Yesterday's Warrior, page 10
They had been given stage names, Marco was now called Atrox, which meant savage and bloody. Greg was called Validus, which meant strong. Dean was Mordax which meant biting, and Marco thought it was because Dean had perfect straight white teeth and Thad was Drago. Marco figured it was because of his dragon tattoo. Greg thought they all sounded like Klingons and that caused Marco to laugh. Out of them all, Greg was the biggest geek. Several of the men kept their names, such as Septimus and Felix. Marco thought that doctore didn’t like their modern names and had given them the ancient ones. When asked their names, none of them had given their surnames, only their first names.
Greg had suggested it and had talked about the space time continuum.
“Look, I’m pretty sure there are no Prices, Giangrecos, Hofstadters or Velascos during this. I don’t think we should have those names recorded anywhere, otherwise; it might screw something up. And not to sound too morbid, but we’ll live and die here,” Greg said. Marco didn’t care personally and he did kind of like his new name, Atrox.
Dean had also been assigned his position; he was a Dimachaerus and he had two swords and a helmet. That was all and he didn’t have a shield. Dean was quick with both swords and so Marco guessed his friend would be okay. It just seemed dangerous, but he supposed each of them had advantages and disadvantages. With the training that Thad was giving them in martial arts, it was augmenting their fighting to their advantage.
“Dude, don’t look now, but Septimus is looking at you. I think he likes you man,” Dean whispered beside him. Marco didn’t have to look. He’d been catching Septimus’ glances for a while now and when they fought, he knew Septimus was taking it easy on him. Marco wasn’t sure how to handle the big man and hoped that he wouldn’t step over the line. Marco wasn’t gay, but his little brother was. He felt no animosity for Septimus, the heart wanted what the heart wanted, but Marco didn’t go that way. He changed the subject and looked over at another table, it was where the women sat.
“Well, you’re being looked at too. One of those women, the one with long black hair, she’s watching you,” Marco said, taking another drink of his wine.
“Yeah, I know. We’ve been gazing at each other and flirting,” Dean said and grinned, his straight white teeth gleaming. The dimples deepened on his cheeks and Marco laughed and rolled his eyes.
“You know she’s a foot taller than you,” Marco said.
“Don’t matter when you’re horizontal,” Dean said and sighed happily.
“Dumbass, they aren’t gonna let you get to her,” Thad said, apparently listening to their conversation.
“Huhuh, Felix said that if we want, we can, we just have to be discrete,” Dean said, rocking his head from side to side.
“Seriously? Where in the hell are you gonna go?” Marco laughed.
“Don’t know, but I’m pretty sure when we both find ourselves together, we’ll figure it out,” Dean said and winked audaciously at the young woman. She was pretty and giggled as a blush crept up her face. Marco snorted. Even two thousand years in the past, Dean was getting the girls.
“Felix said that as soon as we start earning coin, we will get to go into town to have sex with prostitutes,” Greg said and Marco looked sideways at him.
“Felix sure as hell knows a lot about what goes on,” Thad said.
“Yeah, he does,” Greg agreed, smiling, his eyes crinkling.
“Well, personally speaking, I don’t think I want to go to the prostitutes. There’s no penicillin during this time and I don’t want my dick to fall off,” Marco said and made a face.
“Well, there’s always Septimus,” Dean said and sniggered and grabbed the side of Marco’s head and kissed his scarred cheek.
“You asshole,” Marco said, laughing and shoved Dean and then punched his arm with a loud smack.
“Oowee, man, that fucking hurt,” Dean said, holding his arm.
“You deserve it Dean, ‘cause it looks like you’re the only one that’s gonna get anything,” Greg said and laughed.
A month and a half later, Thad was sitting against a tree. It was early evening and the four sat outside in a courtyard that was in front of their cell. They were still on the first floor and hadn’t moved to the second story, though there weren’t as many men in their cell, some of the men had to go back to basic training. If they couldn’t keep up, they were moved back for extra training. They would move up to the second story when their ranks and standing went up. There were also smaller cells on the second floor and less men in them. Thad knew that he and his friends could be separated if they moved too far apart in ranking. It was in all of their best interest to remain at the top of their game.
