The Trident

"Fuck you, pussy!" Aella yelled.

"That's treason, bitch, and you will pay for it." He looked around at his men. "Let's see if it's true that gladiators die bravely without begging for mercy."

"Give me a sword, and we'll see how bravely you die!" Aella taunted.

All gladiators who had not been locked in their cells gathered around Gaius, but their weapons were locked in the armory, and they were outnumbered by the frumetarii and praetorian guards five to one.

Laughing, the sergeant drew the whip back, then lashed her on the back. Taking a comic stance he placed his hand next to his ear. "What's that? I didn't hear you scream. Ah, but you will be screaming when your flesh is hanging from your bones like loose plaster. But I'm a nice guy. Tell you what. If you beg me for forgiveness and promise to suck my cock, I'll let you live. How's that?"

There was no answer.

The sergeant lashed her again, then again more brutally each time until her back side was covered in blood.

"Gee, I must not be whipping her hard enough," he joked to his men. No one can say I'm not a nice guy, though. I gave her an out. Oh, well, turn her around, and I'll turn her tits into mush."

After she was turned around, she hung limply by her wrists, semi-conscious, her knees doubled.

"Let me see here," the sergeant said feigning indecision. "Should I rip off her nose or a nipple first?"

He drew back the whip. "I think nose."

The whip cut across her face leaving a hole where her nose had been.

"Well, it doesn't look like she's gonna scream, men. So maybe we ought to cut her tongue out since she doesn't seem to need it."

At that moment the procurator, Kaeso Matius Cico, and Pugnax came up.

"Get out of my way you sons of bitches!" he shouted at the guards.

The sergeant turned. "Who dares yell at my men?"

"I, Kaeso Matius Cico, the emperor's procurator.

The sergeant was taken aback.

"The woman threatened my life, procurator; she must be punished."

"She seems to have been punished. Now get the hell out of here."

The sergeant hesitated pursing his lips as he tried to restrain his anger. Then curling his whip, he slapped it against his thigh and, nodding briskly, ordered his men to leave.

As the sergeant passed by two mirmillones grabbed Gaius by the arms to keep him from attacking him. The sergeant paused for a moment grinning, then went on.

When the gladiators releashed him Gaius rushed to the palus and lifted Aella up in his arms while Pugnax cut her free. They took her to the clinic where Marcus had Gaius place her on a cot face down.

Marcus examined the severed flesh with bone showing through and shook his head solemnly at Gaius. Barely conscious Aella reached out for Gaius' hand and gripped it tightly.

"He didn't make me beg, did he? I die like a gladiatrix."

Gaius nodded.

"Will they be able to fix my nose in the Elysian Fields?"

"Gaius nodded and rubbed the top of her head gently.

"You will be the most beautiful woman there," he whispered.

"Farewell, Gaius."

She squeezed his hand, closed her eyes and died.

*

It was a small oak box with a hinged lid. A small brass key was fitted into the keyhole. Camilla and Atella brought it to him a few days after Aella was buried.

"We think Aella would have wanted you to have this," Camilla had said. "You were the only male she ever seemed to take a liking to. She had no family or friends except for us. She was a loner."

Inside were several bronze needles and a square-sided glass bottle of ink. There were also a black head band, four gold coins and a small statue of a winged Nemesis carved out of wood. Gaius placed it in his niche. "She whittled it herself," Camilla said.

Before they left, she handed him Aella's dagger.

Chapter XII

"Remember this: I've told it to you before, but it bears repeating. As long as you have no hope or fear you stand a chance of surviving."

Frowning, with his head lowered and his hands behind his back, Hermes paced before the tyros like a drill sergeant before raw military recruits.

"Today you have finished six months training. Today you will face an opponent in the arena for the first time. This will be for real. He will not be pulling his punched as your opponents in practice have. He will be trying to kill you--have no doubt about that. If you want to live to see another day, you must kill him. But should the Parcae be against you you must die like a Roman and bring no disgrace upon your country or your fellow gladiators. Fight well and the gods will reward you. Fight well and even if you lose the fight your life may be spared, for Romans admire courage and heart above all. But falter, show a lack of spunk and you will surely lose your life."

Hermes stopped pacing, let his gaze travel over them. "Fall in line at the southwest tunnel."

"Not to worry," Diores, a mirmillo, said as they gathered at the entrance of the tunnel that led to the amphitheater.

