Authors: Christopher Lee Buckner
Across from Gaius and
Antony, one of the gates similar to the one they were now hanging from opened up. Seconds later, as the crowd began to roar, throwing down flower petals that fluttered like rain, five men, bigger than any Gaius had ever seen, emerged from the darkness and stepped out into the arena; arms help up as the crowd cheered furiously for them.
Antony roared
as loud as his lungs could muster, but Gaius' own mouth stayed closed as he studied each of the men, who stood in the center of the arena, in a perfect half circle waiting for their opponent to enter.
The five men, three white, two black-skinned, carried an array of weapons: spears, short Spanish swords, a trident, and small shields that cupped their hands. Two of
the gladiators wore large fish-bowl helmets that concealed their faces from view. One of the black-skinned men wore a tight formfitting helmet; while the other dark-skinned man, as well as one of the white men had their heads exposed, wrapped simply by a long brightly-colored cloth, clear for all in the audience to see their scarred but still youthful faces.
Their powerful, well-toned bodies glistened in the falling sun as they stood proud, taking in the endless admiration from the audience who cheered each of their names. They knew what the next match meant, that unlike most gladiator bouts, this one would be fought to the death.
However, they waited, absorbing the energy from the crowd, ready and willing to do what was demanded of them for the pleasure of the mob.
“Now, for our main attraction!” the editor called out as the loud as he could; arms raised as the eyes of thousands turn
ed back towards him. “The man you've all come to see. The greatest warrior to walk the Earth since the time of Achilles, Hector, Heracles or Cincinnatus; a man who knows no fear; a man who has defeated a thousand men across the whole of the Republic; a man who needs no introduction – I give you, Calfax of Sparta!”
The announcer
’s words were easily drowned as the crowd erupted into a thunderous applause that shook the grandstands like an earthquake. Gaius saw a few of the spectators faint as the big Spartan stepped out into the arena and took his position between the five other men, who quickly circled Calfax.
Antony
, while he didn’t know who Calfax was, was so swept up in the excitement that he cheered as loud as the audience, or at least tried. Even this low to the arena floor, Gaius could barely hear his friend’s joyful admiration for the gladiator.
The gladiator Calfax wore a
tight-fitting Spartan helmet, made of bronze, which was topped with a bright red feathered crest. He was bare-chested; his torso and arms lined with hundreds of scars that stood out even more with the oils that had been rubbed over his body and muscles before he stepped into the arena. In his hand, he carried two swords, no shield. One sword was curved, a falcate, while the other blade was a short dagger, about half the length of the other.
Once the crowd began to die down, each of the gladiators looked up towards the fat editor of the games. He was seated with several other men and women of notice, each dressed
in expensive clothing and adorn with jewels and gold. Gaius recognized Varro among them too. He figured they were the financiers of the games, so were awarded the best seats.
Gaius turned his attention back towards the gladiators as each of them spoke the oath, “
We who are about to die, salute you.”
It took Gaius a few moments to realize that Calfax was going to be squaring off against the five gladiators
on his own. And as the five men lowered their weapons, staring with focused attention on the lone Spartan, the crowd once again erupted into a frenzy of excitement.
Gaius felt his mouth dry as he watched, never taking his eyes off of Calfax, who stood, seemingly unconcerned. He kept his focus forward, on one of the dark-skinned gladiators who carried the trident, which
he twirled, readied to attack any second.
Gaius looked down at
Antony, who seemed to be climbing the bars as high as they would take him. He was yelling with the crowd as his eyes were fixated on the six men who were nearly close enough that the two boys could smell their sweat. And then, as Gaius turned, the first strike came, suddenly and without warning.
Gaius felt his heart skip a beat as he watched one of the white-skinned gladiators charge from behind Calfax, who shifted his stance s
lightly as the first opponent lunged at him. That man’s thrust missed, coming a few inches from piercing the Spartan’s back.
Calfax struck down with his right blade, which cut deep into the man’s
upper arm.
The man, who wore no helmet,
screamed. However, his cries of pain were silenced a fraction of a second later as Calfax stepped quickly to the side and struck with his dagger, tearing through the nape of the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord before the tip of the blade tore through the front of his throat.
Blood squirted from the wound like a fountain of red water, which sent the crowd roaring as Calfax drew first blood, with amazing speed and ferocity.
Gaius glanced toward Antony once he realized his friend’s cheers had suddenly stopped. What he saw now was a pale-faced young boy bent over near the corner of the gate, vomiting up everything the two had eaten before the fight.
As he turned back around to the arena floor, Calfax ran his dagger through the stomach of the second dark-skinned man. His entrails spilled out from his gut, which the gladiator tried
in vain to keep inside his body. However, Calfax ran behind him before he thrust his blade in between the man’s shoulders, silencing his screaming.
A sword came at Calfax’s head as his back was turned momentarily. Sensing that the strike was coming, he ducked just in time as the blade sliced across the red crest of his helmet.
Calfax sliced his sword across the man’s knee before he dropped hard onto the ground, clutching his wound as tendons were easily cleaved.
As Calfax rose back to his feet, he drove his bloodied dagger into the man’s face, sticking him through the left eye, where he kept the blade.
Gaius continued to watch as the remaining two gladiators struggled to overpower the veteran, who, despite his age was as nimble as a cat. A moment later, another man, the largest in size and height went down from another series of savage blows from Calfax, who drove the edge of his sword across the man’s throat.
