‘Greetings, Tribune Scaurus. I can only apologise for making such an unexpected visit, and for not sending a message in advance to request a meeting. I am Lucius Tettius Julianus, procurator of the Imperial Dacian Ludus.’
Scaurus bowed in turn, his disarming smile inviting his guest to share his amusement at the unexpected nature of the visit.
‘Greetings, Procurator, and welcome to what is for the time being a small part of Britannia transplanted to Rome, at least until we receive orders to march north again.’ They clasped arms. ‘This is my first spear, Julius.’
The other man bowed to Julius, and the big centurion gravely lowered his own head in reply. Scaurus gestured to the spare seat and walked back around the desk to his own chair.
‘Please do take a seat. Might I pour you a cup of this rather acceptable wine? It’s diluted, of course, in due deference to the earliness of the hour.’
Julianus tipped his head in grateful acceptance of the offer, sipping at the drink and nodding his approval. Scaurus tasted his own cup, barely sipping the watered-down wine before raising questioning eyes to his guest.
‘So, Procurator, how might we be of assistance to you?’
The visitor took a ring from his finger, passing it to the tribune.
‘As I say, I hold the rank of procurator, reporting directly to the imperial chamberlain, and I am responsible for the management of the Dacian Ludus.’
Scaurus inclined his head in recognition of his guest’s exalted status, looking at the procurator’s badge of office for a moment before handing it back with a respectful inclination of his head.
‘A weighty responsibility, Lucius. Especially these days …’
He left the statement unfinished, and the procurator took his conversational bait without hesitation.
‘How right you are. The emperor’s rather close interest in every aspect of the gladiatorial spectacle means that we have to produce the finest swordsmen in the empire if we are to satisfy his expectations.’
‘I can only imagine the pressure involved. But then you have those two brothers, do you not? Velox and …’
Scaurus looked at the ceiling as if trying to remember the other name.
‘Mortiferum. Yes, we do, and by the gods, they’re a superb pair of fighters, so good that I’ve bowed to my lanista’s suggestion and named them both as my first rank fighters despite the unusual nature of such an arrangement. However, and as I’m sure you can imagine, we do rather tend to go through the second and third rank men. So, when three candidates for the ludus present themselves together, and proceed, one after another, to comprehensively outfight one of my more effective men, well, I’m sure I can leave it to your imagination to work out what their potential might be. Not to mention their prospects.’
Scaurus smiled his agreement, raising an eyebrow to Julius.
‘Three men of such skill? I can indeed see what a gift that might seem. But of course, there’s always the risk of taking on a man who is in reality still a serving soldier. I can only assume that you examine each ex-soldier’s record with the very greatest of care?’
Julianus nodded.
‘Indeed I do. Which, as I expect you have already perceived, is what brings me here at such short notice. I have two men from your cohort in my ludus at this very moment, both claiming to have recently bought their way out of their commissions, and therefore claiming the right to take the oath.’
‘Ah.’
Scaurus’s expression went from relaxed bonhomie to shifty discomfort, and Julianus smiled sympathetically.
‘Ah indeed.’ He leaned forwards and lowered his voice, shooting Julius a conspiratorial glance. ‘Please believe me when I assure you that your own internal administrative procedures really are none of my business, and to be frank with you both, you’ve done me a huge service in freeing them up to seek their fortunes in the arena.’ He leaned back with an expansive gesture. ‘I can see them earning the ludus a good deal of gold. A very good deal of it. And some of that gold will, in time, work its way down to them with, I’m sure, the adulation of the crowd, the swooning services of a variety of grateful matrons, and so on. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy sharing in their reflected glory — you really haven’t lived until your female companion for the evening has spent the day at the arena enjoying the aphrodisiac effect of watching grown men tear into each other with sharp iron!’
He leaned back in his chair with a smug smile, and Scaurus leaned forward with an intrigued expression.
‘Now that I would like to see!’
‘And you shall, Rutilius Scaurus, as my personal guest when your men fight in the arena for the first time. I suspect that we’ll be making them part of a spectacle that will have Rome buzzing for days. Anyway, all I need to be assured of their freedom to take the oath is to see those two precious sheets of bronze that declare them both to be honourably discharged as citizens of the empire, with all the witness seals intact, of course.’
Scaurus shot Julius a swift glance.
‘Their diplomas?’
‘Yes indeed, that’s all. Just show me their diplomas and I’ll be on my way. You do have them to hand, I presume?’
7
The morning had passed slowly for the newcomers, obliged to sit and watch the ludus’s routine as Sannitus and his men had variously encouraged, chivvied, cajoled, bullied and simply kicked his trainees through their lessons. The sound of booted feet rasping across the floor and the grunts and curses of the would-be gladiators filled the air.
‘Ointment.’
Marcus stirred from his reverie.
‘What?’
His friend waved a hand at the men exercised before them.
‘I was thinking how this isn’t very much different to the way we train, and then it hit me.’ He sniffed the air ostentatiously. ‘Muscle ointment. They’re all using it, despite the fact that they might as well be rubbing on rabbit fat for all the good it’ll do them.’
The Briton yawned, looking round at the soldier they had rescued from robbers earlier that morning, who had woken from his own doze and was looking around him with weary interest. The three soldiers had been sat down in a corner of the hall with a pail of water between them and told not to move until the issue of their status was concluded, their presence tolerated but not yet accepted by Sannitus.
‘You’re really listed as dead?’
Horatius nodded at Dubnus, leaning back and taking a sip of water from the pail’s scoop.
‘As far as the record keepers for my legion are concerned, I died in an ambush a few miles south of Vindobona, in Noricum. Whereas what really happened was that I ran from the fight like a frightened child.’
Dubnus smiled.
‘We’ve all been there.’
The soldier snorted angrily.
‘Not me. Not until that instant when my feet took me into the forest without me even considering the alternative.’ He sighed. ‘You won’t understand unless you know the full story, and we hardly seem to be short of time for the telling, do we? I was a centurion with the Tenth Gemina, and, let me tell you without any pride at all that I was the best fucking officer in my cohort. The fastest man with a sword, the most accurate with a spear … I could kill a man with nothing more than a shield.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Oh yes, I was death incarnate, and didn’t I know it? As far as I was concerned, every other man in the cohort was inferior to me in the only way that mattered, and I stalked around as though I were the only real soldier in the fortress.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Which made what I did that day even worse. I could have killed half a dozen of these bastards before they took me down, and instead …’