"Why's that?" Gaius asked.

"It's not a real combat. We'll be fighting noxii outfitted as gladiators. Their swords are made of wood painted silver. They've never been trained for combat. It'll be a cinch to beat them."

"How do you know this?"

"A veteran told me. If there's going to be a real combat they'll treat us to a banquet the night before. That way you'll know it's for real and not a sham. He said all the rich pricks and highborn cunts will wander around stroking us like pets. They probably get off thinking they're so close to death. A guy as good looking as you will get all the pussy he can eat."

Gaius watched the staff slaves line up behind them carrying their weapons, shields and other paraphernalia for the various categories of gladiators. He saw the veterans lounging about and envied them. They only had another practice session before them today while he was destined to kill another human being. A Jew or a criminal? He didn't think he would mind killing one or the other--but a slave condemned to death merely because his master or mistress were tired of him or displeased for some petty reason? He didn't like that idea. Thankfully he would never know the man he was to kill. Softening his reservations was the knowdge that he had no choice. He had to kill or be killed; It was out of his hands.

They waited in a dimly lit chamber under the amphitheater that smelled of stale sweat and rancid fumes from oil lamps. The dull roar of the crowd came to them in muffled tones as the thick brick and concrete foundation shook from the stomping of many thousand feet. As the hours went by the room emptied out until it was the group Gaius was in that was led up stone steps by armed soldiers and into the vaulted Gate of Life.

A referee with a stick sorted them out into smaller groups of ten. Each time the iron grated gate was flung open ten tyros went out to engage in combat with ten noxii. To call it a combat was a gross exaggeration. The noxii had no chance against trained gladiators even if they were only tyros. It only took a handful of minutes to kill them. To slaughter them. Their dying screams were drowned out by the hoots and yells of the insatiable spectators.

As Gaius stepped up to the gate with his group a small boy leaned over the wall above the entrance way. Two more boys slightly older looking appeared next to him.

"You're a net man," the small boy said. The other two snickered.

Gaius nodded.

"Are you queer? My father says all net men are queer."

"Only those that wear a tunic. I'm not a tunic boy. I fight bare-chested."

"What name do you fight under?" one of the older boys asked.

"I don't have a fight-name yet. My name is Gaius."

"Fight well, Gaius," the older boy said. "We will cheer for you."

Bodies of the dead were dragged off. Attendants cleaned up the bloody sand and brushed it smooth. Gaius was handed his net, trident and dagger. After a moment the gate was flung open by hidden levers and Gaius and the other nine tyros entered the arena coming face to face with their opponents. For a moment Gaius forgot everything he had learned as a black noxii outfitted as a mirmillo approached him as if especially.

Reflexively Gaius raised his trident and easily parried a sweep of the mirmillo's wooden sword. The man would be easy to kill. He was leaving himself wide open.

The man swung wildly several times stumbling as he lost his balance. Gaius had him, but hesitated. The man had no idea how to use the dummy gladius. He should have thrust not swung it. It wasn't made for swinging.

Gaius knew he could have killed the man half a dozen times, then realized he wouldn't be able to. It wasn't like he thought it would be.

The man reached up with his sword in hand and with his thumb flicked open his visor and threw his helmet off. The fleshy pink letters FUG, for fugitive, had been burned on his black forehead. Gaius stared at the face in disbelief. It was Ajax, the ex-boxer slave that had taught him to walk as a baby, who had waited on him hand and foot as he grew into manhood.

Glaius let the tip of his trident droop to the ground unmindful of it. There was an audible gasp from the half seated ampitheater. Was the unknown retiarius crazy?

"Master Gaius, please kill me. If you don't they will torture me with impalement. Please."

"I can't," Gaius muttered, feeling numb, gutted.

"You've got to, master. It is destiny."

Saying that he screamed loudly and charged Gaius with the wooden sword raised as if for a chopping blow. Unthinkingly, months of endless practice, Gaius raised his trident just as Ajax rushed into it. The prongs sank into his chest to the shaft. For a moment that seemed to stop time Ajax hung in the air, then his knees folded and he dropped to the ground dead.

The crowd went wild thinking that Gaius had deliberately risked his life to taunt the Nubian. They loved what they believed was an unusual act of showmanship for which they were always hungry and cheered him wildly until he disappeared in an exit.

