Yesterday's Warrior, page 6
Cato sat down and reached for a stick that was sitting in a bucket. The stick had a sea sponge attached to it and dripped water when he took it out of the bucket. There were buckets with sticks along the toilet benches. Greg watched in horror as Cato took a shit, then took the sponge stick and wiped his rump. Then, swished it in a low trench that had water coursing through it and put the stick back in the bucket. The man walked over to the entrance of the bathroom and waited.
Greg looked at Thad, who looked shocked as well and the color had gone out of his face. Dean looked like he wanted to cry and Greg felt like it too. Marco’s face was blank with shock, his eyes large and his mouth worked silently. What in the hell are we supposed to do? Reuse a nasty ass sponge that someone else has used, that might have crap still stuck to it? he wondered.
“Seriously, dude. We gotta uses shit sponges? That have, like, shit on them?” Dean croaked.
“Fucking hell,” Marco hissed low.
Cato said something and Thad answered in rapid Italian and the other man laughed and shook his head.
“What did he say?” Greg asked.
“I told him we weren’t used to using sponges. He laughed and said that he wasn’t going to lick our assholes and to hurry up and shit,” Thad replied and Greg wished he was anyplace else but here. His bowels complained and he had no choice but to take a dump in front of his friends. They looked as uncomfortable as he felt. He noted that there were at least two dozen holes and figured that gladiators not only fought together but took a shit together. He now longed for the day when he had to take a piss test and was shy about that. Now, he had to take a crap and it seemed that was done so in large groups and that no privacy was normal here.
I should have had a clue when no one looked twice at us for wandering around naked, he thought darkly. He’d never thought as himself shy, prudish or uptight, but taking a dump in public kind of went over the line in his book. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the rest of them, though knowing that Cato was watching didn’t help. He knew his friends would respect his personal space and privacy, but they would be the only ones. When he was finished, he reached for the bucket and a stick. He swished it around in the bucket wildly, hoping to dislodge anything that might be on there. Gritting his teeth, he took the sponge out.
He saw no obvious signs of use and could detect the heavy scent of vinegar. That somewhat helped his sense of outrage and revulsion, but not by much. Holding his breath, he gritted his teeth and cleaned himself, not daring to look over at his friends. When he felt he was done, he swished the sponge in the long trench of moving water and then threw the stick back into the bucket for the next poor bastard. He also took the opportunity to urinate. When he did, Cato said something and he looked at the man blankly. He turned and looked at Theo questioningly.
“He said not to piss in there, that there are buckets that are used to collect urine. He said the laundry needs the urine,” Thad said and Greg nodded dumbly, he didn’t even want to know why the laundry needed their piss. He walked over and waited for his friends to join him. Marco walked over to a wooden bucket and Greg heard him urinate into it. Dean and Thad did the same. When they were ready to leave, they followed Cato out and Greg tried to put the toilets and sponges out of his mind.
Walking along the corridor, Dean could tell that it was becoming late afternoon. With each step, he felt the stress and sting of his numerous injuries. He was trying to put the bathroom out of his mind and just focus on one foot in front of the other. He guessed he should be glad that he didn’t have to use his hand to wipe his ass. He knew that during this time, some cultures did. The stink of the latrines was left behind and they moved around the slaves that filled the passageway. He caught the scent of food and his stomach rumbled. It had been a hell of a long time since breakfast and he wondered what they would be fed.
Could he eat it? Would they be cooking with shit covered hands? Would he get some kind of dysentery because of it? The sound of the shackles and chains clinked in the quiet air around him. The slaves moved like silent specters; their eyes cast down. He was amazed at the size of the ludus; the modern ruins were only a fraction of the Ludus Magnus’ actual size. He thought perhaps it was because a lot of buildings were built atop of it. It would be too costly to tear down modern buildings, just to unearth the original structure. He saw the squat man, Glaucis and thought he was like the Scauras fellow. Like some kind of management. He had no idea how something like this was run or even managed. Like some kind of business or sports franchise. Maybe this was where it all started.
