Blood of a Barbarian (2 page)

I, who go by the name of Octric, meaning fearsome, come from the lands that the Romans call Magna Germania, and am a son of the Sicambri tribe, though we refer to ourselves as the "People of the same land." I grew up from an early age learning to wield a sword, first taught by my father, who was called Deuderix, and then by my uncle, who was called Baetorix. Both men are dead now -slain while fighting the Romans in one pointless uprising or other. I chose not to follow their paths, and instead, fell in with a group that took its sport in making daylight raids on Roman outposts and border walls. This was an especially dangerous thing to do, but the rewards in spoils were far too great to pass up, and if I was going to risk my life, then I was intent to at least get something out of it. You see, while we of the Sicambri hated the Romans for having come to our lands to subdue our peoples, we also admired many things about their culture. A Roman-made sword, or helmet, for example, was worth its weight in gold, and could either be used, sold, or even buried as an offering to the gods.

Our gods, especially Woton, the chief God, as well as Thor, the God of thunder, and Zio, the God of war, were all strong, and had brought our tribe many victories against our neighboring enemies. And yet, it seemed as though the Roman's gods were the strongest of all, for they always seemed to beat us all in the end. The rituals for our religion were enacted deep in the forest, in sacred groves or on hilltops, where we set up alters. Sometimes human sacrifices were made, which the Romans thought was a barbaric custom, and they had officially oulawed this, though they themselves do the same thing in the famous arena. Everyone has heard of the Great Amphitheater, even in Germania, although it was a thing we found hard to comprehend. For the Romans, ritual is more of a public display, something they do out in the open, and with thousands of spectators, either when they are sacrificing animals in great burning fires, or watching large numbers of men butcher one another.

It still shames and amazes me that after all the successful raids I had made on the border walls, that I should have been so easily captured. On that day, I had run quietly up to the border wall, and had thrown a hook up over top and climbed up easily. Archers had already taken care of the guards, so it was just a matter of sneaking into the stockade, and grabbing whatever food and weapons I could lay my hands on before returning to my comrades in the forest just beyond the wall.

I can clearly remember opening a door and going through, and then feeling a terrific blow to the back of my head. Someone must have hidden himself, then sneaked up behind and hit me as hard as he could. Judging from the very large bump on the back of my head that I had several hours later, when I woke up, the blow had probably been delivered by a strong soldier using the butt of his sword. The reason he hadn't killed me outright was that he had probably been able to collect a hefty fee for having me sold into slavery.

After a terrible journey over hundreds of miles, I finally came face to face with the horror of my destiny. It was now my terrible fate to be forced to work in the mines as a labourer. I knew well that the average lifespan of someone working in the mines was only three weeks, or less, and so determined right away to try to find a way out of there. A full month of misery passed before my chance came. I had been flogged and beaten, and given nothing but starvation rations for this entire time, and yet somehow still clung to life, determined as I was, not to die in those stinking tunnels. I even managed to obtain, through various means, a few extra rations, mostly by taking them out of the hands of the dead or dying, and was able to keep my strength up a bit.

One day, while we labourers worked, a Mangone, or slave-trader, came to look at us, and I asked a fellow miner next to me what kind of slave the trader was looking for. I had no intention of merely going from one mine to another, and so was prepared to feign sickness and weakness if that was his intent. However, the miner, a tiny Gaul, informed me that this Mangone was looking for gladiators for a school in Rome. He himself, he knew, being of slight build, had no chance. But I, he said, being still in good physical shape, and young, and despite my recent hardships, might well stand a chance. At first, I did not take him seriously. What chance had I? And besides, I had no desire to die in an arena as lion bait, or even by the sword, all for the amusment of my enemies. Still... I thought, It could very well be my only chance I would have to get out of this hole of the underworld.

Immediatly I puffed out my chest as far as I could, and stood up straight. When the Mangone, a short fat little man who held a perfumed piece of cloth in front of his nose -apparently because of the smell of our unwashed bodies- saw me, he stopped and looked me over with an appraising eye. The fat little man turned to one of the guards, an especially cruel one who loved to whip me, and asked him, "How about this one? How long has he been here, then?"

"A month, your Lordship," replied the guard. "But you wouldn't be interested in him, your grace," he said with a weasily grin, "He has no discipline, being a German." He said this last word as though it were a curse word of some kind. No doubt the guard had some new tortures in mind for me, and did not want me to escape his sadistic grasp.

"On the contrary,' said the Mangone. "He interests me very much. Anyone who can survive for a month in the mines and still stand up straight, must either be very stong or very cunning and resourceful, all of which are qualities well-suited to the tasks of a gladiator. Have him put with the others," he ordered curtly.

"As you please, my Lord," the guard said, obviously annoyed, but without any say in the matter.

The only way I had been able to understand any of this transaction was because over a life-time of haggling at markets, where I went to buy Roman goods, and then there in the mines, I had had to pick up many latin words, and though I was far from fluent, I tried to learn at least one or two new words every day.

By the next morning, I was laoded with half-a-dozen other men onto a slave-cart, and we headed out on our long over-land journey towards the great capital city of Rome. I, of course, had never been anywhere near the place before, but had naturally heard many tales of it. Nothing prepared me though, for when, three weeks later, I looked through the small view-slats in the wagon, and out onto a world that I could barely believe. The first thing I noticed was the noise. Everywhere was the noise of thousands of people, all yelling and jostling and laughing. And then there was the smell: A terrible aroma hung in the air, the smell of animals, and sweat, and dung, and any number of rotting things. The buildings though were amazing, they seemed to be made of white stone, and they soared high into the air, as high as the birds. Even in the Roman settlements in Germania there was nothing to match these gigantic buildings, and these columns, and shining white temples.

