The Forgotten Legion

The Gaul smiled grimly. 'Many of us will die today.' Instantly he had everyone's attention. 'But it doesn't have to be that way.'

'What's your fucking point?' snarled Figulus, moving forward with his friends. A space spontaneously appeared between Brennus and the group.

Romulus tensed, ready to react if they attacked. It was pleasing to see the four scissores react in the same way. He and the Gaul were not totally alone.

'We are far better than the Dacicus lot,' cried Brennus. 'You all know that!'

Many men growled acknowledgement. There was fierce rivalry between the different schools.

'If we hit them hard and fast, we can finish this before it's even started.'

Hope appeared in the anxious faces.

'Follow me and fight together! I want the retiarii to the front and sides. Everyone else in the centre. We 'll take the bastards out with a full frontal attack.' Brennus raised a clenched fist. 'LU-DUS MAG-NUS!'

There was a short silence as the gladiators muttered to each other, taking his words in. A few nodded, shouting the infectious refrain. More gradually began to join in and finally the cell echoed to roars of 'LU-DUS MAG- NUS! LU-DUS MAG-NUS!'

Satisfied, the Gaul stepped back. Figulus scowled at those nearby, but the moment to respond had been lost. The men would follow Brennus.

Sextus nodded with approval. 'Raised our spirits and, with luck, divided our enemies at the same time.'

'I led warriors into battle long before I was a gladiator.'

'And I pray you lead them again.' The scissores pointed at the entrance. 'Still no sign of them. That murmillo was right — we'll be going into the arena blind.'

'And soon too.'

'May the gods be with us.'

'And may they guide your axe!' Brennus raised his voice. 'Remember what I said.'

To Romulus' delight, the gladiators responded immediately, forming up in groups.

The Gaul grinned and drew his sword.

'Where do you want my boys?'

'Doing what you do best, Sextus! Pick 'em off around the edges!'

The scissores bared his lips at Brennus' double-edged comment.

At that moment, a group of guards clattered down the corridor, spears in hand.

The hoarding between the rows of cages had an exit to the outside cut into it. Some men lifted a heavy locking bar and placed it on the ground, removing planks to open a gap wide enough for two fighters to stand abreast. The remainder closed off the passage to the street.

The slave who had earlier been insolent to Memor opened the padlock with a long key, pulling wide the gate. 'Time to die!' he said, smirking.

A number of fighters lunged at him through the bars with knives and swords. He jumped back in fear. 'Get out there! Don't make us get the archers.'

'Watch your mouth, you son of a whore,' growled Sextus. 'We 'll go in our own time.'

Romulus was baffled and angered that a fellow slave should want other slaves to die. If they could only unify and fight together, the foundations of the Republic would crumble beneath the weight of their numbers. Think like Spartacus, he thought. All men should be free.

The guard gestured outside again, but had the wisdom not to speak. These fighters were dangerous, even when behind locked gates. Trumpets blared expectantly and the crowd cheered, eager for the spectacle to begin.

Brennus hefted his shield. 'Time to shed some blood for the good citizens of Rome.'

Romulus swallowed, squaring both shoulders.

Followed by their companions, the pair trotted into bright afternoon sunlight. The gladiators quickly fanned out into a semicircle, occupying half the sand. Shouts of encouragement from Magnus supporters competed with the jeers of those who backed the Dacicus.

Many in the audience were studying them, judging their fighting ability. Comments and insults filled the air and bookmakers ran up and down the steps, offering wildly varying odds. Bags of sestertii changed hands as huge bets were laid by eager nobles.

Announcing the arrival of the Dacicus fighters, trumpets rang out again, silencing the crowd.

Romulus held his breath as fifty men emerged from an opening on the opposite side of the arena. Most were similar in appearance to the Magnus gladiators, but there were some he did not recognise.

'See the dimachaeri?' Brennus pointed. 'Those with two swords.'

'They have no shields,' said Romulus with amazement.

'Crazy easterners from Dacia. What do you expect?'

'And the ones with lassos?'

'Laquearii. They fight in pairs with murmillones or Thracians. Rope an enemy so the other can kill him.'

'Dangerous?'

'Some are as good as Gallus is with a net.'

Romulus blew out his cheeks. This is going to be interesting, he thought. Remember the basics.

Beside him, Brennus was shifting excitedly, eyes lit. Battle rage was taking control.

When the Dacicus fighters had formed up opposite, the trumpets blew a last fanfare and fell silent. Nobody spoke as the heavily armed groups faced each other.

Death was in the air.

'People of Rome!' A short, fat man in a white toga addressed the crowd from the boxed area reserved for nobles. 'Before us today are one hundred of the finest gladiators in the city!'

Wild cheering erupted; many of the women screamed and threw flowers.

'We are here because of the generosity of one person. ' The speaker paused, allowing the noise to build. 'I give you — the conqueror of Mithridates, Lion of Pontus. The victor over the Cilician pirates. The builder of the people's theatre. Today's editor — the great general — Pompey Magnus!'

As if ordered to do so, sunlight streamed from a break in the clouds. Roars of approval rose into the air and Romulus realised that the two groups had been encouraged to stand so they formed a corridor. Beams shone from the west across the arena, between the fighters.

Lighting up Pompey, the sponsor.

'Just a big show,' he muttered to Brennus.

'Politics. If the people love the games, they support their sponsors. That gives him power.'

'We are fighting for a damn politician?' Romulus had not thought to question the reason behind fights. The citizens of Rome adored bloodshed, but it was not they who actually held the contests. It was those in power who were responsible — the senators and equestrians. The gladiators were just puppets on strings.

Used to it all, Brennus nodded.

Romulus was outraged. 'Lots of us are about to die. Why?'

'We are slaves, Romulus,' he said simply.

An image of Crassus' doorman came to him. 'Says who?' Romulus countered. 'That prick?' He pointed at the nobles' box.

'Shut up!' Brennus looked over both shoulders. 'Memor would execute you on the spot if he heard that.'

'It's been done before,' argued Romulus passionately. 'Imagine what fifty of us could do to the bastards up there.'

'Rebellion?' The Gaul whispered the word.

'Claiming freedom, more like.'

'Pompey Magnus!' cried the master of ceremonies again.

'Time to fight.' Brennus winked. 'We 'll talk later.'

The crowd cheered dutifully while Pompey acknowledged their adulation with a languid wave. A middle-aged man with white hair, prominent eyes and a bulbous nose, he surveyed the fighters keenly.

'Salute Pompey Magnus!'