The Trident

"A game?" Vassus asked.

"I'm broke," Gaius said. "Except for this." He pulled at the gold neck chain of his bulla.

Vassus' eyes twinkled. "Yes, I heard of your latest troubles . . . as has all of Rome by now, I imagine. Pity. A throw then."

Vassus took out a leather pouch from a velvet purse hanging from a gold cord around his bulbous belly and motioned Gaius to an empty table. The little girl squatted on the ground beside him as he sat down.

He shook out four white tali and rolled them across the table to Gaius. Gaius picked them up. They were made from bone-- not ivory, brass, wood or other materials as was most often the case. Two sides were rounded so that only the four flat sides could possibly show.

"One of my slaves tried to run away years ago. I had these made from his knuckles. They always bring me luck. You go first. Best throw wins."

Gaius cupped his hands over the four tali and shook them, then dropped them on the table. There were four numbers possible to each talus. The ones showing on top were the ones that counted.

"4-4-4-1," Vassus said, in a mincing tone. "A triple. Not bad, you wicked boy you."

He picked the tali up and shook them with his hands cupped next to his head. Then with a soft sensuous gasp dropped them.

"6-6-4-4. Oh, too bad, Gaius. This just isn't your lucky day, is it? My pair beats your triple."

Gaius tossed the gold bulla across the table and started to rise.

"Hold on. Perhaps you'd like another chance?"

Gaius shook his head. "That's was all I had except for my ring, but I'll need that."

"Well now maybe there's something else you have that I would be interested in."

"Now what would that be?" Gaius answered, his voice tinged with irony.

Smiling, Vassus held the bulla up casually by the chain, dangling it from his little finger and turning it nonchalantly.

"I understand you purchased a stunning little piece from one of my competitors awhile back. I might be interested in buying her if the price is right."

Gaius stood for a long moment. "She's not for sale."

"Pity . . . hmm, but I can understand your reluctance. I had my eye on her for quite some time, but you beat me to it. She will bring you a good income on her own, no doubt. Ah, well, so it goes. Still and all, Rome is an inhospitable place for those lacking the, ah . . . necessary finances. Think it over; you may change your mind."

Y

Gaius made his way through the Forum Borium with its teeming vegetable stands, book shops, clanging metal workers and tunic makers. He turned onto the Viscus Tuscus until it joined the Via Sacra at the hundred foot high Basilica Julia that faced the Comitium, the open paved area of the Forum Romanum, the business and geographic center of Rome.

It was pointless to be here, but he had been drawn nevertheless. He'd never been close to his father who had always, it seemed, been off somewhere leading a legion against Rome's enemies or governing some distant province. But he had respected him and was proud to have been known as his son.

Now his shoulders drooped as he turned his gaze to the Rostra. There impaled on a bronze trident beak, in imitation of a ship's prow, was his father's head which had been preserved in salt and brought back for display from the Rhine. Heads of other co-conspirators had also been impaled on the double row of beaks along the front of the nine foot high speaker's platform.

Slowly he angled left up the Via Sacra to the Basilica and slumped down on the marble steps to the vestibulum and huddled over as rain splattered against the expanse of stone paving before him.

He sat that way for a long time until a familiar voice startled him.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Gaius looked up at Lucius.

"I fucked Messalina."

Lucius sat down next to him and stared at two guards with long spears in front of the Rostra.

"Well, I guess it hasn't all been a complete waste then." Lucius paused for a moment. "What are you going to do, amicus?"

"I'm studying my options."

"I was going to help you." Lucius shook his head slowly, "but my father has disinherited me."

"Why's that -- because of me?" Gaius asked, glancing at Lucius with a fierce, puzzled look.

"No... at least not entirely; it's out of fear for the family's position, my father's reputation. He forbid me to see you."

"You mind well."

"Too, I either leave the country to continue my philosophical studies or become an orator -- which is a safer occupation under the paranoia of the present emperor."

"You are my only real friend, Lucius. I am sorry I've brought harm to you."

"I won't desert you, amicus."

"You know of the slave I bought, Justina? I can't free her because the Lex Aelia Sentia states that a master has to be twenty to free a slave and the slave has to be thirty. So I must see that she gets to Paris; he owes me a favor and will keep her safe. But if something should happen to me, I would like to know you'll see that she's safe."

Lucius nodded. "But what are you going to do?"

