“The consul? Which one?” Gaius pondered. For a moment, he silently prayed it might be Varro. Perhaps then, he might be able to get some answers to what happened to Antony, or if he might still be alive, maybe in this very camp.
“Consul Paullus. He was gravely injured in the battle. We managed to get him out of Cannae and were attempting to flee back to Rome when these gladiators ambushed the column.”
Gaius sighed silently to himself, disappointed that it wasn’t Antony’s father, but Paullus instead.
“Where is he?”
“Towards that damn arena they set up…killing my men. I don’t know which of the tents he is being held in, or what his condition is.”
“Near the bloody arena, we’ll never make it there undetected,” Maurus pointed out.
Gaius looked around and noticed that the man he had just killed wasn’t all that different, in appearance than himself. Most of the gladiators, in fact, those they had already killed were dirty, bare chest or wearing looted Roman armor, and carrying weapons and gear from the legions. Hell, many of the gladiators were Italians.
Gaius walked to the man, he killed moments earlier and rolled his lifeless body over. He wore a legionnaire’s helmet and fur cape and simple trousers. Both Maurus and Cato saw what Gaius was planning as he stripped the dead gladiator of his things and put them on. They too followed his lead and took clothing and items from the other dead man before they were ready.
“Remember, when you hear our signal, don’t let any of these bastards out of here alive,” Gaius turned and said to the centurion and his men.
“And the signal will be?”
Gaius raised his finger up and held it.
“When the screams you hear now, end, and are replaced by the slaves, that will be your cue.”
Once Maurus and Cato were ready, Gaius turned to each of them.
“Spread out, and try not to act too professional,” Gaius asked with a sly grin. “And if anything goes wrong…well, let’s just make sure nothing goes wrong, okay?”
Both Maurus and Cato acknowledged that they understood before the pair split and stepped out from the shadows and walked freely among the rebels.
Maurus walked to the far right, while Cato took the left position. Gaius walked down the center, all three moving as if they weren’t in the same group, but keeping a safe distance from each other that they could react quickly if something should go wrong.
Gaius grabbed an almost empty clay wine jug that a sleeping gladiator had next to him. He began to walk as if he had been drinking all night, practically tripping over his feet with every other step, to further sell the as he kept his eyes low between taking drinks of his wine as he staggered over towards five men. After a moment, they turned their attention away from him and continued on with their conversation, one of them actually nodding as Gaius passed them.
Gaius breathed again as he looked back. Both Maurus and Cato got by easy enough without even a second glance. He couldn’t help but grin as he saw that Maurus flirted with two women whom he passed, perhaps getting too into his role.
Before long, Gaius was out in the middle of the camp, walking among and through the gladiators’ ranks. For a moment, as two of them came his direction; a nude Roman soldier between each of their arms as they dragged him, kicking and screaming to be tortured, Gaius nearly went for his sword and attacked those men. He knew, however, that he had to ignore it and allow them to continue with their murderous entertainment a little longer. He hoped that the kid could last a few more minutes before help eventually came.
All around him now was the carnage he had only seen from afar. The smell of overcooked human flesh nearly made him empty his stomach as he had to struggle not to look over at the burning rows of his countrymen, but it was hard not to.
Gaius looked as a group of gladiators poured oil over one Roman soldier, the man actually spent the whole process cursing and swearing at his captures, calling them every name he could think of. The Roman seemed angrier than afraid, and even as they tossed a burning torch over to his feet, flames engulfing his body, the man was still yelling vulgar words of resentment between his agonizing screams, as his body was roasted.
The biggest mass of people was centered on the makeshift arena. A lot of plundered money was passing hands as the gladiators spent hours placing bets on the Romans they threw down into it. From what he could tell, a fight had just ended, with only one man still alive — a lone Roman, bloodied and covered head to toe in mud was pulled out and tossed back into the holding pin. The man, like many of the other Romans had a blank stare on his face; others shook horribly, even causing self-inflicted wounds to their bodies as they clawed into their wrists, trying to cut their arteries.
Finally, Gaius saw where Paullus might be as a series of small tents, not too different than those he had seen all over the camp, were before him. Even so, at first glance he couldn’t tell which might hold the Roman consul.
Gaius glanced over his shoulder. It was difficult to see either Maurus or Cato among the larger collection of gladiators, but he found them as they kept pace with him. He nodded to them and indicated to the tents. They each replied back with the same gesture as they started their way over to him.
There were no discernible features to any of the tents as each were made of the same leathery material, nor were they set up in any particular pattern. Some tents faced Gaius, as he scanned them with his eyes, while other's back-ends were to him.
He moved closer, trying his hardest to be quick, but not seem too obvious. And then as he walked around one seemly uninteresting structure, he heard what sounded like a woman, one that was yelling in Latin.
Through the thick skin, he listened as best he could.
“Haven’t you done enough to us? He is dying! Leave us alone!” Her words were broken as Gaius only understood about half of what the woman was saying, as the outside noises were too loud. And then he heard what sounded like a hand slapping across flesh, followed by a louder, more assertive voice.
“Shut up, woman, or I shall have my men do away with you!”
Gaius caught sight of Maurus and Cato and nodded to them.
They hurried over to his position as he walked around the tent and saw a man burst out.
Two guards stood outside, staying at their post as the tall gladiator who had exited rushed out of sight a moment later.
Gaius turned back and indicated with just his fingers to Maurus and Cato that there were two targets, and that he would deal with them.
Gaius raised his wine jug and poured its contents over his face and chest. Then, he took a deep breath and moved, pretended as best as he could that he was seriously drunk. He staggered out in front of the two gladiators who stared at him as he wobbled, muttering to himself as he was seemly having a conversation with an invisible partner. The two gladiators laughed as they glanced over at each other, still unaware as to whom Gaius really was.
He turned and faced the two guards and smiled. As he staggered over to them, Gaius threw out his arms as if he was going to give each man a big hug.
“Brothers! War, isn’t it beautiful?! Here’s to our great victory over Rome!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs as he moved towards the two guards, about ready to take another long swig from the wine vase.
Before Gaius reached the two men, however, he tripped over his feet, stumbling forward, falling between the guards and into the tent where he landed on his stomach and purposely broke his clay jug.
Inside, a woman screamed as Gaius’ lump body collapsed to the floor. The two gladiators, each of them smiling entered behind him.
“I think you have had too much to drink, brother,” one of the gladiators said as he reached down to help Gaius up off of the ground.
“I’m not your brother, slave,” Gaius, his drunken expression now totally gone as he turned on his back and shoved the broken handle of the jug into the gladiator’s throat.