Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (34 page)

“Who knows,” said Clodian, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Now on to the reason I asked you here.”

“Please enlighten me.”

“Neo tells me that you’ve been considering retirement from your post as Imperial Procurator.”

“That’s true, but I’ve not put quite enough aside as yet. Not if I intend to live out my retirement to the standard I’m used to.”

“Then I’d like to make you a job offer. I’d like you to consider the post of running my family estates while I’m away.”

Gordeo felt the words stick in his throat. “Why…me?”

“I need a man with good business sense, and one I can trust. Neo said you were such a man.”

“The Greek said that?”

“He did, and advised that I pay you an annual fee of a thousand sesterces. My family have properties and businesses throughout Campania, and the job will involve extensive travelling. So, I’m prepared to offer a wage of fifteen hundred sesterces a year. My father always said that a prudent employer pays well if he expects good workmanship. Unfortunately, I will need your answer immediately.”

The boy has changed
, admonished Gordeo,
and it seems that the lemon hasn’t dropped far from its branch.
He rubbed his chin, as if the decision was a terribly difficult one. He knew that it didn’t pay to appear too eager.

“It will be an honour to be of service to your house,” he eventually replied with a seated bow, his stomach preventing anything more extravagant.

“Excellent!” said Clodian, looking very pleased. “And there is a favour I would ask of you at the outset.

“Merely ask.”

“The girl – Orbiana – you know about her?”

“Sadly, I do.”

“She has a young sister of about ten summers who was sold into bondage at the same time as she was. I would like you to find the girl if she’s still alive, and have her brought to Pompeii, regardless of the cost. Can you do this for me?”

“With the contacts I have, I can find just about anyone if they are still breathing. But, why would you do this for her, after…what she tried to do?”

“Please, do not question my reasons?”

“Very well, I’ll do as you ask.”

“My thanks.”

“Regarding a different matter,” Gordeo began, “please tell me where you plan to lay Belua’s ashes to rest?”

“I have them safe, do not worry,” said Clodian, his face breaking into a smile. “And, the question of his resting place has been the subject of much debate. Malleolus said we should lay him alongside Prudes, but Neo and I decided we would take him with us to Greece. We agreed that he’d enjoy the sea journey, and I promised him a holiday before he….” His voice grew thick and he could not finish.

“I think Belua would find that agreeable.” Gordeo paused for a while, uncertain whether he should speak about what he felt. “I know he had his suspicions about my dealings with Flavia.” It stung him to say the woman’s name. “I understand why: with Prudes’ death and the attempts on your life, and the woman’s rabid determination to rule your house by any means. Yet, I was only ever a messenger. Unlike Belua, I was too much of a coward to be anything else. Regardless of what Belua really thought of me, he was the closest thing to a friend that I’ve ever had. Sadly, I was a pale shadow of a friend to him. I could not even bear to watch him fight the Dacian, believing that he could not win.”

“But, he did, and he’ll always be remembered as a true champion, one who possessed great courage and an indomitable spirit,” said Clodian, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I think a drink to seal our agreement is in order,” Clodian went on to suggest.

“An excellent idea,” he agreed.

Clodian got to his feet, and along with Malleolus offered him a helping hand. They heaved him up into a standing position.

“Gra…Gratitude,” he thanked them, puffing heavily again.

A smiling Clodian quipped to Malleolus, “I believe the wine is on you my friend.”

“Have I missed something?” Gordeo asked the young noble, noting Malleolus’s peeved expression.

“Only that Malleolus bet me that you’d accept not a
quadran
under two thousand sesterces…”

It seems I was right about the lemon tree
, admonished Gordeo, smiling painfully.

Chapter 39

JOURNEYS

Neo appeared notably edgy as he supervised the loading of his property for the voyage. Two sailors edged up the loading ramp with the physician exhorting caution in their wake. The wooden crate held an assortment of surgical items, numerous sealed pots of medicine, books and jars of salves, as well as personal items. It also contained Belua’s ashes.

Clodian smiled as he recalled the recent discussions regarding the most suitable resting place for his friend. He was pleased that Belua was going with them.

