Bookworm Gladiator

I stared at the fire pit, watching the flames flicker and crack in the silence that pervaded the crowded atrium. It had been three hours since I'd seen my life reflected in Haza's twirling heap of iron. Two hours since we'd rushed across the desert and through chaotic streets and alleyways of Palmyra. And one hour since Atia's Temple guards had barricaded us in the palace atrium, servants and all. A few of Atia's Temple associates were also trapped with us, murmuring quietly in the corner and shooting nervous glances towards the High Priestess.

Atia glared at the barricaded door to the foyer, where her spearmen waited for a potential siege. Would Persians rally around Haza and continue this act of treason? They could not possibly be considering starting a clan war over a personal feud between Haza and Atia. Unless Tiridates had been planning this for quite some time. I shuddered at the thought of being caught between the Persian nobles and the Temple aristocrats. It would force the entire city to pick sides, throw the tournament into disarray and forever seal my fate with Atia. Possibly to my death.

After all, who's to say that Baba Haza wasn't aiming for me?

I took off my sandal and rubbed my swollen heels in front of the fire. The warmth spread up my shivering body and I ached for my bed; hoping to soon crash down on the pile of Egyptian cotton sheets and goose feather pillows. Oh mitte, it could be a while.

Captain Yaresh, the young man in command of Atia's Temple guard, had ordered that no one be allowed beyond the atrium until his men could secure the entire palace and make sense of the city. Rumors were floating around of the Persians sacking northern Palmyra, but that didn't make too much sense to me. I'd eventually convinced Atia to send a scout to the slums and see what's what. Once the city was secure, she would have to move quickly and seek legal action towards Haza, and possibly even Tiridates.

Bringing this matter in front of the Senate was the best way to keep the peace and not let the people drown in social unrest. I'd rather deal with the political fallout of Haza's actions, rather than see the city devolve into months of clan-on-clan violence. Atia was alive, wasn't she? As far as the nobles were concerned, only a dying gladiator was harmed in this turmoil. Haza should be tried under law for property damage and that's all.

I rubbed at my temples, and closed my eyes. My thoughts pulsed with images of the grief-stricken day. From Septimus's death at the hands of Brutus, the so-called head splitter, to Hurek's surprising feat of strength, to my own failure in assessing the true strength of Baba Haza. I suppose it all worked out in the end, considering that I had leveraged the tiara to gain some favor with the Persian camp, but now the war threatened to expose me, or at least force my hand to openly declare my allegiance. Ultimately, I would have to decide who to side with. Would Hurek be my champion in front of Nero, or would it be Baba Haza?

I noticed someone settle down beside me. He was about my age, wearing the robes of a senator, and the green toga of the Maazin clan. He brushed back his graying hair and offered me a gentle smile. He expected me to recognize him.

"Sorry, do I know you?" I asked. There were other Maazin senators around the atrium, possibly Atia's kin. I'd made some effort trying to avoid Atia's family, and they in turn had mostly returned my cold shoulder. I had no doubt that they considered me an unimportant attendant of hers. She definitely did her part giving that impression.

"I am Matanai, but please call me Matania," he replied. His expression told me that he wasn't joking. He held that affectionate smile, and offered me some nuts.

"No thank you," I said, and he shrugged and popped them in his mouth. As he did so, I suddenly remembered where I'd seen him. He was Atia's uncle, the brick kiln owner from earlier today.

"Can I help you?" I asked, careful to keep my tone amicable.

"What can you tell me about fish paste?" He asked.

"What?"

"Garum, I believe it is called. You Romans love your fish paste, do you not?" He explained.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hated Garum, with every fiber of my being. "It's lovely, you should try it." I managed to say.

This was a distraction I did not need. I could barely keep my own thoughts from unraveling, much less try to navigate an important conversation with the political elite. I was sure that this man was in fact the patron of the Maazin clan. I would not be surprised if he was the architect of Atia's marriage to Gaius Julius.

I forced my mind to return to Baba Haza's conditioning and his overall performance. Despite the chaotic ending, I could recall every clash, every step, and every unprotected blow. Every moment was etched in my mind and I dared not lose it. It was crucial that I find my journal and jot down my ideas. But there was one missing piece of information, I realized. The last few moments of the fight.

