Mark Morris - Spartacus - Morituri

“Rains bestowed by the gods in payment for your champion’s defeat of Theokoles.”

Batiatus inclined his head modestly.

“Modest service to good citizens of Capua. Come and allow introductions to other guests.”

He led Solonius and the portly man across to where Hieronymus and Crassus stood sipping their drinks.

“Good friends,” he said, “may I present Gaius Julius Brutilius, renowned noble of Capua. He imparts honor to all our houses with request to stage games in memory of revered father. Good Brutilius, allow me to present Leonidas Hieronymus, lanista of Capua, and his patron, Marcus Licinius Crassus. Yet in its infancy, good Hieronymus’s ludus is already talk of the city.”

Hieronymus smiled modestly.

“You flatter.”

“I speak blunt truth,” Batiatus replied.

As though finding all the mutual sycophancy tiresome, perhaps even nauseating, Crassus said tersely, “What is your proposal, Brutilius?”

The portly man drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. The Capuan seemed a little overawed at being in such exalted company.

“My beloved father, Titus Augustus Brutilius, was loyal servant to city of Capua. Magistrate and supplier of slaves for many years to the houses of Batiatus and Solonius among many others, his was hand that guided and shaped lives. A hand that dealt wisdom and good fortune to all who encountered him.”

“A man of true greatness,” Solonius murmured, and Batiatus nodded sagely.

“In recognition of such greatness,” Brutilius continued, “I would stage noble contest between the three finest gladiatorial houses from the city he loved. I would honor glorious memory with blood and spectacle, in knowledge that his name will remain forever on lips of the citizens of Capua.”

“A noble sentiment,” Batiatus breathed. “What do you say to it, good Solonius?”

Solonius was nodding, blinking hard as though his brimming emotions had momentarily rendered him lost for words. Finally he said, “The House of Solonius would consider it great honor to fight in recognition of father’s honored name, Brutilius.”

Brutilius nodded graciously.

Batiatus cast Hieronymus and Crassus an almost casual glance.

“Does proposal also please good Hieronymus?”

“It does indeed,” Hieronymus said.

“I would not force you to feel obligation,” Batiatus said generously. “Both good Solonius and myself recognize great demand placed upon ludus of late. Replenishment of stock and the pause to do it essential to health of thriving ludus. If you must decline Brutilius’s generous offer, I am certain our esteemed editor would understand …”

He looked at Brutilius, who nodded.

“Of course.”

Hieronymus waved a hand.

“Gratitude for concern, good Batiatus, but recent games see prosperous times.”

“Only if you carry certainty,” Batiatus said. “It would stand no inconvenience to locate less prominent lanista eager for elevation.”

Solonius smiled thinly.

“It seems Batiatus makes attempt to persuade for reasons beyond simple kindness.”

Batiatus frowned.

“I do not take good Solonius’s meaning.”

“I’m sure you do,” Solonius countered silkily. “Were it not for victory in primus at most recent games, House of Batiatus would have seen itself much reduced in fortune.”

Batiatus reddened, but tried to sound dismissive.

“A common peril of dangerous occupation.”

“But a peril that on this occasion would have had catastrophic effect, with recovery difficult to find. If Spartacus found head removed from body, such defeat would have perhaps stood as final one for ludus of Batiatus.”

Aware that all eyes were on him, Batiatus laughed, albeit a little too loudly to be convincing.

“Opinion spewed forth with fountain of ignorance,” Batiatus said.

Solonius smirked.

“I am sure you are right, Batiatus.”

“I am right,” Batiatus almost snarled. Then, recovering himself with an effort, he smiled again. Lightly he said, “Surely prattle in street speaks not just of the House of Batiatus? I have heard it that your own was brought to knee by recent…” He hesitated, then continued pleasantly, “… Would I be off the mark if I were to offer ‘annihilation’ as description for what befell it?”

Solonius’s smirk became fixed. He gazed at Batiatus for a long moment, his expression unflinching. Then, finally, he said, “I do not deny the loss a … severe one. But one accepts such trials with grace, in hopes that the gods will be kind enough to see forthcoming games provide opportunity to recoup recent losses.”

“Indeed,” Batiatus said pointedly. “May all of us find prosperity in them. Will your men be primed for challenge on next occasion? Previous match saw them out of depth. It would make heart bleed to see them return to sands in similar state.”

“Past experience of victory and blood will fortify them,” Solonius muttered.

Batiatus reached out and clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to make Solonius’s eyes flicker.

“I am certain you are right,” he said earnestly.

There was silence for a moment, Brutilius looking a little bewilderedly from Batiatus to Solonius, as though unable to understand how the jovial atmosphere of just a few minutes before had become so laced with tension. In an obvious attempt to break the mood, he declared, “Prospect of laying eyes upon your fearsome Thracian stirs the blood.”

Solonius looked at Brutilius, his eyes hooded, lizard-like, and then he turned his attention back to Batiatus.

“Yes,” he said softly, “how does your valiant Champion stand in condition?”

“Never better,” Batiatus declared.

“Then market gossips prove mistaken.”

Batiatus frowned.

“What is it such ignorant minds spill carelessly in the street?”

Solonius shrugged as if it was of no consequence.

“They speak ill of performance in recent primus. Capua whispers that his was merely fortuitous victory, that he stood mere shadow of the gladiator who bested Theokoles.”

Batiatus matched Solonius’s shrug with one of his own.

“Each opponent dictates manner of combat employed to defeat him. Spartacus’s strength lies in his cunning, his ability to adapt to circumstance. Some opponents require less effort spent than others.”

Crassus took a sip of his water and sniffed.

“I confess I found impression made was rather light.”

Brutilius seemed fascinated by the exchange of conflicting opinions.

“If Batiatus will permit…” he began hesitantly.

Batiatus gestured for him to continue.

“… I would wish to see your Champion.”

Batiatus looked for a moment as if he was about to refuse Brutilius’s request, and then he smiled.

“I will summon him presently.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Brutilius said. “I would see him in action. Do your men train today?”

“And every other,” Batiatus confirmed.

“Then perhaps we could observe him in his natural enclosure.”

Batiatus hesitated.

“Unless good Batiatus has something of note that requires hiding,” Solonius suggested silkily. “Perhaps he fears his Thracian may disappoint?”

“Or perhaps he suspects we seek advantage by observing his champion’s preparations?” Hieronymus added, the wide smile never leaving his face.

“I hold no such notion,” Batiatus blustered. ‘The House of Batiatus is averse to tricks and concealment. You are most welcome to witness preparations.”

“Might we do such a thing now?” Crassus murmured.

Batiatus looked momentarily trapped, but then he nodded.

“If you desire it.”

He led his guests to the double doors, which opened on to the balcony overlooking the practice square, nodding curtly to the slaves to push them open. As soon as they did so, the shouts of the men and the clatter and clash of weapons drifted up from below.