Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (44 page)

I was shouting and cheering as they killed the last lion and then looked at the woman with the bow who had now stopped shooting. They heard the cheers from the gladiators above and peered in amazement at the beauty that looked as though she had just finished a leisurely stroll and they too cheered. The theatre had never seen such a drama. Ephesus had never seen such a thing. Its citizens had been in danger and Artemis herself had sent them a deliverer. For what other explanation could there be for the sudden appearance of a fair-haired woman armed with a bow that shot silver arrows?

A hundred people had been killed in the crush as the crowd tried to flee the theatre and a further two hundred were injured. The governor and his younger subordinate returned to the theatre with two centuries of legionaries and a detachment of archers. To find Gallia and Domitus sitting calmly in seats near the red awning. Soon afterwards High Priest Kallias returned, also accompanied by soldiers, in his case a hundred temple guards. Already slaves were carrying the bodies of the dead from the theatre and others were desperately trying to wash those seats that had been splattered with blood. I noticed that the corpulent Timini Ceukianus was conspicuous by his absence.

As I watched the high priest and governor walk over to Gallia and Domitus and engage them in conversation I felt a surge of pride in my wife.

‘Our situation just got a lot more complicated,’ said Drenis as he saw the governor’s handsome subordinate bow his head to Gallia.

I heard Surena’s voice behind me. ‘I know her and if you knew her you would know that what she just did is not out of the ordinary. I first met her when…’

‘Surena,’ I shouted. ‘Get over here and shut your mouth.’

Surena threw up his arms to the group of gladiators gathered round him and ambled over.

‘Watch what you say,’ I told him.

He was undeterred. ‘But did you see what the queen did, lord? Wait till I tell Viper.’

‘We saw,’ said Arminius, ‘now calm yourself and think on that the crowd has a new hero and has forgotten you.’

Surena looked dejected. ‘Surely not?’

‘The crowd is fickle, Surena,’ said Drenis, ‘every gladiator knows that.’

It was two hours before the crowd was allowed to return, the lions and their victims having been cleared from the area and seating and the spectators receiving assurances that there would be no further beast hunts on the sand. Word soon quickly spread of the blonde-haired woman who had appeared in the theatre as if by magic to slay the beasts. An excited slave serving fruit juice told us that someone had told him that the woman was a servant of the Goddess Artemis in human form. He nearly covered my hand with juice as he filled my cup so animated was he.

Drenis was unhappy. ‘You see, the news of Gallia’s exploits spread through the city like ripples in a pond.’

I went back to the windows and saw people filing back into the theatre, a line of legionaries in the front row of seats as before and the seats under the awning surrounded by soldiers. I also saw Gallia and Domitus seated behind the governor and Kallias, the latter turning to them frequently to say something. The handsome Roman officer also glanced behind to catch sight of my wife, inciting a stab of jealousy within me.

‘Gladiators will return to their quarters to await the
editor’s
pleasure.’

There was a groan of disappointment as an official made this announcement, Acco making his feelings plain.

‘I came here to kill people not to spend my time wandering around this city of effeminates.’

‘He must be Crixus returned from the dead,’ reflected Alcaeus.

‘The dead must have got as sick of him as I did,’ remarked Arminius, picking up his helmet.

‘Will we be coming back?’ queried Surena.

Drenis grinned evilly. ‘Oh, yes, we’ll be back.’

And so we were. In an attempt to calm the nerves of the audience the editor laid on a series of novelty events. A large cage was erected on the sand and four giant seesaws set up inside it. Eight condemned men were then thrown into the cage and told to sit on the seesaws. They were at first uncooperative until a pack of ravenous hyenas was released into the cage, whereupon the poor wretches sat on the ends of the seesaws. As the creatures snapped at human flesh, the men on the bottom ends of the seesaws, exposed to attack, desperately pushed themselves high into the air to escape the hyenas. But this meant that a man on the other end dropped to the ground, to be attacked by beasts. He instantly pushed himself up, leading to eight criminals desperately trying to ‘out-seesaw’ each other, much to the delight of the crowd.

Eventually the drama reached its inevitable, grisly end with the deaths of the criminals. Afterwards archers killed the hyenas. Gallia told me that the crocodile wrestlers from Egypt were brave and skilful but the crowd only became excited when hunters were ordered to kill the beasts after one badly mauled one of the wrestlers and hissed in the direction of the spectators.

We were ordered back to the arena just as the last of the ‘humorous’ acts of the day was being played out. This involved condemned criminals being made to walk across the arena on stilts, which was difficult enough for anyone not used to them. It was made worse because dozens of poisonous snakes were released onto the sand. The condemned inevitably fell off their stilts and were bitten by the snakes, enduring a slow and painful death as the crowd roared its approval. In this way upwards of a hundred men were executed.

Removing the snakes from the sand afterwards was a meticulous and time-consuming business, some of the snake handlers being bitten as the
editor
, who had at last returned to the arena, demanded that the process be speeded up.

Surena was pacing up and down with excitement as an official announced the first six matched pairs to enter the theatre. He was disappointed that his name was not called though mine was. I nodded to Drenis and Arminius and told Surena to save his strength as I followed the official with eleven others down the steps. I was pitted against a
Hoplomachus
, a ‘hoplite fighter’, a gladiator whose weapons and equipment were loosely based on the Greek warriors of old. He wore a bronze helmet with eye grilles, padded armour on his right arm and legs and protective greaves on the latter. He carried a small, round bronze shield.

