Authors: Bertrice Small
Aspar, in a purple-and-gold-embroidered ceremonial garment of white silk called a tunica palmata, which he wore with a toga picta of finely spun purple wool embroidered with gold, nodded with pleasure when he saw her. “You will cause many tongues to wag today, my love. You look magnificent.”
“As do you, my lord,” she replied. “Are you certain we will not inspire imperial jealousy? I have seen the emperor, and you, my lord, are a far more regal figure than he.”
“A thought you will not share with anyone else but me,” Aspar replied seriously. “Leo is a good administrator. He is precisely the emperor Byzantium needs.”
“Leo may be emperor of Byzantium,” Cailin said candidly, “but you are the ruler of my heart, Flavius Aspar. ‘Tis all I care for, my dear lord.” Then she kissed his mouth sweetly, smiling into his eyes.
He laughed. “Oh, Cailin, you will rule not just my heart, I fear, but my soul as well. What a sweet minx you are, my love.”
Casia and Basilicus were already awaiting them at the Hippodrome. As they entered the silk-hung box belonging to the empire’s First Patrician, the crowds seeing the general began to call his name.
“Aspar! Aspar! Aspar!”
He stepped forward and, saluting them, acknowledged their cheers with a modest smile. Then he retired to the rear of the box, that the populace be allowed to quiet down. To the right of the imperial box the patriarch and his minions sat observing it all.
“He does not encourage them,” the patriarch’s secretary observed.
“Not yet,” the patriarch replied. “Someday, I think, he will. Still, he is a curious man, and may prove me wrong.”
The Hippodrome suddenly exploded in a frenzy of cheers as the emperor and empress, along with the games’ sponsor and their guests, entered the imperial box. Leo and Verina accepted the homage of the crowd with smiling graciousness, and then presented Justin Gabras to the assembled, who cheered noisily as Gabras waved a languid hand.
At the sound of the trumpets Leo stepped forward and performed the ritual that began the festivities. As the mappa fluttered from his fingers, the stable doors of the Hippodrome burst open to allow the chariots in the first race to dash forth. The crowds screamed their encouragement to the four teams.
“Just look at that,” Flacilla fumed. “How dare Aspar and Basilicus bring their whores to our games!”
“The games are for everyone, my dear,” Justin Gabras replied, his eyes taking in Cailin avidly. What a magnificent creature, he thought. How I would like to have her in my power, even for just a few minutes.
“I do not think it right that the empire’s First Patrician flaunt his mistress so publicly,” Flacilla persisted.
“Oh, Flacilla,” Verina said with a light laugh, “your jealousy is astounding to behold, particularly given the fact neither you or Aspar could stand one another during your marriage.”
“That is not the point,” Flacilla replied. “Aspar should not be seen publicly with a woman of loose morals.”
“Is that why he was never seen with you, my dear?” her husband inquired drolly, and to Flacilla’s mortification, both Leo and Verina laughed.
She began to weep.
“Dear heaven!” Justin Gabras exclaimed. “May I be delivered from the overblown emotions of breeding women.” He pulled a white silk square from his robes and handed it to his wife. “Wipe your eyes, Flacilla, and do not make a complete fool of yourself.”
“You are expecting a child?” Verina was surprised, but then that would explain Flacilla’s expanding girth of late.
Flacilla nodded, and sniffled. “In four more months,” she admitted.
Congratulations were offered all around to Justin Gabras.
“It could be worse,” her husband pointed out. “What if the girl were Aspar’s wife, my dear? She would take precedence over you at court. In her present position she is quite harmless.”
Verina could not resist the temptation laid so neatly before her. She smiled with false sweetness. “I’m afraid that that is exactly what is to happen, my lord. The emperor and the patriarch have given their permission for Aspar to marry with Cailin Drusus.”
Flacilla paled. “You cannot allow it!” she gasped. “The creature is nothing more than a whore!”
“Oh, Flacilla,” Verina said calmly, “you distress yourself over nothing. The girl’s introduction to society here was unconventional, I will admit, but she was but a short time at Villa Maxima. Her background is better than either of ours. She conducts herself with a modesty that has even earned the
commendation of your cousin, the patriarch. She will make Aspar an excellent wife and, believe me, in time the rest will be forgotten, particularly if you continue to cause such scandals as the one you caused last spring. You are a far bigger whore, and so are half the women in the court, than little Cailin Drusus.” The empress smiled and took a cup of wine offered by a servant.
