Mark Morris - Spartacus - Morituri

Batiatus was referring to the contest, among others, in which Spartacus had first made his entrance. As a Thracian captive, beaten, exhausted and half-starved, he had been sent into the arena as a hunk of living meat for four of Solonius’s finest gladiators to slice asunder. His captor, legatus Gaius Claudius Glaber, had wished to see Spartacus made an example of as revenge for the man’s part in the desertion of Glaber’s legion by an auxiliary of Thracian warriors. The desertion had come about because the Thracians’ main concern had been to defend their villages from the advancing Getae hordes rather than fight against the Greeks for the glory of Rome. Because of the actions of Spartacus and his fellow Thracians, Glaber’s tribune had been slaughtered and Glaber himself, defeated and humiliated, had been forced to return to Rome. Despite the legatus’s desire to see Spartacus dead, however, the Thracian-in full view of Senator Albinius, father of Glaber’s wife, Ilithyia-had somehow prevailed against Solonius’s men, as a result of which Solonius had lost considerable face and status. Spartacus’s reward had been not only life (Glaber had still itched to see the Thracian dead, but Albinius had deemed it unwise to defy the wishes of the crowd baying for Spartacus’s life), but a place in Batiatus’s gladiatorial stable.

Solonius gave a short nod, the sculpted golden curls at the nape of his neck tumbling forward to frame his face. A stiff smile danced briefly across his features as if he wished to give the impression that the episode had been nothing but an amusing inconvenience.

“In an odd way, Spartacus’s victory favored me that day,” he murmured. “Losing the patronage of Albinius enabled me to gain that of one far greater.”

“How lucky for you,” Batiatus said casually, and wafted the fly-whisk in his hand. “It gladdens heart to know fortune’s abandonment of your cause was not permanent.”

Solonius half-turned and gestured across the square.

“You have heard of Hieronymus have you not? Most of proper standing know of him.”

“We made brief acquaintance,” Batiatus said, raising his eyebrows distractedly as if the meeting had been of little import. “A trader and money changer of Greek origin.”

“Those crafts are but seeds from which his vines have spread far and wide. He holds no small influence in Rome, and ambitions far exceeding even current lofty status.”

Batiatus glanced cursorily at the merchant.

“I wish him well.” Then he looked thoughtful, as if a casual idea had just that moment struck him. “Is it his intention to reside in Capua?”

“He made purchase of house south of city, close to banks of the Volturnus, with much land added to the transaction. It surprises that a man of your status was not aware of such widely known developments.”

There was a bite of satisfaction to Solonius’s tone which Batiatus pretended not to hear. Once again he lazily wafted the fly-whisk.

“I have been too taken with affairs of my own to indulge in idle prattle. The wearisome but necessary distraction of success.”

“Your burdens ease presently,” Solonius said cuttingly.

Once again Batiatus glanced with apparent casualness toward where Hieronymus and his entourage waited by the gate. “This merchant with new residence in Capua. Perhaps we can bury rancor and see mutual burden of flowing coin,” he suggested.

Solonius looked amused. “Your mind schemes to aid someone not possessing name Batiatus?”

“Only to further in restoration of House of Solonius, with receipt of mutual benefit. It grieves to see suffering by brother of esteemed craft.”

“Your concern lifts spirit,” Solonius said drily. “What do you propose?”

“Contest between two houses. A welcome extended to good Hieronymus, in hopes that his fortune will extend far beyond his walls.”

“A venture requiring substantial sum,” Solonius mused.

“If talk of the man’s influence in Rome is true, ultimate reward will outweigh momentary loss.”

“A bold plan,” Solonius said thoughtfully.

Trying to rein in his eagerness, Batiatus said, “One to set in motion, with your assent.”

Solonius looked his rival directly in the eye.

“Nothing would give greater pleasure, good Batiatus, than to see enrichment shared with cherished friend,” he said. He hesitated, waiting for hope to spring into Batiatus’s eyes before allowing a note of regret- albeit one that failed to completely mask the smugness beneath-to creep into his voice. “Alas, I fear offer is revealed too late. Contest is already agreed upon between House of Solonius and Hieronymus.”

Batiatus stiffened. Solonius continued.

“It seems demands upon House of Batiatus divert ear from glorious news: Hieronymus establishes ludus here in Capua. The venture newly born but Hieronymus wishes to see it take bold step. Wondrous contest staged to mark arrival of dignified guest, with my ludus chosen to bear honor of pitting my gladiators against his newly acquired stock.”

“Excellent news indeed,” Batiatus said, biting back his own humiliation. “Hieronymus displays wise judgement in selection of opponents for his novice recruits.”

Solonius’s lips twitched in satisfaction. “Of course you must attend as honored guest, with invitation extended to enchanted wife as well. I would see the House of Batiatus witness model of spectacle.”

“Invitation received with burst of gratitude,” Batiatus muttered, his final word drowned out by a sudden surge of interest in the crowd as the large double gates of the city swung open with a squeal of metal.

The lead carriage, the first of the procession whose clattering approach had been steadily increasing in volume during Batiatus’s exchange with Solonius, rumbled into the square. As it came to a halt the crowd surged forward, and were unceremoniously shoved back by the soldiers at the gate. Only when order had been restored-though admittedly not without a few bruises and bloodied heads — did the door of the carriage open and a man step out.

He was tall and imperious-looking, carrying himself with the arrogance and authority of one who was used to superiority in both rank and status. He was in his forties, his face handsome but stern, his eyes narrow beneath heavy brows. The instant Batiatus laid eyes on the man his mouth went dry, though he tried not to betray a flicker of emotion beneath Solonius’s searching, slightly mocking gaze.

He knew full well who Hieronymus’s visitor was, though; all those of rank in the Republic would have recognized him, and many of the common citizens besides.

This was Marcus Licinius Crassus, the Roman general who had commanded the right wing of Sulla’s army at the Battle of the Colline Gate. He was currently a nobleman with designs on the praetorship, and with a fortune estimated at over two hundred million sesterces, was rumored to be the richest man in all Rome!

With a roar of anger Batiatus snatched up the first thing that came to hand-a small ointment flask in the shape of a hare-and hurled it at Ashur. Ashur ducked, throwing up an arm to protect himself, and the flask bounced off his shoulder. Next, Batiatus grabbed an inkpot from his desk and threw that too. It hit Ashur in the midriff, spattering his tunic and the floor with ink.

“That leathery shit!” Batiatus raged.

Hesitantly, Ashur said, “Solonius’s maneuver due merely to chance opportunity, dominus. He was not-”

“Fuck chance!” Batiatus yelled. “I care not how arrangement was brokered. Your incompetence sees that little cunt use my back as fucking step towards richest man in the Republic!”

“Solonius’s fortunes may yet reverse, dominus. Were he to meet with accident …”