Thad watched as Dean got up and went over to the young woman he’d been flirting with, to talk over near her cell. Dean’s face was fused with a glow and Thad chuckled softly. There was a cool breeze and a distinct nip in the air. He and the men had been given tunics and were promised cloaks when the temperature dropped even more. Life here wasn’t as bad as he feared, being here in the past. It still really sucked, but at least they weren’t thrown to the wolves like the first day. It seemed like a lifetime ago and he tried not to think about his sister and his folks. He remembered when he’d gone to boot camp, he’d been homesick, but he’d been kept busy. Then before he’d come to Italy, he had spent a couple of weeks on leave at home and he’d been homesick again. But after a few months, he’d adjusted. Now, he was time-sick. Homesick for his own time and place in the world.
When the games were going on across the street, there was the constant roar from the crowd. There was a miasma of sewage around them and though they were becoming nose deaf, sometimes the wind would shift and the stench of it would wash over them. He hated going to the toilets and hoped that no one using the sponges had hepatitis or worms. His own world wasn’t sterile by any means, but it was a hell of a lot more sanitary than this place.
“You gotta serious look on your face,” Greg said and sat down beside Thad.
“Naw, just thinking about our own time and how much it sucks here,” Thad said softly.
“I feel ya, brah. Guess it could be worse, we could be the slaves cleaning the shitters,” Greg said and chuckled low.
“Yeah, pretty sure that would suck,” Thad agreed. Both men were quiet and the other men in the cell were getting ready for sleep. When darkness came, their door would be locked and there was no light or candles to be had. Thad got up and walked over to a tree and took a final pee for the night. He didn’t like using the piss buckets in the cells. The cloying reek of urine rose up from the buckets, which were positioned by the cell door.
Thad and his friends had claimed the far wall and Septimus had claimed it as well. It was the best spot because there were no drafts and no one stepped on you in the middle of the night to take a piss. They had been promised cots when the weather turned cold, for now, they slept on the hard floor. There had been an occasion or two when someone had taken a dump by the bucket. A sleepy gladiator had stepped in it, then foul cursing had ensued. As it was, the cell was filled with sleeping, farting, snoring men. Most of that hadn’t bothered Thad, since he’d been living in a barracks since he entered the Marines.
Dean made his way over and the four went into the cell, moving their blankets and getting comfortable. Tomorrow, they were going to fight in Ludus Magnus’ small arena. No one knew who just yet, but tomorrow would begin their professional lives. There would be roughly three thousand people there, most of them would be rich merchants, government officials and so on. Cato told them that this is where they would pick up sponsorships. The hope was that the best would be chosen over the course of the week.
Games across the way in the massive Colosseum were slowing down and only a periodic game would be put on during the winter months. The fifty thousand spectators would whittle down as it got colder. Thad and his friends would continue to train over the winter, but it wouldn’t be until the following spring that they would get their chance across the street. Luckily, the emperor didn’t bother himself with the smaller events. This was to get the new gladiators used to spectators and real fighting. They would be given the sharpened blade tomorrow, not the dulled down ones they trained with.
There wasn’t a large chance of getting killed, but there was a big chance of getting injured and badly. Thad had been assigned Thracian and he had a medium sized shield, a sica sword, which was a curved sword. What had taken time to get used to was all the padding and the weight of the helmet. He felt almost suffocated within the helmet and it was heavy. It reminded him of a cornucopia with a grill on the front for eyeholes. The helmet was decorative as was the manica that was attached to his sword arm. The manica was heavily padded and the outer shell was a decorative metal shielding on the top of the shoulder, which protected his neck. He had the round shield, larger than some shields and smaller than others.
