Perching on the edge of the bath, Batiatus dabbled his fingers in the milky water. He dried them on a cloth proffered by a slave, then helped himself to a fig from a wooden bowl.
“Has the deed been done?” Lucretia said.
Batiatus nodded.
“The treacherous dog has had yelp forever silenced.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Did he fight well?”
The question made Batiatus laugh so hard that the fig he was eating flew out of his mouth and spattered on the floor, where it was quickly cleared away by a slave.
“He fought like whipped mule, and crawled as one too. Spartacus saw more of his ass than face. The men chomped at bit to see the traitor’s heart borne aloft by the champion’s sword. It was joyous spectacle.”
Lucretia’s smile was thin and cruel.
“I wish I had seen it.”
“The sight would have brought flame to cheek.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously.
“You don’t think wife’s skin pallid do you?”
Batiatus’s response was immediate.
“Your skin is finest porcelain. Venus herself shamed by it.”
Apparently mollified, Lucretia said, “How will you avenge against Hieronymus and his vile creature?”
Batiatus’s smile widened, relishing the prospect of it.
“Plan is in motion as we speak, messenger already despatched.”
“Does wily husband lay trap?” Lucretia smirked.
“One laced with honey. Temptation that clenching Greek cunt will find impossible to resist.”
“Good Hieronymus!” Batiatus exclaimed, his arms spread wide in greeting, his face wreathed in smiles. “And noble Crassus in addition! How does the day find you both?”
“The day finds me in rude health,” Hieronymus replied, the familiar grin stretching his face. Crassus mumbled something which Batiatus didn’t quite catch.
“And you, good Batiatus?” Hieronymus enquired. “Fortune favors, I hope.”
“As never before,” replied Batiatus, but he allowed a small cloud of doubt to pass across his features-one that he fully intended Hieronymus to see.
“It gladdens heart to hear it,” the merchant said, humor flashing in his dark eyes. Behind him the ever-present Mantilus stood in silence, a shade from the underworld lurking always at his shoulder.
“Let us take refreshment while we await further company,” Batiatus said, ushering them into the atrium with a small wave of the hand. “Would you care for water to assuage thirst on such hot day-or wine perhaps?”
“Wine,” Hieronymus said quickly. “This will be cause for celebration after all.”
“All good sport is celebration,” Batiatus said, waving forward a slave bearing a jug of wine, “though this occasion will have somber cause-the passing of much-loved citizen of Capua.”
“Ah yes,” said Hieronymus sadly. “In whose memory do games honor?”
Batiatus gestured vaguely.
“The editor will arrive soon to furnish answer to that.” He glanced at Crassus. “Do you care for wine too, good Crassus?”
“A little early to be absent wit,” Crassus replied with rare, though grim, humor. “Water will suffice.”
Hieronymus looked momentarily alarmed, the grin almost slipping from his face. Restoring it quickly as Batiatus glanced guilelessly at him, he said, “Come my friend, let’s not stand formal. Share wine in recognition of bond between good friends who favor the arena, ever strengthening.”
Crassus frowned. “I am sure the offer well meant, but I desire only water.”
“The quench of water it is then!” Batiatus exclaimed. Beaming, he said, “I think you will relish its flavor, good Crassus. Lucretia and I import from Rome for our own use.”
Hearing this, Hieronymus looked relieved.
“Wise decision. I understand taste of local waters stands a little … brackish.”
Batiatus dismissed the question with a wave of the hand.
“A thing I cannot answer, as it passes only lips of slaves.” He beckoned a slave forward to provide Crassus with water, and then said, “Ah! Further guests arrive. I must excuse presence but a moment.”
Every inch the genial and generous host, he moved across the atrium to greet Solonius and the man who accompanied him as they were shown into the house. This second man, though younger than Batiatus, was portly, balding and red-faced. He dabbed sweat from his rosy cheeks as Solonius introduced him.
“This summer oppresses intolerably, does it not?” the newcomer said by way of greeting.
“Days too hot and nights too cold,” Batiatus agreed, nodding in sympathy. “But occasional rains do bring welcome relief.”
The man’s eyes twinkled.
“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.”