Bookworm Gladiator

My defensive strategy had failed, and yet Hurek had succeeded. He’d succeeded despite my failure. “No,” I whispered to myself. There was something wrong here…

Hurek stood unsure, his glistening, towering frame somewhat hunched over as he stared at his bloody hands. He let Shams’ flesh fall to the dirt with a wet slop. The young prince writhed and shrieked close-by. The Nokchi’s forearms flexed, veins popping, as he opened and closed his fists. He stared at them as if he wasn’t entirely sure they were his to control.

My own heart seemed out of control, aching to burst out of my chest and I realized I wasn’t breathing. A rush of blood coursed through my ears, deafening the crowd, or so I thought. Sparing a glance at the royal bleachers, I saw anything but cheer or the usual fervor of the commoners. Most seated far away were trying to figure out what had happened in the last seconds of the grapple. Had there been a dishonorable eye-poke by Hurek? Had the young prince tripped? Was he over-acting in his pain?

And then there was Atia; a calm, unbothered face in the sea of confusion. She leaned forward, a little smile playing on her lips. Or was that my imagination?

Her priestesses around her were muttering. The clansmen courting them frowned at the display, and Flamma… Flamma!

I turned around to see the Syrian champion crossing the grounds, rushing to Shams’ aide and several other attendants followed in his wake. “Hurek!” I called, my feet already moving. The Nokchi didn’t reply. And as Flamma rushed past him, I worried the champion would take a swipe at Hurek, and indeed I saw his fists clench as he spared him a glance. But no strike came and he went straight to his protégé. Always the showman, Flamma wouldn’t dare strike Hurek in front of everyone.

Hurek finally noticed me as I stepped up to him, his eyes were glazed and his hands trembled. “It wasn’t me, Cicero,” he stammered. “I promise, it wasn’t me.”

I had no idea what that meant and I figured the aggression had really gotten to him today. For the first time since we’d met, I didn’t see a muscular gladiator standing in front of me, but a scared youth. He reached out to me for support, and I let his bloody hands grab me by the shoulder and pull me in. “It’s alright, son. You’re safe now. You did good.”

Cato the city-master tried to stop us, lumbering out of the bleachers with his rickety gait. But one quick glare from me, coupled with the blood that dripped down my shoulders, and he hesitated. His collegiate secretaries huddled behind him, questioning whether they should prevent Hurek from leaving the grounds until a decision had been made. But what was there to question?

The referee had blown the horn to mark the end of the bout. Shams had fallen just in time for Hurek’s strike to be considered legal. And lastly, Hurek remained in full control of himself while the so-called prince whimpered in the sand. The matter was settled, and I doubted anyone would have the courage to get in our way. The entirety of royal bleachers shied away from Hurek' s hulking figure as we crossed the field and towards the Temple tents. Whispers of either awe or fear followed us, and I wasn't sure which one I preferred more.

I noticed Shams was still moving as Flamma and the physicians attended to him. He grasped his ruined face, sputtering nonsense as more and more blood seeped into the puddle around him. Even if he survived, he wouldn’t be any more threat to us.

Oh mitte! I prayed to Mars, feeling anxiety seep out from me and I basked in the hot sun that shined on us. Thank you.

***

Merula was already inside the tent when we entered, jumping up to help Hurek settle into his cushion. She’d already prepared towels and a bucket of water to wash him. Clever girl. Despite her muteness, she had a good head on her shoulders. Truly, her talent was wasted in Atia’s retinue of playthings.

While we wiped the large Nokchi down, I was already thinking of the hundred denarii reward we had just secured. Of course, Atia would take control of it. So, I would need to negotiate some items as soon as possible. I needed a secretary, and a proper lodging of my own close to the charnel house—it was getting tiring traveling so far from the palace every morning. But then I would need some more servants to keep an eye on Atia and what she was up to daily. And of course, better gear for Hurek. Oh, the possibilities…

Merula shrieked, throwing her hands in the air, and falling backward. “B-bleeding!” She pointed to Hurek’s gut and I suddenly remembered Shams’ final blow. The scimitar had struck Hurek in the side and must’ve dug quite a few inches, as it dribbled a stream of blood in tandem with the large man’s breathing.

“Get more uh… towels!” I said, unsure of what to do. I clamped down hard, stemming the flow of blood, as Merula rummaged through a nearby trunk. A physician, then. We needed a physician in our retinue just like Flamma had. Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier?

“Septimus…” Hurek whispered, his eyes blinking in and out of consciousness. With his rage subsided, he was in a pit of confusion and despair. I didn’t know what to say. Guilt gnawed at me, knowing how close I was to abandoning him in favor of Baba Haza. No, this is good. He is strong, now.

As I took a used towel from Merula and began tying it around Hurek’s stomach, my eyes fell to the discarded cup of energy tonic that Hurek had drank before the fight. I could still see drops of the pink liquid inside. As much as I wanted to attribute this turn of favor to divine providence, my more cynical thoughts and inclination revolved around this strange drink. I had little knowledge of Hurek’s diet up until now, and I admitted that it was an oversight on my part. If Atia had insisted on Hurek be delivered this cup, then it must be important. Goat blood, my ass!

“Merula,” I said, picking up the cup. “I need you to run to the palace, right now. Go to the kitchens and search every inch for this liquid.” I held the cup in her face. “Every pot, closet and even the pantry if you must. Find the ingredients for this and tell no one what you are doing. Understand?”

Merula blinked. She sniffed the tonic and her face scrunched up in disgusted. Slowly, she nodded.

