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world for him suddenly went dark in a flash of lights and dull pain...
Corvu stood over Casca holding a lead-weighted baton. Calling to his private
guards, he ordered them to chain Casca up and also to bring Jubala to him in
chains. This was all the bullshit he was going to put up with. Those who
wanted a fight, well, he would let them have it, but, by Baal, they would do
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it his way and not disgrace his school.
Jubala stood, hands and feet manacled, his head erect. He was filled with
pride. . . like a wild beast from the country where he was sired. .. the
essence of primitive force.
"All right, you animal. You are going to get ,what you want, a shot at Casca.
You two will be the featured event in the next imperial games. Until that
time, and until this is all over, you will be chained every night in your
quarters. Casca will be done the same. You will train and eat separately. Any
attempt to even talk to each other will get you fifty lashes, and you know I
can lay them on."
When Casca calmed down enough to talk, he received the same information and
agreed.
The games came soon enough, and both men were ready for them. They had trained
with greater determination than ever before. The blood feud between them had
been widely advertised, and the bets were being made hot and heavy. Most were
on the side of the monster black because his sheer size and ferocity seemed to
give him an edge.
The games began as had most of the others, with the bloodless fights first,
and then a special of women gladiators fighting to the death against dwarfs
and other women. Then came the tubas and trumpets heralding the beginning of
the mass fights. The gladiators marched into the arena escorted by their
managers and trainers. The mob on the podium screamed their pleasure. The
musicians played louder and louder but were eventually drowned out in the
clamor. They continued to play anyway. After all, that was what they were
being paid for.
The gladiators paired off. Some were in the ancient style of dress of the
Etruscan Samnite with feathered, crested helmets and square, arm-length
shields. Others wore the varied dress of the Gallic school or of Thrace. These
were being harried by a team of retani working together. The fights went on.
From the crowd would come the mixed calls of ~"Hoc Habet!" (Now he's had it!)
and Vebera!" (Strike!). Once a gladiator was down he would raise a finger of
his left hand and ask for mercy. It was seldom shown.
When the mass fights ended, the slain were dragged off by litter bearers
dressed as Charon, the boatman of the River Styx, and the call went forth to
Casca and Jubala to prepare themselves. There was a short intermission while
the arena was raked and freshly sanded.
Casca's owner, Crespas, sat in the preferred section near the imperial box. He
was amusing himself with some of the writings of Cicero, the prim person who
had been such a pain in the ass' to the divine Julius. This Cicero did have a
way with words. Even he approved the games of gladiatorial combat as a way to
build character and courage. Here in front of Crespas was Cicero's very
statement on the matter, and Crespas hoped to make a present of this document
to Nero. It was well known that the emperor fancied himself a patron of the
arts and literature. The scroll was quite explicit. Crespas read it again,
feeling a certain reluctance to part with it, even though to do so would
advance him with Caesar. Cicero wrote:
Look at the gladiators, who are either ruined men or barbarians. See how men
who have been well-trained prefer to receive a blow rather than avoid it. How
frequently it is made evident that there is nothing they put higher than
giving satisfaction to their owners or to the people.... What gladiator of
ordinary merit has ever uttered a groan or changed countenance? Such is the
force of training, practice, and habit.
Crespas sighed again. Tears of admiration came close to forming in his eyes.
Such noble wordsl Cicero certainly knew his people, even if he was a
republican...
The games master announced the Casca-Jubala fight as a grudge match between
two champions of the same school. They had been kept apart until the time for
their entrance. Now Corvu told the two to keep their distance from each other
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until they were given the signal to fight by the emperor. Jubala and Casca
sized each other up, Jubala feeling pleased and confident of his victory,
Casca feeling only dark black rage inside. Revenge. That's what I want, and
that's what I'll have even if I have to tear this damned place down to get it.
The trumpets blared, and Corvu gave the signal to the new men to advance to
the imperial box. Keeping a sideways eye on Jubala, Casca marched with him,
but ten feet apart, to the position in front of Gaius Germanicus Nero. Once
again they gave the salute: "Hail, Caesar! We who are about to die salute
you." With raised swords they waited for the emperor's response.
Nero leaned over and looked closely at the two men. His light blond hair was
crimped in the manner of the athletes he most admired, the charioteers. He was
bull-necked, with a barrel chest and weak legs. The beginnings of a
reddish-gold beard showed the inheritance from his father's side of the
family, the Ahenobarbi. He had been adopted by Claudius and given the name of
Nero at the adoption.
Running his eyes over the two protagonists, he smiled delicately. "You,
Numidian. You are absolutely gorgeous. It would be a shame if you let this
barbaric-looking person defeat you." He wagged his finger in warning. "Your
emperor has wagered on you. Don't disappoint me." He sat back, straight in the
curved chair and waved his handkerchief. "Go on with it."
Casca roared and threw himself on the black, his sword a blinding whirl of
steel. He smashed with shield and struck with blade, beating the Numidian back
and almost ending the fight in the first few seconds.
But Jubala regained his balance and locked shields and swords with Casca.
Their helmeted heads rammed against each other, Jubala whispered in a voice
that only Casca could hear: "Your little man Crysos died well enough for you.
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