warm up. As the crowd started to assemble, the sound of the ocean was lost, though we could still smell the ocean on the salty air that dried our faces and made our hair stiff and lank.
Justinus and I had gone early. Rutilius would arrive much later, ceremonially. We thought we were prompt yet other people had beaten us to it, though the atmosphere remained relaxed. Even at that stage, however, the holiday mood had extra tension caused by the presence of contingents from Oea and Sabratha.
Admission was free, but the ticketmen were in place, ready to hand out the tokens which assigned places in the various tiers and wedges of seats. Cushions for the front row seats were being unladen from mules. Smoke rose lazily from fires on the beach where hot tidbits were being cooked by food sellers. Wineskins and amphorae had been brought in large quantities. Snack sellers were hoping for a lucrative day.
Country dwellers, drawn by the spectacle and the chance of making sales of their produce and crafts, had turned up on horses and the occasional camel, and were squatting on the beach. Some had even pitched long, dark, desert tents. And keen folk from town were meandering up the shore and along other paths even as we ourselves arrived, looking for friends to greet or betting touts to haggle with. Playbills appeared; we got hold of one, but apart from the professional fighters who were listed by name and fighting style, the special bout was only described as a “combat of three novices.”
After the first arrivals had strolled up, some still eating their breakfasts, the influx suddenly increased and the atmosphere pulsated. The citizens of Lepcis were now pouring forth, some dressed in white in the formal Roman manner (as we were), others robed in brilliant colors. Women in their best finery, bejeweled, incredibly coiffed, saucily veiled or lurking under parasols, were carried here in litters or forced to walk by frugal husbands. Children scampered free or clung shyly to parents. Men wandered about making contacts, perhaps with male business acquaintances, perhaps even with forward women who ought not to have been available. Ushers finally appeared- far too late to make much impact, though no one seemed to care.
The rows of seats were filling fast. Cheeks, foreheads, and bald pates were already shining up and reddening in the sun. Bare-armed beauties would look like lobsters this evening. An elderly man was carried off on a stretcher, overcome before the event even started. A fine haze of unguents, perspiration, fried squid, and garlic gently assaulted our nostrils.
The hum of noise rose, then fell off expectantly. Rutilius Gallicus arrived.
Toga-clad and wearing a wreath to which he must be officially entitled, he took his seat, received with warm applause. The citizens of Lepcis were well aware he had given them territorial preference over Sabratha, and particularly Oea. There were a few jeers, presumably from the visitors, immediately swamped by another surge of appreciation from the victorious Lepcitanians.
Justinus and I slipped into our seats beside Claudia and Helena. We had the best view available. Rutilius had extended his favor to allow us, as his houseguests, to share his plot like equals. This put us in prime position-with cushions-among the three front rows of the nobility, priests, and dignitaries who were enthroned on their hereditary wide marble seats. Behind us the massed crowds craned their necks from the plain benches that would give them stiff buttocks and backache by the end of the day.
I spotted Euphrasia amongst the elegantly turned out town councilors and their wives. She looked extremely expensive in a grand set of gold hardwear and near-sheer indigo drapes. To my surprise she had Artemisia, Calliopus' handsome young wife, on her left and the expansive shape of Hanno's sister Myrrha on her right. Any public display of close affinity usually masks an intended coup. So that looked good news. The three lanistae were presumably off somewhere preparing their gladiators. I wondered where Scilla was. I could not believe she would not be observing today's activity; especially as the special bout was so important for her compensation claim.
Rutilius had to leave his seat again. A parade of statues of local gods, crudely disguised under the names of Roman ones, heralded a few brisk religious formalities. He took part with suitable gravity, slitting open a chicken so its entrails could be surveyed. His manner was quiet and extremely efficient as he then pronounced the omens good and the procedures all in order. This enabled the Games to start.
Immediately preparations rushed ahead for the execution of the man caught raving against the gods yesterday. Veils were now wrapped discreetly around syncretized Jupiter Ammon and around Milkashtart and Shadrapa, ancient eastern deities who apparently passed themselves off as Punic variants of Hercules and Liber Pater or Bacchus. A huge chorus of booing went up as an armed guard dragged in the criminal. His crimes were posted up, though without the dignity of naming him-assuming anyone had even bothered to find out who this ranting foreigner was. He was shaven-headed and filthy. The man had been beaten up last night in prison, without doubt. He hung limply in the arms of his captors, either unconscious from the beating or still drunk. Both