Before Flacilla might reply, her husband pinched her arm sharply. “Be silent, you foolish woman,” he hissed at her. “It does not matter.”
“Not to you!” Flacilla snapped angrily. “I will never give precedence to that creature.
Never!”
“Oh, Flacilla,” the empress said, “do not distress yourself. Look! The Greens have taken two races in a row this morning.” She turned to her husband. “You owe me a new gold necklace, my lord, and a bracelet too!”
“Ohhh, I hate her!” Flacilla murmured low. “How I wish I might wreak vengeance on her for her presumption.”
“Well, you cannot now, my dear,” her husband replied softly. “As Aspar’s mistress, she had a certain vulnerability, but as Aspar’s wife, Flacilla, she is inviolate. Look at her! Modest. Beautiful. Soon, I wager, she will become known for her good works. She will be a model mother, I have not a doubt. She has no fault that I can see. If she did, we might find a way to spoil Aspar’s happiness, but she does not. You will have to learn to live with the situation. I will not have you upsetting yourself unnecessarily, else you lose my child. If you do that, Flacilla, I will kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand me?”
“The child means that much to you, my lord?”
“Aye! I have never had a legitimate son,” he said.
“And me, my lord? Do I mean anything to you at all, other than as the brood mare who will bear your heir?”
“You are the only woman for me, Flacilla. I have told you that often enough, but if it pleases you to hear it again, very well. I never before asked a woman to marry me. It is you I want, but I want the child, too, my dear. Have a care else your bad temper spoil a perfect relationship.”
She turned her eyes to the racecourse, knowing that he was right and hating him for it. She did not dare look again toward Aspar’s box, for she could not bear the sight of her former husband and Cailin.
The chariot races were finally over. The interval between the races and the games would be a full hour. In the three boxes, servants laid out a light luncheon for their masters. When they had almost finished eating, an imperial guardsman appeared in Aspar’s box.
“The emperor and the empress will receive your loyal respects now, my lord, and that of your lady, too,” he said, bowing politely.
“You did not warn me,” Cailin said to Aspar, signaling Zeno to bring a basin of perfumed water in which to wash her hands. She dried them quickly with the linen towel he handed her.
“I was not aware they would receive us today,” he told her. “This is a great honor, my love. They are acknowledging our relationship! There can be no going back now, Cailin!”
“You look beautiful,” Casia whispered to her friend. “I have been watching Flacilla. She is consumed with jealousy. It is a great victory for you, my friend. Savor it!”
Aspar and Cailin followed the guardsman into the imperial box, where the couple knelt before the emperor and empress. They are so perfect together, Verina thought, as her husband greeted their guests. I have never before seen a better-matched couple. I am almost jealous of their love for each other. She was brought back to reality by Leo’s voice: “And my wife welcomes you also, my lady Cailin, do you not, Verina?”
“Indeed, my lord,” the empress replied. “You can but add more luster to our court, lady. You are from the former province of Britain, I am told. It is a dark land, or so I am informed.”
“It is a green and fertile land, majesty, but perhaps not as sunny and bright a place as is Byzantium. Your springs come earlier and your autumns later than in Britain.”
“And do you miss your green and fertile land, lady?” the empress inquired politely. “Have you family there?”
“Yes,” Cailin said, “I sometimes miss Britain, majesty. I was happy there, but,” she amended with a sweet smile, “I am happy here with my dear lord Aspar. Wherever he is will be my home.”
“Well said, lady!” the emperor approved, smiling at her. “How charming she is,” Leo continued after the couple had returned to their own box. “Aspar is a very lucky man, I think.”
Justin Gabras squeezed his wife’s hand in warning, for he could see she was near to another angry outburst. “Breathe deeply, Flacilla,” he instructed her softly, “and rein in your nasty temper. If we are banned from the court because of your ungovernable behavior, you will live to regret it, I swear it!”
The angry color slowly faded from her face and neck, and swallowing hard, she nodded her acquiescence. “I will never be happy again until I can find a way to revenge myself on Aspar,” she whispered.
“Let it go, my dear,” he told her. “There is no way.”