"What a person does who has lost everything, go to the arena."

*

Chapter X

A stone's throw to the east of the Flavian Amphitheater was the newly built Ludus Magnus, the largest of four schools for the training of gladiators. Two others the Ludus Dacicus and the Ludus Gallicus formed a nearby semi-circle. The forth school, the Ludus Matutinus, was located farther away on the Caelian Hills and was for the training of bestiarii.

Rain droned steadily on the stone pavement as Gaius gave a firm tug on the bell rope by the huge, iron-braced double doors of the main gate. Empty scaffolding stood against the still unfinished walls where a surfacing of white marble was being placed over underlying reddish-brown brick.

After a moment an insert door opened and a bent, old man with grey, stringy hair peered out.

"Yeah, what do you want?" he barked with what seemed to be a fixed scowl.

"I want to join the familia gladiatorum."

The old man squinted, his eyes fixed on him as he rubbed his full chin.

"For private tutoring or to become a gladiator?"

"To be a gladiator."

The old man glanced at Gaius' bare feet.

"Uh huh, hmm... a might young, aren't you?"

"I'm Gaius Antonius Saturninus son of the late Lucius Antonius Saturninus."

The old man's scowl showed surprise for an instant, then he nodded with understanding.

"Come on," he said gruffly, stepping back. "You'll need to see the medicus, Marcus Calpurnius, first, then the procurator--if you pass."

Limping with a stiff leg, the old man led him down a barrel-vaulted corridor that opened upon a plaza. To their immediate right and left were a series of windows and doorways under a portico. Across the walk was a gated entrance through which there was a partial view of gladiators flittering about in a large oval arena, porticoes rising up three levels around it. Shouts and the clang of metal could be heard above the drone of rain.

Turning to the left the old man stopped in front of the first door and knocked, then opened it.

"Got another one for you, Marcus.

Stepping inside Gaius saw an elderly distinguished looking man, in a white tunic, sitting behind a desk piled with writing tablets and scrolls. On a narrow table, against a wall, lay leather surgical kits and gleaming instruments of bronze and iron-- varied forceps with jagged or smooth lips; long thin probes; curved and straight scalpels; bronze catheters; packets of round and straight needles along with gut, wire and silk sutures. And many other instruments whose exotic shapes defied any gleaning of their purpose.

An examination table stood in the center of the room.

Shelves along a wall were loaded with bottles of drugs and unguents, and jars of medicinal herbs of all kinds. A faint smell like that of burnt almonds and pine resin permeated the air. Windows on either side of the door let in the grey overcast outside.

To his right, Gaius could see a patient's ward through an open door. Several cots were occupied by men, obviously gladiators who had been hurt in practice or combat. One man's leg was elevated in a wood splint; another was propped up on pillows with bandages around his head; and another, his arm in a sling, sat grimacing on the side of his cot while an apprentice medicus wrapped his ribs with bandages.

"Still want to be a gladiator?" the medicus, Marcus, asked with a wry smile.

"I don't have any choice," Gaius answered.

"Hmm," Marcus murmured. Standing, he picked up a leather ball and tossed it idly from one hand to the other as he came from behind the desk.

"What's your name?"

"Gaius Antonius Saturninus."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

Marcus smiled. "Humph."

Suddenly, he threw the ball. Gaius caught it easily.

"Good reflexes. Take your clothes off."

Gaius complied and Marcus circled him slowly.

"Excellent muscle definition. Good symmetry. Legs straight and well formed."

Picking up a small mirror he had Gaius stand by a window and shown the light in his eyes, then in his mouth. He probed his groin and examined his anus. / "Good. Clear eyes. No dental caries or abscesses; no hernia, hemorrhoids or fistula in ano."

He patted the exam table. After Gaius sat down he looked at his feet.

"OK, good arches; no bunions or corns."

"Do I pass?"

"Oh, yeah, you passed the medical, but you'll still have to pass an examination by a trainer to see if you have the necessary qualities to be a gladiator. Get dressed and Pugnax will take you to the procurator."

Outside, Pugnax, led Gaius across the plaza to the arena.

"Kaeso Matius Cico is the procurator," Pugnax explained as he glanced up at Gaius. "He's a knight in Domitian's inner court; makes 200,000 thousand a year. He's a hard man but fair. And he's no phony ass either. He's fought in the arena and not against tyros with blunt weapons like most of those upper class phonies who like to show off in public. He's all business. If he's not in his office, he's usually watching the gladiators at their training. A slave girl, Ligeia, with a memory you wouldn't believe, handles all his accounts."