He had leg padding just up past the knee and on one leg he had a metal greave. This came up to his knee but didn’t hinder him. When he’d first put on the ensemble, he’d felt hampered and awkward. After hours and hours of training in the gear, he finally became accustomed to the weight and bulk of it. He found that it did help when the blows were raining down on him and he was now fighting some of the higher ranked gladiators, the tertius palus. Though only slightly higher in rank, the new men needed opponents to fight who were roughly equal strength and skill.
A slave helped each man dress and Thad and his friends also helped each other, checking and rechecking gear. Marco had been assigned Provocator as had Philo. Thad was afraid he’d have to fight his friend until he found out that the Provocator only fought each other. He laughed, because he was pretty sure that Marco was going to kick Philo’s ass at every turn. The Provocator had the large heavy helmet with small holes that dotted the face shield or face shield with a round grid on it. Though Marco’s face was protected, Thad was sure it was difficult to see through. Philo’s helmet was similar, but the eyeholes were larger, with a kind of mesh over them. Each man had a chest shield, called a cardio playlax, which covered their upper chest and their heart. Their stomachs were exposed but they had a larger shield. Thad thought that the shield might be somewhat cumbersome.
Like himself, Marco had the arm protection and also leg protection with the metal greave along with the padding underneath. Each man spent hours getting comfortable with their equipment and attire. Thad could tell each of them were antsy for tomorrow. They would test their skill with live weapons and if the injuries were severe enough, could die. He didn’t know who he was fighting tomorrow, but tomorrow would get there soon enough.
Θ
Lucius watched the men as they went through their paces. It was always the same, they were awkward and moved clumsily at first in their padding and helmets. He remembered his first time many years ago. A lifetime ago. He could see that most of the men were ready to fight in the arena. Remus and Claudius seemed reluctant and he thought at some point in their careers they might turn tail and run. The two were cowards and he’d seen it a hundred times. If they lived long enough, sometimes they lived to regret it.
It was something to face one’s fear and he was sure that most Romans and especially the emperor had never faced their own mortality like these men did on a daily basis. Even the soldiers didn’t, unless they were in the midst of a battle. He had spent all of his adult life facing those fears and he’d been lucky enough to survive and buy his freedom. Most of these men would not and most of them would die within a year or two. Some would make it to three years and even fewer to four and five years. If they hadn’t bought their freedom by then, their survival rate went down because younger and stronger men would face them.
There were no fighting old gladiators. This was a sport for young men, he well knew. He walked back and forth. He was sure that Glaucis would be pleased. Scauras was having a get together with the rich and powerful to drum up support and sponsorships. He sighed heavily and watched the men go back and forth. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.
Θ
It was late morning and Marco stood waiting his turn. Septimus was to go last, he was the highest ranking in their group. For now, Greg was out there with Claudius. Claudius was a Thrax and was barefooted, small shield, and curved sword. He had one arm and both legs wrapped and sported the metal greaves. It didn’t help because Greg was kicking his ass. Claudius was stocky and he was not agile. Greg had long legs and could dart in and out with the netting and snag Claudius on his helmet and yank hard, sending the man sprawling to his belly.
The three thousand spectators roared their approval and Greg moved in and just missed Claudius’ shoulder with the trident. It had been well over twenty minutes and Claudius was beginning to tire. They had all trained hard, building their stamina. If you ran out of steam too soon, mistakes were made. Greg seemed nearly defenseless out there with no shield and no greaves and little padding. But Greg was lightning fast and the tattletale was getting his ass handed to him.
Marco watched as Greg cast out his net and caught the other man around his legs and yanked. Before anyone realized it, Greg was on top of Claudius with his short dagger at the man’s neck. Claudius froze, because struggling could get his neck slit. The crowd hushed and waited, Greg looked down and Marco saw his grin. Claudius reluctantly lifted two fingers, asking for mercy. Greg looked up, Aurelius Scauras was acting as arbitrator and waited for the munerarius to make his decision. Scauras held out his hand, palm up. If his fingers curled up, Claudius would live, if Scauras ground his other thumb down into the open palm, then Greg would have to slit the man’s throat.
