The Forgotten Legion - Kane Ben (читать книги онлайн полностью без сокращений txt) 📗

Romulus spun and twisted, lunging back and forth with his sword. 'You don't need to worry about this fight. I do.'

'I choose not to care.' The promise Brennus had made to himself over Narcissus' body was becoming ever harder to keep fresh in his mind. Onesided combats had begun to follow each other with a sickening regularity as the lanista sought greater wealth and fame. Brennus had killed many men since the Greek.

'Got to keep practising,' replied Romulus stubbornly.

'It's breaking the rules,' the unctor broke in, voice trembling. 'Training inside with a weapon.'

'Leave it, Receptus. Not safe out there for him any more.'

The atmosphere in the ludus had deteriorated even more since Memor's announcement, the leers and threats from Figulus and his friends now constant. Everyone knew that the blood shed the next day would not just be by the blades of the enemy. Even the friendly masseur had noticed. Receptus resumed rubbing Brennus' back. It was not for him to tell the champion fighter and his protege what to do.

'What will happen tomorrow?'

'Figulus and his mates will stick close,' Brennus said confidently. 'They'll try and catch us off guard. Probably strike right in the thick of it.'

'We just wait for an attack? Dacicus fighters in front and those bastards behind? That's madness.'

'Peace, Romulus.' Brennus rolled his eyes at the unctor. 'Have a rub-down.'

Romulus reluctantly placed his sword on the floor before climbing on to the other bench. It felt wonderful as Receptus worked the tension from tight muscles, yet he could not unwind completely; he always kept an eye on the door. Brennus in contrast was dozing contentedly, confident in the knowledge that nobody had the courage to attack him face to face.

The afternoon passed without incident and the sun set, allowing temperatures to drop to a more comfortable level. Memor toured the cells, muttering encouraging words. The contest was about more than just victory. It was about reputation.

That evening Astoria prepared a special meal. They sat at the table in Brennus' cell, drinking red wine and enjoying bread, fresh fish and vegetables bought in the market. A warm breeze blew through the open door, bringing with it the smell of food cooking and the murmur of conversation. Everyone in the ludus was relaxing, perhaps for the last time.

'Go easy on the wine,' Astoria ordered Romulus. 'One cup is enough. No point having a sore head to fight with.'

'Try a dormouse.' Brennus proffered a large plate. 'A real delicacy.'

He shook his head.

'All the more for me!' The Gaul opened his mouth wide, swallowing one whole. 'Don't normally go for Roman food, but these I like.'

Romulus ate sparingly; his stomach was knotted with tension. All his previous fights had been one on one and the idea of being in the arena with so many gladiators filled him with anxiety. It was no help knowing that Figulus and Gallus would be out for their blood. He tried to block images of losing the combat and being killed by one of them.

'Worrying doesn't help,' said Brennus kindly.

Astoria murmured encouragement.

Romulus pushed a piece of bread around his plate.

'And it's no good being wound up like a spring. Go to bed. Get as much sleep as possible.' Brennus clapped him on the shoulder. 'Tomorrow will be an important day for us both.'

Chapter XIII: Intrigue

The Lupanar, Rome, late summer 55 BC

It was early afternoon and the quietest time of the day. The prostitutes' routine began mid-morning, when they rose to bathe and beautify themselves. Any men who arrived early were entertained first before taking their ease in the baths. There the influential of the Republic could relax, share wine and converse. After this most Roman activity they could get on with daily business.

Fabiola shifted position quietly, keeping an ear against a small hole in the wall. Sitting in the warm pool of the tepidarium, none of the clients had any idea they were being overheard. Ever since Pompeia had shown her the tiny space a year before, Fabiola had used every spare moment listening to those who frequented the brothel. There was usually little of interest to be heard. Chariot racing, gladiator fights, the weather, which women were best at what – the subjects rarely changed. But sometimes the pretty girl would catch snippets of information about politics or business that educated her about the outside world.

'Crassus is raising an army, you say?'

'Tired of Pompey and Caesar taking all the glory, Gabinius.'

Fabiola smiled at the sound of Mancinus' voice. She had slept with him on several occasions and had been amused at how fast he became attached.

But the old merchant could rarely afford her. Recently he had been forced to satisfy his appetites with cheaper prostitutes but Fabiola did not worry about this. Mancinus was not nearly influential enough. She had only three purposes in life – to free herself and her family, to gain revenge on Gemellus and to destroy the man who had violated her mother. This could be done by maximising her influence over as many rich and powerful men as possible. And so Fabiola pragmatically reserved her charms for more important customers, of which there were several.

Brutus was the most keen. The young noble had become utterly devoted over the previous year. Fabiola had put enormous effort into bringing him completely in her thrall. When he was in Rome, not a week went by without a visit to the Lupanar. Brutus had taken Fabiola on trips to the theatre and his villa on the coast. She hoped it was only a matter of time before he bought her, possibly even granting the coveted manumission. Fabiola burned to be free.

'Caesar's recent victories have been popular. Is Crassus jealous?' Scorn was obvious in the third man's voice.

Gabinius snorted. 'Not forgotten the Senate 's refusal of a full triumph after the defeat of Spartacus, has he?'

'Might be fifteen years ago, but it still rankles,' said Mancinus indignantly. 'Crassus crushed the greatest threat to Rome in over a hundred years and all they granted him was some shitty parade on foot!'

'Yet Pompey Magnus managed to procure the full thing,' commented the last speaker. 'Just for cleaning up the crumbs.'

There was a loud chuckle from Gabinius. 'And Crassus has done nothing but complain since. He needs to get off his backside and win another war if he wants to keep up with Pompey and Caesar.'

'What do you mean?' spluttered the merchant.

'Come on! Pompey's list of victories is second to none,' said Gabinius. 'Marian rebels in Africa. The Cilician pirates. Then the armies of Mithridates in Pontus. That's why the Senate granted him ten days of public thanksgiving. Crassus might be the richest noble in Rome, but he hasn't had a military success in a generation.'

Mancinus did not reply.

'Pompey's victories in Asia Minor were thanks to Lucullus anyway,' interjected the third man. 'And the public forget quickly. That's why Caesar is more popular now.'

Fabiola finally recognised the voice of Memor, a new customer of Pompeia's. It amused her how those who visited the brothel could always be placed in one of three camps. The parcelling off of the best political positions in Rome by the triumvirate had divided the public more than ever. Men had come to blows in the pool more than once during heated arguments. Pompey, one of the current consuls, was still enormously popular thanks to his military credentials and generous treatment of the veterans of his legions. Crassus, his co-consul, had been spending vast sums in his efforts to compete with the others. An extremely adept politician, he was not as good at drumming up public support as the others. Caesar, on the other hand, was drawing attention to himself by his recent conquests, all achieved in the name of Rome.