Atilus the Gladiator. E. C. Tubb
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Atilus the Gladiator
BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY E. C. TUBB
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THE ATILUS TRILOGY
1. Atilus the Slave
2. Atilus the Gladiator
3. Atilus the Lanista
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1975 by E. C. Tubb
Originally published under the pen name, Edward Thomson
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
To the memory of Iris Kathleen, née Smith
CHAPTER ONE
He was small, barely five feet, his tunic soiled and his eyes brimming with tears. A forlorn little figure lost in the crowd and frightened by the noise. Down the road sweating slaves hauled carts bearing caged animals, men who were accustomed to the stench and who were more docile than the oxen normally used for such work. Beside them strode overseers, their whips busy, lacing naked flesh with stripes of red.
‘Move!’ A bestiarius, impatient at the delay, came to roar at the cartiers. ‘Those beasts have to be settled in before noon if you hope for sport tomorrow. Where’s the agent? Tamillius, I’ll have your hide unless you hurry. You’re late as it is.’
‘Am I to blame for the disfavour of the gods?’ Tamillius, a tall man wearing a soiled garment, his face strained and savage, halted facing the bestiarius. ‘Twice we have suffered broken wheels. Three times the beasts had to be watered. You gave me insufficient time and winds delayed the vessel. May Jupiter bear witness that I tell the truth.’
‘To Hades with your excuses. Get those animals to the arena. They—’ The bestiarius broke off at the sound of a scream. ‘The fool!’
A slave, staggering with fatigue, had stepped too close to one of the cages. It held a lion which struck out with a taloned paw. Blood spurted from lacerated flesh, skin and muscles ripped from a shoulder, a carmine flood staining the unfortunate man’s body, falling to dapple the dusty road.
‘Get him away from there!’ The bestiarius lunged forward. ‘Don’t poke at the lion, you fools! That animal is worth a dozen such scum. Tamillius, get moving!’
Noise and confusion augmented by the crack of whips and the snarls of the caged beasts unsettled at the scent of blood. A sound punctuated by the laughter of the crowd as the injured man was carried away. A normal scene in any small town on the eve of a munera and a promise of what was to be offered during the gladiatorial display.
Dropping to one knee, I stared at the boy.
‘Your name, son?’
‘Please, sir, Marcus.’ He sniffed, trying hard not to cry. ‘My father is Valerius Harpius and he owns a shop close to the market.’
‘And your mother, boy?’
‘We were together and then the animals came and some men got between us. I looked for her, but...’ Tears rolled down the cheeks. ‘I looked and looked but couldn’t find her.’
Even now she would be looking for him, but the lad was small and the crowd thick. Rising, I looked around and saw a vendor of comestibles. With a sticky, honeyed bun clutched in his hand I lifted the boy to my shoulder and turned so that he could see what was going on in the road.
The carts were rumbling on their way, a group of bestiarii following them, smiling and waving at the crowd. They were scarred men who fought wild beasts on the sand, sometimes with bare hands, but more often with sword or spear. One of them recognised me and called a greeting.
‘Ave, Atilus! You fighting tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then good luck, friend.’
‘And to you, Pollidor.’
The crowd closed in as they passed, men making comments as to the number and condition of the animals, some scornful of what they had seen.
‘Lions,’ said one. ‘Why not tigers? I know they’re expensive, but it’s time the duumvir put on a decent show.’
‘There’ll be dogs too,’ said his companion. ‘And some bulls. I was having a drink with a bestiarius last night and he told me. These animals are a last-minute addition.’
‘Dogs and bulls!’ The man shrugged. ‘Why, in Rome they have ostriches and bears, antelopes and wolves, rhinoceroses and even crocodiles. There you can be sure of getting a decent show.’
‘This is Aricia, not Rome, so be thankful for what you get. Anyway, the gladiators are good. They’ve got Leacus and Andrax as well as Atilus—’
‘Atilus Cindras?’
‘That’s the one. You ever see him fight? A wizard with a sword and about the best secutor there is. If you’re thinking of making a wager, then he’s the one to back.’
‘Maybe.’ The other sucked in his cheeks. ‘But if he’s so good, then why isn’t he fighting in Rome?’
A comment I had heard before and now, as then, ignored. With the boy riding on my shoulder I walked along the street towards the market, the lad clearly visible to any who might be looking.
‘Marcus!’ The woman who came running towards me had a plain and faded face, her figure slight beneath her stola. ‘Marcus, thank the gods I’ve found you!’
‘I’ve been watching the animals.’ He wriggled as I set him down. ‘Mother, this is Atilus. He’s a famous gladiator.’
I saw her smile turn to a frown. Gladiators were a necessary evil and she, probably the daughter of some strict household, would have been taught to despise them. Yet even so she was polite.
‘Atilus.’ Her head inclined a little. ‘I must thank you for looking after the boy.’
‘A fine lad. You must be proud of him.’
‘I am.’ Firmly she took his hand in her own. ‘Now come, Marcus, and say nothing of this to your father. You know how strict he can be at times.’
The Romans were addicted to the harsh traditions of the past. The sting of a rod would teach the lad to be more obedient, but, watching as they walked from where I stood, I doubted if it would be given. A held tongue and his mother’s lie would see to that. The normal way of a normal life—one of which I had no part.
As I had no real part in the event taking place in the house at which I was a guest.
Sentonius Papirus was the local Master of Games, and normally at such a time would have been busy at the amphitheatre, but today was a special occasion. His daughter, Bellitia, was to be married, and I had been invited to the ceremony.
She was a lovely girl, her beauty more than compensating for the limited dowry her father was able to provide, and Antonius, her betrothed, was a fortunate man. Together they stood before the minor priest as the wedding contract was read and duly witnessed, and then, taking her by the wrist, he made a show of dragging her from the paternal home. She resisted him, smiling, wearing her best clothes, her hair neatly dressed, the brightly coloured scarf