This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are fictitious. The story and its contents are the sole property of the author. It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the permission of the author. If you are offended by sexual acts between two consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and a significantly younger one please do not read any further. For the rest of you who don't need this read on and enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Copyright 2006
Chapter XII
Blood roared in Baraethius' ears as he awaited his bout in the tunnels beneath the Coliseum. The scent of blood, freshly spilt, was sharp in his nose and the noise of the crowd rose and fell in waves in reaction to the battles taking place even now. The air coming through the portcullis was hot, which did nothing to alleviate the stench of the dying. One of the gladiators had died from a gut wound, the man's intestines shredded. The reek had yet to dissipate.
Baraethius took shallow breaths to avoid smelling it, but it was a mostly vain effort. He sat with his eyes closed and head leaned back against the cool stone trying, unsuccessfully, to think of anything but the upcoming match. Try as he might, though, the rising tide of terror threatening to choke
him would not abate.
"Oi," one of the guards whispered, ineffectually, "aint tha' `im?"
"Him who, ya idiot?" the other man replied, annoyed. "So many of these wretches pass though `ere
tha' I don' bother ta memorize every face."
"You know," the first man insisted, reacting defensively to the other guard, "the traitor. Bara... something `r other. Used ta be a lieutenant in the Legion."
"Ya know," the other guard responded, his interest caught, "I re'kon it is. Man's name's Baraethius. Looks like we's gots ourselves a celebr'ty. Then again," the man jeered, "traitors die in 'ere weekly, so he's not all that special." The two men guffawed, spitting on the ground at Baraethius' feet. Baraethius gave them no reaction, no reason to beat him before his match.
Baraethius was not an overly religious man. Like most soldiers he had at least paid passing homage to Lord Mars. But Baraethius had betrayed the god of war, turning his back on his country and giving succor to the enemy. Mars would shun any pleas on Baraethius' behalf at best. Who then could he offer up a plea to?
"Minerva," his voice barely more than a breath and his mind taken by a sudden whim, "goddess of battle, but moreover, goddess of wisdom, of strategy, defender and constant rival of Mars. Grant me the wisdom to see the weaknesses in my enemies' defenses, and the strength to survive this ordeal. I have been a fool, yet am but a mortal man and folly is oft our lot. Guide me, defend me, let me be able to do as I must to survive."
Baraethius wasn't sure if his prayer was heard or not. Yet unbidden, almost as if in answer, came the image of the boy, the one he had saved from Captain Remeaus. The look of abject terror on the young man's face when Baraethius had walked in the tent, and the look of confusion as Baraethius had begun to undo the bindings. Confusion had turned to an unreasoning hope as Baraethius had taken the young man away.
Baraethius was filled with the knowledge, the conviction, that, given the choice, he would make the same decision all over again. His breathing became steady and his terror subsided.
"'eh," one of the guards shouted at him, "yer on traitor, time to die."
Baraethius stood and met the guard's jeering gaze with stillness in his eyes. There was no fear,
defiance, no eagerness or aversion, just peace. Baraethius' eyes were like the surface of a lake on a calm day, the stillness at the surface belying the depths and currents that lay beneath.
"Come on, then," the guard said, "say yer prayers to now, to whichever of the gods ya think'll listen to a traitor."
"My prayers," Baraethius said, not meeting the guards eyes and stepping past him to the portcullis, "have already been answered."
Baraethius didn't know if the guard answered him or not, the portcullis lifted up and he stepped through without further comment or a backward glance.
The ground in the Arena was hard packed and dusty. The wall was a large oval, the first seats 15 feet up off the ground and more running up. It seemed that the seats threatened to block out Helios' chariot they were so high. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of people looked down on him. And to the side in the royal box, was the Emperor himself. Baraethius had expected the man to be there, after all Baraethius was, himself, one of the Emperor's trophies. What he wasn't expecting to see was the dark figure standing just behind the Emperor's seat. Leo stood there, face impassive, hands manacled. Baraethius thought he got just the barest of nods from the man, but he couldn't be sure. And at that moment he had to focus his attention elsewhere. The other gladiators stepped out of their own gates, all five of them.
