Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (11 page)

“There is strength in Belua that I admire. More than just his physical strength. I had hoped that in time we might become friends. But, I know now that he regards such a relationship as ill-chosen, and I accept that.”

“Belua does not make friends easily,” responded Neo. “He is a hard man with a shell of iron. Life has dealt with him cruelly but he is a man of great resolve. After long years of working together, I regard him as the most steadfast of friends. I would trust him with my life.”

“I was unaware that his past was…so painful.”

“His family was tragically taken from him,” said Neo.

“Pray how?” asked Clodian, the angst clearly written on his young face.

“That is up to Belua to share,” said Neo looking thoughtful. “When you know him better, you might ask him?”

“Wouldn’t he resent it?”

“Possibly? But grief should not be closeted away in some dark place. Like the scab over an infected wound it will slowly eat away at the host. It would do Belua only good to talk about his loss…if he so chooses. Then, perhaps he might bite your head off?” Neo smiled glibly, adding, “Or maybe not.”

“I understand,” said Clodian, the words sincere. “I also believe that family is very important in life.”

“Yes, it is,” agreed Neo, before enquiring. “And how fares
your
father? Have you encouraged him to drink plenty of water as I advised?”

“He has followed your advice and there has been some improvement,” said Clodian looking worried. “But, he has lost so much weight and looks dreadful.”

“Is he eating at all?”

“Very little, and then only his favourite foods.”

“As long as he tries to eat small amounts regularly – to build his strength,” suggested Neo.

“I will pass on your advice, which is always welcome.”

“I am happy to come and see him if you wish,” Neo offered, sensing that Clodian was more concerned than he portrayed.

“My gratitude, but my step-mother would not hear of it, and my father seems to support her every decision.”

“I see,” said Neo, somewhat puzzled by the
domina
’s intransigence. “Still, the offer stands if your father changes his mind.”

“Again, my thanks,”said Clodian

“Now, I have some supplies to purchase,” said Neo. “So, until–”

“Tomorrow at the
ludus,
at the same hour,”proposed Clodian, his expression lighter.

“Until tomorrow,” confirmed Neo, risking another smile.

Placing a battered straw hat on his head, stepped out into the sun.

The city was quiet, residents closeted behind doors. It was the hottest time of the day. A trickle of customers was entering the Baths, its towering red brick entrance dominating the street. They were mainly patricians, shaded by slaves carrying gaily coloured parasols. Neo liked it quiet and he kept to the shade as he headed for Han the apothecary’s shop. He went over the list of items he’d made in his head.

Stepping onto the gently chamfered stone of the road he immediately felt the sun’s heat on his shoulders through his cotton tunic. He quickened his pace and his mind revisited his discussion with Clodian and the talk of
family.

He pictured his father sat in their family villa, and Placidia’s sweet face. He let his thoughts drift to the small property in Stabia. He hadn’t visited the villa for almost a year, using the excuse that his work would not permit him the luxury of a holiday. In truth, the residence evoked too many painful memories: memories of Diocles, his father and mentor, and the gentle, sad Placidia. Despite his absence, there were times when he’d almost persuaded himself that a few days of recuperation at the villa would revitalise him. He’d paid a small sum to a local wine merchant, a boy-hood friend of his father, to watch over the villa in his absence. The merchant had always kept the house in good repair, periodically instructing one of his workers to replace the occasionally damaged roof-tile and trim back the ever encroaching weeds and couch grass. The house was small but well located, boasting a magnificent view of the bay and the distant, but ever present mountain.

Rare though his visits had been since his father’s death, he fondly recalled the many idyllic evenings spent in the company of the old physician. The villa’s position on a gently rising bluff guaranteed that it always caught the westerly sea breeze, the evenings being cool, relaxing. Neo’s mother had died in childbirth and he had no siblings. A shy youth, his father had been his only close friend, confidante and teacher. He’d loved the old man and missed him dearly.