*

Gaius sat in his room and stared into into the polished silver mirror fixed to the inside of the lid. He took the ink bottle out and pulled the cork. He drew some ink onto his chest and began sticking a bronze needle into it. An hour later he had drawn a circle with a horizontal line through it. The Greek symbol for death, Θ, Thanatos.

Y

Fabricius Veiento stepped out of his litter on the Via Appia. Behind him was the high wall of the Circus Maximus. Before him was the sweeping slope of the Palatine Hill. He paused at the marble steps and stared up at the circular arcade studded with a grand colonade that covered the whole front of Domitian's new palace.

A praetorian guard snapped to and led him into a vestibule with a ceiling so high it took the breath away. Off the vestibule an entranceway led to private apartments and two summer-houses with meandering semi-circular walls creating an illusion of natural space full of rare horticultural specimens and exotic birds.

The guard led him through this lower level of the palace to a large court. On one side were octagonal rooms on either side of a square room with only statues of Minerva on a mosaic floors studded with precious stones. On the other side of the court, filled with fountains, shrubs, trees and statues, were the imperial suites.

Domitian's bedroom lay buried deep within this vast complex. Veiento knew that the empress' quarters were in another part of the palace, an indication that Domitian no longer trusted her after her return from exile.

The guard led him through one of two antechambers, framed by fountains open to the sky, that connected to Domitian's bedroom. No one could reach this room without going through one or the other antechambers which were heavily guarded.

At the bedroom door a slave appeared to escort him inside where Domitian lay nude, face down, on a massage table while a nude masseuse, her skin sprinkled with gold powder, was massaging his feet.

"Ah, Veiento, so nice to see you again."

Veiento bowed his head. "My Lord and Master, Great Germanicus, Defender of Rome. I pray that I find you in excellent health, my Emperor."

"My health? Yes...would improve, I suspect, if I wasn't surrounded on all sides by traitors and would be assassins and a treasury that is constantly being depleted.

"You are the greatest of men, my Lord. There are always inferior breeds of lice who covet your divine judiciousness, your divine stature, your divine power, but they are cowards and weaklings who are as but a candle's flame to the sun in your almighty presence."

"How well you speak of me, my loyal Veiento. I'm blessed to have one such as you."

"I am as always your humble devoted servant, my Lord."

Veiento stared at the emperor's wig and wondered at the vanity of the man who would wear it even while getting a massage. Somewhere, on one of his bookselves, in one of his villas, he had an autographed copy of the emperor's book on the subject of baldness which he had never read and, also, hardly read, a long boring meandering poem composed for a festival at his Alban estate. The poet Martial--an ass kisser if ever there was one--had waxed lyrically over it.

"Now," Domitian said, then sighed as the masseuse did something pleasant to a foot with her tongue. "What latest news have you brought me?"

"My scouts have traced Paris to Nerva's villa in Paestum, and there's an odd connection to Saturninus' son, Gaius. His slave, a girl by the name of Justina, arrived there several months ago. Gaius Saturninus became a gladiator after we took his father's properties."

"I don't like this," Domitian said with a look of concern. "An astrologer told me once that Nerva was going to become emperor. Could there be a conspiracy brewing there?"

"The astrologer knew nothing, my Lord. He was merely trying to plant the seeds of rebellion in others."

"Yes, nevertheless, that is what they do, isn't it, my trusty Veiento, plant seeds? Keep an eye on matters--at any rate, I have waited long enough. I think the time is soon approaching for Paris to meet his end. But no suspicion should be cast on our involvement. He is still very popular with the people."

"Yes, my Lord; as you wish." Veiento hesitated. "I am...distressed to report, your Majesty, that your niece, Flavia Domitilla, and her husband, Flavius Clemens, have been sympathizing with Christians and Jews, according to my informants, ignoring your Lordship's decree against doing so."

Domitian kicked at the massuese. "Get out of here," he ordered. "Son of a bitch," he exclaimed. "After all I've done for them. I made their two sons my very own heirs--my very own!"

Veiento nodded solemnly.

"Very well," Domitian said, with a tight grin, when he regained his composure. "We will want specific charges brought against them, witnesses. But say nothing to anyone for now. This pains me. I must have time to consider the matter."

Veiento nodded again.

Domitian sighed with exasperation and rising up on his elbows glanced around the room, then a smile formed on his face. "What of this Gaius Saturninus?"