After this, our cart stopped, and we were all herded out the back, through a courtyard, and then down into a long dark corridor, where we were each locked into individual cells. Almost immediately, I lay my sore body down on the cool stone floor and fell asleep. After having awakened, I felt grateful to be there, for as uncomfortable as all this was, it was not half so bad as the mines, and I at least I had a chance of surviving -for a little while longer anyway. I had no idea what they intented to do next, but was not frightened, as my new masters would never have taken all the time and expense to bring me all this way just to kill me.

Suddenly, a Roman guard appeared, and told me to stand up. I obeyed at once, and waited for a moment until two slaves, one man and one woman, came and stood before my cell. The guard got out his keys and opened the door, then ordered me to step out. Once in the corridor I was bidden to follow the slaves, and they led myself and several of the other men down several twists and turns, until we entered a large narrow room that looked out over a small courtyard. There were what looked to be a dozen or so large wooden tubs that had been filled with water. One of the chief slaves, a medium-size balding man, came over and told us to drop our loinclothes. The cloth I wore was filthy, and I was glad to be rid of it. He then told us to get into the baths, one man per tub. I climbed into the waist-deep warm water, and felt the pleasantness of it.

Back home, we always washed in cold water at a stream, using butter or bear fat as soap, but I had not even had a bath like that in over two months, and had never had one like this. I could no longer smell myself, but imagined I must be pretty rank. The slaves did a good job of seeming not to notice though, especially the women, and two of them came behind the tub and begin rubbing down my body in some sort of oil. They asked me to kneel in the water. I did, and it felt wonderful. The dirt came off of me and almost created a cloud around me. I even dunked my head fully underwater, and left it there for as long as I could, enjoying the sensation. When I came up, one of the women took hold of my hair, while the other used a pair of shears to cut my long strands off. It had not always been this long, but had become so as I had not sheared it for some time. Next, they rubbed more oil onto my face and used a sharp blade to cut all the hair off. After they were done, they rubbed more oil on to sooth the cuts, and then I dunked my head under the water again.

When this was all complete, I was dried off and taken down a different corridor this time, then was shown into a different cell, this time on an upper floor of the building, which overlooked a great arena floor full of sand. I took it that this was the training area. The cell into which I was told to enter was much cleaner and nicer than any I had ever seen before, and even had a straw mattress which was elevated off the ground on a stone platform. On the ground was a bowl of food and one cup of wine and one of water. I was told by the head slave to eat, and to rest. I would be called for in the morning.

I did not have to be told to eat, and quickly devoured all that was in the bowl, and drank the cups dry to the last drop. Then I lay down on the mattress, which felt to my bruised back, like a bed of clouds must to a reclining god.

CHAPTER THREE

The Ludus Magnus

I was awakened by the sound of jangling keys in the lock on my cell door. A harsh voice called out for me to get up, and I just had time to stumble out of bed before the door swung open and the head of a unkempt-looking uniformed guard glared into my cell.

"On your feet I said!" he growled. "You'll learn to jump when I give orders from now on."

I made my way out the door and onto the landing, where the scruffy guard and one of his subordinates were waiting impatiently. I knew better than to ask any questions, and so just followed them as they walked, softly padding behind them in my bare feet over the cool floor. There was still a chill in the air, and I shivered. The sun was just now beginning to come up over the roof of the school, and for the first time I got a good look at the structure. It was three stories high, and shaped as a rectangle, with the cells of the gladiators spaced out evenly on all three floors. There had to be at least a hundred and twenty cell doors by the look of it, and each floor was upheld by a series of columns.

It was the center of the building that caught my eye though, which was a huge courtyard, for though I had had a glimpse of it the day before, I had not been able to fully appreciate the sheer scale of the thing. The arena in the center of the courtyard was giant, easily big enough for a thousand men to stand in comfortably -a huge oval of sand, which the first rays of the sun were just now beginning to shine down upon. Around the arena, there was gradually inclined seating, and I guessed that there was enough room for ten thousand spectators or more. Such a number of people I had never seen before in my entire life. The seats were now empty, but I tried to imagine them full, and found it difficult. Overlooking everything, were three balconies that ran around the entire length of the building, as well as what appeared to be a fourth balcony, which ran round the rim of the arena, and upon which even more spectators could stand. I was dumbfounded by the complexity of what I was seeing, and could barely take it all in.

After having gone through a series of large doors, and down several flights of stairs, I was ushered into a rather large room. The air in this room smelled strange, much like herbs and plants and medicinal things. Several of the men I had travelled by wagon with were standing about, as though waiting for something. The guards stepped back a bit, and left us waiting. I then heard the cry: "Next!" and one of my fellow slaves stepped forward. A pale stooped old man stood up from his chair and began squeezing the man all over, and inspecting him as though he were a rare specimen of fungus. I took it that this was the Medicis, and that we were being checked for our overall health and fitness.

After a few more of the men had gone, it was my turn, and I fought the urge to recoil as the old Medicis's knobby old hands squeezed and pinched my body all over.

"Cough," he said curtly.

"Why?" I asked.

"You're not here to ask questions," he said dismissively. "Do you want to be a gladiator or not?"

"Yes, but I don't see what coughing has to do with it."

The man let out a cackle of a laugh, as though I had just said something very funny. "By the gods!" he sneered. "This one is a right barbarian. Doesn't know much by the looks of it. Good muscle tone, but not much in the way of brains. If you take my advice sonny, you'll ask no questions and do as you're told, if you don't want to be sent back to whatever hell-hole you came from. A slave in these parts who doesn't know his place doesn't usually last long, if you take my meaning. Now I am examining you, to see if you will be fit enough to withstand the rather demanding training you are to receive, so cough."

I coughed, and then again, and again, until the Medicis was satisfied.