We stood on the blood-soaked sand with the referees and raised our weapons in salute to the governor and high priest, though I raised my sword to my wife and Domitus seated behind them. The crowd fell silent as the announcer, after being given a list of our names, introduced each of us to the crowd. When our names were called we raised our weapons so the crowd would know us, though there was only slight polite applause when the name Nikephorus of the
Ludus
Palmyra was announced. I was slightly perturbed when the name of my opponent, Menedaius of the
Ludus
Ephesus, received rapturous acclaim.

Menedaius’ main weapon was a thrusting spear, though he also carried a sword and dagger. When the bout began his first attack was against my torso, which I parried easily. He jabbed his spear forward to keep me focused on its iron head and attempted to smash his shield into my right arm to knock me over. I sidestepped his shield and tried to slice open the side of his chest with my sword but he too sprang out of the way. We danced around each other, jabbing and slashing with our weapons, our
manicas
being cut but not our flesh. I did not hear the groans as other gladiators were wounded or killed, or indeed hear the noise of the crowd as it begged for the life of a gladiator who had been knocked to the ground to be spared. I only heard my own breathing and saw only the figure of Menedaius through my eye grilles. I splintered the shaft of his spear as he tried to ram the point through my foot but missed, the hilt of my sword fracturing the grain with a downward blow followed by my right elbow being driven into his chest. He was winded but I was tiring as he drew his sword and came at me with a series of strikes. They were powerful but easy to block or avoid because Menedaius was also tiring. I had no idea how long we had been fighting but the
editor
clearly thought we had been on the sand for too long as the referee suddenly placed his stick between us to signal a halt in our duel. I stepped back, my heart thumping, as the
editor
, his bottom lip protruding in anger, indicated with a terse wave of his hand that we should depart the arena. Thus ended the first bout of Nikephorus the gladiator.

No one cheered my exit.

When I returned, exhausted, to the stage building Alcaeus examined me after I had taken off my helmet,
manicas
and greaves.

‘No cuts, just a few bruises,’ he reported. ‘This evening I will get Argos to massage you again so you will be fit for tomorrow’s bout of butchery.’

I flopped down on a couch and Drenis passed me a cup of water.

‘Well done, Pacorus, you acquitted yourself well.’

I nodded my thanks. I saw Menedaius taking off his equipment and one of his companions handing him water to quench his thirst. He saw me and raised his cup. I did the same. It was most odd. A few minute before we had been locked in a potentially lethal struggle, but now no animosity existed between us. Spartacus had once told me that a gladiator had no friends, only acquaintances, because you might be called on to kill any of the men you trained and lived with in the
ludus
. How solitary and tortuous must be the life of a gladiator.

The crowd erupted in clapping and cheering as the next set of pairs walked on to the sand. Some gladiators drifted towards the windows to watch the bouts. I drained my cup and suddenly realised someone was missing.

‘Where is Surena?’ I asked Drenis.

‘In the arena,’ he replied.

I stood and walked over to the nearest window where Arminius was looking down at the crowd. Thus far he and Drenis had avoided any fighting, for which I was grateful.

He nodded at the awning under which the dignitaries, Gallia and Domitus were seated.

‘Gallia and Domitus have the best seats in the house.’

I saw Surena standing on the sand, along with the tiresome Acco, each of them surrounded by four gladiators. I felt a sense of dread.

‘Why aren’t they paired off?’

‘Why?’ said Arminius. ‘Because that fat
editor
has not forgotten that Surena insulted him and is annoyed that he has become the crowd’s hero. So he wants him dead, and if he dies a glorious death in the arena then the crowd will be delighted. He will still be their hero, of course, but a dead one. And Acco is fighting against the odds because he’s a merciless killer who regards a one-on-one contest as an insult to his fighting prowess.’

‘It’s all my fault,’ I said softly.

‘All of us volunteered to be here, Pacorus. We all knew it was a suicide mission.’

I looked at him. ‘You did?’

He grinned. ‘Naturally. Only you believed it would end in success. The rest of us, Gallia included, have a more realistic view of life and the world.’

I now felt even worse as I stared down at Surena surrounded by two
Secutors
and two
Murmillos
. The latter were armed with a
gladius
,
scutum
, and full-face bronze helmet with a large crest, a padded
manica
on the sword arm and a protective greave on the left leg. Acco faced two ‘Hoplite fighters’ and two
Provocators
who wore the same armour and carried the same weapons as Arminius. Surena looked hopelessly outnumbered and under-armed and armoured and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as the announcer warmed up the crowd.

‘Beyond the civilised world live barbarians who know nothing of the rule of law and public morals. It is these peoples that Rome has made its divine mission to conquer to bring peace and prosperity to the dark corners of the world. Rome’s mighty legions have fought these barbarians for decades, primitives such as Acco of the Gauls.’

He extended an arm towards the Gaul who raised his two swords and roared at the crowd, which responded in kind. The announcer held up his arms in an appeal for silence. The noise died down.

‘And in the East,’ he continued, ‘live the barbarian Parthians, Armenians and Syrians, who sacrifice their own young and who have no knowledge of art or architecture. And in the Eastern wastelands live fearsome warriors such as Surena of the Ma’adan.’

The crowd jumped up, cheered and whooped with joy as Surena raised his net and trident and basked in the adulation of over twenty thousand followers. They began chanting ‘Surena, Surena’ as the announcer sat down and the two referees looked at the governor. The fat head of Timini Ceukianus was bobbing up and down behind his uncle in excited anticipation of Surena’s imminent death. He may have been fat and idle but he was just as Roman at heart as his more martial relative. He neither forgot nor forgave.

The crowd sat down and grew silent, a tingle of anticipation hanging in the air as people licked their lips at the prospect of two men fighting at odds of four to one. The referees stood in the circle of gladiators with their sticks levelled. The governor cut down with his hand and the bouts began.