They had all found out that it wasn’t a thumbs up or down. It was a palm up and when the fingers of the open palm curled up toward the sky, you lived. When the thumb from the other hand was pushed into the open palm and ground down, it was death. They all knew that Claudius would live, but if they were across the street, it would be a different matter. Felix had been a font of information, warning them all that Emperor Domitian enjoyed giving the thumb in the palm.
“The senate hates Domitian,” Felix informed them all one afternoon. Marco noted that Felix kept his voice very low and constantly looked over his shoulder for Claudius.
“How do you know all this shit?” Marco asked the redhead.
“My parents tell me what is going on in Rome,” Felix said and shrugged.
“You get to talk to your folks?” Greg asked, shocked.
“Sure, my family lives here. They bribe Glaucis and I get to see them for a few minutes,” Felix said.
“Then why in the hell are you here? Why aren’t you with your family?” Marco asked, shocked. He couldn’t understand anyone wanting to actually be here.
“I’m the youngest of four sons. All my brothers are older and are merchants and they run our family business. I didn’t want to do that, it’s boring. Here, there is much glory to be had,” Felix had said and Marco and his friends just looked at the man as though he’d lost his mind. Later, Marco found out that there were a few men who had joined the Ludus Magnus because of debt or adventure. It was unfathomable to them all. But hadn’t they joined the Marines, knowing that they could die? That was different, they had joined the Marines to defend their country.
Marco brought his attention back to the games and looked over to Scauras, who lifted the fingers on his flattened palm and a cheer went through the crowd. Greg got up and stood back as Claudius clambered up. Both men bowed and made their exit. They had also found out that the gladiators didn’t say, ‘we who are about to die salute you’. They did say, ‘we fight for the glory of Rome’. The night before, they were given a last meal, because, though they were not intended to die, shit happened. Their meal consisted of essentially the same thing they ate every evening, but each of the impending combatants were given meat and a kind of confection. It had been delicious.
Marco was up next and he had been slotted to fight with Philo. He wanted to laugh because Philo was angry. To date, Marco had beaten the man at each session. Today, with sharp blades, he was sure he’d nick the shit-heel with his sword. He had to admit, he looked forward to it. Even after beating the hell out of the man, Philo couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes Septimus glared at Philo. Marco laughed silently to himself. It was sometimes advantageous when a big, ass-kicking dude had a man-crush on you. He was sure his younger brother, Luis, would appreciate it. His heart squeezed, thinking of his little brother. He sighed and pushed the thought away. He needed to be clearheaded for this fight.
Cato handed Marco his plumed helmet and sword and then turned to Philo and handed the man his equipment.
“I’m going to shove my sword up your arse, dog penis,” Philo said as he passed Marco.
“You can try, shit for brains,” Marco said and laughed as he stepped out onto the sand. Both men went to the center and faced Scauras.
“We fight for the glory of Rome,” both men said in unison and Marco whirled around and brought his sword down on Philo, who had just barely got his shield up in time to block the blow. The blow sent Philo staggering back and Marco laughed when he heard Philo grunt.
“Fucker,” Philo hissed and came back at Marco swinging his blade. Their swords connected and Marco felt the jolt of that connection down his arm. It vibrated through the bone to his brain. The sound of it rang in his ears. It was difficult to see through the visor, but he kept hammering away. Philo was taking a more defensive position now as Marco’s arm hammered away. Philo used his shield and shoved Marco farther back, to give himself breathing room.
Around them, the crowd was cheering and chanting Atrox, Atrox, Atrox. Marco would have preferred his own name, but he did like Atrox. He knew it was making Philo angrier as the crowd chanted his name. He grinned behind the face shield. He was panting now, the helmets were for protection, but they were also to hinder. The fights could not always be one sided. Sometimes he got the helmet that had the larger eyeholes, sometimes he got the one where there was very little visual capability. It didn’t matter, he still kicked Philo’s ass.