The men turned down a hallway and the scent of food was more prevalent. They were brought to a large outdoor dining hall with numerous wooden tables and benches. Dean noticed there were a few awnings that were pulled back and he thought they might be used in inclement weather. There was short cropped grass and flowers that were sprinkled about and there were several goats chomping away at the grass and balls of goat poop laying in small clumps. There were a few shade trees scattered about and on one wall, an opening. Dean saw that there were people within and realized that was the kitchen. He saw several large men standing in line with wooden trays. A slave stood and handed out the wooden tray, a wooden bowl and spoon. There weren’t many men and they looked to be gladiators, only because they were well built and several were heavily muscled.
Dean looked around and saw that several tables held men eating. On each of the tables were jugs and clay cups. He turned and looked when Cato said something and he looked to Thad.
“He said we get in line and get our food. Then we go to the far table over there and eat. When we’re done, we take our trays over to that slave and then we wait for him,” Thad said, pointing to a table somewhat removed from the other furniture and then to a slave who stood by a large barrel. A few of the men looked over at Thad and Dean figured they had never heard English before. He didn’t even know if the British even spoke English during this time. His Italian was coming along, but when people spoke fast, it was hard for him to keep up. He knew that Marco spoke Spanish and that he had an easier time of it. He and Greg would have to hurry to catch up.
Dean and his friends moved to stand behind the last man in line. The large man ignored them and Dean studied him. The man’s back was a crisscross of scars. Most of them looked old but there was a fresh scar with stitches on the back of the man’s arm. He shivered, there were no painkillers here during this time he was pretty sure and he’d be damned lucky not to die from a small cut. He stepped forward and was handed a tray. The slave set a wooden bowl atop and a wooden spoon. He wondered just how clean the utensils were but didn’t look too closely. He no longer had the luxury of being picky or squeamish, those were modern notions, here it was pitiless indifference.
Dean moved to the opening and a slave slopped a ladle full of lentils into his bowl. The next slave handed over a large chunk of bread and cheese. The next ladled out some kind of wilted vegetable greens onto the tray and the last gave him a handful of dried figs and a withered orange. He moved forward and made his way over to the table carefully. He was pretty sure if he tripped and spilled his food, they wouldn’t give him any more. Dean didn’t see any of these people as being overly compassionate, he was a slave after all. He set the tray down and then sat on the bench and then swung his chained feet around and under the table. It was awkward and the chains bit painfully into his ankles.
He had noticed that the other men were not chained and he hoped at some point soon, that he would have the fetters removed. He looked over and saw Thad heading over and Greg was behind. Both men were careful as they walked. Dean lifted one of the jugs and sniffed, it had wine in it.
“Screw it, I need a drink,” he muttered to himself and poured the wine into the clay cup. It was weird to sit here butt-ass naked and eat lunch, as though he were in some kind of nudist colony. He shook his head and tamped down the urge to go run screaming. It was some kind of next level mindfuck. Thad and Greg put their trays on the table and gingerly got situated. Marco was coming up behind and followed suit. Once they were all settled, each man looked at the other. They had a bit of privacy now; Cato was sitting with several gladiators and they could hear their laughter float over toward them. Dean was glad they had a bit of privacy and a chance to talk.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Marco said as he picked up his spoon. Dean felt the guilt of it all wash over him and he said nothing. He took a drink and almost spit the wine out. It was potent and slightly sour.
“At least they feed us and aren’t going to starve us,” Greg said and took a bite of the lentils. Dean picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl. The lintels tasted like paste, there was no seasoning but his stomach didn’t care and growled loudly in anticipation. He swallowed and then picked up the chunk of bread and tore a piece off. He chewed it methodically and was grateful it tasted good, as good as in his own time. One of the many things the Italians did really great was the bread. Since he’d been in country, he had eaten it at every opportunity. He loved the hard crusted outside. Thad picked up a small clay bottle and poured what looked like olive oil on the bred and into the lentils. Dean did the same and it made the food taste better.