"You were a gladiator." Gaius said matter-of-factly.

"A retiarius until a secutor by the name of Andreas crushed my kneecap with his scutum. I almost lost my leg, but Marcus saved it."

As they passed through the gate to the arena, the gladiators were lined up at the armory turning in their weapons for lunch break. Dozens of guards stood by, armed with swords and spears, to prevent any possibility of a riot.

As Gaius and Pugnax passed by a tattooed gladiatrix turned out of the line suddenly and deliberately shouldered Gaius aside giving him a stern look as she headed for the mess hall.

"That's Aella," Pugnax grinned. "She's a Thracian. She can't stand tyros until they prove themselves."

"How does she know I'm a tyro?"

"Saw you come out of Marcus', no doubt."

On the far side of the arena two men stood conversing, both wearing wool cloaks against the rain.

"The tall lean man is Kaeso," Pugnax said. "The stocky one is Hermes, the best all-around fighter you'll ever see in any arena. He's won the rudis five times and earned a fortune. He also trains gladiators."

The two men stopped their conversation as they approached. Both focusing their attention on Gaius.

"Dominus," Pugnax said to Kaeso. "This young man wishes to train as a gladiator. Marcus has examined him."

Hermes chuckled. "Still wet behind the ears."

"Looks to be in pretty good shape though," Kaeso said.

"His father was the Saturninus," Pugnax added significantly.

Both men stiffened slightly and focused their attention on the youth more intently.

"Freeborn makes the best fighters as a rule," Hermes said after a moment, then stepped forward and shoved his hand against Gaius shoulder.

"Built solid."

Hermes raised his hands, then made a quick jab at Gaius' eyes causing him to jerk back.

"Do that in the arena, boy, and you'd be dead. Never blink your eyes when attacked."

"A Molossian will blink its eyes when you fuck with it, but it'll still tear your fucking arm off," Gaius said.

"Hah-hah! The boy's got spunk," Hermes guffawed. "Listen, smart ass, and someday it will save your life. You blinked because you watched my hands. Don't look at your opponent's hands. Keep your eyes on his face. You'll never see trained hands move if you're looking at them 'cause they move quicker than the eye. Always keep eye contact with your opponent; your peripheral vision will pick up any movement no matter how fast."

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Kaeso asked.

"Yes."

"Very well, Pugnax will take you to my office; I'll be along shortly and we'll discuss a contract."

After Pugnax and Gaius had walked away Kaeso turned to Hermes.

"What do you think?

"Got good reflexes and muscle development for his age. Reminds me of a blond Sophrus. If he's as talented as he is good looking he'll be a money maker. Right now he's still a bit thin to be a large shield--but a thraex or a retiarius definitely, depending on where his talent lies."

"Well, the training I'll leave up to you, Hermes--you know best, but as a retiarius we can profit from his good looks. Women and queers will go crazy over him...and all Rome will be dying to see the son of Saturninus, the traitor, face death in the arena."

"Definitely."

A beautiful woman, with shoulder length black hair, sat behind a teakwood desk, inlaid with pearl, going over accounts when Gaius entered the procurator's office.

She glanced up, then looked again as he lowered his wet hood. Never could she recall having seen such a beautiful young man. The face of a Greek god. Was Venus answering her prays?

"Yes?

"The procurator told me to wait here to discuss a contract."

She nodded toward a zebra-skin chair, then turned and pulled a leather bound ledger off a shelf. From a drawer she took out a sheet of papyrus, a standard contract prescribed with blank spaces for pertinent information. She dipped a silver pen in an ink well, then looked at him, pen poised over paper.

"What's your name?"

"Gaius Antonius Saturninus."

She looked up at him. "The poet?"

"No longer."

She stared at him, then began reciting:

"To lips of love the taste of your warm skin
like honeyed wine,
As fragrant as pink myrtles lapped with white
on lush meadow side."

"You have an good memory."

"It's my forte," she smiled, tapping her head.

She felt her face warm. How many women had this handsome young poet seduced?

Before she could think further the office door opened and the procurator stepped in shaking his cloak, pulling it off and hanging it from a wall peg, where it dripped upon the mosaic floor tiles depicting scenes of gladiatorial combat.

