Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the beat of the afternoon sun. The vine coated stone-walled yard in which they all stood radiated lilac scented wave of heat that moved as the breeze did. Heavy blasts that glisten those standing.
Yet he frowned. Stepping aside, he clicked his fingers at a different dark-haired boy who stood nearby, his skin oiled and shining. The boy walked forward with an earthenware cup brimming with red liquid.
“More wine, generous Gnaeus. This heat saps even the greatest gladiator strength.”
Lentulus took the cup, poured it swiftly into his mouth. The wine spoilt, smoky, and sharp. He swirled it around in his mouth for a moment before spitting it out and rubbing his nose. The liquid lay like a bloodstain in the sand at his feet, reminding him of the other errands of the day, all as yet undone and baying for attention. Rolling his nose in disgust repeatedly to cleanse the burning, he rubbed his forehead. “This piss stings my nostrils. It fails to enchant. I wonder if I wasted my time here today.”
The Syrian tilted his head to one side like a bird.
“Gnaeus, I—”
A collared young girl with blacken bow-tied hair, came running into the sanded yard, falling to her knees before him, her grey sackcloth, grimy from standing in the heat. Her moist, tanned face downcast and fearful.
“Dominus! An another guest stands impatient for admittance.”
Lentulus raised an chestnut eyebrow.
“It seems private viewing bears different meaning in a scheming mind, Assurus. Though mine stands impressed you count so many as ‘honored friend.’”
“I beg generous Gnaeus indulgence at this unfortunate misstep,” Assurus sputtered. “I depart for but a moment and promise patience will find reward.”
Lentulus bowed slightly, although the moment Assurus’s back turns, his face seethed with both resentment and curiosity. As the Syrian scuttled off, clapping his hands and shouting for his steward, Lentulus beckoned to the man who stood at the wall behind him, white-cloaked despite the heat.
“Titus, linger awhile. I desire the knowledge of whom else seeks business with Assurus this morning.”
His dark bushy face betrayed nothing. “Yes, dominus.” He rose a waterskin to his lips before letting it return to his side.
A refreshing chill wafted amongst the stone-flagged corridors of the house. An airy but fitly made domus, but Assurus’s taste in wall painting ran to the garish. Lentulus smirked as he thought of the new mosaics presently going up on the walls of his own triclinium. Soon he and his guests would dine surrounded by the most sublime under the sea vistas.
“This way please,” an just appearing attending boy said with bowed head, gesturing to a bright doorway as he wandered from the atrium toward the tablinum. He stood insistent as Lentulus glanced at the overly festooned wooden desk along with various cabinets locked with staves. In one corner, an unadorned but locked treasure chest sat.
“You usher me to the garden.”
The boy nodded, not raising his eyes.
“Not a common place for viewing slaves,” Lentulus mused.
The boy shrugged as he escorted him inward before scampering off. The intense golden light blinded him for a second as the ripple of a fountain, and damp earth amongst the heady perfume of plants and herbs assaulted other scents. Thyme and lavender he recognized, and felt soft grass underfoot, lush and green from the recent rains. Rosemary rose in large earthen pots along the edges leaving gaps to pass untouched.
Stepping forward, passing once again into the shade offered by a fig tree. There was a girl sitting on a unpolished corundum bench several feet away, dressed in blue silk. Tyrian silk, the stuff worth its weight in gold. Free woman, of some breeding, he thought. About to turn around and make an exit, when the sun reflected of the copper collar around her similarly coppery neck. Once the moment’s surprise passed, he sauntered forward, and at once the girl rose.
The shift cut in a Greek-style chiton, drawn in at the waist but not stitched along the sides. The swell of one creamy breast exposed itself and his gaze trailed down her torso. Her skin was as coppery peach like his own, burnished as that of a high-born lady and with hair blacker than a Hispanian bull. Bright sapphire eyes, and a face so flawless that he felt an instant, fierce hunger. His hand extended outward, grasping the side of her arm, a short soft stroke. Tender yet strong and tight. Hands soft, uncalloused with well maintained fingernails.
“What’s your name,”
“Erica,” her voice soft, yet commanding, speaks in deference, bowing her head. She was Roman then.
“How did this come about?”
“I owe a debt I cannot pay. Assurus collected some after enjoying my maids one day.”
“You are Assurus’s property?” My mind reeled at the thought she sold herself to him. She wasn’t dressed as a pleb but similar to how my own daughter, a full citizen, dresses.
“Through wager, yes. I have been in his house but two days.” Her soft smile charms me.
“Where do you hail from?”
“Mediolanum.” Her Latin flowed flawless, but for the lilting northern accent.
“A distinguished birthplace. Are you a citizen?” he asked.
“Yes, I scribe, yet I fell into this debt following my husband’s death. His games caused this.”
