Roman - The Fall of Britannia (2 page)

High in the
stand, Governor Sibelus and his guests enjoyed the spectacle from
their comfortable seats, picking on sweetmeats and drinking the
best-chilled wine from the deepest cellar in the governor’s villa;
an extravagance he could ill afford. Sibelus called for
silence.

‘
Citizens of Picenum,’ he announced when the crowd had
settled, ‘behold your two remaining champions, Damocles of Greece
and Karim the Numidian. I think you will agree that the contests
have been fair and both have earned the Rudis.’

He caught the
eye of the referee, whose impartial pairings had ensured Karim had
a favourable draw through to the last two. The official felt no
guilt; the two hundred Denarii paid to him by one of Sibelus’s
henchmen, were a year’s wages for a minor official and he had a
family to support.

The crowd
cheered in appreciation. The wooden sword of freedom was seldom
awarded and never to two combatants. Sibelus raised his hand,
waiting for the crowd to settle.

‘
Unfortunately,’ he continued, ‘there can be only one
Rudis.’

‘
Release them both,’ someone shouted from the
crowd.

Once again,
Sibelus raised his hand with a benevolent smile.

‘
However,’ he continued, ‘the contest is not yet
over.’

Silence fell
again and he turned toward the two bleeding gladiators staring up
at him from the arena.

‘
One
last contest,’ he thundered, ‘against a common foe. Survive this
and you are both free men.’

Karim and
Damocles straightened their tired bodies and held up their swords
in acknowledgement. Raising his voice to its maximum, Sibelus
turned toward another gate and with his voice echoing around the
walls of the arena, called out the final challenge.

‘
Citizens of Picenum,’ he shouted,’ behold the
Gauls!’

The crowd
screamed in excitement as two dozen warriors spilled out of the
gate into the arena, but then fell silent, confused at the sight
before them. These weren’t warriors, they were women. Their hair
was wild and stuck up into terrifying shapes with horse glue, and
their naked bodies were daubed in blue dye. Each woman held a
skinning knife and they searched the bloody arena for the targets
that held the key to their survival.

The spectators
weren’t the only ones confused, Gaius Pelonius didn’t understand
either. He had expected Sibelus to cheat him, but this was
completely unexpected. Women or not, their numbers were many and
there was a definite chance that Karim could be killed.

‘
Happy with your wager?’ asked the governor, sitting back down
alongside his guest.

‘
Shouldn’t I be?’ asked Pelonius.

‘
I
don’t see why not, the odds are in your favour.’

A horn resounded
around the arena, followed by the screams of the women as they
rushed toward the two wounded gladiators, both sounds drowned out
by the roar of the crowd as the last battle commenced.

Karim braced
himself. He had no problem killing women, he had done so many times
before, and these women were no different. He prepared himself for
the onslaught. Legs, shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent,
shield presented, and Gladius held in the attack position. However,
the expected impact never came, as the screaming women swerved
around him and made a beeline for Damocles. Karim spun around,
confused as the screaming mass enveloped his friend, and though
many fell victim to the Greek’s sword, he was quickly driven to the
floor by sheer weight of numbers.

----

Earlier their
jailer had made it clear to the slave women.

‘
If
you kill the white man first,’ he had said, ‘any survivors will be
taken back to their homeland and released. If the black man is
killed first, all who survive will be fed to the lions.’

The lie had
worked perfectly. As far as they knew, this was the women’s only
chance to escape the hell of slavery and return home. Therefore,
with false hope in their hearts, they had endured the attempts of
other slaves to make them look fierce with paint and glue, before
being herded into the arena.

Too late Karim
realised the danger, and roaring in anger, charged forward into the
fray, slashing indiscriminately at anything that moved. The women
panicked and those hysterical few that were left fled around the
arena seeking refuge. Karim knelt beside his comrade, already aware
that it was too late.

Damocles had
lost his sword in the onslaught and fallen mortally wounded from
multiple stab wounds.

Karim picked up
the Gladius and folded the Greek’s fingers around the hilt,
ensuring the fellow gladiator died with his sword in
hand.

‘
So
it ends,’ said Damocles weakly.

‘
You
die well, friend,’ said Karim, ‘I will mark your stone as
such.’

‘
Bury me deep, Numidian,’ smiled Damocles, ‘that wooden sword
was almost mine.’

‘
You
too will soon be free, Greek,’ he answered. ‘Sleep
well.’

Damocles’ eyes
closed as his life slipped away, his blood greedily soaked up by
the floor of the arena.

It was a
dishonourable fate for a gladiator to die at the hands of a woman
and Karim knew the Greek’s shade would wander forever in shame. He
gently lowered his friend’s body to the floor and stood up to raise
his gaze to the heavens, before releasing a primeval roar that
chilled the blood of all watching. He turned around with cold
murder in his eyes, seeking those responsible for the death of the
Greek.

The next few
minutes were the bloodiest of the whole day as Karim went berserk.
The crowd were frenzied in their enjoyment of the spectacle and
screamed instructions to Karim, taking untold pleasure in this
unprecedented display of savagery. Finally, Karim stood again in
the centre of the circle, Gladius hanging limply from his hand, his
head hanging in exhaustion as the crowd threw flowers from the
stands.

‘
Karim, Karim, Karim,’ they chanted, over and over
again.

Governor Sibelus
was beside himself with glee, realising his carefully laid plans
had come to fruition. Surely, these were the best games seen in his
generation. Even Emperor Tiberius would be impressed. He grinned at
the sullen Pelonius and raised his hand for silence, waiting as the
bloodthirsty crowd settled again.

‘
Karim of Numidia,’ he began, ‘you have…’

Suddenly a woman
in the crowd screamed.

‘
Another!’ she shouted. ‘One of the heathen still
lives.'