The crate safely stored aboard the wide bellied trader,
The Laconian,
Neo headed towards him.

“The captain says that we should now board to catch the evening’ tide,” he stated.

“Very well,” said Clodian. He turned to those gathered to bid them farewell.

Kaeso and Gordeo shook their hands and wished them a favourable wind at their backs. Malleolus was accompanying them and was in a particularly good humour.

Clodian was taking a sizable amount of gold coin with him and Neo had suggested that Malleolus might be employed as a trusted guard to accompany them on the outward journey. Clodian was in agreement and Malleolus was happy to be of service. In fact, the ex-gladiator had said that he might stay on in Greece, as he had nothing and no-one to draw him back. He also pointed out that he’s heard it said that Greek women were notably fulfilling in the bed-chamber and knew how to look after their men outside of it.

In fact, Malleolus saw the voyage as an adventure; a paid holiday rather than a job, and Clodian knew that Neo would be less nervous with the burly
pugile
aboard.

“I will regularly keep you abreast of the affairs of your estate, and I will do my best for the girl,” reassured Gordeo, referring to Calliste, Orbiana’s younger sister. Gordeo had already located the girl and purchased her release. He’d also arranged for her to be brought to his villa, where her education would be completed under his guidance. Clodian felt that he owed this to Orbiana after Neo had re-counted Flavia’s threats to harm the girl. The revelation had meant a lot to him, easing the ache of betrayal.

He still could barely comprehend that Neo had made an end to Flavia. It was another debt he could never repay. Well, perhaps in a small way; by helping Neo set up his practice in Greece. Although it wasn’t really a kindness, but something he would be part of, something that he wanted to do more than anything else.

Gordeo had informed him that he’d resigned his commission as
procurator
and planned to take a trip north himself, before he launched himself into his new post. He’d briefly mentioned that it was a trip long overdue.

“Will you return some day, Clodian?” Kaeso asked. He’d never given him an answer when he’d enquired about what business had recently called him away. He’d simply replied that it had been important and had said no more.

“I probably will, but I’ve no idea when. I’ve not thought that far ahead, and there will be plenty to occupy me when we get to Greece.”

“Well then, may your gods of choice watch over you,” said Kaeso, smiling. His reference to the
gods
was not lost on Clodian.

“And good fortune to you,” said Clodian returning the smile. “Until we meet again…this side or the other.”

The captain barked the command, “Last call for the Laconian…board now or swim!”

The three journey-men made their way onto the deck.

The wind billowed out the ship’s sail and the
Laconian
slipped away from the quayside.

Picking up speed it glided forward.

From the ship’s stern Clodian and his two companions waved to the diminishing figures stood on the harbour’s edge. Clodian looked beyond, staring up at the great mountain. He wondered when he’d see the familiar giant again?

He smiled.
Perhaps never
, he mused,
not if what Malleolus says about the women of Greece is true.

Still smiling, he walked unsteadily in the direction of the ship’s prow, towards the opening horizon and a new life.

Chapter 40

CLOSURE

Despite his general good health he‘d caught a bad cold and been laid up in bed for two days.

His bladder had woken him in the middle of the night as usual and he cursed as he attempted to rise from the bed. Vulso pushed himself up painfully, feeling stiffness in every joint. His head ached as though a cascade of drums were pounding in his brain.

He stood by the bed, testing his balance.

“There are whispers in the market that plague has entered Herculaneum,” Sequana, his young slave, spoke from the bed, her voice anxious, “and that it creeps closer every day.”

With effort he turned to the slim shadow outlined on the bed. Unusually for him he’d become quite attached to the young thing. Perhaps because she’d been a virgin when he’d bedded her?

“Do not fear, I have decided for the sake of my health to visit the villa I keep in the hills. There, I can recover and be free of any pestilence. I should be on my feet tomorrow and will depart then.”

“Might I come with you?” queried the worried voice from the bed.

“Yes, that would please me,” said Vulso. “But no more talk or I’ll piss myself.”

