'This is not a points contest,' he continued. 'Everyone will fight to the death until one side is victorious.'
There were gasps of shock at the most unusual announcement.
'But every man who survives unhurt will receive a bag of gold.' The lanista raised a fist. 'For the Ludus Magnus!'
Faces lit up at the prospect of such wealth, even though many would die in the combat. 'Lu-dus Magnus! Lu-dus Magnus!'
'Look at Figulus,' Romulus whispered. 'The bastards will make their move during it.'
'He does seem very pleased,' agreed Brennus. 'Be a good opportunity too. There 'll be bodies everywhere.'
'A hundred gladiators fighting to kill?'
'Pompey must be feeling the need to impress. You know how it is.' Prominent politicians were always trying to outdo their rivals' efforts.
Romulus nodded. Everyone in Rome knew that the struggle for power was intensifying. But politics paled beside the prospect of such a large fight. Romulus felt both excited and anxious. Most of the spectacles he had taken part in had been for points only. He had slain two men in single combat, but this would be very different. 'Will I be picked?'
'Of course! Need you to watch my back.'
Romulus stared at Figulus, who was deep in conversation with Gallus and a small group of fighters. They must be planning something. Too many evil glances were being cast in their direction.
The following two days passed in a blur of activity as every chosen gladiator prepared for the contest. Virtually all bar those who were injured had been picked. When it was Romulus' turn, Memor did not hesitate before waving him over to those who would take part. In the lanista's mind, the boy had already become a man. Swelling with pride, he joined Brennus.
The smithy rang with the sound of hammers as faulty armour and weapons were repaired. Ignoring the extreme heat, men ran circuits of the yard and lifted weights. Using real weapons instead of the normal wooden training pieces, others sparred ceaselessly with each other. The lanista's archers supervised from the balcony above, eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. Several fighters were injured when training sessions got overheated and Memor ordered leather covers placed on all blades until the combat.
In contrast to most, Brennus spent the day before the combat relaxing and being massaged by the unctor. The cool atmosphere behind the bathhouse walls provided welcome respite from the sun. Feeling unsafe on his own, Romulus joined him.
'You're fit enough. Lie down! Relax.' Brennus groaned with pleasure as his back was pummelled. He indicated the clay jug and beaker on the tiles by the bench. 'Drink some grape juice. It's very good.'
Romulus spun and twisted, lunging back and forth with his sword. 'You don't need to worry about this fight. I do.'
'I choose not to care.' The promise Brennus had made to himself over Narcissus' body was becoming ever harder to keep fresh in his mind. Onesided combats had begun to follow each other with a sickening regularity as the lanista sought greater wealth and fame. Brennus had killed many men since the Greek.
'Got to keep practising,' replied Romulus stubbornly.
'It's breaking the rules,' the unctor broke in, voice trembling. 'Training inside with a weapon.'
'Leave it, Receptus. Not safe out there for him any more.'
The atmosphere in the ludus had deteriorated even more since Memor's announcement, the leers and threats from Figulus and his friends now constant. Everyone knew that the blood shed the next day would not just be by the blades of the enemy. Even the friendly masseur had noticed. Receptus resumed rubbing Brennus' back. It was not for him to tell the champion fighter and his protégé what to do.
'What will happen tomorrow?'
'Figulus and his mates will stick close,' Brennus said confidently. 'They'll try and catch us off guard. Probably strike right in the thick of it.'
'We just wait for an attack? Dacicus fighters in front and those bastards behind? That's madness.'
'Peace, Romulus.' Brennus rolled his eyes at the unctor. 'Have a rub-down.'
Romulus reluctantly placed his sword on the floor before climbing on to the other bench. It felt wonderful as Receptus worked the tension from tight muscles, yet he could not unwind completely; he always kept an eye on the door. Brennus in contrast was dozing contentedly, confident in the knowledge that nobody had the courage to attack him face to face.
The afternoon passed without incident and the sun set, allowing temperatures to drop to a more comfortable level. Memor toured the cells, muttering encouraging words. The contest was about more than just victory. It was about reputation.
That evening Astoria prepared a special meal. They sat at the table in Brennus' cell, drinking red wine and enjoying bread, fresh fish and vegetables bought in the market. A warm breeze blew through the open door, bringing with it the smell of food cooking and the murmur of conversation. Everyone in the ludus was relaxing, perhaps for the last time.
'Go easy on the wine,' Astoria ordered Romulus. 'One cup is enough. No point having a sore head to fight with.'
'Try a dormouse.' Brennus proffered a large plate. 'A real delicacy.'
He shook his head.
