Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (49 page)

‘He shall face a beast and Jupiter will decide if he deserves to live,’ shouted the announcer.

The jeweller shrieked in alarm and fainted, just as one of the side doors opened and a hen was thrown into the arena. The crowd fell about laughing as the legionaries re-entered the area and walked over to the unconscious Phormio. Many of the gladiators saw the funny side of the episode but I had no smiles in me this day. The legionaries kicked the jeweller awake and hauled him from the arena, leaving a circle of damp sand behind.

Ceukianus, sensing that the crowd’s mood had lightened, rose to his feet and spread his arms.

‘Am I not merciful?’ he shouted.

‘Are you not fat?’ came the reply from a wit.

There was uproarious laughter as the incensed
editor
ordered the centurion standing near him to eject the individual. There was a scuffle as friends of the man who had made the comment objected to the Romans trying to evict him, the centurion being forced to use his cane on them as a detail of legionaries reinforced him. Once again the crowd became surly.

As I frantically racked my brain trying to think of a way to get out of our predicament, an official appeared in the doorway.

‘The following gladiators are to enter the arena immediately. Surena, Arminius, Drenis and Nikephorus of the
Ludus
Palmyra. Acco the Gaul and Burebista of the
Ludus
Capua.’

Burebista turned to me. ‘Zalmoxis calls, lord.’

He offered me his hand. I took it.

‘Of all the men I have known and fought beside, lord, only you came back for me. For that I am in your debt and go to my death gladly, knowing that I will fall beside a great warrior.’

He went to a table and picked up his full-face bronze helmet and round shield. Legionaries filed into the room and began handing my companions and me our weapons. Surena snatched his net, trident and dagger from a soldier while Drenis and Arminius took their weapons in a more measured manner. Tears were running down Alcaeus’ face as he stood before me. I laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘My friend, we have come a long way together but now I have to leave you. Stay alive so the memory of Spartacus and what we created at Dura stays alive.’

He closed his eyes and nodded his head as I walked past him and out of the room. Our centurion gaoler led the way down the steps, past the first floor infirmary and down to the ground floor, which stank of animal guts and dung. The building was dark until one of the side doors was opened and brutal sunlight flooded in. The centurion barked an order for us to follow him and we walked out into the sun, and to our fate.

The crowd rose to its feet and began chanting ‘Surena, Surena’ when my former squire walked out into the sun. He raised his trident and net and basked in the adulation, totally unconcerned that this was his last day on earth. The legionaries circled the others as the centurion pointed his sword at me and ordered me to walk forward to face the governor and high priest. He then pointed his weapon at Acco and ordered him to do the same.

‘You point that weapon at me again and I will ram it down your throat,’ said the Gaul loudly.

He stood beside me, a mass of muscles, hair and fury. I stood looking at Gallia, smiling at her and then nodding to Domitus. My wife appeared deathly white, my friend very angry. The announcer rose slowly, looking at the
editor
who, still resentful at the crowd’s lack of deference towards him, nodded his ugly head. I put on my helmet.

The announcer stared at Acco and myself and extended an arm towards us.

‘Behold the gladiators Nikephorus and Acco, who will now fight to the death for your entertainment in a contest to determine who will triumph in a battle between eastern and western barbarians. Will it be Acco, a fighter from Gaul, the land of savages that the gods have decreed will be civilised by Rome? Or will it be Nikephorus, a heathen born in the desert wastelands of Parthia where no culture exists?

‘Let the gods decide.’

I saw Kallias staring at me, a look of what appeared to be sorrow on his face. The governor’s top lip was fixed in a sneer and Marcus Aristius was looking contemptuously at my companions.

The announcer remained standing as more gladiators filed out of the stage building – ‘hoplite fighters’, ‘net men’, Thracians and
Murmillos
of the
ludi
Ephesus and Alexandria, at least thirty fighters. The crowd applauded the gladiators from Ephesus but were unsure what was going on. Usually the executions of the condemned took place after the beast hunts but there were now gladiators in the arena.

‘The governor, his Excellency Quintus Caecilius Metellus, has no mercy for cowards, liars and enemies of Rome. Yesterday Roman soldiers fled before a few wild beasts, and their cowardice was made worse by their being shamed by a weak woman armed only with a bow. Therefore those soldiers will now face summary justice.

‘But first they will witness the duel between Acco and Nikephorus so they can reflect on their disgusting behaviour and ask the gods to grant them good deaths.’

The doors opened behind us and Roman soldiers filed into the arena. They wore only their red tunics and had nothing on their feet and heads. As they shuffled onto the sand I noticed that they were chained together at the wrist in groups of five, one man in each group carrying a
gladius
. There were fifteen groups – seventy-five men.

The gladiators from Ephesus and Alexandria were grumbling among themselves. They did not mind killing each other but considered slaughtering criminals beneath them. They were, after all, skilled fighters not executioners. The former legionaries had tired, listless faces and appeared to be resigned to their fate. The gladiators would make short work of these shackled individuals. I thought that the scenario was a deliberate insult on the part of the governor towards Kallias and his gladiators and the other fighters from the East. Those gladiators now faced the condemned legionaries, who looked decidedly nervous, especially the ones carrying swords.

The announcer took his seat and a referee came forward to position his stick between Acco and myself. The Gaul stepped back and slashed the air with his swords. The referee removed his stick and the bout began. Acco came at me like a huge scything machine, his swords whirling in the air with the speed of dragonfly wings. I ducked and leaped to the left, attempting to slash his torso with my
sica
. But he brushed aside the blow and lashed out with the
gladius
in his left hand, which I deflected with my shield. But the blow splintered the wood and when I used it to parry two more blows it disintegrated in my hand.

