The Trident

"You could pimp me."

"You're not that hot."

"How long?"

"Just a little...just a little while. Paris owes me a favor. You can join up with him in Naples. Or the priests of Apollo can put you in touch with him." He smiled. "Aesop called them the parasites of Apollo."

Gaius gazed around at the gloomy interior of the tomb. "Come on," he said suddenly. "Let's get out of here. We're not dead yet."

He gathered up the bundle of goods and shouldered it. "There's a way station just beyond the one mile marker. I'll hire a private reda for you. That will guarantee you stop only at safe, clean lodgings for the nights."

At the way station he hired a private driver for a hundred sestertii and put the bundle inside his four wheeled wagon. A canvas top was stretched over stays to keep out the rain. When she was seated, he gave her the satchel. "There's money inside to carry you over."

As the driver climbed into his seat, she took a thong with a rectangular red clay amulet, engraved with a trident, from around her neck and pressed it into his hand.

There was the sound of a whip crack and the reda lurched forward.

Gaius stepped back and stood watching until the wagon dwindled to a dot and disappeared.

Y

Turning finally, he rubbed his index finger where his gold signet ring had been and walked back to the ludus, hunched against the rain. He reflected somberly on his friend Lucius for being his guarantor. No small thing. If he didn't qualify as a gladiator they wouldn't be able to make good on the loan, since neither he nor Lucius had an as between them. And that meant both of them would be put to the sword.

Chapter XI

"Now see if you can throw your net over that pole," Pulcher said.

The pole was six feet tall and about forty-five feet from Gaius. Pulcher had tossed the net at his feet. Gaius stooped and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy. There were lead weights fixed to a coarse rope rim. He shook it out. Holding onto the rim he spread his arms wide and twisting from the hip he threw the net toward the pole. It crumpled on the ground in a ball short of the pole.

Gaius heard snickering and looking over his shoulder and saw Aella, who had been practicing with a murmillo, glaring at him.

"OK, now you know how not to throw it," Pulcher said. He picked the net up and shook it out. "Here, this is one way do it. First, you're not going to be able to use both you hands to toss the net because you'll also be holding a trident. So what you have to do is pick your net up in the middle like this. Hold it up, then with the same hand, grab a section of rim between your thumb and forefinger. Now you have control of your net. When you get ready to throw turn your body so that your left shoulder faces your opponent. If you're aligned properly your weight will be evenly distributed on both leg. Your net hand should be directly above your right foot. To cast, twist from the waist away from your opponent until your left hand is now over your right foot, your trident pointed down so that it doesn't get tangled in your net. Then twist back toward your opponent forcefully using your lateral muscles, keeping your arm straight. When your net hand is pointed at your opponent, release your hold on the center while still gripping the rim with your thumb and forefinger. This forces the net to open in a wide circle. At that point you release it ensaring your opponent."

Easier said than done. Gaius spent the next several hours sweating in the hot sun throwing the heavy net over and over at the pole until all the muscles of his body ached as if they were on fire. The fingers of his right hand became so sore and blistered that by noon he couldn't hold onto the net, let alone throw it.

At that point he was too sick and tired to even think of eating. Instead he went to his room and lay down on his bunk during siesta. A staff slave roused him an hour later, and, aching in every limb, he made his way back into the arena.

As he headed to the practice pole to get his net a group of gladiators blocked his way. At their center was Aella.

"Where you going pretty boy?" she taunted.

Gaius shook his head tiredly and tried to move around them, but Aella stepped in front of him and thrust her sica against his belly.

"Tell me why I shouldn't gut a traitor's pretty boy?"

"Fuck you, bitch. If you're going to kill me, do it or get the fuck out of my way."

"Oh, brave talk." she said glancing at the others, gloating. "You think I won't, pretty boy? Somebody give him a fucking sword."

One of the gladiators spoke up. "That's not fair Aella; he's just a tyro."

"Fuck that, Taurus. Ain't I just a fucking woman?" She glared at him. "What trouble will punk ass here have beating a worthless woman?"

Somebody tossed a gladius at Gaius' feet.

"Go ahead, boy. Pick it up and die like a man if you can. I'll make it quick."

Bending stiffly, Gaius picked the sword up, fumbling at the hilt with his numb hand.