“Good girl,” I handed her the cup and watched her scamper out of the tent without a word.

Hurek had laid back into the cushions; their soft linen fully stained red and ruined. The tent was quiet save for his ragged breathing, and I wondered whether there was any danger of him dying. Perhaps I should send for Atia’s spearmen outside and have Hurek delivered to the palace in a comfortable litter. The blood loss wasn’t too much I hoped. Not as much as Shams the Stalwart Prince.

I giggled to myself and felt a little giddy at the entire turn of events. It was over… it was finally over. At least for now.

There were still some hurdles to overcome, but nothing that couldn’t be handled with some leverage now that I’d won another ranked fight. Lucius and the other Nokchi clansmen had be released from the militia. I could even push for Brutus to be held liable in the courts for Septimus’ murder. That was an illegal strike, after all.

My fingers already itched to pull out my journal and gather my thoughts on the actual fighting itself. Especially Hurek, with all his improvements in pace and technique and aggression... How would he fare with other fighters in the roster? Surely, he had to be the most competitive now that another ranked fighter had fallen to him. What else did he have to prove? I had so much leverage over Atia. If she wanted a champion in her employ to reach the last bracket of this damned tournament, then Hurek had more than proven his prime candidacy.

“Nero,” I whispered the cursed Emperor’s name under my breath. If the Lord did arrive in Palmyra, then Hurek would get to fight him as well. That would be my ultimate strike. At both the realm and Atia. My final word, I thought, letting the delusions of grandeur play in my mind again and again. Maybe I’d let Hurek rip Nero’s face off as well. And if Lepidus’ legion had also come with the Nero, then my son would get to see his father’s triumph as well.

Oh, Lepidus. I tried to imagine what my son’s days in Gaul were like. I hope you are alive and well. I sent a curse to Suetonius’ potted grave, and to Nero’s future one. Hades take you all!

The tent fluttered and Atia’s slender frame slipped inside. The sudden invasion of sunlight blinded me for a moment, and I squinted, holding up a hand to focus on just the Priestess’ face.

She smiled. “Cicero, my dear scholar. Congratulations to you and your champion.”

I stood quickly, straightening my dirty robes. That’s right, now is—

“I’m very proud of you,” Atia said, and spread her hands as if offering a hug from a distance. “Remind me to reward you two later.”

I could feel a rush of anger beginning to bubble in my throat and my words tripped up on each other. What could I say to this? Deny her attempts to infantilize our efforts?

“I… you didn’t believe in us, did you?” I replied and a plethora of other, better responses came to me immediately. But it was too late. I’d managed to sound both petulant and rebellious, enforcing her attempt to make this entire ordeal about a child trying to live up to their parent’s pride. Why and how was she so good at making me second-guess myself?

“Of course, I did. But a little competition is always good, nay?”

Two spearmen bustled in after her, carrying Hurek’s mud-caked club and the large tome he used as a shield. The chain on the book had come lose and it dragged across the floor, punctuating the silence with it’s clinking. The men threw the equipment in Hurek’s trunk. Equipment, yes, I need to negotiate for the equipment.

“You can’t expect your champion to keep fighting with a bloody tome, can you?” I spoke. “We… He’s earned better equipment. A better shield.”

Atia only shrugged, “If you can convince the man to part with his beloved book, then take a shield from my barracks. Does he even read the thing?”

She was right; Hurek would rather always keep the book in his possession. I’d never seen him without it. Or at least in his immediate vicinity. And it did function as a shield, as ridiculous as that looked.

The Nokchi snored loudly, splayed out without a care on the cushions. I racked my mind for something else to ask for. Ask for?! No, demand! I need to—

“I need you back outside,” Atia said shortly.

“But Hurek…”

“I’ve prepared a litter for him.” Just as Atia spoke, her men pulled Hurek onto a stretcher and the fighter groaned.

“Careful, he’s wounded!” I snapped.

“I need you to get the rest of my slaves released from Cato,” Atia continued. “What a dreary business. Couldn’t you have stopped the brawl?”

“Cato’s lictor killed their fucking brother!”

Atia sighed, “Honestly, I thought you’d have a better handle on things since you began training them.”

I imagined myself picking up the war-club and hurling it at her face. How heavy was it? Of course, her spearmen would be quick to retaliate. Or even stop me in my tracks. They were young men in their teenage years, with wiry arms and a quick movement that could only be described as coyotes ready to pounce at anything their mistress pointed at.

They’d been poached from local working-class families and given a stipend from the palace treasury. But they also had the temple branding on their shoulders. So even though they were under the employ of the illusive governor, their loyalties probably lay entirely with the Priestess specifically.

And even if they weren’t here, could I fight off the Priestess? She probably had that dagger hidden on her person. I pushed the foolish thoughts away as Atia finally turned and opened the tent-flap, letting the men carry out an unconscious Hurek.

She ended our conversation with mundane instructions. “Work with Castor and the scribes to work out a payment. No more than a hundred silver for each of the fighting Nokchi and fifty for the other laborers involved. Threaten Brutus with a murder trial if you must.”

“What about the child?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Paco, the Nokchi child.”

Atia shrugged, “he’s not urgent, but alright. Ten silvers.”

I thought she’d finally left as the tent-flap closed—sending me back into darkness—but then she poked her head back inside, her hair beads clattering as she spoke. “Oh, and hurry. Baba Haza has returned from wherever he’d disappeared off to. The final bout remains.”

***