Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (41 page)

At last they reached the Circus Maximus. There was a huge line of people, waiting to get into the arena. They were dancing and shouting, clambering and betting with each other as to which of their favorites would find victory that day. There were wine and food vendors surrounding the arena, gambling tables
, and ladies of ill repute. Valens eyed them with a glazed-over look on his face.

“I’ll see you
all later,” he said with a wry grin. He walked over towards a pair of fetching young lasses, his money bag in hand.

“Anybody thirsty?” Artorius asked, turning back to his friends.

“Damn right I am!” Magnus answered, licking his lips.

“Hang on,” Artorius replied as he walked over to the nearest wine stand. He turned and looked back to see how many of his friends were still with him. Many had become distracted by offers from merchants, gamblers, and women. Praxus, Decimus, Carbo, Magnus, Gavius, Sergeant Statorius, and Signifier Camillus had accompanied him all the way to the arena. It felt strange to have the
sergeant and signifier with them. Then he realized that they were still men after all, and perhaps there were times when formalities could be eased, if not altogether discarded. Camillus, though senior in rank to Statorius, rarely had a use for formalities as it was. Artorius guessed Camillus was probably older than Statorius, though his boyish face made him appear much younger.

“Eight goblets of your best wine,” he said, turning back to the merchant.

“Here you are, sir,” the merchant said after he poured the last.

Artorius reached into his money pouch.

“How much?” he asked.

The merchant
waved him away.

“Your money is no good here,” he said, smiling. “Consider it payment for having saved our city and our Empire.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Artorius replied as he motioned for his friends to come grab their goblets.

They saluted their new found merchant friend and proceeded to quench their collective thirst.

Having been properly refreshed, they made their way into the arena and found the section designated for military guests. The seats for the general public were practically full, the crowd
already rowdy in a frenzy of anticipation. The military seats were a lot less populated than Artorius expected them to be. He looked across the way to where the imperial box was located. It was filled with senators and dignitaries. He could see Germanicus and what he guessed to be members of the imperial family, though the box was conspicuously devoid of the Emperor himself. Artorius pointed this out to Camillus, who happened to be seated next to him.

“It seems the Emperor is not a big fan of games or of gladiators in general,” Camillus explained. “He thinks they are an expensive waste of time. As frugal as he is with the
treasury, he would probably abolish them altogether were they not so popular with the masses.”

At that
moment the gates below opened, two gladiators stepped into the arena, and the crowd erupted.

“See what I mean?”

Both men wore only sparse amounts of body armor, mainly on their limbs. One man carried a gladius and small, circular shield. The other carried a net in one hand and a trident in the other. They turned to the imperial box, saluted the senators and imperial family
on hand, and then turned and faced each other. They were very cautious at first, taking only token strikes at each other. Then the one with the gladius made his move and rushed in, his sword high overhead.

“What in Hades is that guy doing?” Decimus asked, annoyed.
“Stab him in the armpit!”
he shouted through cupped hands at the gladiator with the trident.

Instead, the man backed away, sweeping with his net as he tried to trip his opponent.

“Oh come on, what’s with the stupid net?” Gavius chided.

The swordsman chopped away at the net, cutting it. He then continued his attack. The man with the trident stabbed at him, only to have it deflected by his opponent’s shield.

“Step in and punch him with your shield!”
Artorius shouted.

When the gladiator failed to do so, he threw his hands in the air in frustration. Only Camillus seemed to be enjoying himself.

“I don’t get it,” Artorius stated. “What’s so spectacular about this? Those idiots are complete amateurs.”

“I’ve seen better fights every time Artorius gets his ass pummeled by Vitruvius
.” Magnus stated, causing Artorius to reach over and cuff him across the back of the head.

Finally, the fight ended with the trident gladiator on his back, his adversary standing over him.
Holding his gladius high he looked to the crowd. All were screaming and shouting and waving their hands. Some pointed to their throats with their thumbs though most pointed towards the ground.

“What does all that mean?” Artorius asked Camillus.

“If the crowd points to their own throats, it means they want the victor to cut the throat of his opponent and slay him. If they point towards the ground, it literally means ‘leave him on Earth.’ In other words, let him live. Believe it or not, most fights are not to the death. If the crowd feels a fighter fought well, they usually let him live.”

“But he didn’t
fight well! Both those men fought like untrained dancers the way they pranced around! Magnus was right; I
have
taken bigger beatings from Vitruvius with a practice sword!” Artorius said in frustration. He then sighed audibly. “I guess these people have just never seen real men fight.”

The next fight scarcely i
mpressed the legionaries any more, though the crowd was whipped into an even bigger frenzy. Two men, both carrying long swords and rectangular shields, smaller than those carried by Roman soldiers, faced each other. Two minutes into the fight and most of the soldiers had their foreheads resting in their hands in boredom. Decimus had decided to go for a walk and left as soon as the fight began.

“
By Thor, who actually taught these men how to fight?” Magnus asked loudly.