The crowd was shouting and cheering now, urging us on and filling the theatre with a great din. I tried to dance around Acco, using nimble footwork to avoid his strikes. But he was amazingly light footed for such a brute and despite my movements dented the brim of my helmet with an overhead blow. My ears were ringing as I jumped back, ducked low and thrust forward with my own sword. I gashed his side and the crowd cheered but my success only made Acco more determined.

He pulled back the
gladius
in his right hand to give the impression he was going to strike with it but instead swung his other sword that lopped off my helmet’s crest. He then lunged forward with the other
gladius
to strike me in the torso. I managed to step to the right to avoid the thrust before stabbing my
sica
at his face. But he slashed sideways with the sword he held in his left hand to parry the blow, stepped forward and smashed his left knee into my belly. Its force winded me and made me drop my sword. Acco swung his other sword into the side of my helmet, the metal protecting my skull but rendered me senseless. I collapsed to the ground and Acco kicked me onto my back. In a second he was straddling me with the point of a
gladius
at my neck.

The crowd fell into silence as all eyes turned to the
editor
, though only those in front and to the side of where the dignitaries were seated could see him due to the awning. I turned my head to peer up at Timini Ceukianus who wore a haughty expression on his podgy face. Through the helmet’s eyelets I saw the portly magistrate draw a thumb across his throat and his mouth twist into a malevolent grin. I was finished. But before the crowd had a chance to respond to the editor’s decision Gallia jumped to her feet and shouted at Acco.

‘Gladiator. My name is Gallia of the Senones tribes, one of the ancient free tribes of Gaul. I am the daughter of the late King Ambiorix, the son of King Cavarinus, both rulers of the Senones.’

The crowd sat in absolute silence as this daughter of Artemis spoke in a language none had ever heard before. It was the tongue of the Gauls, though in truth I had some difficulty understanding what she was saying because although she had taught me her native language, she rarely spoke it.

‘I see from the markings that you proudly carry on your body,’ she continued, ‘that you too are a member of my tribe. I say to you, Acco of the Senones, that the man at your feet is my husband, Pacorus of Dura, who years ago rescued me from a life of Roman slavery. I now ask you to spare his life, not because I, a mere woman, request it but because he has been a friend to the Gauls and to other peoples who have been subjected to Rome’s tyranny.’

After she had finished speaking she remained on her feet and looked at Acco. But there was no pleading in her expression, just a fierce pride in her Gaul heritage, which was matched by Acco who now stood back from me.

‘Kill him, you imbecile,’ screamed Ceukianus.

Acco looked at the
editor
and spat in his direction, crossed his swords over his thick chest and bowed his head at Gallia.

‘As you desire, princess,’ he shouted in Gaul.

Why did he save me? He was a veteran of the arena who had killed many men on the sand. He was a living legend, a fighter who had won his freedom in the arena who had been lured out of retirement by an exorbitant sum promised him by Ceukianus. He was also a brute, a mountain of raw strength, courage and savagery who thought nothing of killing for profit or pleasure. Why then did he spare me? I do not think it was Gallia’s words alone for he would surely have scoffed at a Roman woman pleading for the life of a man he had defeated. No, I believe that her speaking in Gaul and the mention of his tribe and kings he had perhaps fought under, made him think of a time before he had been a Roman puppet. A time when he was not like a trained animal released into the arena to amuse the Roman crowd, but a free man, a proud member of the Senones tribe with parents, siblings and perhaps even a wife and children.

A referee, a stocky man known as a
secunda
rudis
on account of him being second-in-command to the chief referee, the
summa
rudis
, hit Acco hard on the arm with his stick.

‘Obey your orders, gladiator.’

Acco, perhaps still thinking about his Gaul past, remained stationary for a couple of seconds. But then in a flash rammed the sword in his right hand into the referee’s mouth. He held the blade in place as his victim shuddered and blood sheeted out of his mouth. At the same time Marcus Aristius struck Gallia with the back of his hand, knocking her down.

And all hell broke loose.

The spectators nearest Gallia, enraged, threw themselves at the tribune as he drew his sword and threatened Domitus who had placed himself between the Roman and my wife. The tribune cut down two Greeks but more came at him as the crowd began to assault Roman soldiers. The legionaries nearest to us were literally engulfed by a mob of angry Greeks, the latter wrestling and punching the soldiers and tearing off their helmets. I jumped to my feet and threw of my helmet as Acco whipped back his sword and the dead referee fell to the ground. I picked up my
sica
and ran to my companions as a religious frenzy took hold of the crowd.

Domitus lifted Gallia to her feet as dozens of her ‘followers’ grouped round her to protect her from Roman weapons. The latter were now raining death on spectators from the rear of the theatre as the archers began shooting indiscriminately at civilians. They easily cut down dozens of Greeks as they nocked arrow after arrow and shot them into the crowd. They gave no thought of what was happening behind them, which they soon had cause to regret when a horde of Greeks crested the hill. Like most Greek theatres the one at Ephesus had been built into the side of a hill, which meant that people could climb the other side of the slope to reach the rear seats where the archers were positioned. I looked up to see the bowmen literally disappear under a wave of Greeks and suddenly the crowd was in control of the arena.

‘Time to get out of here,’ I shouted to the others as the gladiators of the
Ludus
Ephesus ran forward and began hacking and slashing at the nets so they could get to grips with legionaries battling spectators. They too were followers of Artemis and they too took exception to Gallia being abused.

Behind us the condemned Roman prisoners stood in their chains, staring at the riot that was taking place in front of them, unsure what to do, as were the gladiators from Alexandria. I saw two referees making a dash for the doors.