The last gladiator, the dark-skinned man
who carried the trident lunged forward, hoping to catch the Spartan off guard. As before, Calfax’s uncanny sense of the battlefield did not fail him as he weaved away from the heavy iron tips of the trident.
The crowd released more of their building rage of excitement as Calfax swung down with his sword, cleaving into the dark-skinned man’s wrist. The sword, now duller than it
had, could not cut all the way through the bone, but on the second strike, the hand separated from the man’s body, hanging loosely by a narrow strip of skin.
The dark-skinned man screamed in agony as he lost his grip on his weapon. The audience went wild with anticipation as Calfax stood poised before the quivering gladiator as a stream of hot piss ran down his leg.
Gaius was close enough to hear the dark-skinned man begging for his life, or so he assumed. He spoke a dialect that he’d never heard before, but regardless Calfax held no mercy for the man who cradled his severed hand in his other.
Calfax
swung; the tip of his sword sliced across the dark-skinned man’s throat. Blood squirted out, splashing over Calfax’s body like rain as he stood where he was, looking down at the defeated man, who choked on his own blood. It was not a quick death as the dark-skinned man’s agony lasted several more painful moments before Calfax raised his sword, and plunged it into the man’s gullet, ending him.
Gaius did not blink, not once as he watched Calfax claim his victory. He did not enjoy the show, not like he thought he would, but he wasn’t mortified by it either, unlike
Antony.
As the cheering crowd stood to their feet, Calfax removed his helmet, allowing the adoring audience, and Gaius to see his bald, scarred and one-eyed face clearly for the first time.
Flowers drifted down across the arena floor as the mob showered Calfax with their admiration, respect and fear of a man who was impossibly powerful and deadly. He did not seem. However, to care for the affection that was being bestowed on him. He looked down at the dead that lied on the floor; the thick pools of blood and guts, mixed with flesh and bone covered the sandy floor of the arena, showered by the beauty of the flowers turned Calfax’s stomach. And then Calfax turned his gaze toward Gaius.
For a
moment, their eyes locked, and for the first-time, Gaius truly felt fear as he looked into the single good eye of the man, he had watched kill so easily, and without mercy.
As Calfax flared at him, he saw nothing but hatred in his soulless eye, that if he could, the Spartan would kill every Roman, man, woman and child. No
matter, how much applause he might receive, even now, as his name was hailed, Calfax was a slave.
He finally pulled his gaze away from Gaius, turning once the far gate was opened, allow
ing him to leave the arena as several men rushed out with hooks in hand to drag the bodies back inside. A moment later the fat editor of the games returned to his podium and began his closing statements to the adoring crowds.
By now, Gaius
lost interest in hearing anything more. He stepped away from the barred gate and turned his attention towards Antony, who sat with his back up against a wooden support beam, clutching his stomach with both hands.
“Is it over?”
Antony asked as he looked up at Gaius.
“Yes, it is over,” Gaius replied as he reached down and lifted his friend to his feet. “We had better get you cleaned before your father sees you like this, or it will be both of our backsides that feel his wrath.”
Antony nodded as he and Gaius left, having seen what they wanted. Now, both just wanted to forget what they’d witnessed and salvage their day before they had to head back to the country, leaving the wonders of Rome behind.
The summer sun was high as Gaiu
s, along with Antony and Julia walked along the crumbling stone wall that led up to his modest home. The same slave who had watched over the trio during their time in Rome was with them now, escorting Gaius home as Varro had ordered.
Gaius was returning
about the time that his father had instructed him before he left for the city. While he wished his time in Rome could have lasted longer, he did not want to overextend his experience quite yet. Now, with his head swelled with memories of the past two days, he regretted having to leave so soon when he was just starting to see all the wonders the capital had to offer.
Gaius h
ad seen death before, mostly animals he and his father hunted in north. He even saw a man die once; well, a man who was still a boy, only three years older than he was now.
A season ago, Julius had been called north by a former soldier friend to help hunt down a pack of wolves that had been terrorizing the local farmers. Since leaving the military his father
took dozens of such jobs. However, this was the first job he had taken since Gaius’ mother had died, and with no one else to look after him, Julius decided to bring him along; a journey Gaius had looked forward to as much as he had for Rome.
On the third day of the hunt, after they had come back with four dead wolves, their pelts hanging over th
e side of one horse, a boy named Claudius, the son of Julius’ friend fell suddenly from his horse as it was spooked by a snake which lay along the side of the road.
Gaius remembered watching the boy’s horse rear up, throwing Claudius off its back. He had no chance to
recover. It all happened so quickly that when he hit the ground, his head cracked open against a rock. Claudius was gone, just like that.
He remembered watching the boy’s father cry to the heavens, smashing the snake to little pieces of bloodied flesh, even slicing the horse’s throat for it panicking.
Even so, like yesterday, Gaius stood, watching, not mortified by seeing the boys’ brain and blood splattered across the dusty road. He had assumed that after his mother’s long-suffering illness that anything related to death would ever bother him again, and so far, it hadn’t.
The fates were strange beings, his fa
ther had once said. One moment a boy was with his father chasing down wolves, riding home to celebrate, and the next moment his ashes were being spread across the earth after a quick and pointless end.