RomanQuest (7 page)

54

 

You walk into the room and stop dead. Although you've never seen one before, thank heavens, you know where you are at once.

This is the dreaded
vomitorium!

What's more, it's been used recently.

Oh, gross and double gross!

 

Back out quickly to
LXXIII
.

 

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55

 

As you walk into the amphitheatre, crowds jostling all around you in a state of high excitement, you come to two archways. Above one is written ARENA. Above the other is written AUDITORIUM.

You are headed firmly for the second when you overhear a snatch of conversation between two well-dressed women:

“- in the arena will be presented to the Emperor,” one says.

“Everybody?” asks the other.

“So they say.”

 

Does this make a difference? Will you risk your life in the arena just so you can get back within striking distance of Caligula when you didn't do a thing except answer stupid questions the last time you were close to him? The archway marked ARENA leads to
23
. You can reach the AUDITORIUM at
64
.

 

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56

 

“Fellow Romans,” the politician intones as you buckle on the armour of the late Brutus (which doesn't exactly fit like a glove, but should do the job anyway), “how do you vote this time? Thumbs up or down?”

It looks as if Brutus was really popular. Every thumb in the auditorium jabs violently downwards and the crowd begins to boo and hiss at you for emphasis.

Out of the corner of your eye you see thirty-eight burly gladiators starting to move forward, all obviously anxious to have a piece of you now you've become so unpopular with the crowd.

A thin man leans across and whispers in the politician's ear. The politician listens for a moment then holds up his hands. After a moment the crowd falls silent.

“Fellow Romans!” the politician proclaims. “However much you - we liked the dear departed Brutus, he was vanquished in a fair fight. And it's the third fair fight this young gladiator has won. My vote is thumbs up!”

It's obvious the crowd doesn't like it - there's a scattering of boos and hisses - but it's equally obvious the politician's vote outweighs all the others put together. Whatever else it might have been Ancient Rome is no democracy.

The politician leans over and speaks directly to you. “You fought well,” he says. “I've arranged for you to have the freedom of the city. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

 

Never one to hang about where you weren't wanted, you head smartly for the exit arch to
150
.

 

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57

 

This huge marble emporium can only be one thing - the Public Thermii or Baths. Everybody in Rome was so obsessed with keeping clean that this place was as popular as the Circus. At least so it claims in your Brief Guide, but now you're here there's not a soul about.

You begin to climb the broad steps to try to find out what's going on when an urchin leaning against one of the pillars calls out, “No good going up there - they're shut for repairs. Some of their pipework sprung a leak.”

 

So it's back to
25
to select another destination from your tourist map.

 

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58

 

Whoops! This room is full of people. Fortunately they're all racing around like lunatics preparing a meal. This is definitely a kitchen and from the way everybody's studiously avoiding your eye, these must be slaves. That was the thing about slaves in Ancient Rome: they were treated as part of the furniture and they very quickly got used to behaving as if nothing existed outside the job they were doing. If they didn't know you, they played safe and ignored you whatever you were doing.

Cautiously you put this theory to the test by stepping into the room. You are roundly ignored. Cautiously you dip your finger into a pan of sauce and take a sneaky taste. (It's delicious.) You are still roundly ignored.

It looks as though this might be the preparations for the wedding feast of Germanicus and Agrippina - a thought that reminds you time is slipping by.

 

There is a door in the east wall to
XXII
and two doors in the west wall. The northernmost of these doors leads to
LXVII
, the southernmost to
LXXIII
.

 

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59

 

You hurl yourself upon him shrieking like a harpy.

 

Despite looking hungry, your opponent has 60 Life Points and one of the best swords in Rome, capable of inflicting +10 damage. If he kills you, go to
13
. If you survive, you'll just have time to pick up his First Aid Kit (which will restore six double dice rolls of Life Points now or later) before making a break for any other destination shown on your tourist map at
25
.

 

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60

 

Somewhere a crowd is cheering.

There is a smell of heat and sweat, mixed with the stench of wet dog or something vaguely similar.

More cheering from the invisible crowd.

You are surrounded by a shimmering grey fog, but a shimmering grey fog that is gradually lifting. Around you things are slowly becoming clearer.

And clearer ...

You are standing on the arena floor of a majestic stone-built amphitheatre, its tiers of seats jam-packed with an enthusiastic crowd. There seems to be some sort of procession going on. Priests in gold-embroidered robes are circling the arena swinging censers of heavy incense and chanting monotonously.

How nice. You've landed back in Ancient Rome in the middle of a religious festival.

You glance up towards the devout crowd. Many of them seem to be rough diamonds for sure, but those in the better seats look a lot more respectable. Towards the back, nimble men in sailor uniforms are working a complicated set of rigging to bring across a huge multicoloured canopy to give some shade to the spectators.

There was a sudden roar of approval and the entire crowd rose to its feet as a tall grey-haired man led his entourage into a box directly overlooking the arena. He acknowledges the cheers with a languid wave of his hand, then takes his seat. Armed guards take their places behind him.

Is this the Emperor of the day? From somewhere you recall that Roman Emperors always wore purple on public occasions and this man's toga is pristine white so perhaps he's just a Senator or some other bigwig.

The priests complete their procession and begin to exit through the same imposing arch by which they entered. At once an organ starts up a merry tune.

An organ, in Ancient Rome? Surely not. But what you're hearing certainly sounds like an organ.

