“There are far better ones than that, my son,” Varro said as he looked down at the clay medallion that his son held up for him to buy, unimpressed by its simple design.
“But it is the only one of Lupus. I want it, father, please,” Antony pleaded.
“Very well,” Varro agreed as he took a few coins from his pocket and tossed them down in front of the old man, not caring if he overpaid.
“Thank you, sir,” the old man replied as he scooped up the coins, biting down on the silver to make sure it was pure. Antony, with the medallion in hand, walked away from the stand with his father as they head towards the arena.
Gaius watched his friend leave, as Antony held the medallion up, admiring it before placing the string around his neck, where the medallion rested on his chest.
“Do not fear, Gaius, Lupus watches over you, even now.”
“What did you say?” Gaius asked as he turned sharply back to the old man, but the man had already sat back down, closing his eyes and continued to smoke his pipe.
Gaius did not ask his question again as he heard Antony call his name, wanting him to hurry and rejoin them.
He glanced at the old man one more time, thinking about his story a second before he finally ran off and rejoined his friends.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gaius watched as Antony tried to get his father’s attention. Varro was standing with the men he had been speaking with outside, plus half a dozen other associates. From what he could tell, the men were placing bets on the upcoming bout, the Primus, which normally would be held midday, but had been moved to the evening to signal the end of the festival.
Antony’s efforts to convince his father to allow him and Gaius see the fights were ignored. He wanted to see the gladiators fight as much if not more than Gaius, so he was rather persistent in his endeavor. Gaius, however, was content with taking in his surroundings, enjoying yet another sight of Rome, he had never seen before.
The arena was one of the largest ever built. It was only temporary, constructed for these games, and would be torn down when the Festival of Jupiter was concluded. However, the spectacle was worth remembering. It easily seated over a thousand spectators. Hundreds more could watch the day’s events standing if they could find room. Elegant marble statues of classical Greek, Etruscan and Roman figures stood in every archway, set between enormous arches that stood the height of five men. More food and drink stalls were set inside the arena. Hundreds more men, mostly slaves, toiled below the floor, tending to the beasts, other slaves and prisoners who were to be executed, and the needs of the gladiators; and while the games were nearly over, that fact did not slow the day’s work.
People of all classes, from the poorest Roman citizen to the noble senators and aristocrats, walked shoulder to shoulder through the twisting halls, most carrying food or drink in one hand, and their coins in the other. The spectators eagerly placed coins on their favorite gladiators, or how many slaves and criminals would be devoured by the starving animals in the allowed time. The wagers were varied from a few coins, to a fist full of gold, to the deeds to entire estates. Gaius noticed that the upcoming bout seemed to receive the most attention, as he heard the name Calfax spoke frequently since he had been watching and listening to those around him.
“Come Varro, come. The match is going to start soon,” Marcus, the fat man who had been latched to Varro like a pet all day, eagerly said. He was like a child who squirmed wanting seeing his favorite hero in person.
“I want to come, father!” Antony demanded once again, but even as his father was quite literally being pulled away by his friends, he turned and demanded that he and Gaius stay where they were, calling back, “I shall return shortly. Remain where you are. Is that understood?”
“This is unfair!” Antony blurted with frustration as he crossed his arms, watching as the crowd swallowed his father from view.
“What can we do about it?” Gaius shrugged as he stood next to Antony.
Antony’s eyes widen as he watched several slaves head down a flight of stairs.
“Come with me. I know where we can get the best seats in the arena.” Antony grabbed Gaius by his hand and led him towards where the slaves had gone.
“Where are we going?” Gaius demanded as he nearly tripped trying to keep up with friend
“Do you want to see the match or not?” Antony yelled back, increasing his speed with each step.
“Of course I do, but your father said that we were to stay where he left us.”
“Bah! We will see the match and return before he knows we were gone.” Already the two boys could see the growing light that cast down on the arena floor, as they ran through the tunnels.
A few minutes later, the boys found what they were looking for as they ran over to a large, closed iron gate on the arena floor. They latched onto the gaps between the bars and lifted themselves up a few steps, so they could get a better look. It was, from their point of view, quite possibly the best seat in the house as they were right on the ground-floor, which at the moment was being circled by three horse-drawn carts, while men in the rear of the wagons tossed fresh loafs of bread into the crowd while a dozen men were quickly sweeping the sand, leveling it for the next bout.
Gaius released any reservations he had a few minutes ago. Now, he looked out at the arena with his mouth open, gazing up at the row upon row of seats, filled with people that cheered as the three carts tossed their goods to them; a sea of fingers eagerly grabbing for anything that was thrown towards them. When the carts emptied, they departed through one of the side gates, leaving the arena.
Gaius and Antony noticed a man with rosy cheeks and a curly bright-red wig step on top of a large podium, and raised his flabby arms as, he signaled for the crowd to be silent. After a few minutes, the mob finally did begin to settle as the editor of the games started to speak. Through the oval arena, his broad voice carried like the wind.
“My fellow Romans, esteemed senators, honored guests, and freedmen, I welcome you to the Games of Jupiter!” The editor paused and allowed the crowd to roar once more, as he nodded his thanks to the audience as their praise was directed towards him.
“This week we have seen blood and much death, and great warriors live and die. Now, I promise you that the final bout of this grand celebration will be one for the ages. Each of you here today shall remember this battle for as long as you shall live. You will one day speak to your grandchildren about it,” the editor boasted joyously, drawing out with his words the magnitude of the final battle. “Without further ado, Rome is proud to present to you, your challengers from the House of Brutus!”
Across from Gaius and Antony, one of the gates similar to the one they were now hanging from opened up. Seconds later, as the crowd began to roar, throwing down flower petals that fluttered like rain, five men, bigger than any Gaius had ever seen, emerged from the darkness and stepped out into the arena; arms help up as the crowd cheered furiously for them.
Antony roared as loud as his lungs could muster, but Gaius' own mouth stayed closed as he studied each of the men, who stood in the center of the arena, in a perfect half circle waiting for their opponent to enter.
The five men, three white, two black-skinned, carried an array of weapons: spears, short Spanish swords, a trident, and small shields that cupped their hands. Two of the gladiators wore large fish-bowl helmets that concealed their faces from view. One of the black-skinned men wore a tight formfitting helmet; while the other dark-skinned man, as well as one of the white men had their heads exposed, wrapped simply by a long brightly-colored cloth, clear for all in the audience to see their scarred but still youthful faces.