“The fat cow is going to have apoplexy,” Casia giggled wickedly in Aspar’s box. “She’s positively purple with rage. What did the emperor and the empress say to you that has infuriated her so greatly?”
“She has no reason to be angry with us,” Cailin said, and then she repeated the conversation she had had with the royal couple.
Suddenly there was a flourish of trumpets, and Casia said excitedly, “Ohh, the games are about to begin! I was visiting with my friend Mara at Villa Maxima yesterday, and I saw the gladiators there. Justin Gabras has taken it over for the entire term of their stay. The public is not allowed. He said he wanted his gladiators to have the very best while they were in Constantinople. Jovian is in his glory with all those beautiful young men about, and Phocas, I am told, is actually smiling, so great a price did Gabras pay him. Wait until you see the
champion they call the Saxon! I have never before seen such a beautiful man. Castor, Pollux, and Apollo pale in comparison. Ohhhh!” she squealed. “Here they come now!”
The gladiators marched in procession into the Hippodrome, parading around it until they reached the imperial box, where they stopped. Weapons raised high, they saluted the emperor and their generous patron with a single voice. “Those about to die salute you!”
“There is the Saxon,” Casia said, pointing to the tallest man in the group. “Isn’t he magnificent?”
“How can you possibly tell?” Cailin teased her friend. “That helmet with its visor virtually renders him invisible.”
“True,” Casia agreed, “but you will have to take my word for it. He’s got golden hair, and blue, blue eyes.”
“Many Saxons do,” Cailin replied.
Aspar leaned over and said, “The first matches will be fought with blunt weapons, my love. There will be no blood shed for now, and it will give you an idea of the skills involved.”
“I think I will prefer it to what must come later,” Cailin told him. “Must all these men fight until only one of them survives?”
“No,” he told her. “Six specific matches will be fought to the death. That is the number that Gabras purchased from this particular troupe of gladiators. Two death matches will be fought today, two tomorrow, and two on the last day of the games. The Saxon, who is the unbeaten champion, will fight today and on the last day. His main rival is a man called the Hun, who must fight all three days. If he survives the first two days, they will probably pair him with the Saxon on the last day. That should be quite a match.”
“I think it horrendous that someone must die,” Cailin said. “They are young men. Why, it goes against the very teachings of the church to allow such barbarity, yet there sits the patriarch and all his priests in their box on the other side of the emperor, enjoying this.”
Aspar put a gentle hand on hers. “Hush, my love, lest you be overheard,” he warned her. “Death is a part of life.”
The battle had begun below them. Young men with small shields and blunt weapons fought one another en masse. The crowds loved it, but eventually they began to tire of the mock engagement.
“Bring on the Saxon! Bring on the Hun!” they screamed.
The trumpets sounded a recall, and the fighters ran from the arena. The groundskeepers came forth and raked the ground smooth. Then silence descended upon the Hippodrome for what seemed several long minutes. Suddenly the Gladiators Gate in the wall opened and two men stepped forth. The crowds began to scream with their excitement.
“It is the Hun,” Aspar said. “He will fight with a Thracian.”
“He has no armor,” Cailin said.
“He needs none but the leather shoulder pads he wears, my love. He is a net man. Other than his net, he has but a dagger and a spear to fight with, but I think net men the most dangerous of gladiators.”
The Thracian, who was helmeted and wore greaves on both legs, carried a small shield and a curved sword. It seemed to Cailin a very unfair match, until the two men began to fight. The Hun tossed his net almost immediately, but the Thracian sidestepped it, and leaping behind his opponent, slashed at him. The wily Hun, obviously anticipating the ploy, moved quickly and was but scratched by the tip of the Thracian’s blade. The men fought back and forth for some minutes while the crowds screamed their encouragement to their favorites. Finally, when Cailin had begun to think these combats were vastly overrated for ferocity, the Hun leapt in the air and, with a deft flick of his wrist, swirled his net out gracefully. The Thracian, unable to escape, was enfolded in the web. Desperately, he thrashed at it with his sword, the crowd shrieking with their rising blood lust. The Hun jammed his spear into the ground, drew his dagger out and flung himself down upon the struggling man. It happened so quickly that Cailin wasn’t even certain she had seen it, but the sandy floor of the arena was swiftly stained with blood as the Hun cut his opponent’s throat and
then stood victorious, acknowledging the cheers of the howling mob.