Aprilis, 681 Ab Urbe Condita,
In the Spring of the Consulship of Lucullus and Longinus
Forum Calavius - Central Capua.
Campania felix, Italia.
"Citizens of Capua! Ample rewards are offered to any who may provide information on several missing slaves, either stolen or absconded from the House of Marcus Verus," Gesticulated the praeco of the Forum Calavius, the fat man standing amidst the hustle and bustle of the market square atop a marble dais.
"Floralia begins on the Ides; all temples will be shut, and no weddings shall be celebrated. Festivities will begin at the sixth hour, under the sponsorship of the Praefectus Capuam Cumas, Accius Pompo and the House of Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Vatia. The Ludi Florae will be held at the Amphitheatrum Campania. Wine, sweetmeats, and cakes to be provided by the Pompeiian Vinters Brotherhood and the Millers Fraternity of Capua, in other news…" the crier paused, looking over his wax tablets.
"You know, I've always wondered where that old Catullus gets all his 'news'," said Brasus, the hulking Dacian flexing his oiled muscles. "It's as though he has Mercury's ear."
"You might be right," chuckled Nikomedia, a Numidian woman with dark hair braided into thick locs. "Then again, the office of the praeconium is known to have many eyes and ears across the city." Nikomedia posed similarly, showing off her scarred and battle-hardened physique. The pair were gladiators, warrior-entertainers of the arena and, most importantly, lovers.
"...Rebellion persists in the province of Hispania Ulterior. The renegade Quintus Sertorius continues to evade capture. The Senate urges all able-bodied men to enlist now! Join the Legions for the Senate and the People of Rome!"
"Now there's something I can understand bloody war!" Brasuss hefted Nikomedia onto his shoulders with ease; the gathering crowd was awed by the display of strength and skill.
"What do you know of war, Brasus?" Nicomedia jibed, deftly balancing on the Dacian's shoulders.
"More than you, I should think! Have you forgotten that I bested Brennus, Champion of the Senones? The greatest warrior of all Gaul and in single combat no less…"
"We all know the story, my love…" Nikomedia interrupted, planting a kiss on the Dacian's cheek. "I'm sure even Megas Alexandros would be amazed by your strategic prowess in beating a shriveled old man to death."
"He was hardly an old man!" Brasus protested, playfully slapping Nikomedia's posterior.
"He was, too! I was right beside you the moment you sprang on him and crushed his skull with your bare hands! The crowd bloody loved it! That, my love, wasn't war. That was an execution." Truthfully, all Nikomedia knew of war was the fleeting memories of a distant childhood. Yet the power of the Roman legions still haunted her dreams at night, as did their atrocities.
"Stow it, you two, or Galba will have your heads", came the gruff yet paternal voice of Quintilius Varo, a middle-aged Samnite and primus palus of the gladiatorial troupe. "You are gladiators, not nattering wives! Show these people what they came to see!"
Flavius Galba appeared amidst the spectators as though summoned from the ether. The man's embroidered tunic and fine-dyed woollen cloak denoted his wealth. Yet nothing about Galba spoke of nobility or high status. He was an ugly man, his face pock-marked and scared, his dark hair oily and tousled. As the lanista of the Familia Vatia, Galba was equally reviled and praised for his skill and brutality in forging the greatest gladiators the Republic had ever known. He was also a vicious fighter and could match many of those stabled at his ludus. Thankfully, at this moment, Galba appeared to be in good spirits.
"...funeral munera shall be delivered for Gaius Aurelius Cotta in Rome on the nones of Maius. All expenses will be paid from the public purse in honourable recognition of his services to the Senate and the Roman people!
"A moment, friend Cattulus", Galba interrupted the praeco. "I would speak to the people if you would allow it?"
"But of course, friend Galba, please take the podium", the praeco responded, forcing a slick grimace. Much to the crier's dismay, it was clear that Galba's appearance was entirely planned and paid for.
"Many thanks." Galba bowed before he strode towards the steps leading up the central dais.
"Be ready", Varro hissed as Nikomedia deftly leapt off her Dacian lover's shoulders, the pair taking their place for the combat. From behind Varo, more gladiators filled into the Forum Calavius. They bore various wooden weapons, polished armour, plumed helms, and brightly coloured cloaks. In homage to the Goddess Flora, they all bore crowns of roses, their trained and toned bodies oiled and scented.
"People of Capua and citizens of the Republic", Galba began ", as thanks for your many years of patronage, the house of Lentulus Vatia has a special treat for you all! A taste of what is to come during the festivities. Behold the finest fighters the Familia Gldiatoria Vatia has to offer!"
Reaching for his wooden Rudis, a symbolic wooden short sword that denoted his status as a freedman, Varo waved the weapon in a cutting motion. Taking their place around the dais, the warriors began an expertly choreographed melee, deftly ducking and weaving, viciously striking and slashing with their weapons. To any onlooker, the gladiators engaged in a life-or-death struggle. Some men fell, feigning death from superficial wounds or unconsciousness. Others bled and bruised but fought on, driven by the prospect of victorious rewards and the cries of the crowds about them.
Descending from the dais, Galba approached Varo with a smile. Yet whatever good-natured humour he may have felt was lost in the man's eyes.
"Where are the Thracians?" Asked Varo, who had noted their absence upon the gladiator troupes' entrance into the forum.
"In the Pitt with the damned Gauls and the Celt", Galba hissed; the man was furious.
"They'll tear each other apart down there."
"Good. The sooner I'm rid of the bastards, the better! I'm not a nursemaid." Gauls and Celts were always rebellious; a thorn Galba had become accustomed to in his many years as a lanista. The Thracians were another beast entirely.
"Does Dominus approve?" Varo queried, knowing full well that Master Vatia was significantly averse to Galba's brutal yet effective methods. The lanista turned to his primus palus and gave him a stern look.
Hailing from the mountainous regions northeast of the Roman province of Makedonia, they were wily, cunning, and fearless. Where their fellow barbarians were often savage and straightforward, the inhabitants of Thrace were more akin to their learned Greek neighbours. Many slaves from the region were prized not only for their strength and hardiness but often for their ability to read, write and slaughter in equal measure, so much so that the Republic employed them as auxiliaries in their mighty legions. Much to Galba's dismay, the Thracian's stabled at his ludus proved most difficult to bend to his iron will.
"You overstep your station, Varro." The freedman returned Galba's stare, gripping his rudus by his side. As much as he respected Galba's skill in forging warriors, Varo hated the lanista as much as any of his charges. "If I required Vatia's approval, I'd be out of the business. Like his father before him, he trusts me to make the right decisions." Galba had served as lanista to the Lentuli Vatiae for the better part of three decades. He had inherited the title from his uncle, who'd begun the venture with Vatia's grandfather. He wasn't about to let this lowly freedman question his decisions.
Captivated though the crowd was, it was clear they hungered for more. Galba's eyes gleamed with a devious spark as he watched Brasus and Nikomedia deliver an awe-inspiring performance with their wooden weapons. They were Varo's favourites, and for good reason, they were some of the best. It was about time he put their skills and Varro's to the test.
"Varo," Galba called out, his voice cutting through the growing clamour of the forum. The primus palus turned to face him, a questioning look on his face.
"Prepare them," Galba commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Let Brasus and Nikomedia demonstrate their mastery with iron." Varo's eyes widened in surprise and concern.
"This was meant to be a showcase…" Varo began to protest.
"Prepare them", Galba repeated icily.
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