The Forgotten Legion

Memor flushed at the disrespect. 'You are still my slave!' He prodded the brand on Brennus' left calf. 'Remember that!'

Brennus looked up. 'Next time I will kill slowly. Happy?'

Nervous, the unctor paused.

'Did I say stop?'

Hastily he continued rubbing.

'Just make sure you do.' Memor wasn't going to punish his most skilled fighter severely. The Gaul was worth far too much money. But long years of managing gladiators had made the lanista sharp as a blade. 'And no harm will come to that whore of yours,' he added, almost as an afterthought.

The unctor gasped in dismay as Brennus jumped from the table, knocking the bottle of oil flying. Pottery shattered on the floor. Stepping over the shards, the big man clenched his fists and stalked naked towards Memor.

Five years before there had been no chance to defend his wife. The same would not happen again.

The lanista took several urgent steps backwards.

'You piece of Roman shit!' Brennus' face was an inch away. 'Touch a hair on Astoria's head and you'll eat your own balls. Before I cut out your heart.'

Memor did not flinch. 'You and your friends can't watch Astoria all the time.' He shrugged apologetically. 'She might have a nasty accident. Terribly easy, you know. Wagon out of control on the street. Thief might slip a blade in her down an alleyway.'

Brennus ground his teeth in rage, all too aware that the beautiful Nubian could not be under his constant protection. 'Very well, Master.' The words nearly choked him. 'I will fight better next time. More slowly.'

Memor smiled. 'Where is the purse from Caesar?'

Brennus indicated the pile of clothes by the table. Quickly the lanista emptied more than half the coins into a leather bag.

'Plenty left — for a slave.' Memor scattered the rest on the floor. He left, satisfied that the Gaul had been brought to heel.

Brennus climbed resignedly back on the bench and gestured for the unctor to resume.

Before falling in love with Astoria, life in the ludus had been simple. Other than threats of torture or death, there had been few forms of control over him. Brennus was scared of neither and the lanista knew it. Thirty lashes soon after his arrival had only made the Gaul laugh in Memor's face. Since the massacre of his whole tribe by the Romans, he had not cared if he lived or died. He felt completely hollow inside. Brac, his wife and child were gone for ever. People Brennus had sworn to protect had died because of his failure. Ultan's predictions had come to nothing.

That left no reason to live.

Initially, Brennus had made countless attempts to seek out death, but it had always evaded him. Nobody could beat the Gaul in combat and dozens of opponents had died beneath his blade. He 'd grown rich on the rewards lavished by the editores, the prominent men like Julius Caesar who hosted the games that were now becoming a staple of daily life in Rome.

But money and men's lives were not what Brennus wanted. He could have fled the ludus and gone on the run; even an existence as an outlaw would have been better than this. What had stopped him was the shocking message that he had been given three years previously by the ancient augur who plied his trade outside the gates of the Ludus Magnus. Memor tolerated the soothsayer's visits to the school, knowing it kept his men happy. But Brennus had watched gladiators paying to hear good omens and then seen them die in the arena too many times to set much store by the old man's prophecies. He was a charlatan.

At length a friendly murmillo had paid for Brennus to have a reading.

Feeling bored, the Gaul had gone along with the charade. The augur had smiled initially as Brennus had sat down before him. He reached into the basket alongside, produced a hen and quickly slashed its neck. Then, uncharacteristically silent, the old man had stared long and hard at the entrails. The Gaul had waited, surprised that he was not being promised victory over an entire troop of gladiators.

'You have lost everything.'

The melodramatic words had amused Brennus. So had every fighter in the ludus. Most were free men who had been enslaved.

Before he could stop him, the augur had spoken again. 'A long journey still awaits you.'

Shaken, Brennus had held his breath.

'A journey longer than any of your people have ever taken.' The old man had seemed as surprised as the Gaul by what he was seeing. But his interpretation had remained the same with every divination thereafter.

It had given Brennus some hope.

He tried to remain solitary but men were drawn to his friendly character.

In the ludus' harsh atmosphere, the Gaul's willingness to train others and share useful tips on combat was unusual. While his exalted status helped to make some jealous, many gladiators called him friend. And the year before, fuelled by memories of how Conall had saved his life, Brennus had even rescued Sextus, one of the scissores, from the depths of an uneven mass combat. After that, Brennus became one of the ludus' most popular figures, although he trusted no one.

Things had changed when Astoria had arrived in the ludus kitchen a few months before. Brennus had immediately noticed her beauty and poise. He'd had many women since Liath's death, physical needs in the end overtaking his grief. First he had bought prostitutes with his winnings, then enjoyed rich matrons who flocked to the ludus. The renown of the best prize fighters attracted noblewomen like moths to a flame. Among the wealthy it was considered normal to seek pleasure from those whom they might watch die. While his comrades revelled in the attention, no female had really interested Brennus until he saw Astoria and was captivated by the curves of her ebony body, barely concealed by a ragged shift.

Brennus had quickly claimed the Nubian for his own and had thus exposed a weakness in his emotional armour. Such was the Gaul's reputation that none dared touch Astoria, confining themselves to lewd comments. But her presence was a source of intense jealousy among a small group of less successful fighters. And now, with Memor's threats, Brennus feared more for Astoria's safety than he did his own. He grimaced. Maybe a long bath would help him forget the lanista's menaces.

'Enough.'

The unctor stepped smartly back.

Brennus refilled the purse, tossed him a coin and walked naked into the frigidarium, which held a large, unheated pool. The water was cold enough to make him shiver as he climbed in. With closed eyes, the Gaul ducked his head completely under, knowing it would be refreshing before the heat of the next room.

When he had bathed in the tepidarium, the resident body slave oiled his skin, scraping it clean with an iron strigil. Moving on to the caldarium, Brennus lingered in its steamy atmosphere, sharing the warmth with the other top gladiators. Conversation was muted as the men relaxed, enjoying the intense heat radiating from hollow bricks in the walls and floor. Continuous currents of hot air from the hypocaustum, the nearby underground furnace, ensured the temperature remained constant.

Some time later, Brennus sauntered in better humour from the bathhouse door. Dusk was falling and across the yard his cell door was ajar. Flickering light shone from candles that Astoria would have lit. He smiled in anticipation, imagining her naked.

A woman's scream pierced the air.

It was immediately cut short.

Brennus sprinted across the yard, his drying cloth falling unnoticed to the ground. He ripped open the door to find four of the men he least liked inside. His fears had been fulfilled. Since Spartacus' rebellion, only champion gladiators were allowed to keep weapons in their rooms. And in Brennus' absence it had been easy for the group to overpower Astoria and help themselves to some of his.

Two now waved swords threateningly at the Gaul while the other pair sat on the bed, mauling Astoria with