Читать книгу Atilus the Gladiator - E. C. Tubb - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

He was small, barely five feet, his tunic soiled and his eyes brimming with tears. A forlorn little figure lost in the crowd and frightened by the noise. Down the road sweating slaves hauled carts bearing caged animals, men who were accustomed to the stench and who were more docile than the oxen normally used for such work. Beside them strode overseers, their whips busy, lacing naked flesh with stripes of red.

‘Move!’ A bestiarius, impatient at the delay, came to roar at the cartiers. ‘Those beasts have to be settled in before noon if you hope for sport tomorrow. Where’s the agent? Tamillius, I’ll have your hide unless you hurry. You’re late as it is.’

‘Am I to blame for the disfavour of the gods?’ Tamillius, a tall man wearing a soiled garment, his face strained and savage, halted facing the bestiarius. ‘Twice we have suffered broken wheels. Three times the beasts had to be watered. You gave me insufficient time and winds delayed the vessel. May Jupiter bear witness that I tell the truth.’

‘To Hades with your excuses. Get those animals to the arena. They—’ The bestiarius broke off at the sound of a scream. ‘The fool!’

A slave, staggering with fatigue, had stepped too close to one of the cages. It held a lion which struck out with a taloned paw. Blood spurted from lacerated flesh, skin and muscles ripped from a shoulder, a carmine flood staining the unfortunate man’s body, falling to dapple the dusty road.

‘Get him away from there!’ The bestiarius lunged forward. ‘Don’t poke at the lion, you fools! That animal is worth a dozen such scum. Tamillius, get moving!’

Noise and confusion augmented by the crack of whips and the snarls of the caged beasts unsettled at the scent of blood. A sound punctuated by the laughter of the crowd as the injured man was carried away. A normal scene in any small town on the eve of a munera and a promise of what was to be offered during the gladiatorial display.

Dropping to one knee, I stared at the boy.

‘Your name, son?’

‘Please, sir, Marcus.’ He sniffed, trying hard not to cry. ‘My father is Valerius Harpius and he owns a shop close to the market.’

‘And your mother, boy?’

‘We were together and then the animals came and some men got between us. I looked for her, but...’ Tears rolled down the cheeks. ‘I looked and looked but couldn’t find her.’

Even now she would be looking for him, but the lad was small and the crowd thick. Rising, I looked around and saw a vendor of comestibles. With a sticky, honeyed bun clutched in his hand I lifted the boy to my shoulder and turned so that he could see what was going on in the road.

The carts were rumbling on their way, a group of bestiarii following them, smiling and waving at the crowd. They were scarred men who fought wild beasts on the sand, sometimes with bare hands, but more often with sword or spear. One of them recognised me and called a greeting.

‘Ave, Atilus! You fighting tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then good luck, friend.’

‘And to you, Pollidor.’

The crowd closed in as they passed, men making comments as to the number and condition of the animals, some scornful of what they had seen.

‘Lions,’ said one. ‘Why not tigers? I know they’re expensive, but it’s time the duumvir put on a decent show.’

‘There’ll be dogs too,’ said his companion. ‘And some bulls. I was having a drink with a bestiarius last night and he told me. These animals are a last-minute addition.’

‘Dogs and bulls!’ The man shrugged. ‘Why, in Rome they have ostriches and bears, antelopes and wolves, rhinoceroses and even crocodiles. There you can be sure of getting a decent show.’

‘This is Aricia, not Rome, so be thankful for what you get. Anyway, the gladiators are good. They’ve got Leacus and Andrax as well as Atilus—’

‘Atilus Cindras?’

‘That’s the one. You ever see him fight? A wizard with a sword and about the best secutor there is. If you’re thinking of making a wager, then he’s the one to back.’

‘Maybe.’ The other sucked in his cheeks. ‘But if he’s so good, then why isn’t he fighting in Rome?’

A comment I had heard before and now, as then, ignored. With the boy riding on my shoulder I walked along the street towards the market, the lad clearly visible to any who might be looking.

‘Marcus!’ The woman who came running towards me had a plain and faded face, her figure slight beneath her stola. ‘Marcus, thank the gods I’ve found you!’

‘I’ve been watching the animals.’ He wriggled as I set him down. ‘Mother, this is Atilus. He’s a famous gladiator.’

I saw her smile turn to a frown. Gladiators were a necessary evil and she, probably the daughter of some strict household, would have been taught to despise them. Yet even so she was polite.

‘Atilus.’ Her head inclined a little. ‘I must thank you for looking after the boy.’

‘A fine lad. You must be proud of him.’

‘I am.’ Firmly she took his hand in her own. ‘Now come, Marcus, and say nothing of this to your father. You know how strict he can be at times.’

The Romans were addicted to the harsh traditions of the past. The sting of a rod would teach the lad to be more obedient, but, watching as they walked from where I stood, I doubted if it would be given. A held tongue and his mother’s lie would see to that. The normal way of a normal life—one of which I had no part.