“You okay, Dean,” Thad asked.
“I’m…I’m just so sorry,” he said and choked. He swallowed the lump of bread and took a drink of the sour wine. His eyes prickled and he felt Thad’s large hand on his shoulder and felt the comforting squeeze.
“We’re in this together, brother. Don’t let it eat you up, we’re here and that’s that. We have to look forward, stay focused. Thinking about past shit will get you killed. Got me?”
“You’re right, Thad. Okay. At least the bread isn’t sketchy,” he said and laughed half-heartedly.
“Cheese is pretty good too,” Marco said, his cheek bulging with bread and cheese.
“We’re gonna have to learn the language faster. I could only catch a few words here and there,” Dean said. He took a bite of the green plants; they were as tasteless as the lentils but not terrible. At least he wouldn’t get scurvy and was startled by the thought. In this time, scurvy and other nearly unknown diseases in his time were prevalent. Something small and innocuous could kill him. He picked up a fig and bit into it. Though it was shriveled, it was sweet and tasted wonderful. He felt his shoulders relax as his stomach was filled.
“Yeah, it was the same for me. You think they will punish us if we can’t understand?” Greg asked. Dean watched Greg pour more wine. Greg wasn’t used to drinking and he hoped he wouldn’t get drunk. The wine was pretty potent and he felt it soften the edges of his pain. He reached over and lifted another jug and realized it contained water.
“Should I even try to drink the water?” Dean asked no one in particular.
“Maybe just drink a little for now, let our bodies acclimate to it. Careful Greg, that wine is pretty strong. I don’t think you want to get drunk, at least not right now,” Thad said. Greg nodded and set the cup down.
“Do y’all think we’ll ever get some clothes? Not that anyone notices or gives a damn,” Greg said.
“Yeah, I’m sure at some point they will. Cato said we’d go to our chamber after this. Maybe they’ll give us clothing then,” Marco said.
“It’s almost like they want us to be aware how it can be. The slaves look like they’re almost starved and they wear rags. The gladiators are well fed and from what they are wearing, the material is clean and not rags. Looks like some wear shoes while others don’t,” Thad said.
“You think we can survive?” Dean asked.
“I think so. Remember the placard, it said that this place was built around 90 CE or AD, however you want to look at it. This place isn’t finished being built, so I’m thinking we’re in about year 93 or 94 CE. The really shitty time of wholesale slaughters were roughly a hundred years ago or so. Doctore said something about gold and earning, so I’m thinking if we’re careful and we fight good, we might survive,” Thad said.
“I think you’re right. These gladiators look healthy and remind me of MMA fighters and that kind of crap. Maybe like MMA fighters, we get to fight, but not to the death, like they used to do,” Marco said.
“Yeah, but don’t forget that the emperor can have us killed at any point, no matter what. Not only that, if we’re injured bad enough, we could die of infection or catastrophic wounds,” Thad added.
“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Marco said darkly, fingering his cheek and winced.
“Then we train as best we can, we’re used to that, you know,” Greg said. The men around the table agreed. The air around them was starting to cool and they finished their dinner and all awkwardly got up from the table. They shuffled to the slave and handed over their trays. Then shuffled to stand by the exit and Thad noticed that Cato took his time. He was tired, bone tired. As tired as he had ever been, even in boot camp, where they were run ragged for more than twelve hours a day. Thad knew it was all the adrenaline that had been dumped into their bodies along with the fear that had nearly swallowed them whole.
He watched as Cato got up and took his tray to the slave and sauntered over, his body and posture relaxed.