Hesitantly, he held the sword up and felt it knocked out of his hand in a move to quick to see.

Aella was smirking. "Pick it up, asshole. I'll give you another chance."

Gaius picked the sword up and again felt it fly out of his hand with blinding speed. She placed her sica against his throat, then laughed. "Shame these are only practice swords; couldn't cut water with 'em."

She turned and strode off; the others, laughing, dispersed.

Marcus Ulpius Callistus, a huge man with a bald head, once a mirmillo with some modest victories, was now in charge of the armory. On the third evening after his practice, Gaius waited until all the other gladiators had turned in their weapons to approach him.

"Hello, Marcus Ulpius."

"Hello, yourself, Gaius Saturninus. What can I do for you?"

"I need a favor."

"Favors cost money."

"How much do they cost?"

"Depends on the favor."

"I need to keep out a net to practice with."

Ulpius rubbed his chin and studied the youth with the raw, bloody right hand.

"Well that figures cause you sure don't seem to have much aptitude for it, but you definitely have determination." He paused for a moment, his eyes shrewd and searching. "Aella has a bet out that you'll never qualify."

"I will," Gaius replied.

"She's a real bitch," Ulpius said. "But she's got one hell of a body. Tell you what I'll do. I like a challenge, so, against my better judgment, I'll gamble on you. 'Cause the odds against you are really good. But you'd better not let me down. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Ulpius took up the net Gaius had brought in and tossed it back to him.

At the doorway Gaius turned. "She's a bitch alright, but there's a little bastard in me, too."

He walked out leaving Ulpius with a mused expression on his face.

That night, by moonlight, while everyone slept, Gaius threw the net at the pole cursing the damn thing after every miss as if it were a demon sent to defy him.

The next morning when Aella came out of the mess hall Gaius confronted her causing other gladiators to gather around sensing that something interesting was about to transpire.

"I hear you're betting I won't qualify."

"Hah, you got that right, pretty boy."

"Well, I've got a bet for you, if you've got the guts for it."

Aella looked surprised, a little unsure of herself for a fleeting moment, then replied dismissively.

"Let's hear it."

"If I qualify I fuck you."

Silent, she stared hard at Gaius as if her eyes were daggers. Then shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Well?" Gaius goaded.

"And if you don't qualify, what do I get?"

"Anything you want."

"Alright," she replied disdainfully. "But you aren't gonna like what I'll want, pretty boy."

"I don't doubt that."

Y

During the day Gaius practiced with other tyros in one section of the arena. While the more advanced fighters practiced among themselves in other groupings all the way from the lowest grade to the topmost. Aella was a primus palus, the best of the best, fighting in a small group of gladiatrices. Gaius carefully observed her out of the corner of his eye during breaks and couldn't help but admire her sleek body and graceful moves that were like those of a pantomime.

The more advanced fighters practiced with dull, metal swords weighted to make them heavier than the swords they would actually use in the amphitheater. Tyros practiced with wooden swords thrusting at wooden poles or against other tyros. It was hot work in the full sunlight; and weary, heaving tan bodies glistened with sweat. Endless gasps, grunts and groans filled the air mixed with the sounds of shuffling bare feet and the clang of metal against metal or the whack of wood against heavy wicker shields. There were frequent breaks to drink water and to rest, but the practice never ceased.

Everyday new inductees would be brought in. Those that showed special promise would be trained to be gladiators. Most, however, would be given only minimal training and used in the amphitheater in simulated mythical battle scenes were they would all be slaughtered.

Slaves, criminals and prisoners of war--the noxii, condemned to die outright in the arena, would be kept in windowless rooms located under the caveae of the various ludi. Through an underground tunnel on the southwest side of the Ludus Magnum they would be funneled into the arena where they would be tortured to death in various creative scenarios.

Gaius was placed among a group of retiarii with various levels of expertise. In a separate section the tyros--a mixture of freeborn, slaves and criminals--were given an introductory lecture by Pulcher.

"One thing you must remember: there is no defense against the unexpected. But the more you learn, the more you excel, the less likely you will be caught off guard. Your life depends on it."