Baraethius' first match was not a large one. He did not have the reputation yet to warrant a title match or, at least, his notoriety was not from fighting. Baraethius bore only a simple gladius, bracers on both his forearms, and a leather belt with studded strips hanging about his waist. Beyond that he wore only greaves on his lower legs. Two of the other men were similarly equipped, one man bore a trident and net along with a helmet, loincloth and a small chest plate that really only covered his heart and was held in place by leather straps. One man bore a spear and shield and the last, of all things, bore only a pair of dirks. Either that man was doomed to be one of the first to die or he was deadlier than all the other men combined. The choice of dirks left him at a distinct disadvantage as far as reach went.
At the signal to start the two other swordsmen and the spear barer headed directly for Baraethius, circling around him. For a brief moment Baraethius speculated that someone must have paid good money to ensure that he died today. Two gladiators might form a temporary alliance based on opportunity, but three? Unthinkable.
Baraethius didn't allow them the chance to coordinate their attack, he would be dead if and when that happened. His only chance was to disrupt their formation and not give them the opportunity to fight as a unit. Baraethius charged the swordsman on his left with a yell. A brief moment of surprise registered on the man's face, but only for an instant. Baraethius came in, feinting to the man's left, appearing to go for what was presumably the man's weaker side. The man fell for it. At the last possible moment, when the man had already committed to an upward swing on the left side of his body, Baraethius ducked to the right. He dropped below the man's right arm, pivoted with the grace of a dancer and made an upward slash from the man's hip up to his armpit. Turning, continuing the movement without hesitation, Baraethius made a lunge into the other man's right side. The sword slid in about half way, the man crying out. Baraethius pulled his sword out with a twist of his wrist, causing further damage and ensuring the wound would not close. This man would be out of the fight, but to ensure that he would not be able to hinder Baraethius in any way he made an almost casual slice to the man's left Achilles tendon. The gladiator folded to the ground, Baraethius stepped out of reach of the man and turned, warily, to meet the other two men.
They approached him with equal caution, Baraethius having just demonstrated not only his proficiency for violence, but an understanding of strategy as well. They started treating him like he was dangerous. The two split on either side of him, forcing him to keep track of them both. The man with the sword came at Baraethius from the right. The man's swing wasn't clumsy, but it was not disciplined either. Under other circumstances Baraethius would have been able to take advantage of it. However, the man with the spear lunged at Baraethius' back as he was parrying the other gladiator's swing. Baraethius dove to the side, somersaulting and coming back up to his feet quickly, only narrowly having avoided being spitted by the man's spear.
The two fought well together, each able to cover the other's weak spots. Baraethius spared a glance for trident and dirks. To his surprise the man with the dirks was still alive. The man bore a number of cuts and punctures from the other man's trident, but to the man's credit the man with the trident and net was equally as scoured from the daggers. That was the only moment that Baraethius could spare, then his two opponents were on him again.
The spearman came at Baraethius' front, the sword from behind, a change in tactics. Baraethius made the first move, making an obvious downward stroke at the man, who raised his shield to defend. At that moment, the other man was coming in with a slash across Baraethius' back from left to right. Baraethius had been expecting and planning for this, the strike against the spearman's shield being only a distraction.
Baraethius kicked hard, up and behind himself. His foot connected with the swordsman's jaw and he felt it crack from the force of his kick. The man stumbled back, momentarily stunned.
Baraethius brought his attention back to the spearman, who was making an over head strike, intent on plunging the spear into Baraethius' back. Baraethius brought his sword up just past the head of the spear, bringing his blade around in a circular motion he deflected the man's strike and was inside the gladiator's reach. Normally Baraethius would have gone for the killing blow at this point, but the idea was to make the fight last. So, instead, he brought his sword up in a quick but shallow slash along the gladiator's arm. This opened a gash in the man's arm from about mid forearm that ran almost to the man's shoulder. The long gash started to bleed liberally and almost immediately.