Karim spun
around, alert to the danger and ran toward the ‘a’ dead horse
behind which the barbarian was hiding. Again, the spectators were
hysterical as the Gladiator dragged his enemy from the hiding place
by her hair. Casting her to the floor in full view of the crowd, he
raised his Gladius to administer the decapitating blow, but stopped
suddenly, confusion and disbelief in his eyes.

‘
Do
it!’ someone screamed.

‘
What are you waiting for?’ cried another. ‘Kill the
witch!’

Karim placed the
tip of his sword under the woman’s chin, forcing her to her feet.
He had fought in many countries, killing more men and women than he
cared to remember, but never had he killed a foe such as this. The
terrified woman looked at her executioner, tears streaming through
the blue dye on her face, hope dawning in her eyes as she realised
she had a chance.

‘
Please.’ she whimpered in her strange language, ‘don’t hurt
us.’

Shaking in
terror, she offered him the sackcloth bundle she had been hiding
enfolded within her maternal arms, a tiny sleeping baby.

Karim stared at
the child, fast asleep in the young mother’s arms and lowered his
sword, all fury spent. Slowly, he walked back to the centre of the
arena.

Someone in the
crowd seized the opportunity to restore some sense and started to
clap. The rest of the crowd mirrored his appreciation and the
applause eventually escalated into wild cheering. Soon the
occupants of the amphitheatre were again standing on their feet,
celebrating not only the skill and savagery of the gladiator, but
also his humanity and mercy.

‘
Fascinating,’ said Sibelus to Pelonius over the roar of the
crowd, ‘but it matters not, the wager is complete. My gladiator is
the last man alive, and in due course, I will make arrangements to
receive the deeds of your estate.’ He stood to leave.

‘
Wait,’ said Pelonius.

‘
Is
there a problem?’ asked the governor.

‘
The
wager has not ended,’ said Pelonius quietly. ‘There is another
survivor.’

‘
What other?’ snapped the governor. ‘The Greek is dead and the
games are over. Now I must go, for I have a slave to free and a
farm to inspect.’

‘
The
child,’ shouted Pelonius, not taking his eyes off the terrified
girl being led from the arena by two guards.

‘
What about the brat?’ asked Sibelus.

‘
Is
it a boy or a girl?’

‘
Why
would it matter?’ asked Sibelus before the light of understanding
dawned in his eyes. The bet had been the last male alive, and if
the baby was a boy, it could be argued that he had technically lost
the bet. He thought furiously. He could order the guard to kill the
baby, but without explaining the situation, risked losing the
crowds support, defeating the object of the whole
Munera.

He stared at the
old soldier and calculated the implications. Several respectable
citizens had witnessed the wager. The last male survivor in the
arena had been the bet. No one had mentioned race or age and many
bets were fulfilled on lesser criteria. He could ignore the
situation and take the farm by force, but Pelonius enjoyed the
favour of Tiberius himself. The governor sat back down, his mind
racing.

‘
Think well, soldier,’ he growled, ‘I will not bankrupt myself
on a technicality. Do not think you will claim any of my wealth due
to a heathen’s bastard child. I have won this wager and will claim
my prize.’

Pelonius had not
survived twenty-five years in military service without gaining a
serious understanding of tactics himself. There was no way he could
embarrass this man and expect to live more than a few weeks; he was
too powerful. He knew he had to allow the governor to escape from
the wager without losing face, and yet still have a chance of
retaining his lands. The governor loved to gamble and though
Pelonius had a terrible record when it came to gambling, he
realised he had no option but to offer one more bet.

‘
I
have another option for you,’ he said slowly, ‘a new wager. If the
child is a girl, the original agreement stands and my farm is
yours.’ He turned to Sibelus. ‘However, if it is a boy, I will
relinquish all claims against you, but will retain my
estate.’

‘
Why
would you do that?’ asked Sibelus, his eyes narrowing as he
realised this was a way out.

‘
I
want the gladiator.’

‘
Karim?’

‘
Yes,’

‘
And
all bets will be cancelled?’

‘
Everything,’

Sibelus stared
at Pelonius for a long time. The gladiator was good, but compared
against the debt he would owe this jumped up soldier, his value was
insignificant.

‘
I
agree,’ he said, ‘but on one condition.’

‘
Name it.’

‘
As
long as I draw breath, you will not give him his freedom or engage
him as a gladiator to fight against me. He will remain a slave
until the day I die.’

‘
Agreed!’ said Pelonius.

‘
Then we have a deal.’ The governor stood up and without
taking his eyes off Pelonius, shouted down to the arena. ‘Guard,
what sex is the child?’

The soldier
strode over to the woman, and after a brief struggle, used the back
of his hand to knock her to the floor before lifting the baby up
high by one foot.

‘
A
boy,’ he shouted back, ‘and hung like a mule.’

As Sibelus
seethed through a false smile, everyone in the arena
laughed.

‘
Citizens,’ he cried out for the last time, ‘I have one last
decree. In my infinite mercy, I release the Numidian into the
custody of my good friend, Gaius Pelonius, in honour of his
exploits in the servitude of our Emperor, the glorious Tiberius.
Long may he reign.’

‘
Hail, Tiberius,’ roared the crowd, as was their expected
duty.

The governor
turned to Pelonius.

‘
He
is but one slave,’ he snarled, ‘I have a thousand.’

----

The last of the
crowd left and Pelonius made his way down to the arena floor,
against the flow of the stragglers. He crossed the bloody sands,
now busy with slaves as they piled up the corpses of horses and
humans. He entered the gates of the basement The cloying darkness
stank of sweat and animals and echoed with the groans of the
injured and the dying. Out of the gloom, he saw an approaching
figure and recognised the guard who had identified the sex of the
baby.