"Rain's picking up."

By the time he reached the desk, Ligeia had left through a rear door. He sat down behind the desk and picked up the pen idly.

"Now, Gaius Saturninus, this is a standard auctoramentum." Kaeso tapped the contract with the end of the pen. "In it you will agree to serve for three years in the arena, then two more as a trainer. Or you can continue fighting as a gladiator, as you wish. At the end of five years you will be free to resume your normal life or renegotiate your contract if you want.

"You are entitled to keep twenty-five percent of your rental fees, and you keep a hundred percent of all the earnings from your appearances in the arena. Upon signing the contract you will be credited with five thousand sestertii--contingent, of course, upon being accepted for training. It will, also, delineate the kinds of weapons you'll use and the type, or types, of fighter you'll be and so forth."

Gaius nodded. "To think I have spent ten times that amount on a meal."

Kaeso smiled, nodding. "Fate is fickled."

Ligeia returned bearing a tray with wine, cheese, bread, dried fruits and olives.

"Ah, lunch. Twenty year old Falernian mixed with Attic honey. Join me, Gaius Saturninus, then I'll have Pugnax fix you up with a room."

Y

Under the shelter of the portico, Pugnax was leaning against a fluted column staring at the rain spattering on the paving stones as Gaius stepped out of the office. Crossing to the outside wall of the arena, he led him around to a flight of steps to the second level of porticos on the north side.

"The first level is for slaves and prisoners," Pugnax explained. "This level is for auctorati like yourself and tertius and quartus palus. The third level is for the best fighters, the primus palus and secundus palus."

Halfway down the second-level portico a tribunal editoris jutted out above the arena. Here upper class patrons and speculators could sit above the cavea, the tiers of seating capable of holding three thousand spectators, and view the fighters in training. Across the arena was the pulvinar mirroring the arrangement of privileged seating in the Flavian Amphitheater.

Near the end of the portico, Pugnax stopped before a door and opened it.

"This is it," he said. "Home sweet home."

Gaius stepped inside. It was a bare, clean room of about four by five meters with the smell of fresh plaster. A military bunk sat against the wall; a narrow window in the back overlooked the Via Labicana. Opposite the bed was a table and an empty niche for an idol.

"Slaves and prisoners share two to a cell, but volunteers have rooms to themselves," Pugnax said. Then added, "And no bars on the windows. No need since you're a volunteer and, as such, you're free to come and go as you please--as long as you show up for your training sessions. You eat breakfast at the first hour after the cock crows; training begins an hour later. Lunch's at noon, some siesta time; then more training, then supper an hour before sack time--sleep or fiddle with your sausage if you have the energy. Any questions?"

Gaius shrugged and stared at a wall.

"Quite a come down, isn't it," Pugnax said, losing some of the gruffness in his voice.

Gaius nodded.

Pugnax started to leave, then paused in the doorway. "Listen, boy. By tomorrow everyone will know who you are, who your father was. Some of them will give you a hard time. A word of advice. Don't take shit off anyone. Don't ever back down from anyone even if it mean getting your ass whipped. The only thing gladiators respect is courage. Show'em you have it and they'll respect you, no matter what your father did."

Gaius set on the bunk for awhile oblivious to his surroundings, then with a sudden intake of air, he stood up and walked out the door.

A sentry stopped him at the gate until Pugnax came out of a side door and gave him the nod.

"You're not going barefoot, are you? Wait here."

After a moment he returned and shoved a pair of sandals in his hands.

Y

Hours later Gaius entered the tomb of Decius Cornelius Lepidus and saw Justina slumped on the edge of the litter. Her swollen eyes told him she had been crying.

"You back?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"Yes."

"What happens now?" She gathered a chest full of air and glanced about distractedly, avoiding eye contact.

"I made a bank deposit, in your name, of five thousand sestertii, which I got from a money lender. My friend Lucius was guarantor." He reached into a leather satchel and pulled out a packette. "In here is a bill of exchange which will allow you to withdraw the money from any temple in the empire. There's also a letter of introduction and a passport for identification from the magistrate's office.

"That's a lot of money," she said, still looking away, nodding her head for emphasis.

"Only four years soldier's pay. That's all I could scrap up," Gaius apologized.

"That's more money than I've ever had in my whole life." She murmured and brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It's only for a little while--until I get back on my feet."