“That was before you learned how to actually fight,” Gavius said.
“Who says he has?” Vitruvius laughed as he walked over to the group. He looked at the parchment the signifier was carrying. “It says here ‘automatic admission and reserved seating to all visiting legionaries.’ Well, let’s not disappoint them.”
Sergeant Statorius straightened up and called out, “Time you lads got a taste of Rome.”
As they walked out of the camp, it seemed like quite a few from the century were going to the games. It was a long walk over to the arena; however, it was made easy not being encumbered by weapons, armor, and equipment. There was such an air of ease and relaxation that Artorius almost forgot for a second that they were all professional soldiers. One might think they were simply a large group of friends going to the games. The red tunics and daggers they wore on their belts revealed their true identities.
Artorius was somewhat surprised to see that even Centurion Macro was out enjoying the day, though he kept a deliberate distance from the men of the ranks. Instead, he walked with Proculus and the other centurions from the Third Cohort. All wore resplendent togas, as opposed to legionary tunics. Artorius knew these men, upon retirement, would be enrolled into the Equestrian Order of society. Because of this, they were granted a lot of the privileges and courtesies normally reserved for those already a part of the patrician class; such was the respect and awe that Romans held for the men who led their legions into battle.
The well-made road to the city was lined with trees on either side, their leaves rustling softly in the slight breeze. The air smelled sweet with the scents of the olive groves and grape vineyards that donned the hillsides. There was little traffic, mostly soldiers walking to and from their camps outside the city. Most of the city’s population would be at the games or at least trying to get into them.
Soon the city came into sight. It had been years since Artorius had last seen Rome herself. The effect it had on him then could not compare to what he felt as he saw the immortal city in all Her splendor. It was absolutely breathtaking! The Forum, the Circus Maximus, the Temple of Castor and Pollux, the Imperial Palaces all shone in the bright sunshine, along with the mind-boggling number of houses and apartments occupied by the citizens of the city. These were certainly no mud hovels or rickety wooden buildings so commonly seen on the frontier. Here was civilization! Clean, modern, and above all, organized. The volume of people moving to and fro made the scene seem very chaotic, at least to those who had never seen the true chaos and poverty that existed on the Empire’s borders.
At last they reached the Circus Maximus. There was a huge line of people, waiting to get into the arena. They were dancing and shouting, clambering and betting with each other as to which of their favorites would find victory that day. There were wine and food vendors surrounding the arena, gambling tables, and ladies of ill repute. Valens eyed them with a glazed-over look on his face.
“I’ll see you all later,” he said with a wry grin. He walked over towards a pair of fetching young lasses, his money bag in hand.
“Anybody thirsty?” Artorius asked, turning back to his friends.
“Damn right I am!” Magnus answered, licking his lips.
“Hang on,” Artorius replied as he walked over to the nearest wine stand. He turned and looked back to see how many of his friends were still with him. Many had become distracted by offers from merchants, gamblers, and women. Praxus, Decimus, Carbo, Magnus, Gavius, Sergeant Statorius, and Signifier Camillus had accompanied him all the way to the arena. It felt strange to have the sergeant and signifier with them. Then he realized that they were still men after all, and perhaps there were times when formalities could be eased, if not altogether discarded. Camillus, though senior in rank to Statorius, rarely had a use for formalities as it was. Artorius guessed Camillus was probably older than Statorius, though his boyish face made him appear much younger.
“Eight goblets of your best wine,” he said, turning back to the merchant.
“Here you are, sir,” the merchant said after he poured the last.
Artorius reached into his money pouch.
“How much?” he asked.
The merchant waved him away.
“Your money is no good here,” he said, smiling. “Consider it payment for having saved our city and our Empire.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Artorius replied as he motioned for his friends to come grab their goblets.
They saluted their new found merchant friend and proceeded to quench their collective thirst.
Having been properly refreshed, they made their way into the arena and found the section designated for military guests. The seats for the general public were practically full, the crowd already rowdy in a frenzy of anticipation. The military seats were a lot less populated than Artorius expected them to be. He looked across the way to where the imperial box was located. It was filled with senators and dignitaries. He could see Germanicus and what he guessed to be members of the imperial family, though the box was conspicuously devoid of the Emperor himself. Artorius pointed this out to Camillus, who happened to be seated next to him.
“It seems the Emperor is not a big fan of games or of gladiators in general,” Camillus explained. “He thinks they are an expensive waste of time. As frugal as he is with the treasury, he would probably abolish them altogether were they not so popular with the masses.”
At that moment the gates below opened, two gladiators stepped into the arena, and the crowd erupted.
“See what I mean?”
Both men wore only sparse amounts of body armor, mainly on their limbs. One man carried a gladius and small, circular shield. The other carried a net in one hand and a trident in the other. They turned to the imperial box, saluted the senators and imperial family on hand, and then turned and faced each other. They were very cautious at first, taking only token strikes at each other. Then the one with the gladius made his move and rushed in, his sword high overhead.
“What in Hades is that guy doing?” Decimus asked, annoyed. “Stab him in the armpit!” he shouted through cupped hands at the gladiator with the trident.
Instead, the man backed away, sweeping with his net as he tried to trip his opponent.
“Oh come on, what’s with the stupid net?” Gavius chided.
The swordsman chopped away at the net, cutting it. He then continued his attack. The man with the trident stabbed at him, only to have it deflected by his opponent’s shield.
“Step in and punch him with your shield!” Artorius shouted.
When the gladiator failed to do so, he threw his hands in the air in frustration. Only Camillus seemed to be enjoying himself.
“I don’t get it,” Artorius stated. “What’s so spectacular about this? Those idiots are complete amateurs.”
“I’ve seen better fights every time Artorius gets his ass pummeled by Vitruvius.” Magnus stated, causing Artorius to reach over and cuff him across the back of the head.
Finally, the fight ended with the trident gladiator on his back, his adversary standing over him. Holding his gladius high he looked to the crowd. All were screaming and shouting and waving their hands. Some pointed to their throats with their thumbs though most pointed towards the ground.
“What does all that mean?” Artorius asked Camillus.
“If the crowd points to their own throats, it means they want the victor to cut the throat of his opponent and slay him. If they point towards the ground, it literally means ‘leave him on Earth.’ In other words, let him live. Believe it or not, most fights are not to the death. If the crowd feels a fighter fought well, they usually let him live.”
“But he didn’t fight well! Both those men fought like untrained dancers the way they pranced around! Magnus was right; I have taken bigger beatings from Vitruvius with a practice sword!” Artorius said in frustration. He then sighed audibly. “I guess these people have just never seen real men fight.”