Baraethius turned and assumed his defensive stance, the spearman switching his shield and spear between his hands and the swordsman coming back to the fight. Baraethius was trying to draw things out, to make the battle more interesting for the crowd, which was a background roar in his ears, but he was also fighting against very well ingrained instincts from the Legion, where you did your killing quickly.
Baraethius was about to charge back in when the spear man went rigid. The man dropped to the ground, standing behind him was the man with the two dirks. He was bleeding from multiple cuts, one just above his eyes was making it difficult for the man to see. But, amazingly enough, he was the one alive, the blood on his knives a testament to his survival. The three men faced off with each other. Baraethius gave the barest of nods to the man with the dirks, acknowledging the fact that the man must be an excellent fighter. At this point the swordsman was uncertain. What should have been a sure kill with three against one was now an even match with no allies to be found.
The three gladiators circled around each other for a few moments, every man sizing up the other two. Baraethius met eyes with the knife fighter and the man gave just the barest of nods, almost unnoticeable. It seemed that the man was willing to make a temporary alliance against the other swordsman, and while Baraethius probably could have taken the man on his own it would be difficult if he had to worry about the other man as well. Of course, once the other gladiator was dead all bets were off. Baraethius also cautioned himself mentally, alliances in the Arena were fickle things at best, changed as quickly as opportunity presented itself.
The other gladiator must have figured out what was happening because he suddenly and recklessly charged the man with the dirks, much as Baraethius had earlier in the match. The knife man backed away as the swordsman came in slashing. The knife man managed to catch the swing on his left dirk and made a quick and precise cut with his right, drawing blood from the man's forearm holding the sword.
It was a good wound for the knife fighter, it would hamper the other man's ability to hold his sword. But the swordsman came around with his free hand aimed at dirk's head. The knife fighter was able to duck his head and take the blow one his shoulder instead but the swordsman was taking another swing, one that the knife fighter would not be able to block in time.
It was fortunate, then, that Baraethius had managed to close the distance between them in that time. The knife fighter ducked out of the way, happy to let Baraethius take over. Baraethius came in with a strong over hand swing which the other gladiator parried. The swing, however, had been a distraction. Baraethius managed to plant his foot in the man's stomach, knocking the wind from him. The man dropped to his knees and Baraethius made a precise stroke of his sword. The man cried out as the left side of his face started bleeding profusely, his left ear now on the dirty, bloody ground.
Baraethius backed away, letting the man stand. The fight was almost over, if he had been fighting according to his instincts it would already have been. But he would try dragging it out a little more. Dirks came up to stand on Baraethius' left, just out of the reach of his sword, Baraethius took note.
Once the man was standing, albeit shakily, Baraethius and the other man came in at the same time. Baraethius should have been ready for this. He had told himself when this alliance had begun that he should keep aware. But fighting with the other gladiator had felt too much like fighting in the Legion, where he could trust the other soldiers around himself, depend on them. And those instincts were stronger than the instincts of the Coliseum.
Dirks came inside of Baraethius' reach and made a vicious jab at his side just underneath where the rib cage ended. Baraethius caught it out of the corner of his eye and almost too late. Baraethius brought his left hand back in a circular motion, catching the gladiator's wrist in his left hand and continued the motion, bringing the man's hand up above his head. Without pausing Baraethius slammed the pommel of his sword between the man's eyes and, letting go of the man's other hand, brought the heel of his left hand in an uppercut to the man's jaw.
There was a sickening snap and the gladiator feel on his back, hard. The other gladiator came in with a wild swing from Baraethius' right. Baraethius brought his sword down on top of the other man's, again in a fluid circular motion, and stepped back as he directed the other man's sword harmlessly in front of him with his own swing. Without giving the man a chance to bring his blade back around Baraethius spun left and, reversing his grip on his sword, plunged the blade behind him at an upward angle. The sword slid into the other man's side entering up underneath the ribcage. The gladiator started gurgling, trying to scream in pain no doubt. But the blade apparently had pierced his lung, he had but minutes to live.
Baraethius removed his gladius violently and walked calmly over to the man with the dirks, who was still getting up from having been knocked on the ground. Baraethius kicked the man in the face, knocking him back again, the man losing his grip on his weapons. The gladiator struggled to get back up. Baraethius put the tip of his sword beneath the man's chin and he stopped all motion.
