War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One (10 page)

The two of them entered a large chamber, the baths’ warm room. Its steamy atmosphere smelt of sweetly spiced oils and incense. Guntram stopped, his mouth falling open. The room contained a large pool filled with people, most naked, a few only wearing short tunics. Several women lounged on couches near the pool, towels casually draped across their wet bodies and engaged in conversation with some older men. He flinched at their lack of modesty. Two lithe males darted past, diving headlong into the warm water. He heard Ellios gulp loudly at his side, and then his eyes settled on the heavily breasted young woman emerging naked from the pool, wringing water from her thick tangle of hair as she sauntered towards them.

Ellios’s head swivelled as she passed, his eyes matching the swing of her hips. “Mithras! What a body.” Breathless, he asked, “What do you think?”

“Just another whore parading her nakedness for all to see,” Guntram replied scornfully.

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy the pleasure of a woman’s body in Germania?”

“I’ve bedded my share, and as eagerly as the next man,” Guntram replied. “But our women are reared with honour and dignity, and don’t brazenly bare themselves like whores. They have pride in themselves and their bodies. Some have special powers of prophecy and insight, and sit on the village’ councils.”

“Hmm, but can I ask one thing?”

Guntram nodded, his face sober.

“Don’t your men find all that decency boring?”

“Cherusci women don’t flaunt their bodies for men to drool over,” Guntram said, his colour up. “They don’t rut in the manner of these Roman sluts; like bitches in heat. They’re as passionate in the ways of love making as any other women, but, when they freely join with a man, a bond is formed between them. A bond to be respected by all.”

“And if this bond is broken?” Ellios asked.

“It is punished by death. Those found guilty are bound and sunk deep in the bog.” His smile was grim. “A shameful death for a shameful crime.”

“Caetes! Ellios!” Guntram recognised the voice of the pig, Brutus, like water over gravel. “Shut up and get on with it. I’m sweating my balls off, and we don’t have all day.”

Taking two quick steps, Guntram dove into the pool, and Ellios followed. He surfaced in the middle, and shaking back his hair struck out powerfully for the pool’s far side, where he smoothly heaved his body out of the water. He savoured the touch of the water, freedom from the shackles. It prompted a memory of another time, when Jenell had swum with him at night, in secret. A precious time.

Men and women paused to stare, impressed, as the two gladiators strode along the tiled portico. As he walked, Guntram surveyed the chamber’s rich wall paintings and sculptures. The Roman god Jupiter was majestically depicted with his sceptre of power and a magnificent eagle, while on a nearby pillar stood the mighty Hercules, the hero-god of gladiators, stood defiantly surveying all before him.

Prompted by Ellios, Guntram entered an adjoining room that was equipped with a large, hot bath. Clouds of steam rose from the heated pool, and speech was impossible.

Sweat ran freely from their bodies and Ellios opened a small oil flask that was handed them by a scantily clad attendant, together with two scrapers. He poured the scented oil into his palm and rubbed it vigorously into his body. Using a scraper, he briskly removed the oil and acquired dirt from his skin.

Closely copying Ellios’s actions, Guntram followed suit. It was a good feeling. After, he realized it was the first time that he’d felt really clean since that day when he’d been dragged through the dirt from his village. But inside...the blackness of that day remained.

He then accompanied Ellios into a third chamber that housed a larger pool of cold water. A plunge beneath the surface provided them both with welcome relief from the heat of the steam room, before Ellios led the way into an adjoining annex.

They were greeted by two of the baths’ masseurs, their torsos slick with sweat. The masseurs immediately went to work, kneading and rolling their flesh. Guntram could not recall when he’d felt so relaxed; admonishing that the masseur’s skilled touch was pleasurable.

Freshly oiled, both men opted for a second dip in the cold pool, revelling in the coolness of the water on their flesh. Their time there was rudely interrupted by Brutus’s rough command for them to quickly redress in readiness to leave.

Clothed, they were escorted from the changing area back to the main entrance where the neck shackles were reattached.