A clearing of the throat behind me caused me to spin around. Assurus stood behind, a mix of concern and delight playing on his rugged, goateed face,
“Generous Gnaeus, I see you discovered the exquisite flower growing in my garden!” He spread his arms spread wide, with a pair of strange men in tow. Titus followed behind them, carrying my other money bag.
“I assured reward for patience, did I not?” he continued. “Measured against her beauty, the rest of my stock seems herd of Lusitanian mares. Ah, but I forget manners. Introductions are needed. Generous Gnaeus, I present my most recent acquaintance, Hieronymus. A man of rank, highly regarded in Sicilia.”
His hand rolled in front of him, revealing the man beside him.
“Hieronymus, I present Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Vatia, finest lanista in Capua. His ludus fills to brim with beasts of great skill in the arena. Spartacus, the Bringer of Rain and Champion of Capua, among them.”
Lentulus bowed slightly, the stiff-necked bow he saw senators of Rome perform when they wanted to accord both acknowledgement and their own superiority with one small gesture.
Hieronymus stood thickly bearded, sporting a woolen grayish black peplos despite the warmth of the day. A large man, brown-skinned like a hazelnut, with olive-black eyes, and a ready smile of whitish teeth. Gold earrings, and rings bedecked him something no Roman would ever countenance. The scent of coin drifted into Lentulus’s nostrils. A rich man, even if only a provincial.
Although Lentulus barely allowed his eyes to flicker from the face, it was the figure who entered silently in Hieronymus’s wake who most captured attention. Dusky reddish golden skin, and clothed in a loose-fitting robe that seemed to be woven from multi-colored strips of some coarse material, like horsehair. The robe, tied at the waist by a black sash, was open at the front to expose a chest and torso deeply scarred with what appeared to be sigils and runic symbols, the origin of which Lentulus stared at repeatedly. A thick brass chain hung around his neck of which a fish with a hash symbol inside rested. An onyx and gold ring sat prominently on his left hand.
Yet the man’s head, however, brought the most astonishing and unsettling element of his appearance. Like his upper body, his cheeks, forehead, throat and the crown of his hairless head revealed similarly esoteric symbols scarring. The center of his lip pierced with a gold ring, which matched the ones in his master’s ears. His eyes were as pale as ass’s milk, suggesting blindness, and his thin, almost purple lips vibrated in constant motion, as though murmuring silently to himself, revealing glimpses of a tongue which Lentulus swore was riven in the center, forked like that of a snake.
“Any with interest in glory of the arena could not but be familiar with the House of Lentulus,” Hieronymus spoke, recapturing the lanista’s attention. “My own interest in the games nudges toward strong affection. I have even been moved to sponsor my own gladiators on occasion. Though merely in the provinces, far from the profession’s beating heart in Capua. Here I possess good fortune to witness your Thracian triumph over the legendary Theokoles. The event a pinnacle for any lanista.”
Lentulus bowed again, a little less frostily this time. In the corner of his eye, Hieronymus’s attendant hovers like an earthbound rain cloud, the girl Erica, a blue shimmer on his other side.
“When you find yourself free, you must honor my house with your presence. My wife and I would delight in hosting a man sharing in such passion. Unfortunately I must take leave. Pressing business awaits.”
He gazes moves to Assurus, with a glimmer of annoyance, “I would take the girl from your hands, Assurus and would make arrangement to complete her debt.” He turned to depart.
Assurus licked his lips. “Nothing would please more than to see her sold to you. Our friendship ever upon my mind. Yet good Hieronymus expresses equal interest in purchasing the girl.”
Lentulus smiled. “We appear to stand alike in many interests. Private confines of Assurus’s garden expand to become crowded market.” He ran through the calculations in his head, studied the girl again, noting the exquisite line of her neck, and the way her nipples imprinted themselves on the thin silk. When the breeze pressed it against her flesh, he did not need to see her naked, for every dimple in her body was on display. Yet, her flesh wasn’t a need. Lucretia provided those. Her freedom was. Something told him she needed it.
“It seems crime to speak of coin towards such exquisite creature,” Hieronymus murmured. He touched the girl’s chin, raising her head slightly. The heavy black hair fell back to reveal a pink ear, as translucent as a seashell. She grimaced slightly, but not so much as to become obvious.
“Five hundred sesterces.” He felt a quickening of delight, like he always did before the arena. This was the same—this, also, was a form of combat.
“Five hundred?” Assurus mocked. “I take heart to know our friendship stands secure enough against such jest.”
“The sum equal to half year’s pay for a legionary. Hardly a jest.”
“One thousand,” Hieronymus smiles, with a little shrug, as if apologizing.
Lentulus bared his teeth, and turned it into a smile.
“Fifteen hundred.” He was not about to be outbid in his own city by a fucking Greek with rings in his ears and a creature of Hades crouching at his heels.
Hieronymus sighed slightly. He ran a long-nailed finger down the girl’s torso, and she stiffened under the touch. For a moment, all three men were staring at her. The blush rose in her skin, her eyes averted. Suddenly Lentulus knew he wanted this girl. He had to have her. Something was afoot.