'All the more for me!' The Gaul opened his mouth wide, swallowing one whole. 'Don't normally go for Roman food, but these I like.'
Romulus ate sparingly; his stomach was knotted with tension. All his previous fights had been one on one and the idea of being in the arena with so many gladiators filled him with anxiety. It was no help knowing that Figulus and Gallus would be out for their blood. He tried to block images of losing the combat and being killed by one of them.
'Worrying doesn't help,' said Brennus kindly.
Astoria murmured encouragement.
Romulus pushed a piece of bread around his plate.
'And it's no good being wound up like a spring. Go to bed. Get as much sleep as possible.' Brennus clapped him on the shoulder. 'Tomorrow will be an important day for us both.'
Chapter XIII: Intrigue
The Lupanar, Rome, late summer 55 BC
It was early afternoon and the quietest time of the day. The prostitutes' routine began mid-morning, when they rose to bathe and beautify themselves. Any men who arrived early were entertained first before taking their ease in the baths. There the influential of the Republic could relax, share wine and converse. After this most Roman activity they could get on with daily business.
Fabiola shifted position quietly, keeping an ear against a small hole in the wall. Sitting in the warm pool of the tepidarium, none of the clients had any idea they were being overheard. Ever since Pompeia had shown her the tiny space a year before, Fabiola had used every spare moment listening to those who frequented the brothel. There was usually little of interest to be heard. Chariot racing, gladiator fights, the weather, which women were best at what – the subjects rarely changed. But sometimes the pretty girl would catch snippets of information about politics or business that educated her about the outside world.
'Crassus is raising an army, you say?'
'Tired of Pompey and Caesar taking all the glory, Gabinius.'
Fabiola smiled at the sound of Mancinus' voice. She had slept with him on several occasions and had been amused at how fast he became attached.
But the old merchant could rarely afford her. Recently he had been forced to satisfy his appetites with cheaper prostitutes but Fabiola did not worry about this. Mancinus was not nearly influential enough. She had only three purposes in life – to free herself and her family, to gain revenge on Gemellus and to destroy the man who had violated her mother. This could be done by maximising her influence over as many rich and powerful men as possible. And so Fabiola pragmatically reserved her charms for more important customers, of which there were several.
Brutus was the most keen. The young noble had become utterly devoted over the previous year. Fabiola had put enormous effort into bringing him completely in her thrall. When he was in Rome, not a week went by without a visit to the Lupanar. Brutus had taken Fabiola on trips to the theatre and his v
illa on the coast. She hoped it was only a matter of time before he bought her, possibly even granting the coveted manumission. Fabiola burned to be free.
'Caesar's recent victories have been popular. Is Crassus jealous?' Scorn was obvious in the third man's voice.
Gabinius snorted. 'Not forgotten the Senate 's refusal of a full triumph after the defeat of Spartacus, has he?'
'Might be fifteen years ago, but it still rankles,' said Mancinus indignantly. 'Crassus crushed the greatest threat to Rome in over a hundred years and all they granted him was some shitty parade on foot!'
'Yet Pompey Magnus managed to procure the full thing,' commented the last speaker. 'Just for cleaning up the crumbs.'
There was a loud chuckle from Gabinius. 'And Crassus has done nothing but complain since. He needs to get off his backside and win another war if he wants to keep up with Pompey and Caesar.'
'What do you mean?' spluttered the merchant.
'Come on! Pompey's list of victories is second to none,' said Gabinius. 'Marian rebels in Africa. The Cilician pirates. Then the armies of Mithridates in Pontus. That's why the Senate granted him ten days of public thanksgiving. Crassus might be the richest noble in Rome, but he hasn't had a military success in a generation.'
Mancinus did not reply.
'Pompey's victories in Asia Minor were thanks to Lucullus anyway,' interjected the third man. 'And the public forget quickly. That's why Caesar is more popular now.'
Fabiola finally recognised the voice of Memor, a new customer of Pompeia's. It amused her how those who visited the brothel could always be placed in one of three camps. The parcelling off of the best political positions in Rome by the triumvirate had divided the public more than ever. Men had come to blows in the pool more than once during heated arguments. Pompey, one of the current consuls, was still enormously popular thanks to his military credentials and generous treatment of the veterans of his legions. Crassus, his co-consul, had been spending vast sums in his efforts to compete with the others. An extremely adept politician, he was not as good at drumming up public support as the others. Caesar, on the other hand, was drawing attention to himself by his recent conquests, all achieved in the name of Rome.
'Julius Caesar is the one to watch,' Memor boasted again. 'Gaul has been vanquished, providing huge resources. That got him fifteen days of public holidays. And the general hasn't earned his money by burning citizens' houses to the ground!'