As he waited for the order to depart, Guntram surveyed the view north-westwards along the track of the Via Stabiana. The great mountain called Vesuvius was silhouetted bluish grey against a florid sky, a few shreds of cloud lingering around its peak. It towered massively over the surrounding countryside in the fading light, dominating the horizon. Its lower slopes were a blurred patchwork of houses and planted fields, and from mid-way to the summit crept a dark green forest.

Turning southwards, he saw the city fall away in the direction of the
ludus
, a jumble of tenements and tiled rooftops sloping gradually down to a dimly shining sea.

Dusk was falling as they set out for the
ludus
.

* * *

Chapter X

CHAYNA

“Is it the Gods who put

this fire in our minds?”

Virgil

As the troupe left the baths behind, Guntram cocked his head, breathing in the scent of tree and shrub that blended with a glut of food stuffs and the heady odour of the town itself.

The Roman night closed in with a swiftness that never ceased to surprise him; the sun setting in a crimson glow on the far horizon at the same time as the drape of night descended around him. Flapping bats emerged from their hidden lairs and the occasional night bird sang as he watched the evening shadows creep across walls and rooftops of brilliant white and paler shades of blue, red and ochre.

Practical information spread quickly amongst the members of a gladiator troupe, and Guntram was aware that the city’s business commenced in earnest when the sun went down. He wasn’t disappointed. A constant stream of vendors beckoned to them, and a host of cooking smells wafted under their noses from private houses and hostelries where slaves laboured over busy cooking stoves.

Guntram swallowed his drool, and peering into one of the side streets, saw that it was significantly narrower, with its houses smaller and less impressive. Above several of the entrances was a male member carved in stone and above others a figure with his own enormous member thrusting forwards and decorated with bells. Ellios had told him that these carvings identified the city’s many whore houses, and that the figure was Priapus – the Roman god of fertility.

The guards called a brief halt, enabling the troupe to have a drink of water at one of the small water fountains positioned along the main avenue. Guntram saw that alongside the fountain was a wayside shrine to Venus, the city’s favourite goddess, with a small painting of her close by in a sheltered nook.

In turn, Guntram dipped his head to drink from the small stream of trickling water. His attachment to Ellios via his neck shackle made drinking from the font’s spout a difficult feat, made worse by their difference in height. Most of the water eluded his mouth, only succeeding in soaking his face and tunic, much to the amusement of the guards. Annoyed but determined to persevere, Guntram’s attention was drawn to a light touch on his shoulder. When manoeuvring about, he was faced by a young woman holding out a clay
amphora
of water. She gestured for him to drink.

Overcoming his initial surprise, he lifted the
amphora
to his lips and took a long, cooling draught. Roughly wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he returned the
amphora
to the woman who’d quietly watched him drink.

The woman was dressed in a simple linen tunic, pink in shade from repeated washings, her small feet were bare, and he guessed she was in her late teens. The top of her head barely reached Guntram’s chest, and looking up at him were black eyes whose depth and lustre snatched the breath from his throat. Like a raw youth he stood dumb, able only to stare at the upturned face. A fine sculptured nose sat above a wide full-lipped mouth that at first glimpse appeared almost too large for the small dark face. Thick hair, the colour of a raven’s wing hung to the middle of her back, and the loose fitting dress did little to disguise the firm rounded breasts and shapely hips beneath.

Offering neither thanks nor acknowledgment, Guntram continued to stand, gripped, his eyes devouring every detail of her face and bearing. Long seconds passed before he realised that Ellios was speaking to her.

“What is your name pretty one?” His smile was confident, teeth flashing. “I am Ellios, and my large, staring friend here is Caetes. As you can see, he is a German.”

“My name is Chayna, and I am the slave of the inn-keeper Silius Fagus,” the young woman answered, her voice characterised by an unusually deep and husky timbre, “who owns a nearby tavern of the same name on the Via Dell Abondanza.” White, even teeth peeked through plum coloured lips as she spoke, and despite speaking with Ellios, Guntram saw that her eyes never left his own.