“Two thousand.” Hieronymus pivoted with a sharp smile.
“Three,” Lentulus riposted. Sweat rolled down in the small of his back.
“Four,” Hieronymus said with a cat-like smile.
Lentulus’s brow furrowed as he tossed a known gaze at Assurus. The Syrian’s face shined with glee. Clearly, he planned this.
Yet as fury burns in his gullet, he knew he couldn’t abandon her to anyone else. “Five thousand denarii,” he said at last, unable to help himself. Hieronymus opened his hands cavalierly. “Six thousand.”
Lentulus grinned. “You have six thousand denarii?” He knew the bill of writ given to him by Crassus himself allowed him to pull any amount he needed from the treasury one time. A Roman citizen in debt slavery to a Syrian qualified.
Hieronymus’s brown furrowed and his smile vanished. “No. No one does. That is an amount more than this dwelling or your lanista. You dare mock me?”
“No. I do not. However, you fail to understand who I know, While my toga might be green my access is purple. I have five thousand denarii at my disposal.”
Assurus’ gaze kept bouncing from man to man in wondrous delight. Once Hieronymus reacted, his glee vanished. Instead, he sighed. This sigh became a groan when he saw Titus extract a hastily rolled scroll.
“You must never create multiple origins unless you have to.” Lentulus smiled darkly. “I expected something unexpected today as I know full aware Assurus a cheat.”
He groused, but Lentulus raised a hand and Titus stepped forward, his other hand on his gladius. “You apparently aren’t aware of that, Hieronymus. I am sorry that you were brought under false assumptions. Nevertheless, the price stands. I can pay that amount. Can you?”
“NO Slave…” he calmed as he saw the posture of Titus and the empty, menacing glare in his eyes. “No slave is worth 5000 denarii.”
“I don’t believe she is a slave. But that is neither here nor there.”
The much darker man beside Hieronymus began speaking, raising his hands and rumbling dark foreign words but stopped abruptly. His eyes wide, his hands changed into flat plans and he chanted a single unknown word. Finally, he crouched down, cowering on the stones, rivulets of urine flowing freely.
Lentulus laughed heartily while Titus smirked, a single, deep ‘ha’ emanating from him before his fist clenched the gladius handle again. Erica smiled softly, waving her arm in the air, beckoning something, but her gaze traveled to no man in the room.
The darker man finally rose, looked at Hieronymus in disgust, tossed a leather sack from his belt at his feet and fled. Hieronymus, his shoulders sank, blew out a a heavy breath.
“My apologies, Lentulus Vatia. My companion, Gi’an, is a Warrior of Dagon, an Ichthys Infernalis and a follower of the Piscine. He becked me to procure her. As he abandoned me, I withdraw my offer.” He bows much lower to Lentulus before turning towards Assurus.
“I will not forget your deceit. If you darken my doorway ever, I will cut you down or may Zeus strike me down and Cerberus consume my corpse.”
He storms off, the disgust of his last words still echoing. Lentulus still grins. “I should have you tossed into Carcer Privatus for that stunt you pulled.”
Assurus eye’s grew big and he shook slightly. “I meant no disrespect, gracious Gnaeus. I am a simple merchant.”
“No,” Lentulus spoke, waving his hands swiftly. “You are not. You are a slave merchant. If I sent you away, another blighted one would slither up, which might do worse. So you remain. You will sign Erica over to me, as you got her in a game of chance with no cost to you. You will get no profit.”
“But what of the denarii?” He howled, snapping his fingers. A boy appeared with a well-dipped quill and parchment.
“They are mine. They go to free her from the debt not of her own. She is brought with a price. One you cannot pay. You know how much she owes?”
He looks up from scribing on the boys back. “Five denarii.”
Lentulus spat on the stone. The price Hieronymus held. “You were required to pay today or show bill of sale.”
He shivered as the boy took the scroll away to seal it. “I was forced to pay it this morning or she would be taken.”
Erica rose, no longer demure, slapped Assurus hard. When he turned to strike her back, Titus’s gladius appeared before his hand. The well sharpened edge brushed his arm, shaving the hairs from it. She cursed him in a language only Titus seemed to understand.
“Dominus, the time hastens away.”
Lentulus nods. “The key, Assurus.”
He sighs, strides over to her, and with a swift sleight of hand, unlocks the collar from off her neck. A slow trickle of blood drips from his other hand where Erica grabs him briefly. “A reminder not to cross me again.”
He laughs at her. “You would do well to remember your place. Only Titus stays my hand.
Lentulus glares. “Perhaps its time to remove it then. You are beneath her as you are not a full citizen. By the gods, you are not that ignorant.”
Assurus grunts handing the now sealed scroll to him. “Thank you, gracious Gnaeus for your favor and your business. I must attend to other matters.”
He departs hastily as a boy points the way out. Why must it always be this difficult?
Our Song 