A nobleman sitting in the next section over glared at Magnus in irritation. The man looked to be of Gallic ancestry, though he was dressed like a Roman Magistrate. He had a stylus and wax tablet
in his hands. A number of scrolls and parchments lay scattered at his feet. He turned back to the fight, making notes onto his tablet as he did so.

Artorius
noticed the man’s annoyance at their comments. He leaned over and elbowed Camillus. “Who is that man?”

“That man? That’s Julius Sacrovir. His origins are Gallic, though he is a Roman citizen
and a rather prosperous one at that. He makes most of his money sponsoring these events. In fact, I would say that half the fighters here are from his school.”

“So he’s the man whose
ass needs to be whipped?” Magnus retorted, purposely loud enough for the man to hear him. “When are we going to get to see a
real
fight?”

“When one of us steps into the arena
.” Statorius boasted. He had been quiet most of the time, yet even he was starting to get irritated and bored.

Suddenly
, the man that Camillus had said was named Sacrovir was standing over them.

“I could not help but overhear your observations in regard to the spectacle we have put on,” he said. Though he looked Gallic, he spoke perfect Latin with no trace of an accent.

“All we’re saying is these gladiators are poor fighters who don’t know the first thing about real combat,” Artorius said as he sat back on his elbows.

Sacrovir looked over his shoulder at the fight below. One man was down and the crowd had gone berserk.

“The citizens do not seem to think so,” he observed.

“That’s because the
se mindless eunuchs have never seen how legionaries fight,” Statorius retorted.

Sacrovir smiled
thinly at that. “Really? Then why don’t we place a small wager amongst friends?” The wickedness of his smile betrayed him. He in no way thought of the soldiers as friends.

“What do you have in mind?” Statorius asked, sitting up.

“While I admit that many of the preliminary fights here may seem, well, shall we say, amateurish, I do have a host of gladiators who would be more than a match for any of you legionaries.”

This elicite
d groans and catcalls from the soldiers.

“There’s no way
.” Artorius retorted. “We’ve got a soldier who would cut the nuts off
every last one of your gladiators in a matter of seconds.”

“It’s settled then,” Sa
crovir remarked. “Your best legionary against my best gladiator. How much will you be betting?”

“Absolutely not!”
Macro shouted. “There is no way I can allow one of my soldiers, my optio at that, to fight in a mob-induced spectacle just because some of my men decided to get drunk and volunteer him for it.” He then turned and glared at Camillus.

“We weren’t drunk, at least not at that exact moment,” the
signifier replied, his speech slightly slurred.

Macro threw his hands up in the air as Vitruvius sat on
a couch smiling broadly.

“You think this is amusing,
optio?” Macro snarled.

“A little bit,” Vitruvius replied as he stood up, composing himself. “While I admit, I think our friend Camillus here may have gone a bit far volunteering me to fight in a gladiatorial match without so much as
asking
me, I think it may be time to show the Roman people just how real
Roman soldiers fight.”

Camillus replied with a hiccup and
a grin.

“What
for?” Flaccus asked, lounging on a couch with a goblet of wine resting precariously on his chest. “I saw the way those gladiators fight. You’ll kill the guy in a matter of seconds, I don’t care who it is. And the crowd won’t want that. They want spectacle, which is something we do not specialize in, at least not in terms of close combat.”

“Besides, if I let you go fight in the arena, every drunken
sod in this city is going to get wind of it and try and prove just how masculine he is by making a complete ass out of himself out there,” Macro retorted through clenched teeth. “And the first time one of our soldiers gets killed or wounded, the commanding general is going to have my head. That is, if Flavius doesn’t crucify me first.” He shuddered at the thought. Macro had always counted himself fortunate to have never incurred the master centurion’s wrath.

“Don’t get me wrong, Vitruvius,” he continued. “I know all about
this
Sacrovir and his scum. And I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you demolish
one of his so-called best. Just understand the really bad precedent that would set.”

Camillus suddenly brightened up. “What if we make it a state sponsored event?” he asked, before hiccupping once more.

“What do you mean?” Macro asked, puzzled.

“Simple, this Sacrovir has lots of money and is willing to
foot an expensive wager. We simply run it up the chain to Severus. Have
him
sponsor Vitruvius, and we make a fortune. And to avoid precedent, we make it the last fight on the last day of the games.”

“Think Severus would go for something like that?” Flaccus asked.

Macro stood
, rubbing his chin in his hand.

“If put to him like that, probably,” he finally said. “Most
senators love to gamble, and I think if he were assured to take home a large portion of Sacrovir’s fortunes, then yes, I would say so.”

“Good thing you came to me when you did,” Proculus said after Macro had given him the details of his proposal to allow Vitruvius to fight in the arena. In order for him to get the wager approved he had to run it through his superiors, and that started with Cohort Commander Proculus. Next, it would have to go to the master centurion, and finally to the legate himself. Macro was surprised to see Master Centurion Flavius in the same room with Proculus.

“What do you mean?” Macro asked in regards to Proculus’ remark.