Neo promised himself that he would make the time to visit the villa. It could be arranged, if he spent less of his private hours administering to the town’s sickly poor. Most days they would loiter at the
ludus
gate entreating to see the sympathetic physician. Those that the guards did not discourage, the persistent ones, Neo would treat at the close of his
ludus
surgery. He also treated them at his home. The locals were well acquainted with the name of the serious physician who spoke little but treated the needy free of charge. Alexandros, a friend and fellow physician, frequently censured him for being a gullible fool, easily duped by a pained expression and tale of impoverishment. His friend had also been puzzled regarding his role as physician to the gladiator troupe, well acquainted as he was with Neo’s abhorrence of gratuitous violence, and Neo had been unable to provide a satisfactory rationale for his long standing service to the men of the arena. He realised that it was a clear paradox, flying in the face of his moral high ground, which condemned enslavement, cruelty and the state’s provision of butchery by popular demand.

When searching his heart, he admonished that having neither partner nor child, his life was hollow, without any real meaning or a purposeful future. Could it be that in living and working so close to pending death, he gleaned a singular endorsement to live? And, if Placidia had been at his side, things might have been very different for him?

He was eighteen when they first met.

Placidia had visited his home with her father. She was a reserved, frail looking young woman, two years his junior. On first inspection he had regarded her as un-notable, with her pale skin, short cropped hair and boy’s physique. Then, on introduction, as he held her tiny hand, she smiled. It was a rare thing and her face was transformed. Her clear, sea-green eyes had sparkled up at him and he’d felt his heart jump.

She was to fulfil the position of assistant to his father. A young woman of needy background, her poor health had mitigated against her obtaining more robust work. Diocles liked the girl’s father, a local farmer, and created a position for the young woman, more out of sympathy for the father’s predicament than need. The father was a widower, without sons, and was barely scratching enough from his small holding to fill their bellies. Working the land would have killed his only daughter.

Placidia moved into a tiny room at the rear of the small villa, assuming the role of cook, cleaner and general assistant to the physician and his trainee son. The new addition to the household quickly proved to be conscientious, as well as having an eager, active mind. As Neo increasingly assumed the responsibility of treating individual cases, Placidia’s worth became apparent, and she soon fulfilled the function of assisting both physicians with their treatments. Diocles quickly came to value Placidia’s contributions to the practice. Quick to learn, she demonstrated a gentle, caring approach with the patients. She was endeared to the old man and business flourished.

The following spring Diocles passed away. Neo discovered him one morning, curled up in his bed, as if asleep. His passing had been quiet, pain-free. Neo was devastated, there having been so much unsaid, so much that he’d wanted to convey to the old physician who’d always been there. But, death had come like a creeper in the night, cheating all opportunity for endearment or farewell. Neo and Placidia stayed on at the villa and kept the business going, although the house was now very empty without the old man’s genial presence and industrious pottering.

Between the busy periods of administering to the sick, they found time to become lovers. It was a time of tender discovery for them both. Their love for each other fortified their resolve to continue with their work and insulated them from the arrows of the out-side world. Devoted to each other, their private intimacy gave both their lives a new meaning.

It was discovered later that the out-break of lung-fever had arrived in the small coastal town on a lumbering grain ship bound for one of the southerly ports. The majority of the ship’s Egyptian crew had already succumbed to the bloody consumption prior to the behemoth limping into Stabiae harbour. Eventually, there would be no survivors.

Within days of the ship’s arrival, Placidia showed the first symptoms of the blight. An initial dry, non-productive cough quickly gave rise to a searing fever and an incessant, blood flecked hack. Never strong, the willowy Placidia failed quickly despite Neo’s desperate ministrations. Neither the diverse tinctures, frequent small helpings of bone marrow and sips of honeyed milk succeeded in putting any flesh on Placidia’s skeletal frame, or in halting the aggressive progression of the disease.

Placidia died within two weeks of contraction, slipping into unconsciousness and blessed release in his arms.

His arrival at Han’s shop jolted his thoughts back to the present. The sun scorched the skin at the back of his neck, and he wiped the beaded sweat from his top lip with his thumb. Afterwards, he would make his last visit of the day to the
ludus,
and he wondered if there’d be any new casualties following the day’s training?