Time seemed to stretch out and Baraethius noticed his surroundings in stark detail. There was a wound in his side, apparently he had been able to deflect most of the man's strike with the dirk, but he had still been bloodied. He didn't think it was deep enough to be serious, but it was bleeding freely and he would more than likely have a scar from it. The air was hot, stagnant, the scent of blood and offal over powering. The roar of the crowd, which he had been tuning out up till that point was suddenly deafening. He looked up at the crowd, watching for their will.
Around the Coliseum the people were yelling and held up their hands with their thumbs down. The crowd demanded the death of the gladiator on the ground.
"Do it already," the man on the ground slurred through a broken jaw. "Kill me!"
Baraethius walked around and, straddling the man's back, grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up to his knees. Facing the Imperial box where the Emperor sat Baraethius pulled back sharply, baring the man's throat.
"Go with the gods," Baraethius said, loud enough for the man kneeling before him to hear. Then he pulled his sword across the man's throat. Blood gushed at first, then slowed to a dribble, then merely trickled down the front of the man. Baraethius held the man upright while it happened, feeling as though he was outside of himself, watching. He let the now lifeless body drop to the ground and walked to the tunnel from which he had emerged. He dropped the gladius on the ground as he walked in, the blood in his ears roaring as loud as the crowd outside. The guards were walking up to him to escort him back to a holding cell where he would be treated for the wound and await transport back to the barracks.
Before the guards could actually grab hold of him Baraethius turned towards the wall, fell to his knees and vomited profusely. His body wracked itself as his stomach emptied what felt like the last week's worth of food. The bitter taste of bile dominated his senses and his nose and throat burned. The guards made some derisive comments but Baraethius wasn't really able to make them out, being somewhat preoccupied.
Finally, his stomach subsided. On shaky legs he stood and let the guards pull him away to the holding cell.
The next few hours passed without Baraethius' really being aware of them. Pain brought him out of his catatonia, briefly, when they cleaned and cauterized the wound in his side and applied a bandage. Baraethius let himself be numbly led about till he was finally sitting in the apartments in the barracks.
A few minutes later Leo arrived and made as though to celebrate with Baraethius. But upon seeing the numb look on Baraethius' face Leo's mood became somber. He called to the guard for the evening meal to be brought, though it was still early and pulled out a chair for Baraethius, inviting him to sit at the table. Baraethius did so without comment or argument.
Leo sat studying him while they awaited their food.
"You did very well today my friend," Leo said after sometime.
"Was it bloody enough for them?" Baraethius asked looking away, feeling disgusted with himself.
"Yes, I would say `dat it was," Leo commented, not responding to the venom in Baraethius' voice. "'de Emperor was well pleased wit' your performance. And I noticed your use of some of the drills we have been going over. A fine fight for your first."
"I'm so pleased the crowd was pleased with the butchery," Baraethius couldn't help having a derisive tone in his voice. He was disgusted with himself, with the blood sport, and at the moment with his whole country. Had he ever really found enjoyment from the gladiatorial games? He was beginning to question his decision to ever enlist in the Legion as well. Leo considered Baraethius and the man's mood for a moment before speaking.
"Perhaps now, you understand what I have gone t'rough my friend," Leo said, his tone not mocking, but somewhat stern. "'de disgust, de loat'ing, de anger dat you are feeling at dis moment, I have been dere myself, when I was but a young man, 18 or 19 summers old. It will take time, but you must make your peace wit' dis, or you will not survive long. dis is your life now, for at least de next few years it is how you survive. Find it in your will to get past dis, I have no wish to see you fall and there are ot'ers dat wish for you to live."
"I'm sorry Leo," Baraethius apologized, "I don't mean to vent my anger at you, you do not deserve it."
"Deserve it, no. But I do understand it, and so make no complaints about it, my friend," Leo gave Baraethius a warm smile.