Armed men - dozens of them - are marching into the arena. They look fierce and terrifying and very, very fit. They stop as a body underneath the box occupied by the grey-haired man and his entourage. Their arms snap upwards in a rigid salute.
“Nos moraturi te salutamus!”
they exclaim in unison.

So much for Mercury and his simultaneous translation. You didn't understand a word of that.

But then your right ear begins to itch. You reach up to scratch it and a small device no bigger than a hearing aid falls out onto the arena sand. It crackles a little as you pick it up as if it may have been damaged, but you notice a small on/off switch in one side just under the Mercury Phones logo. You slide it to on and pop the device back into your ear.

“Nos morituri te salutamus!”
the armed men chant again. But this time you hear it as, We who are about to die salute you!

What a strange thing to say during a religious festival. And how odd to have so many armed men in this delightful open-air church.

The group of armed men suddenly breaks apart and to your horror the men begin hacking at one another with their swords. One runs towards you wielding a net and a spear which he uses to poke you painfully.
“Venas plebius, fac meum deum!”
he grins wickedly.

“Come on, punk, make my day!” crackles Mercury's simultaneous translator in your ear.

Your mouth drops open. It's obvious you've just been challenged to a fight.

 

But what are you going to do about it - apart from closing your mouth, that is? You can run for your life at
10
, try to reason with him at
90
or take your chances in a very one-sided - and quite possibly lethal - punch-up at
130
.

 

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61

 

You climb up to the first sub-division of the tiers, noticing that the more sensible members of the crowd have brought their own cushions to protect their bottoms from the ravages of the stone benches. Not that it matters greatly to you since you can't afford to stay here very long with the threat of Vesuvius erupting at any minute.

You look around you to discover the crowd itself seems to be seated in factions, rather like supporters at a football match. Groups of them wear the same colours, presumably in support of a favourite gladiator. Many of them, in all factions, are wearing brimless felt hats for some reason. You notice too that there is a definite class distinction in this crowd. There are several reserved areas near the front filled with men and women sporting pristine togas and expensive jewellery. The lower classes on the other hand are segregated by sex. The women are confined to a covered gallery so high above the arena it's a miracle they can see what's going on at all. The men are spread in their tribal factions all across the auditorium.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask an excited young man wearing a patched mantle and one of the ubiquitous felt hats.

“Naw, you're welcome,” he tells you. “My mate was sitting there, but he drank too much wine so now he's gone off to be sick. Always the same. He'll miss the rest of the show like he always does.” He opens a small box on his knee and holds it across to you. “Boiled egg?”

“No thanks,” you tell him as you sit down.

“Suit yourself,” shrugs the young man.
“Visne scire quod credam?”

You jiggle your Mercury Phone hearing aid. “Know what I think?” it translates the young man's last words for you.

“No, what do you think?”
Quis credas?
Mercury translates back to him.

“I think the games have gone to hades since they started executing criminals as part of the entertainment,” he says. “No sport in that. No sport in that at all. Look, they're going to slaughter a few now.”

You watch in horror as a bedraggled group of men and women are led into the arena chained together. A grim group of gladiators marches towards them, swords at the ready. Your stomach begins to churn.

“Sure you don't want a boiled egg?” the young man asks.

You get up and make a run for the exit as the swords begin to flash in the sun.

 

As well you might. The Roman Games are no place for the squeamish. Best get back to your map at
150
and select another destination.

 

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62

 

It's like the high point of a movie. Time slows. The trident sails gracefully through the air. The expression on Caligula's mad face changes slowly from glee to horror. The trident comes closer and closer to his chest. Sunlight glints on its three wicked barbs. There is a stunned silence in the auditorium. You seem to register close-ups of shocked face after shocked face.

Time speeds up to normal. The speeding trident reaches the royal box. Caligula screams and clutches his chest.

The trident misses.

Your mouth falls open. You can't believe it.

“Traitor!” screams Caligula. “Assassin! Guards, do your duty!”

The arena fills up quickly with armed men who waste no time at all in hacking you to pieces.

 

Collect up the bits and go to
13
.

 

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63

 

This looks like another family room. It also looks as if it's in the process of redecoration. A newly-tiled floor is only partly laid and while the walls have been plastered, you can see at once an extensive mural painting is far from complete. Couches, chairs and a heavy table have all been pushed together into one corner.

Nothing much for you here, so you turn to leave.

 

The numerals on the eastern door are
XXII
. On the southern door you have
LXXIX
.

 

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64

 

You pass through the arch and begin your climb along the tiers. As you do so, a small contingent of heavily armed men push their way arrogantly through the crowd in your direction.

“It's the Praetorians!” hisses a fat man on your right. “Somebody's in trouble.”

“Bet your life!” mutters his companion. “That's their Tribune, Cassius Chaerea, leading them. When he's about, somebody's definitely in trouble!”

 

Do you imagine it might be you? You might try avoiding yon Cassius who has a mean and hungry look by making an Absolutely Anything Roll. If it kills you, go to
13
. If you fail, you'd better await developments quietly at
17
. If you succeed, you can slip away quietly from the auditorium and make your way to another destination via your tourist map at
25
.

 

Of course if you've a clear conscience and a trusting nature, you don't have to try avoiding the Praetorians at all. You can just sit there counting the sunbeams until they're on top of you at
17
.

 

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