“Girl, you are wasting your good looks on him,” Ellios continued, unabashed. “Now, I’m sure the two of us could find something interesting to talk about.”

“Caetes . . . his name means death. Why such a name?” the young woman enquired, unperturbed by the Spaniard’s suggestive tone and Guntram’s stony silence.

“Because he has a special skill.”

“You look like gladiators, but what special skill does your handsome friend have?” the woman asked, smiling naively.

Guntram listened, as if in dream, while Ellios spoke for him.

“He is skilled in the ways of killing, and will claim many victories in the arena.”

“I see.”

Guntram saw something sad in the woman’s eyes.

“You’d do well to remember meeting him, for one day his name will be acclaimed throughout the empire, even to your homeland,” Ellios advised. “And where is your home pretty one? You have the look of the East about you...Egypt? Syria?” He raised a finger tutor-like to his lips.

“My parents were from Judea.” She frowned as she spoke. “The Romans killed my father, and my mother was pregnant when she was sold into slavery. I was that child. My first master bought my mother on the slave blocks of Misenum, and I was born the following spring. My mother is also dead.” Her eyes dropped.

Guntram noted that for once Ellios offered neither a witty nor lewd reply.

Without any warning, the woman calmly moved the clay
amphora
into the crook of her arm, and reaching up, gently traced the vivid scar that spanned Guntram’s face. Despite his surprise he made no attempt to resist. His colour slowly rising, he felt as if a small bird was set loose in his belly. No sound escaped his lips as he studied the woman’s expression, her eyes seeming to map every aspect of his face before she let her hand fall once more to her side.

Then stepping away, the young woman refilled her
amphora
. Smiling a brief farewell she turned and hurried away, nimbly weaving through the busy crowd.

As he watched her back disappear into the throng, Guntram’s stomach lurched, a chasm opening up inside him. The woman’s face, her voice, the tenderness of her touch had stunned him.

Suddenly the words tumbled from his lips in a flood. “Wait! Chayna!” he shouted over the sea of bobbing heads.

Ignoring the sharp jabs of the guards’ spear butts urging him to silence, he called her name once more, adding the only words that he could think of from the whirlpool of his thoughts. “Chayna, what does your name mean?”

People turned at the sound of his voice, and then she reappeared. Smiling and waving her hand, she called back to him. “Life, Caetes. It means life.”

He watched her disappear once more, barely feeling Brutus’s blows, nor hearing his angry warning to move on or suffer Belua’s wrath on their return.

A frown bitten deep between his brows he stood staring, struggling to make sense of things he didn’t understand.

* * *

Chapter XI

ENCOUNTER

“Fate will find a way”

Virgil

It was during one of his father’s many lectures that Servannus learnt that in Rome’s infancy the provision of games to celebrate the approaching festival of Saturnalia lasted only a single day, and that gradually this had been extended to cover as many as seven days of games and festivities. He also learnt that this festival was special, with it celebrating the rites of Saturn: the Roman God of harvests. The mob was always in good humour at this time, with every city, town and village on the Roman mainland partaking in a spree of drunkenness and sexual abandon. And, whereas his father had abhorred it, he’d revelled in this time of excess.

On the third day of the festival Servannus made his first visit to the
munera,
the games that were held at Pompeii’s impressive
amphitheatre
. He was accompanied by two of his gladiator bodyguards.

It was barely two hours into the day and eager spectators were already filling the stone
amphitheatre
.
Servannus surveyed the familiar surroundings. A great open space lay to the south of the arena, where a number of men were carrying out physical exercise, and a bathing pool was situated at its centre. Tall trees dotted the open spaces, under whose shade numerous vendors were encamped; setting up stalls and selling a variety of foods and refreshments. Sellers had also laid out their wares beneath the arches of the
amphitheatre
itself, and public latrines were located close by. The arena itself was accessed through two vaulted tunnels, both paved with stone blocks to allow passage of carts that transported equipment necessary for the spectacles.