Words of gratitude trailed behind him as he shuffled onto the insula’s second floor landing, towards a clay pot situated at the end of the corridor.

Something moved in the shadows ahead of him, and he stopped. It was a rat. A large black creature, so confident in its domain that it held its ground. He took another step forward and it turned about, pausing to look over its shoulder with beady eyes, whiskers trembling a little.

Vulso headed for the clay pot.

He let out a long sigh as he relieved himself. He was in the process of placing his member back in his loin-cloth when a noise from his room brought him about. It was the muffled sound of a struggle followed by throaty cry cut short. He stood still, his fear rooting him to the floor.

A tall figure emerged silently from his room.

The figure walked confidently towards him, making no noise. The intruder wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled forwards. Only his mouth and chin were visible when he came to a halt barely two steps away.

Vulso thought that he’d emptied his bladder, but he could feel the hot seepage in his loin-cloth as his fear mounted.

“Who are you? And what do you want?” Vulso managed to force out the words, crossing his arms across his bare upper body in a feeble gesture of self-protection.

“I wish to discuss the matter of purchasing a young virgin.” The words were spoken calmly, clearly. “No Gauls of course, and she must have some education and breeding.”

Amongst the swirl of his thoughts, stark realization took form in Vulso’s brain.

His eyes caught the movement of the figure’s hands. He glimpsed a length of rope pulled tight between two sinewy fists, and then his bowels emptied.

Historical Afterword

‘From funeral ritual to entertainment.’

The Roman public’s perspective on death
and brutality in the arena was part of a very different value system to the one
that we’d accept today.  In a world where the subjugation of other lands was an
acceptable fact of life, the Romans were well versed in the field of conquering
and ruling others. Those people who did not embrace Roman culture were
perceived as
barbarians
and inferior, and Rome believed that using force
against them was totally acceptable. At the same time, a martial culture was
highly venerated, and to sacrifice one’s life for mother Rome was regarded as a
great service and honour.

Not
surprisingly, such bellicose values permeated down into various aspects of
Roman society, including ‘entertainment’.  Gladiators were in the main
criminals or captives of war; the outfits they donned being modelled on the
foreign warriors Rome had defeated. This allowed for little compassion for the
arena warriors, who symbolically represented the enemies threatening the Roman
state and the
Pax Romana.
Similarly, to the pagan Roman mind, the
slaying of the wild beasts by the
venatores
(beast-fighters) represented
the power of Rome over the chaotic forces of nature.  In the spectators’ eyes a
gladiator could demonstrate that he had courage and devotion to duty by ‘dying
well’ for his superiors.

An average Roman
citizen’s life was a relatively short one, and during their brief time in the
sun, many were not averse to sampling
entertainment
in all its forms; no
matter how aberrant we perceive it as today.  Most gladiators lived to less
than 30, at a time when fifty per cent of all Romans died, from all causes,
before 25.

Many scholars
maintain that the first fights between warriors were staged at the funerals of
Roman noblemen in Campania in the mid-fourth century B.C. Campania was the
fertile region surrounding the Gulf Of Cumae (now the Bay of Naples) on Italy’s
south-western coast (Mt. Vesuvius and Pompeii were major land-marks in
Campania).

As the public
demand for attendance at the combats grew, the small-scale, largely informal combats
meant to honour the dead gave way to public displays increasingly viewed as entertainment.
In fact, in the second and first centuries B.C., gladiatorial contests along
with other violent kinds of public shows emerged as Rome’s most popular form of
entertainment.
  In addition to gladiator contests there were the wild
beast hunts, the execution of criminals by the most horrific means that could
be devised, and the bloody combat sport of boxing.

From this time
on the public’s hunger for the games grew, and the gladiator shows got ever
larger and more exotic.  In 65 B.C. the renowned Julius Caesar himself became
the first Roman leader to stage large scale
munera
(meaning the
spectacles provided by the ruling elite for the Roman public) as entertainment,
a shrewd move designed to increase his popularity and prestige with the Roman
masses.  It’s recorded that in this one games, Caesar matched 320 pairs of
gladiators.