As I had no real part in the event taking place in the house at which I was a guest.

Sentonius Papirus was the local Master of Games, and normally at such a time would have been busy at the amphitheatre, but today was a special occasion. His daughter, Bellitia, was to be married, and I had been invited to the ceremony.

She was a lovely girl, her beauty more than compensating for the limited dowry her father was able to provide, and Antonius, her betrothed, was a fortunate man. Together they stood before the minor priest as the wedding contract was read and duly witnessed, and then, taking her by the wrist, he made a show of dragging her from the paternal home. She resisted him, smiling, wearing her best clothes, her hair neatly dressed, the brightly coloured scarf over her shoulders accentuating its ebon sheen. As we clapped and cheered she finally yielded, stepping outside to be showered with walnuts from waiting children, then to be taken to her new home, there to be carried over the threshold.

‘A happy day,’ said Sentonius as they departed. ‘Well, friends, wine and food is waiting. A toast first to bless the couple.’

We drank, first spilling a few drops on the floor of the atrium with its decorative mosaics as a libation to the gods. It was good wine. Sentonius hadn’t stinted on the provisions for the feast, and he came to thank me for the gift I had given to the young couple.

‘A lamp of silver chased with gold. You were generous, Atilus. It will be useful.’

‘To light their way to bed?’

‘Who wants light for that?’ His seamed face split into a grin. ‘This day in nine months’ time I’ll be a grandfather, or I don’t know my daughter. May the gods grant them a son.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

Delia joined us as we lowered our goblets. No longer young, she was still a handsome woman, her face bearing the traces of the beauty which had drawn Sentonius to make her his wife.

‘What’s wrong with girls?’ she demanded. ‘Always you men wish for sons yet, unless there are girls, who will mother them? Would you want nothing but sons, Atilus?’

Remembering the recent weight on my shoulder I said, ‘One son would be nice, Domina.’

‘And would you expect it to be hatched from an egg?’

‘Hardly.’ I returned her smile. ‘I would like it to be born from a woman as lovely as yourself.’

‘Flatterer!’ Her eyes examined me. ‘You talk as well as you fight. Husband, it is time for you to circulate among our guests.’

‘Must I?’ Sentonius scowled. ‘You know how I hate empty chatter, and I should be at the amphitheatre. There are things waiting my attention.’

‘They can wait. This is your daughter’s wedding day and courtesy is expected of you. Hurry now and tend your guests. At least receive their congratulations—and don’t forget to smile.’ She sighed as he moved reluctantly through the crowd. ‘Why are men such cowards, Atilus? I’ve seen Sentonius face a crazed slave with naked hands, and yet he flinches from social encounters such as this. If your daughter had been married, would you act the same?’

‘I have no daughter.’

‘No daughter, no son, no wife, no home.’ Her hand fell to rest lightly on my arm. ‘Doesn’t the lack of these things trouble you at times? A man should be married, Atilus. It is the natural order of things.’

My goblet was empty and I gestured to a passing slave to replenish it, sipping at the strong, ruby wine. It was an excuse for not answering the question and one the woman recognised.

‘I have known many gladiators since marrying Sentonius,’ she said quietly, ‘but there are few I would welcome in my house. You are one of those few. And there was something in your eyes when you watched the ceremony, an ache, a yearning, something of which you were perhaps unaware, but it was there. Have you never, ever thought of settling down?’

Again I remembered the weight on my shoulder, the warm comfort of the small, sturdy shape. It would be good to have a son, to teach, to watch grow, to become an extension of myself. But I was a gladiator, and how could such a thing be?

I had seen them too often, the women who had joined their lives to those who fought in the arena. The women and the children they had borne to their men. Standing, waiting, watching with haunted eyes, never knowing if this time he would fail to return. Never being sure that, even if he did, he wouldn’t be maimed and crippled, blinded and helpless, forced to drag out his life as a beggar in the streets.

What future was that to offer any woman?

What kind of father to offer to a son?

The wine was rich and sweet, but suddenly it held a bitter sourness so that I put aside the goblet. In the arena a man had no friends. In the world he could have no dependents. A gladiator lived from one fight to another, and only the gods knew how long he could continue. Delia must know that, but weddings made some women a little mad and turned them into determined match-makers. And yet, from her, I had expected better.

‘Atilus, I’m sorry.’ With swift intuition she had guessed my thoughts. ‘You must forgive me. It’s just that I—well, I hate to see waste. And, if you go down, what a waste that would be.’

Her hand closed on my arm. ‘Please, friend, you will forgive me?’

‘For what, Domina?’ I smiled, staring into her eyes. ‘For being kind?’

‘For being thoughtless. You fight tomorrow and must have nothing on your mind.’

Nothing but the determination to kill the man I would face.