He held up a net, a trident and a pugio. "These are your weapons. In the following months you will learn to use them as if you came out of your mother's cunt wielding them." He raised the net higher. "The net weighs from nine pounds up to nineteen pounds. You can crush a man's skull with it, blind him or break his legs. Entangled in the net, a pull on the perimeter rope will tighten it around him, like a cocoon, so that he is powerless to move." He dropped the net and brandished the trident. "Now this little beauty is equally deadly in the right hands." He touched the iron prongs. "About eight and a half inches long the prongs are the right length--two thumbs-- to penetrate a vital organ. Two and a half inches apart the end barbs are razor sharp and will slice flesh as if it was butter. The trident weighs five pounds and, held in two hands, you can use both ends to strike your opponent. The dagger is for cutting yourself free from the net should your opponent grab onto it. And if your fight turns into a wrestling match, your dagger will serve you well."

That night Gaius gave up in disgust. Moonlight cast long shadows as he picked up the net listlessly and started toward the exit, then in a fit of suppressed anger he turned and fired the net at the pole. Amazed he watched as the net spread into a perfect circle and, with a swishing sound, wrapped itself around the pole with a hard, solid clack of lead weights.

Y

Night after night he worked it until he could make the net whistle through the air fully unfurled striking the pole with a smack of deadly accuracy. His hand which had been bloody and raw was now tough and calloused. The muscles of his body worked in oiled harmony like untiring steel springs.

For several days Gaius practiced with the trident against a straw man, then one day Pulcher gave him the net to work with again. As he tied the two end ropes around his left wrist, Gaius saw Aella nudge a fellow gladiator.

Stooping he picked up the net and deliberately flubbed his toss at the pole.

"Pulcher, you'd better get rid of that asshole; he can't do anything right."

Turning toward her as he retrieved the net, Gaius shouted, "Why don't you do something about it, cunt!"

Glaring, waving her sword, she came at him on the run, feet spewing a trail of sand, and Gaius suddenly realized he hadn't practiced on a moving target. He didn't have time for his usual toss. Scooping up the net he quickly made an underhanded throw that he had seen a veteran retiarius use.

Up in the air the net soared unfurling just in time to catch Aella in mid-stride. Jerking on the rim rope he tightened the net around her causing her to tumble head over heels onto the ground.

Gaius picked up his trident, keeping tension on the rope, and placed it against Aella's throat. "Think I qualified?"

Alarmed, Pulcher ran toward him shouting not to kill her.

Gaius grinned stepping back, nonchantly twirling the trident and burying the prongs in the sand.

"Mother fuck! I thought you were gonna kill her."

"No way," Gaius replied. "I want to collect on my bet."

Aella struggled free from the net snorting, her face glowing from anger and mortification. Brushing sand from her nearly nude body, she stamped off letting out a stream of profanity.

"That wasn't a bad throw for an amateur," Pulcher said. Then, without missing a beat: "Now learn to do it with your left hand."

Y

The first silvery sprinkling of stars began to glitter in the purple sky above a narrow rim of burnt umber in the west. A balmy breeze passed gently through the door and out the window as Gaius lay on his bunk.

The half-hearted cry of a crowd limped through the air from the amphitheater where hack troops of gladiators from the provinces were putting on a nighttime show.

Eyes drooping, on the verge of sleep, he felt something block the passage of air. Opening his eyes he saw, by the light of his lamp, the tall sleek form of Aella standing in the doorway wearing only a narrow strip of gold cloth to cover her vulva and small gold cups over her areolae.

"I don't guess you're here to kill me. You couldn't hide a weapon in that outfit."

"Much as I would rather be somewhere else, you know why I'm here."

She had told herself she hated him as she had readied herself for him, but gazing on his beautiful muscular body, covered only with a loincloth, she realized she had been fooling herself.

"The bet was you had to fuck me if I qualified, and, as of today, I have. But I didn't say when you had to. I'll leave that up to you. When you want it let me know."

"What makes you think I'd ever want you," she huffed. "You'd better take it now or forget it."

"I'll wait."

"Then you'll wait a long time."

She turned and left leaving only the purple sky beyond the door, the sounds from the amphitheater and the warm breeze.

Y

"He must be queer if he turned you down," Camilla said, nodding emphatically. She was a redheaded woman of Thracian origin, once the wife of an equestrian until caught having sex with one of her slaves.

Atella, a Nubian, shook her head. Her original name had been Sacmis. Her Roman master had changed it to Atella because of her black skin.