Shams, in his ever-generous nature, had left me a parting gift to remember him by. Not only had he covered my robes in his saliva and blood, he had blocked my vision of Baba Haza's last strike. The maneuver that had finally been Ghassan's undoing. All I had seen was the Arab warrior lying motionless in the dirt, and Baba Haza picking himself up. Had the Persian somehow managed to grapple him to the ground? Or perhaps some counter that I didn't foresee. Perhaps the Maazin patron has seen what I've missed.

I turned back to the senator, offering my own courteous smile. "A messy affair, was it not?"

"What's that?" Matanai replied.

I had to make sure that I wasn't requesting a favor. With men like Matanai, even an exchange of information could be considered a gift. No matter how far I was away from the Roman Senate, I had to fully expect the same conniving ways in which men of standing interacted with each other. "The gall of that man to make an attempt on your niece's life, in front of everyone."

"Oh, I'm sure he was just a puppet of our dear Councilman Tiridates."

"You seem... Unbothered," I replied, fully aware that this kind of response was meant for me to either be impressed or prod for more information. But then again, maybe he shared Atia's pure arrogance in the face of danger.

"Do not mistake my calmness for a lack of integrity, Cicero," he replied, taking on a tone of gravitas. "I fully intend to return the favor."

I was opening the door to a conversation I was not prepared for. Unsure of my own opinion on the matter, or at least where my allegiance should lie, it would be unwise to continue. "It's a marvel how Baba Haza managed to get the Ghassan on the floor after such a graceful defense by the Arab warrior." I said, clumsily trying to change the subject.

If Matanai recognized my pathetic attempt, he didn't show it. He simply nodded. "Yes, yes, the way he pierced the shield and used it... Oh, what a show!"

So, Baba Haza had taken my advice, after all? My anger towards Shams grew even more. I worked so hard to make that play a reality, only for some halfwit, prancing fool to flop over me just before his death.

If I had to guess, Baba Haza probably used elbows in the same way that Hurek had done on him. But I would suggest that the Persian had taken the time to improve his grappling and physical conditioning.

"In those elbows… Did you see those strikes?" I said, hoping the patrician would take the bait and confirmed my suspicion.

"He nearly split his face open," Matanai replied, shaking his head.

So that is how Baba Haza had won over Ghassan. Not only had he taken my advice, he had enhanced it with his own efforts in preparing his body and technique. I wondered if Baba Haza even had a coach that would have offered him guidance, in the same way that I helped Hurek.

But what did he mean by used it? If Baba Haza had impaled Ghassan's shield, then it is possible that he used the entanglement to pull the Arab warrior and throw him off balance. That would have allowed the perfect opportunity to take him down.

Oh mitte, if only I had seen that. Curse you, Shams.

It would seem that there were three qualities in total when it came to a warrior’s strength. Power, frame, and lastly, technique. Baba Haza had wailed on that shield over the entirety of the bout. But it had required proper technique to take advantage of the man's power.

My fingers itched for my pen and journal. I could still feel Matanai watching me. His eyes were focused on the fire pit, but I could feel his attention on me. I could stay around and spar with him some more, verbally, and perhaps learn about his intentions towards the Persians. It would help me anticipate any possible interruptions to the tournament. But as it was, my eyes drooped and my muscles were as watery and limp as last night's fish.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, feigning a yawn. "I need to get some rest."

"Oh, I don't think the guards will let you leave the hall," Matanai replied.

We'll see about that. "I must at least try," I replied graciously.

I weaved my way through the crowd, careful to avoid Atia's attention. There was only one temple guard placed in the hallway that led to the residential quarter of the palace. And surprisingly, he only nodded and let me pass without a word. I suppose I was not considered a threat. Was I supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult?

I paused at the stairs to the second floor, and looked back. It felt as if I was missing something. But my body ached, and I could barely keep my eyes open. There was no sign of hostility outside the doors, and this matter should be resolved soon. Then why did it feel like there was more to be done?

In a wave of guilt, I remembered a name. Hurek!

I couldn't believe that I could forget Hurek after everything. Had I no intention to check up on him after everything the poor man had been through? And slowly, I also remembered Merula, and the task that I had given her. I hoped Jupiter that she had made it back safely. But my guilt only grew.

I quickly made my way to the kitchen and rushed through the back door that led to the vegetable garden. Candlelight shone from the rafters of the barracks, and I saw moving shadows inside. Was there someone else inside besides Hurek?