Not that it mattered, because there were no other demands on his time.

It was the overpowering stench that first struck him. The noble’s appearance was barely an improvement. Belua was aware that Gaius Caesillius Ralla had been in poor health but the transformation in such a short time was shocking.

Belua had readily accepted the glass of wine offered him on entering the atrium, and his took considerable effort not to grimace at the foul stink that pervaded the room. The noble was seated opposite on a couch supported by cushions, with two servants in close attendance. Two tired eyes peered out from dark pits in his face, above hollow cheeks sunken in a face the colour of yellowed parchment. His bones seemed to jut out from the light tunic he wore, his arms appearing stick thin. He was aspectre of the man Belua had known.

“Thank you for coming.” The noble’s voice sounded as weak as he looked. “I regret that I have not been able to meet with you sooner. But, I’ve not been at my best. Regardless, I felt it was time to rise from my sick-bed and speak to you personally about my son’s progress.”

“Clodian has told me that you’ve been…unwell.”

“He’s attended to me each day. He’s a good and loyal son, and, I just hope that his time with me has not interfered too much with his training.” The statement was framed as a question.

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Good,” said the noble, trying his best to smile. “Please expand.” He leaned further back onto the cushions as if the mere effort of speaking was exhausting him.

“He’s completed his boxing training, and should be able to competently handle himself. He’s got fast hands and a firm jaw. Prudes is also pleased with his progress with the
gladius
and
spatha
, as well as his use of the legionary shield and the buckler. He’ll soon be ready to begin training with the dagger.”

“Is there room for improvement?”

“Always.”

“And there’s been no whinging about knocks and cuts?”

“Clodian is no whinger my lord, although I’d appreciate that you kept that between us.”

“Of course.” A genuine light sparkled for the first time in the noble’s eyes. “I would not want Clodian to think that
Belua the Fist
was easing up as he got older.”

The old man’s proud of him
, thought Belua, before responding, “That name’s rarely mentioned anymore.”

“More often than you think,” said the Noble. “While I have the breath, let me share something with you, and then perhaps you’ll answer a question I’ve pondered on for some time.”

“That will depend on the question,” answered Belua, more than a little curious.

“Before I put this question to you, I would like to discuss a more delicate matter. At the commencement of his training Clodian was still a virgin – a situation that obviously needs to be remedied before his manhood ceremony. Has it been addressed?”

“Not yet,” answered Belua, knowing that it was something that he’d put off as long as possible. “But, it will be.”

“Good. It’s just that my son has a certain naivety when it comes in such matters, and I would like this arranged…delicately.”

“I can assure you that I will choose carefully.”

“My gratitude.”The noble rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “That’s all I wished to know.”

“What of your question for me?” Belua prompted, still curious.

“Of course.” With considerable effort he pushed himself more upright on the couch. The servants moved quickly to assist him but he waved them back. “I was fortunate enough to have witnessed a number of your early fights in Campania; as you rose to fame, shall we say, before you fought in the Great Circus. And, I was always impressed with the proficient manner with which you defeated your opponents.” He paused to take a breath, tilting his head back.

“Thank you, I always tried to end the fight as quickly as possible. My wind was good in those days, and I had some luck.”

“Luck sometimes, but mostly determination, skill and great strength.” The noble seemed to have got his breath back. “So indulge me. I was in Capua the day you fought Ambiorix, the Gaul, and I witnessed something very different.”

Taken aback, Belua answered, “It was many years ago, and I can barely recall the match.” He lied.

Belua felt the angry blood rushing to the roots of his hair, but before he could continue indignantly the noble added with a trace of humour, “Come now, I’ve been accused of many things, but never a blind fool.” He sighed, before confirming, “It was the only time that I witnessed you punish an opponent the way you did Ambiorix. You deliberately cut him to pieces when you could have ended the fight early on...Or am I mistaken? But then, you don’t have to answer. I just thought you might indulge a sick old admirer.”