War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One (9 page)

It was Ellios who’d told him that they were being trained to kill other slaves like themselves in their masters’ house of death.
To
kill for the entertainment of the stinking Roman mob.
With the confirmation of his worst fear, he’d thought only of escape.

Ellios had also spoken of the
rudis
, the finely carved wooden
gladius
that was granted to exceptional gladiators, together with their freedom.

“Please, don’t spite your fate by throwing your life away,” said Ellios, beckoning Guntram to him.

Guntram gave a great sigh, realizing how foolish he’d been. He’d been blinded to the futility of such an escape, blinded by his burning desire to escape these prison walls. He now understood that he had
no
choice, that he’d have to fight to survive and kill to be free. Free to find Jenell and his brother.

Gunrtram nodded, an acknowledgement.

Then he followed Ellios out of the shadows, towards his waiting cell.

*

The entire barracks was assembled at dawn. Guntram and the other
tiros
were placed in the front row, assured of a clear view of the execution.

The long pole was firmly planted at the edge of the training ground, the early morning sun printing its shadow on the grass.

Dadakos the Greek had been captured within an hour of fleeing the ludus. First, he’d been scourged with rods. That morning he was to be made an example of, before his actions spread like the pox to the other men.

The Greek cried out a women’s name through his agony,

and Guntram remembered listening to him talk of his pretty, young wife, left far behind is homeland, and of how badly he missed her. Guntram swallowed down the lump in his throat, thinking of his own Jenell.

Afterwards, no man spoke a word, nor met another’s look. Crucifixion was a joyless breakfast companion.

* * *

Chapter IX

BATHS
OF
STABIA

“Short is the joy

that guilty pleasure brings.”

Euripides

Thick saliva rimmed Guntram’s mouth as he sat examining the collection of bruises and welts acquired during the morning’s sparring with Dertosa. He grimaced; the bastard’s lessons were always painful, but valuable. Gingerly tracing their raised edges, he reflected on his months of training.

His training schedule had progressed at a harsh, unabated pace, with him quickly adjusting to the warmer climate, although on hotter days training was thankfully suspended while the sun was at its highest. Countless hours were spent at the training posts, sufficient it seemed, for him to have reduced several trees to kindling. Each day comprised of the constant repetition of basic sword attacks carried out under the watchful eye of the trainers. His every muscle and joint had screamed with pain.

But, the pain had gradually receded, and Guntram began to look forward to each day’s challenge, the brutal routine providing him with an outlet for his anger and frustration. He focused his mind solely on making his body as strong as it could be; a blade forged to a perfect temper in readiness for the day when he would repay Rome for the suffering he’d endured. Fuelled by a plain but generous diet, his endurance and strength had steadily grown, with him regaining the weight he’d lost on his hideous journey here, before adding even more pounds of muscle to his already impressive physique.

With language came awareness, and he learnt that at the top of the gladiator’ ranks were the combat tested warriors who’d successfully survived a number of bouts. These fighters didn’t have enough money to buy their freedom, or having already bought or won it, chose to fight on, with some planning to eventually become trainers themselves.

It quickly became apparent that the novices’ training differed markedly to that of the blooded veterans. The latter’s training day was shorter, with them spending most of their time practising with a particular weapon. A number of the more successful ones did not even reside in the barracks itself, but came and went freely, and it was rumoured that they had partners and children at houses in the city itself.

Eventually, as the days of hard conditioning passed, he was paired against the more experienced
fighters
and also the trainers themselves
,
providing him with an ever wider range of combat experience in preparation to face a variety of fighting styles. He was taught the importance of using his shield as well as the sword.

During the periods of rest Guntram watched the local men and women who regularly visited the barracks to see the gladiators train. He saw how some veteran gladiators strutted before these admirers who would often stroke them, their eager fingers lingering on hard chest muscles and tensed biceps. It made him shiver.