I burst through the door with a lump in my throat to find none other than Merula sitting with the large Nokchi. "Cicero!" She cried. A wave of relief washed over me, immediately replaced by confusion. Hurek and Merula had pulled up stools on one of the tables and were playing a game of dice. Hurek, with bandages delete soaked red and blood dripping down to his thigh, rattled a box of die in his hand.

"Want to play?" Hurek said.

"What?" I replied.

Merula pointed to the bandages and said, "need new towels." She looked up at me, a little embarrassed, like a child who'd been caught playing when they were supposed to be working. I gathered that she was used to some kind of admonishment from Castor or Atia.

"You've done great," I said, patting her head. "If anything, it's been I who has been neglectful."

Merula leaned her head, like a confused puppy. "Don't you worry," I assured her, "please find Castor and tell him I need everything he has for wound treatment." Merula nodded happily, and skipped out of the barracks, her bare feet slapping against the dirt. Shoes, they all need shoes. Or sandals.

When I turned back to Hurek, I hesitated. His die clattered across the table, bone on old timber, and he slowly nodded, and made some marks along the table edge on his side. Then he handed me the dice and said, "roll for Merula." I obliged him. With the cold bones pressed in my fists, I sent them flying across the table and one of them fell down in Hurek's lap.

He winced slightly as he reached down to pick it up. I watched his rough hands drag across the table, recently washed of Shams' blood and with the recent bruises and scars clearly visible. His eyelids flickered, and I worried he might faint any moment. But he leaned over and spat a thick glob of blood, wiped his mouth, and rolled the die he had just picked up.

"Hurek, are you alright?" I asked. The large man nodded, and gestured for me to make the markings for Merula. "Listen, if there is anything you wish to tell me about what happened, or discuss, I'm here for you."

Hurek was quiet.

"What you did… at the end… it was —

"It wasn't me," Hurek replied.

"What?"

"Taking his face," Hurek explained. "I didn't want that."

"I understand, Hurek," I said. "Sometimes in the heat of the moment, we can lose ourselves."

Hurek had raised his hands and was studying them closely, as if expecting them to do something. He stretched his fingers, made a fist, and when he looked back up at me, I saw fear. Here was a man that the world saw only as a tool of violence, a savage man, a mindless slave… And yet, the depth of concern he carried in his eyes, not just for himself, but for others, had been nothing short of a discomfort for me. I had hoped that by leaving Rome, I would be leaving behind everything that had bothered me about my life and my people. But it had only taken the helpless concern of a young man trapped by society to do their bidding to bring me full-circle, questioning the disease that plagued our hearts.

I opened my mouth for the right words to comfort Hurek, but maybe there were no words for me to speak that would ease his mind right now. Maybe it was time for him to speak, and for me to listen. "Tell me, Hurek. I'm listening."

Seconds turned to minutes, and the candlelight began to fade, and Hurek only stared at his lap. Several times I thought I should say something. But I bit my lip and let Hurek take his time. Instead, I looked around and thought about the first time I'd met Hurek those weeks ago, right here a few tables over. Everything was still covered in dust and I marveled at how much I'd gotten used to it. Dust was everywhere in Palmyra. It got in my sandals, up my robes, and in other places.

Why were there so many tables, anyways? I figured that Atia's temple guards used the barracks as their dining hall most of the time, and the tables were cleared for sparring now and then. I personally preferred that Hurek train outside, or beyond the walls with his slave brethren at the charnel house.

“I saw from above,” Hurek said suddenly.

“Saw what?” I asked.

“Myself,” he continued, “I tasted it, the blood, then I saw myself.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of the words. Coming from anyone else, I would have taken them as some cryptic nonsense for effect, or perhaps a failed attempt at mysticism. But I had a feeling that Hurek was being completely honest. And dare I say, literal.

“So… you were having an out of body experience?” I said carefully, and the large man nodded.

“It wasn’t me, Cicero,” he said, almost pleadingly, “I swear, it wasn’t me. You have to believe.”

“I do, Hurek.” I grabbed his bruised fists and pressed. He’s been through so much, I need to—

“I have been possessed,” Hurek said gravely, cutting into my thoughts.

“What do you mean possessed?” I leaned closer, sensing the fear behind his grim features.

“A demon,” he whispered, "It controls me."

***