"He seems to have a talent for the arena, Your Greatness. He had his first initiation a few weeks ago and won the hearts of the crowd with his showmanship."

"A fluke?" Domitian asked.

Veiento turned up a palm and shrugged.

"What of Apollo?" Domitian asked.

"Still retired on his villa suburbana, my Lord."

Domitian rubbed his hands together. "Offer him a hundred thousand sestertii to un-retire."

*

Both Kaeso and Ligeia were smiling as she brought in a tray with food and warm honeyed wine. The procurator leaned back with his hands behind his head as she placed the tray on his desk.

"That was a smart move you made with the noxus," he said leaning forward and turning his hand toward the tray indicating that Gaius should help himself. "That was real showmanship--dropping your trident, then spearing him when he charged. The crowd knows these noxii only have wooden swords, and so they usually expect a cut and dried boring performance--but you gave them an unexpected thrill. Even though your noxus was armed with a dummy sword he could have killed you if he had connected, and the crowd knew it. A fighter can be skillfull with weapons and have many victories, but it is the fighter with the added quality of showmanship that wins the real plaudits of the crowd--and the money follows." Kaeso rubbed his hands together warmly.

"Already there is graffiti popping up on walls around town extolling your bravery," Ligeia said, pouring wine into a glass and sitting it in front of Gaius. "You will soon be the heartthrob of all the women in Rome," she teased.

"Yes," Kaeso agreed more reservedly. "There's nothing like sex and blood to propel one to fame and fortune. But only if you can pull it off again. And that's a rare gift, if you have it."

Gaius stared at the wine bubbles dissipating in his glass and nodded.

When Gaius left the procurator's office, it had started to rain. The wind was picking up and lightning flashed brilliantly to the southwest. By the time he reached his cell the wind had increased, driving sheets of rain against the stone walk of the portico. Striking flint he lit the olive oil lamp on his desk and sat down on his bunk. He stared morosely at the carved image of Nemesis in the flickering of the dull yellow light. As he stared at the goddess she assumed the face and willowy figure of Aella. From the shadows she beckoned to him from a land far away.

Y

"See, I told you," Diores said. "A banquet before death."

Gaius sopped up a chunk of bread with bean soup and looked around at the elite of Roman society circulating among the gladiators who were having the traditional public meal before their arena debut scheduled for the morrow.

Two attractive young women were fawning over a handsome Gall who fought as a Mirmillo under the name Jason. Other women, lewd and drunk, let themselves be fondled while their husbands or boyfriends watched. Men and women, richly dressed, circulated about bragging over this or that fighter and making bets. Some of these nobles seemed to be on good terms with particular fighters engaging them genially in conversation. Others wandered about in awe of those who had won several combats, patting them heartily on the shoulders, joking and gushing with praise. But many of the gladiators, especially the tyros, were solemn-faced, eating, if at all, sparingly as they, no doubt, contemplated what might be their last day on earth. Wills were dictated; families and friends commiserated in huddled enclaves.

Finishing his soup, Gaius stood up.

"Hey, where are you going?" Diores asked. "Everywhere I look women are giving you the come on. Man, you can get all the posh pussy you want tonight."

"I've had enough of that; I'd rather have a good night's sleep."

Diores shrugged. "Sleep well then. With you out of the picture I might, at least, have a chance at getting a little for myself."

Gaius gave him a wry grin and headed for the mess hall door. A guard stepped forward and blocked him until Kaeso gave him the nod.

But there was no sleep. Gaius lay awake staring into the darkness wondering what the light would bring.

*

The games were ushered in the next morning with a grand procession. First came the civic dignitaries and chief magistrates who symbolized the power of the state. Following them were the trumpeters whose strident tones announced the gladiators who followed. Behind them servants carried their glittering arms and armor. Next came priests bearing litters supporting statues of the gods, Mars, Nemesis, Victory and others. More musicians followed, then acrobats, bestarii and other performers--and the grim messengers of death: Mercury, with his red hot iron to prod the dead to see if they really were dead, and Charon, who carried them out of the arena to have their throats cut afterwards. Finally the editor of the games, consul Flavius Clemens, substituting for Domitian, rode in on a golden chariot pulled by four silver horses. He was dressed in a purple and gold toga of the finest wool and bedecked with precious jewelry. His slave Stephanus held the reigns.