As his skill with the sword grew, so did his scorn for his fellow gladiators, whose coarse and bullying ways he hated. Whether handsome or ugly, clever or stupid, they were all the same, except one – the Spaniard. In turn, Guntram was mostly ignored by his fellow gladiators, who were nervous of his brooding manner and explosive temper. He’d built a reputation as a loner and the guards gave him as much space as was allowed, all the while resting hands on sword’ hilts whenever he was near. Guntram realized that each gladiator might one day have to face and kill a man alongside whom he’d eaten, slept and trained, and the isolation suited him.

At the close of each day’s training he cleansed himself in the company of Ellios, initially scowling darkly in response to any comments made by the cheery Spaniard. But, as the weeks crept into months, he gradually became less hostile, and, undaunted, Ellios persisted in teaching him Latin in their training breaks. At first he’d wondered if Ellios, like the Greeks, preferred the pleasures of other men, threatening to snap his neck if true.

He was soon proven wrong, discovering that Ellios’s choice of discussion rarely wavered from his interest in women; women of every size, colour and sexual talent. As different as ice and fire, an unlikely friendship grew between them.

Gods!
He felt tired and sore.

Guntram turned his attention to study the small birds that circled then dived to the surface of the empty square in search of seeds or scraps of food. Then, his thoughts shifted to his brother who loved all wild creatures. He pictured Strom’s face and a thickness crept into his throat.

Laughter sounded off to his right, and he saw that it came from a group of volunteer gladiators. He was now aware that the ranks of every gladiator school was swelled by a number of such men, in addition to the large numbers of war captives and sentenced criminals. Permitted to practise with edged weapons they weren’t housed in grim confinement, and it was not unusual for the more successful among them to have considerable holdings outside the
ludus
’ walls.

Quiet minutes passed and he saw Ellios approach out of the corner of his eye.

“A beautiful day and yet you have a damned serious look on you,” commented Ellios, flashing a wolfish grin. “Puzzling over your first opponent?”

Guntram shook his head.

“What troubles you then?”

“Nothing.”

“It clearly looks like nothing. Come, speak,” Ellios persisted. “The Greeks say a problem shared is but half a problem.”

“I was thinking about my brother.”

“Oh, I see,” said Ellios, and then gently, “Do you miss him greatly?”

“Aye, greatly,” Guntram replied, his expression sad, “and you are very curious today.”

“How else do I find out what I want to know?”

“True.”

“Were you alike?” Ellios asked, encouraged.

“No, very different.”

“How so?”

“Strom was quick to smile and to forgive, and had to be cajoled into practicing with the sword and spear, preferring rather to spend his time with the older men of the village, listening to their stories and gems of wisdom. He always had a kind word for the village’s sick and complaining, and had a way that drew people to him. He listened to others regardless of their station, and helped if he could, without thought of reward. My father said that he’d one day make a good elder.”

“Such men are rare.”

“Yes. But I told him often that his heart was too good, and that the world would not treat him so kindly.” Guntram sighed. “He just smiled, saying that he was as he was.”

“True,” Ellios agreed, “they say a fish cannot grow fur my friend.”

Prompted by the Spaniard’s words, Guntram recalled. “He cared for animals too. One time I found him tending to a fox cub with a broken leg, and he told me that he’d come upon him by chance in the forest. The cub’s mother lay dead nearby, as did the tracks of a badger. Strom made a splint for the cub’s leg out of twigs and cared for the animal throughout the winter, feeding it goat’s milk and small scraps of meat from our table.” A smile crept into the corner of his mouth. “Our mother scolded him, but he carried on.”

“Did the cub survive?”

“The summer came and the cub grew strong, it’s leg mending under my brother’s care. He loved the cub and named it Baldur, meaning ‘strong spirit’ in our tongue. Then he released it back into the forest,” said Guntram, wearing a slight frown. “I asked him why he didn’t keep the cub for a pet? He told me that its home was in the wild and that it was right to let him go...that keeping him would break his spirit. It seems like a long time ago.” There was tightness in his voice and he returned his attention to the swooping birds.