"How can you do that?" Baraethius asked, the man across from him seeming to be a contradiction in every regard. How did Leo smile? How could the man laugh, or find any joy or satisfaction out of a life that would be filled with death and slaughter, far from home and enslaved to a people that found amusement at his fighting for survival. So much of what Baraethius once believed was being called into question. It was not just the violence, he had been a soldier after all, and he had killed many men to achieve the rank of Lieutenant. It was the casual indulgence of human slaughter for the mere point of amusement, and the fact that every gladiator seemed to be obliged to pay lip-service to the crowd, giving the spectators the illusion of holding lives in their hands with the whole thumbs up or down. The whole idea of it now seemed ludicrous to him now.
"It has been a hard journey to the place where I know sit," Leo said somberly. "But you must learn to laugh, if only to spite dem, or this place will break your spirit. I have watched it happen. You will get dere in time. Your spirit is stronger `dan you give it credit for."
"I didn't realize that you were going to be there to watch, in the royal box no less."
"'de Emperor, he likes to have his trophies on display where ot'ers can admire dem. Continue to do well in de Arena and soon you will be a trophy to him wort'y of display."
Baraethius actually paled at the thought of being manacled and presented to the Emperor as the man's possession.
"'dere was actually much talk of you in de Emperor's entourage before and after your match. It seems dat you are the focal point in a larger debate."
"Well," Baraethius responded, "that seems to explain the three opponents."
"You are referring to the t'ree gladiators `dat attempted to overpower you wit' numbers, yes?"
"Yes," Baraethius responded, feeling suddenly tired. "I find it unlikely that it happened at random. Someone with money, influence or both wants to have me dead."
"I am glad dat you were able to discern dis," Leo said sincerely. "Because you are de property of de Emperor it will make you de target of some portions of de politics and machinations that surround him."
"Great," said Baraethius in a dry tone, "that's all I need, more attention." He paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts. "I wonder if Remeaus saw the match today. He is actually favored of the Emperor, it would make sense if he had been there."
"Remeaus was not dere today," Leo commented somberly. "He was also a topic of conversation. de Emperor has demanded de capture of dis beast dat Remeaus and you had been pursuing. de Emperor has charged Remeaus to either find and capture `dis man or suffer his displeasure."
"Madness!" Baraethius breathed, his eyes suddenly wide. "To try and track a single man after the trail would long have gone cold would be nearly impossible! It's sheer lunacy!"
"I do not know if you are aware of dis," Leo said in an idle voice, "but de Emperor, he is not a lways in possession of his faculties." Leo gave a bemused chuckle and shook his head, "I have seen children with more patience and discernment den his royal majesty at times. Still, despite his stubbornness, impatience and sometimes utter folly, the man has, on occasion, displayed a degree of cunning and ruthlessness. His actions, dey are often times inscrutable, but no one seems to be able to determine whether his orders be madness or brilliance. `de benefit of being insane I suppose."
"The boy," Baraethius breathed, stricken by the news. Remeaus' reputation was well earned. And while the task set before the man may seem impossible, Baraethius knew that if anyone could manage to achieve it it would be Remeaus. Baraethius felt true dismay at hearing this, for the young man that had been traveling with the beast would more than likely not have left the man's company. If he fell into Remeaus' hand Baraethius' noble act would have been in vain, and his current situation would be all the more deplorable.
"You cannot let it worry you over much," Leo said, reaching his hand across the small table and placing it on top of Baraethius', "it is now beyond your control. Remember my council to you last night, on `de eve of your first fight. Think not on tomorrow till tomorrow comes."
Leo went about putting the food away, it was obvious that Baraethius' appetite was not active at the moment. Baraethius went into bed and climbed in, suddenly exhausted. The lights went out in the other rooms and Leo extinguished them one by one. Then the big man climbed in behind Baraethius, no longer leaving the small space between them, but pulling himself close to the man in front of him. The heat from the line of Leo's body was a welcome comfort to Baraethius at the moment.
Minerva, please,' Baraethius prayed in his head, let them have run far enough. Let Beast and boy be safe. Let them be happy. And if they be living in peace then let them not be disturbed.'
It felt strange offering up prayers for a pair of heathen barbarians, but no more strange than a traitor praying for victory and salvation from his punishment.