The Forgotten Legion

'And you!'

Romulus was delighted.

Quickly checking that the lanista was not about, Brennus roared at the small group in the far corner of the yard. 'Anyone feel like taking us on today?'

There were plenty of stares, but nobody spoke.

'It won't be an open fight. There aren't enough of the bastards.'

'I know.' Brennus nudged him. 'Still, doesn't do any harm to give them a warning.'

The big man's attitude was heartening and Romulus pushed open the door of the baths with a smile.

All would be well.

A month later it became clear when the showdown would be. Early one morning, Memor ordered all gladiators to gather together in the yard. It was an odd demand.

The air was already warm even though it was not long after sunrise. Rome had been baking in late summer heat for some weeks. Like most, Romulus and Brennus got up before dawn to exercise while it was still cool. There had been time to complete a full set of weights training before the gathering. The men talked eagerly as they waited. No one knew what was going on.

When Memor appeared, he had a strange smile on his face.

'You're probably all wondering why I called you here.' He paused.

'What is it, Memor?' shouted a fighter near the back.

'Milo needs us to keep Clodius in line again!' cried another.

There was a roar of approval. During the previous spring, with bloodshed on the streets escalating, the tribune Milo had been accused by his rival Clodius of using violence. The action showed breathtaking gall and the trial in the Forum Romanum had been abandoned when a full-scale riot had broken out. Milo's men had quelled the trouble, but with great difficulty. More unrest had followed, providing many gladiators with regular periods outside the ludus.

There had been further need for their services when the consular elections had taken place only a few months before. As Pompey and Crassus blatantly acted together once more to secure the posts for themselves, public disturbances had soared. The travesty of democracy had not stopped there. Pompey was now the effective ruler of Hispania and Greece; Crassus had his governorship of Syria. Caesar had also done well, being granted consular powers over the provinces of Illyricum and Gaul. The triumvirate 's shameless and open criminal behaviour had enraged the people and widespread mayhem had followed.

'No,' Memor snapped dismissively. 'Pompey Magnus has added an extra day of entertainment to his celebratory games.'

'Chariot races!'

'And you have a good tip for us!' added the wit in the crowd.

Everyone laughed.

Even Memor's lined face cracked into a smile. 'Better than that,' he replied. 'An opportunity to show that the Ludus Magnus is truly the best in Rome.' The lanista raised his voice. 'General Pompey wants a special contest! Two groups of fifty against each other.'

'We haven't got a hundred gladiators,' said a murmillo, looking confused.

'Fool!' snapped Memor. 'Fifty of you versus the same number from the Dacicus school.'

'What a fight!' Brennus bared his teeth expectantly.

'This is not a points contest,' he continued. 'Everyone will fight to the death until one side is victorious.'

There were gasps of shock at the most unusual announcement.

'But every man who survives unhurt will receive a bag of gold.' The lanista raised a fist. 'For the Ludus Magnus!'

Faces lit up at the prospect of such wealth, even though many would die in the combat. 'Lu-dus Magnus! Lu-dus Magnus!'

'Look at Figulus,' Romulus whispered. 'The bastards will make their move during it.'

'He does seem very pleased,' agreed Brennus. 'Be a good opportunity too. There 'll be bodies everywhere.'

'A hundred gladiators fighting to kill?'

'Pompey must be feeling the need to impress. You know how it is.' Prominent politicians were always trying to outdo their rivals' efforts.

Romulus nodded. Everyone in Rome knew that the struggle for power was intensifying. But politics paled beside the prospect of such a large fight. Romulus felt both excited and anxious. Most of the spectacles he had taken part in had been for points only. He had slain two men in single combat, but this would be very different. 'Will I be picked?'

'Of course! Need you to watch my back.'

Romulus stared at Figulus, who was deep in conversation with Gallus and a small group of fighters. They must be planning something. Too many evil glances were being cast in their direction.

The following two days passed in a blur of activity as every chosen gladiator prepared for the contest. Virtually all bar those who were injured had been picked. When it was Romulus' turn, Memor did not hesitate before waving him over to those who would take part. In the lanista's mind, the boy had already become a man. Swelling with pride, he joined Brennus.

The smithy rang with the sound of hammers as faulty armour and weapons were repaired. Ignoring the extreme heat, men ran circuits of the yard and lifted weights. Using real weapons instead of the normal wooden training pieces, others sparred ceaselessly with each other. The lanista's archers supervised from the balcony above, eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. Several fighters were injured when training sessions got overheated and Memor ordered leather covers placed on all blades until the combat.

In contrast to most, Brennus spent the day before the combat relaxing and being massaged by the unctor. The cool atmosphere behind the bathhouse walls provided welcome respite from the sun. Feeling unsafe on his own, Romulus joined him.

'You're fit enough. Lie down! Relax.' Brennus groaned with pleasure as his back was pummelled. He indicated the clay jug and beaker on the tiles by the bench. 'Drink some grape juice. It's very good.'

Romulus spun and twisted, lunging back and forth with his sword. 'You don't need to worry about this fight. I do.'

'I choose not to care.' The promise Brennus had made to himself over Narcissus' body was becoming ever harder to keep fresh in his mind. Onesided combats had begun to follow each other with a sickening regularity as the lanista sought greater wealth and fame. Brennus had killed many men since the Greek.

'Got to keep practising,' replied Romulus stubbornly.

'It's breaking the rules,' the unctor broke in, voice trembling. 'Training inside with a weapon.'

'Leave it, Receptus. Not safe out there for him any more.'

The atmosphere in the ludus had deteriorated even more since Memor's announcement, the leers and threats from Figulus and his friends now constant. Everyone knew that the blood shed the next day would not just be by the blades of the enemy. Even the friendly masseur had noticed. Receptus resumed rubbing Brennus' back. It was not for him to tell the champion fighter and his protege what to do.

'What will happen tomorrow?'

'Figulus and his mates will stick close,' Brennus said confidently. 'They'll try and catch us off guard. Probably strike right in the thick of it.'

'We just wait for an attack? Dacicus fighters in front and those bastards behind? That's madness.'

'Peace, Romulus.' Brennus rolled his eyes at the unctor. 'Have a rub-down.'

Romulus reluctantly placed his sword on the floor before climbing on to the other bench. It felt wonderful as Receptus worked the tension from tight muscles, yet he could not unwind completely; he always kept an eye on the door. Brennus in contrast was dozing contentedly, confident in the knowledge that nobody had the courage to attack him face to face.

The afternoon passed without incident and the sun set, allowing temperatures to drop to a more comfortable level. Memor toured the cells, muttering encouraging words. The contest was about more than just victory. It was about reputation.