Gabinius laughed.
'Nobody has ever proved those fires were started deliberately,' blustered Mancinus.
'Anyone who did would end up with a cut throat!' sniped Memor. Crassus' close links with the unsavoury Clodius were well known.
There was another titter from Gabinius.
Fabiola pressed her ear closer to the hole, anxious to learn about Memor. Pompeia had recently revealed that he was lanista of the Ludus Magnus. The increase in gladiator fights' popularity had apparently made him very wealthy. While Fabiola had no idea which school her brother had been dragged off to, getting to know Memor would be a start.
For more than a year she had heard nothing about Romulus. Clients only ever talked about the most famous fighters. Fabiola's heart ached at the thought of the only family she had left. An anonymous attempt by Brutus to buy her mother the previous year had been unsuccessful. Gemellus had been true to his word and sold Velvinna at the slave market. Brutus' men had visited many salt mines and bribed every overseer they encountered, but all their efforts had proved fruitless. Frail, heartbroken, Velvinna had disappeared, never to return. It made finding Romulus all the more urgent.
'Caesar's a good general, I'll give you that,' said Gabinius. Water slapped off tiles as he shifted position.
'He has conquered all of Gaul and Belgica. Britannia is next,' the lanista responded. 'While Pompey and Crassus do nothing but talk!'
'Not for much longer,' Mancinus added quickly.
Pompey's supporter was also in full flow. 'Caesar's chasing victories to pay off huge debts. Millions of sestertii, I heard.'
'He owes much of it to Crassus,' gloated Mancinus. 'Besides, Caesar is never in Rome. The people need to see nobles to follow them.'
Gabinius was not going to give in easily. 'Have you not seen Pompey's new building complex on the Campus Martius? Heard him speak at his ceremonies there?'
Memor snorted. Built to impress the people, Pompey's massive construction had taken years, and cost a fortune, to complete. Typically, the fickle public had not received their gift particularly well. 'That place is so over the top,' he said confidently. 'It's more about showmanship. When he was aedile and in charge of public entertainment, Caesar sponsored a contest with three hundred pairs of gladiators in silver armour. The crowd went wild!' said Memor triumphantly. 'And I should know – it's my line of work.'
There was a sudden silence and Memor sensed he would get no further. An invisible social barrier had appeared in the room.
The lanista was unperturbed. 'Time for some games of my own. That redheaded whore is incredible with her mouth.'
The others laughed and Fabiola heard the lanista climbing out of the bath and bidding farewell. She decided to arrange an introduction to him, even though he was fast becoming one of Pompeia's regulars. With some persuasion, her friend might step aside so she could win Memor's affections.
It might be a way of finding Romulus.
If he was still alive.
Fabiola's heart raced with excitement at the thought of seeing her brother again. The conversation seemed to have petered out, but she had learned it was always worth waiting a little longer.
'More wine!'
As the bathing attendant hurried off, Fabiola was sure there was whispering below. Frustratingly, she was unable to hear what was being said. Snippets like 'bastard lanista' and 'that big Gaul' wafted up, but she could not make any sense of them. The muttering went on until the slave returned.
'That's me done. I have work to do.'
'Have another cup.'
'Some of us have to work for a living! All right for you equestrians with huge latifundia,' Mancinus slurred. 'Merchandise doesn't sell itself.'
'But we hardly see each other these days,' wheedled Gabinius. 'One more.'
The merchant settled back into the warm water, keen for more alcohol in spite of his words. The pair made some small talk, then Fabiola heard Gabinius probing for information. Mancinus seemed to know plenty about Crassus, and the noble was keen to find out. It was so obvious to Fabiola what was going on.
In the previous year, she had learned how to gain information from customers without them even realising; it was amazing what men would reveal while being driven half mad with desire. Pompeia's advice had proved very useful, and by now had made Fabiola one of the most sought after women in the Lupanar.
'Is Crassus going to move his army now he's the governor of Syria?'
'Common knowledge!' Mancinus slurped some wine and lowered his voice. 'While Pompey sits around, he has plans to conquer Jerusalem.'
'Really?'
'And he won't stop there.'
Fabiola heard Gabinius lean over and pour Mancinus another drink.
'Seleucia,' announced the merchant. 'He has his sights set on Seleucia.'
Gabinius sucked in a breath. 'Invade Parthia?'
'Its wealth is said to be incalculable. All that trade from the east.'
'But Rome is at peace with the Parthians.'
'So were thousands of the Gauls whom Caesar massacred! Didn't stop him, did it?'