"I don't think so. My master pimped me out to his cronies from the time I was seven until I was sixteen. If there's one thing I know it's whether a man is queer or not. Gaius is definitely not. I've seen the looks he's cast your way on the practice field, Aella. He's hot for you--like any normal man would be," she grinned, flashing brilliantly white, even teeth.

"He watched me?"

"Yes."

"Well, why did he turn me down--not that I give a damn," she added.

"I think that's obvious," Atella said. "He wants you to come to him willingly."

Camilla nodded. "No man likes cold pussy."

"Humph, he wants to humiliate me. Charon will run out of obols before that day," Aella replied.

Y

Through every town Justina passed she saw advertisements on the walls of townhouses giving notice of Paris and his troop of actors. There were even ads on the walls of tombs on the outskirts. But all were faded notices. However, the closer she came to Naples the more up to date they became.

At Naples she told the driver to go on past Salerno on the Via Annia along the rugged coast of Amalfi. Turning off the Via Annia onto a side road to Paestum, the ads were fresh. At the eastern gate, she told the driver to take her to the Temple of Apollo. A straight road led to a busy forum, then, after a right turn, the wagon passed a small amphitheater and some Greek temples, coming eventually to the Temple of Apollo, a long rectangular naos topped with a roof of red tile surrounded by tall Doric columns.

Climbing from the wagon, Justina went up three broad steps to a porch in front of the naos which had two bronze doors. She rang a bell which hung between them, and in a little while a priest in a white linen robe came out of one of the doors.

In the early days of the cult, centuries before, the priests of Apollo had initiated chaste virgin girls of twelve years to serve them as oracles, but the practice became so sexually perverted in time that they were forced to do away with young girls and only used unattractive women of fifty years or more. But from the salacious looks the priest cast over her, Justina could tell that the fires of lust had not quite been extinguished.

"How can I help you, my child?" he asked, rubbing his soft hands together.

"I need to find Paris the actor."

"Oh, my child," the priest smiled. "You don't need an oracle for that. He lives in a villa on the bay. But I must warn you that he has an unsavory reputation. Not the kind of person a young girl such as yourself should seek out."

"I'm sure." Justina said. "But I have to contact him on a personal matter."

The priest sucked in on his lower lip and gazed at her as if he were trying to figure out what that personal matter might be. He knew the reputation women actors had. They were nothing but whores. And if this little beauty was one of those perhaps he could get her into his bed for a night of delight.

"And are you an actress," he asked with an oily voice.

"No...now how do I get to this villa?"

Sighing, the priest said, with disinterest, "Go out the west gate and travel south down the bay for about a mile. You'll see a huge villa dominating an inlet with a sandy beach. You can't miss it."

The wagon passed small farms, of two or three acres, lying to the east, with fields of grape vines strung between trees or on vertical poles stuck in the ground. There were fields of wheat and barley, groves of olive trees, or apple and fig, and rolling meadows of grazing sheep with the occasional stone trough full of sea salt. To the pine dotted west, Justina stared in awe at the steep winding slopes of the coastline and of the shimmering blue-green vista of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Bouncing over a rutted track, as evening approached, the wagon eventually rounded a rise, and, beyond a clump of plane trees, Justina saw a terraced villa on the edge of a ragged incline that angled down to a pristine sandy beach.

A wide terrace fronted an iron gated entrance with a tower on either side. As she climbed out of the wagon a milites with a pugio in his belt, came out of the right tower where Justina could hear male laughter and the sound of dice rattling in a leather cup.

"What can I do for you?" The young private smiled, letting his eyes rove over her.

"I was told the actor Paris is staying here. I have been sent to see him."

"By whom?"

"By Gaius Antonius Saturninus."

A shocked look passed over the private's face. "Wait here," he said, and disappeared into the tower where she heard a garbled conversation take place.

After a moment he came back out, stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

Soon a black youth with long kinky hair came on the run.

"Take this girl to your master."

The youth waited while the private eased open the gate, then led Justina through a wide vestibule. Unlike the villas of Rome the peristyle in maritime villas preceded the atrium and this one was huge having a dozen bedrooms on either side. Flowers and neatly trimmed ornamental shrubs and trees filled the air with a heady aroma. Bronze and marble statues of mythological gods and heroes stood between the surrounding columns.