Sitting down next to him, Ellios stated, “One day, when you win the
rudis
, you’ll return home and find your brother with this special gift.”

Guntram stared hard at his practice sword.

“I have some news,” Ellios suddenly announced.

Guntram regarded him.

“Aren’t you just a little curious?”

“Out with it,” Guntram growled, “because you’ll tell me anyway.”

“Brutus the guard told me that Belua will be addressing us this afternoon, and that it’s good news!”

“Like what?”

“The bastard refused to say.”

“The man is a pig, and wouldn’t spit on a burning dog unless there was some profit in it for him,” Guntram said, wearing a distasteful look.

“I know, but I’ll welcome any good news.”

“Chilled wine served in the shade by fine women, no doubt?” Guntram responded dryly.

At the mention of women, Ellios’s face brightened further. “I know,” he said, undeterred. “But, I’ve a good feeling about it anyway.”

“You would.” Guntram heaved himself up. “But, I’ll wait until I hear what the news is before grinning like a jackass.” He started in the direction of the
ludus
’ refectory.

“I can’t remember teaching you the word for jackass!”

The Spaniard’s words echoing behind him, Guntram risked a small grin of his own.

*

Assembled on the
palaestra
, Guntram, Ellios and four other
tiros
were informed by Belua that they would be leaving the confines of the barracks for the first time that afternoon. Barrius Gordeo was granting them the privilege of visiting the nearby Stabian Baths, a practice that would henceforth be repeated at the end of each week’s training.

Regular attendance at the baths was to ensure that the men’s hygiene remained good, as well as having the added benefit of keeping their young bodies supple and toned. Guntram was aware that certain members of the gladiator troupe made visits to the baths and that it was generally regarded as a pleasurable experience.

It was late afternoon when they departed from the school accompanied by two guards. Progress was slow along the busy route, with each man shackled to a twin by means of a four foot iron bar affixed to a neck collar. An effective deterrent against escape, it made walking a slow, shuffling exercise, and each man struggled to keep step with his partner.

The city was relatively cool and residents were beginning to emerge from their homes. Dogs snapped around Guntram’s feet, adding their own animal babble to the bedlam of voices coming from the taverns and hostelries. Shop owners shouted as they argued their prices with customers and vendors’ braziers threw a pall of charcoal smoke across the main road that mingled with the smell of cooking oils and spit-roast meats.

Guntram ignored the stares of old women sitting at their porches and the jibes of men drinking and blathering in the open fronted bars. The street was lined with narrow-fronted houses that seemed to have turned their backs on the crowded street, looking inwards on themselves. Open doors revealed a brief glimpse of what lay beyond: cool tiled hallways, sun-lit gardens and small bubbling fountains.

His head instinctively jerked up, as whores shouted bawdy invites from doorways and windows, and felt his arm tugged as vendors pressed fruit and broiled morsels upon the troupe. There was so much to see and he eagerly drank it all in. Wherever people gathered, the whole outer face of the tenement was littered with shops. There were food shops with large earthenware pots set into them, containing grain, dried fruits, wine and olive oil. Meat and poultry hung from iron hooks suspended at the shop entrances, with some shops simply having only a table or wooden counter at their fronts.

As his party drew near to the city’s busy cross-roads, Guntram stared wide-eyed at a vast structure that climbed to the very heavens. He guessed it was the baths. One of the guards accosted an attendant, who then directed them into an all male changing area. They were unshackled and ordered to strip.

Naked, Guntram was steered past the baths’ large training field, where dozens of naked men were engaged in activities such as stretching, weight-lifting and wrestling. Some of the younger men sprinted along the course of a straight running track that ran the entire length of one of the field’s sides.

“There’s a women’s area too, and one for mixed bathing,” commented Ellios luridly, who’d moved to his shoulder. Nudging Guntram in the side, he added, “Come on! Let’s get started.”