“There was a big cat,” Julia told the slave as she was pulled away from the forum.
“Yes, of course, and a lady such as you have no business being around such horrid creatures. Now come, we shall find your father and forget about the filthy animals you saw. Come Gaius. Do not linger.”
Gaius was about to follow as Julia and her slave left the forum, but as he looked back one more time, he saw a new series of cages that had been hidden by the ones the beast master had been showing.
He stepped forward as his eyes looked at one cage, in particular, housing five wolves that paced back and forth in the twenty-by-twenty cell. However, as he looked closer he noticed that one of the wolves, one that was entirely white, stood, seemingly staring right at him, calm as it was knelt down on its hind legs. His eyes were fixated on the wolf, for it looked eerily like the ivory wolf he had seen on his father’s breast plate, hidden inside the footlocker.
Their eyes, boy and wolf, both blue, locked. Gaius found himself walking closer to the cage, wanting to see the white creature in more detail. However, as he neared a hand reached down and stopped him from approaching further.
“Whoa, boy, you don’t want to get to close. Most of these animals haven’t been fed in days. We need to keep them starving for the games, or the show won’t be as entertaining for the mob,” a large bald man with a thick eastern accent said.
“What?” Gaius asked, looking up as if he came out of a daze.
“I said for the games. We starve them or else they won’t eat the slaves, and criminals sacrificed for the mob. So, just stay away from them, boy, and be gone with yourself.”
As Gaius looked back toward the cage, to his surprise, he saw four wolves. The white one was gone.
“Sir,” Gaius called out. The man turned back around and glanced down at Gaius, who indicated towards the wolf cage with puzzled eyes.
“Where is the white one — the white wolf that was there moments ago?”
The man looked puzzled.
“The white wolf, sir. You couldn’t have missed it,” Gaius added.
“A white one,” the man laughed. “Boy, if I had a white wolf I could make a fortune on it. Do you really think I would put it in the arena with the rest of these filthy beasts? Now, be gone with you. A white one,” the man couldn’t stop laughing as he turned and went back to his work.
Gaius wondered for a moment if his eyes had been playing tricks with him. However, as Antony called his name, demanding that he hurry and rejoin them, he let the incident escape his thoughts, for the time being. There was still so much more to see and do before the festival was concluded.
The long, hot day was finally drawing to a close. The excitement in the city died some. As the sun was set to go down in a few short hours, other nightly activities would take root that the more innocent daily enjoyments that had occupied Gaius’ mind were at an end. Now Gaius and Antony were with Varro, Antony’s father, but unlike earlier in the day. They were bored stiff as they waited for Varro to stop talking and drinking with his friends. They were standing outside a large wooden arena that had been built for the festival, just outside the city walls, where the gladiator games were being held. Not too long from now the group would be heading back into the city to Varro’ estate, to bed for the night before they left early the next morning to head back to the country. However, apparently they had come to the arena to see the final bout of the day, to see a gladiator that had been the main gossip of the event.
Antony begged his father to allow him and Gaius to see the famed gladiator matches, but he refused time and time again. Instead, Varro allowed the boys to see the arena and the holding pins for the gladiators, who were displayed like the animals in the forum, free from the crowd to be mock, admired and feared. Now, Varro stood near a wine stand talking to his associates, while Gaius and Antony waited, listening to the cheers and jubilation inside the arena walls, wishing they could see the real action.
Antony tried to occupy his mind by kicking stone, or throwing them at his father’s slaves, who pretended to enjoy it and attempted to dodge his playful tosses; Gaius was more interested in listening in on Varro’ conversation, or at least as well as he could as their topic was beyond his understanding.
The men, who stood around a tall table, drinking heavily, wore the same colored, white, elaborately made togas or tunics. Varro’, however, had a long gold band sewn into his fabric, signifying that he was a senior member of the Senate.
A heavyset man who seemed to drink his weight had been doing most of the talking, between long swigs of his wine, which spilled from time to time on his tunic. It seemed to Gaius that this man, who was named Marcus, was perhaps the most obnoxious adult he had ever heard, as his voice carried over the other men. It was impossible not to listen to what he was saying since his bellowing speech carried easily.
“All I am stating is that those damn desert pigs think that they have the right to rule the entire world. First, we allow them to lay claim to Spain, then they side with pirates who attack our ships daily, and now this, sacking our settlements in Southern Gaul. It is virtually impossible for an honest man to make a living these days with all the disruptions in trade. By the gods, did we not win the war the first time around?”
“An honest man in Rome, HA!” the youngest of the group laughed as he took a drink. “If you find one, please let me known. And besides, what would you have us do, Marcus, send our legions to Spain and forcefully remove the Carthaginians? They have a right to exist as much as you or I.”
“Precisely my young Maximus; we should send our legions to Spain and wipe them out, and then on to Africa next. Better this be a Roman world than a Carthaginian one,” Marcus bellowed, believing that Maximus was agreeing with him, as he heard only what he wanted to hear.
“And whose sons shall we send to fight this war, Marcus, perhaps yours?” Maximus added; his words were forceful and growing angrier.
“Calm yourself, nephew,” Varro spoke as he placed his hand onto the young senator’s shoulders. “No one is talking about starting a war. Rome has had her fill of bloodshed after the last one. However, these recent acts serve to bait Rome into action.”
“I don’t know, Varro. This new leader in Spain; what is his name? He seems a determined man, even more so than his father was,” Nero spoke next.
“Pig slop! They are all savages. What could they do to the Republic that they haven’t already tried? I still say we march north and deal with this Hannibal now, before he becomes more trouble,” Marcus commented as he poured another cup of wine into his goblet.
“It is so easy for you to make such thoughtless decisions, isn’t it? You may think of them as savages, but look what we nearly lost in the last war. How many ships did we lose, huh? Was it a thousand, or five thousand? And how many souls died with their bellies spilled open, rotting in the sun, fifty thousand, a hundred? You tell me, my dear friend. If we are to survive the next one, we must start thinking differently,” Maximus argued, but his words were falling on deaf ears.
“Thinking differently isn’t what has made the Republic as powerful as it is. It is through force of arms, and that is what is needed to take care of our enemies,” Marcus raised his cup, speaking louder as if he was addressing the whole Senate.
“And fatten your purse too, I take it?”
“Please, Maximus, we all grow rich in war and trade. You included, my young friend,” Nero rebuked.
“Perhaps, but I will not sacrifice the lives of my children to fill my purse with more coins.”
“Hah! That is what I love about you my young nephew. You are so dramatic that I believe sometimes you missed your true calling as an actor; if only you didn’t have such a brilliant mind,” Varro said, almost mockingly, but speaking the truth.
“I speak what is in my heart, uncle,” Maximus replied.