“I’ll take you to your chamber,” he said and led the way. As they left the chow hall, as Thad now thought of it, he noticed more and more gladiators making their way to the dining hall. It would seem that this was roughly the time of day that these men ate dinner. He wondered if there was breakfast and lunch? The food had been okay, minus any kind of seasoning. There had been wine and olive oil and that was good and helped. The food had been filling and that had helped a great deal in settling his raw nerves. It also helped anchor him to earth, he no longer felt he was falling into oblivion.
Thad was still having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the fact that he was two thousand years in the past. He had been seriously grossed out by the toilets. The wine had helped with the pain though and for that, he was grateful. His dark eyes shifted left and right, taking in the arena, posts that were planted in the ground that edged the arena. He’d seen men with swords, hacking away at the thick wooden posts. He had also heard the clatter of metal as well, but hadn’t seen it.
It took time but they turned and finally came to what looked like a large prison cell. It was open to the front and three thick walls. They all stepped into the cell and Cato closed the door and locked it.
“I shall come to retrieve you in the morning. Rest and heal,” he said and turned without another word. Thad looked at his friends and then around at the large cell. There were numerous blankets folded on the dirt floor. He saw two pots and figured they were for bathroom use, along with a bucket and the stick sponge. They were to sleep in their chains and they were given no clothing. Thad went over and collected several blankets and made a pallet. Then he took another blanket and made a pillow and sat down. He watched as his friends did the same. They were all looking worse for wear, a bone deep weariness made them move slow.
“I’m so damned tired, I could sleep a million years,” Greg said tiredly.
“Me too, I don’t think I’ve been this tired since boot camp,” Dean agreed.
“At least they fed us,” Marco said tiredly and moved his blankets around and sat with his back against the wall. It was quiet around them and they heard the murmur of voices. The soft song of birds filtered in and somewhere a goat complained. If he closed his eyes, he could shut out the nightmare. Thad didn’t understand some of the voices and figured their speakers were talking in their native language, like he and his friends. He looked out between the bars though all he could see was the passageway and the fluted columns that held up the second story. The massive arena took up the center of the large compound.
They sat silently for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Slaves passed by their cell, as did gladiators. All looked in with a kind of curiosity, though the slaves didn’t look directly at them. Thad was sure the whole Ludus knew of their arrival. He was sure that in this environment, new faces were cause for interest. How could they not? It was like having a new rival come to live and how would you face them and fight them? As the men walked past, Thad wondered which he would eventually face. He also wondered if he would have to fight his friends. He hoped not for he would not kill them, even if that meant his own death.
He was okay with that. He knew that they were all on borrowed time and that each would die in some shitty and horrible way, but he would not be the one to kill his friend. He would fight them and he would fight as hard as he could. But he would not strike a killing blow. That would be a line he would not cross and he knew he would die in the keeping of that vow.
His eyes began to grow heavy as the shadows lengthened and he shifted painfully and laid on the hard ground. He shifted to his side and watched as slaves walked past with torches. His friends were also shifting and settling down. He put the time at roughly seven or eight. At least they would hear if anyone came to get them. Though the Ludus Magnus was relatively new, the gates seemed to creak and squeak with age.
He wiped at his eyes, now able to let the tears come. He felt the overwhelming tide of grief hit him and it nearly suffocated him. In another day or two an alarm and a search would begin for he and his friends. Within a week, his parents would be notified of his disappearance and then their grief would begin. They would never know what had happened to their son. Was that what happened sometimes? When people went missing without a trace? Did they end up in some kind of place like this, to be swallowed up by time and circumstance? He wouldn’t have thought so before, but he was now living breathing proof that it was so.
He wondered if there were others here who had fallen into the gap in time? He was pretty sure that he and his friends weren’t the only ones tempted to go down into the tunnels under the old Colosseum. Would they have come back two thousand years? Was there a specific number of years that you got thrown back? It was all crazy speculation and it really didn’t matter. Whatever the case, he and his friends were here and here is where they would stay.
