Seneca was kind enough to honor Shiu's request that he send a note of thanks to Corvu regarding the kindnesses shown his friend. He added that he would mention the name of the Gallic school to Caesar when next they met. This guaranteed a continued welcome for Shiu. There was little difficulty in arranging the days off; Crespas had said that it was all right for Casca to be given occasional liberty in town, and Corvu had noted that the big man was a whole lot easier to deal with and that his attitude was better if he did get some liberty.
Meanwhile, Jubala watched all that went on, and his heart was as black as his face. One day… he promised himself, One day, white dog…
Casca was nearly ready. He would have fought even sooner, but Corvu was saving him for a big festival that was coming up. There was sure to be a full house then, and the emperor would be certain to be there. If he liked what he saw, the fortune of the school was made.
Finally Corvu announced that Casca would fight in the great Circus Maximus with the other first-line fighters. Casca felt he was ready, but Corvu intensified his training even more the last few days. Casca lifted weights and ran and swam to build up his wind. He knew full well that a man out of breath was the most vulnerable.
In the excitement of his coming debut it was difficult for him to believe that what had happened to him had really occurred. The words of the Jew, the things of the past-all seemed a mere dream that he had imagined many years ago. Only when he received a cut did it all come back to him… and the terrible danger of it. Several times he had to reopen his wounds to make the healing process appear normal. After all, they didburn witches and sorcerers…
Crysos became even more attentive to Casca, saving him choice cuts of meat from the mess hall, cleaning his cubicle until it was spotless.
"Crysos, what the hell do you want from me?"
The blunt question took the little Sicilian by surprise. But, looking Casca straight in the face, he said in the strongest voice he could muster: "I want to serve you, and by so doing serve myself. You are going to fight soon, and I want to be your partner. I have some money set aside. That I will wager on your winning, and split the profits with you. Let me serve you. Promise me that when you attain your freedom you will arrange for me to get mine, too. I can tell much and help you. Do we have a deal, master?"
"By the brass balls of Jupiter, you have guts, Crysos! And if you are willing to put up the money, I will strike that bargain with you. Even if I can't win the wooden sword, there is always the chance that we might win enough money to buy ourselves out of this place. Good enough. Crysos, from this time on we are partners, and you are my man. Shake on it."
Crysos was almost pathetically eager to grab the muscled wrists of Casca. He had found what he had been searching for ever since his father had sold him into slavery twenty years before to pay off some gambling debts.
During the weeks that followed, Casca grew to have a fondness for Crysos, but another interest was there also, though unknown to Casca and Crysos. Jubala watched, and also waited… for just what, he did not know, but time would tell… it always did…
The night before the festival Crysos came and sat in Casca's cubicle, and the two talked long, each taking the other's measure. Casca found that beneath the weasel-like exterior of Crysos was a man with an amazing degree of knowledge and experience, knowledge that he would need in times to come.
The oil lamp's light flickered across the features of his new partner and Casca finally called an end to the day, sending Crysos off to place his bets on the games tomorrow.
Yes, he thought, just before sleep took him, tomorrow the arena.
NINETEEN
Before dawn the gladiators of the Gallic School were pulled from their cubicles, fed, and assembled for the march to the Circus Maximus. The first glow of the morning light was breaking as they made their way to the city of Nero. They entered through the Asinarian Gate, passing the great aqueducts of Claudius and Marcian. To the north the temple of Isis and Serapis was barely visible through the morning mists, but the chanting of the priestesses was clearly heard, a strange lilting melody honoring their goddess of the Nile. The melody caressed forgotten edges of Casca's brain, but his conscious thoughts were all on what this day would bring.
Corvu led them finally to where the Appian Way and Via Ostia met at the south end of the Circus Maximus. The crowds were already gathering, and many were already being shown to their seats by thelocarii. Most had baskets with lunches and suppers in them. And surprisingly enough, even this early, prostitutes of both sexes were doing a pretty fair business under the arches and passages leading to the arena.
The first thing that hit Casca as they entered the passageways leading to the barrackslike area where they would be outfitted was the smell… the smell of the beasts in their cages, and the smell of the humans in theirs.
There was a sameness to them now, but that would change when the beasts were let loose on the humans.
The deep, rumbling cough of the lion merged with the higher more catlike, cry of the leopard. The beasts knew that this was a day different from any other. Some primal instinct told them that there would be blood soon, very soon.
A breeze picked up, and Casca could smell the waters of the Tiber, only a hundred yards away.
Each gladiator was unto himself, alone with his thoughts…
Bread was brought. Not thepanis sordis of the common people but the fine, sweet, yeasty white bread of the rich, silgineus. Casca had never tasted it before. He let his mouth fill with the sweet taste of it, letting each bite melt by itself. Then, like the others, he washed it down with posca. No wine until after they fought… which meant that many would never taste wine again for this day would be their last.
An auctoratti from Dacia turned to Casca and smiled quietly, his voice low and soft. "Soldier, does this have the same feel as before going into battle?"
Casca turned to him, his gray eyes serious. He let his back slide down the stone wall until he rested on his haunches and looked up into the face of the Dacian.
"Yes. There is a sameness to the waiting." Taking a short swallow of the bitter posca, he rinsed his mouth and spat. "But here we fight not for a cause or for each other. We fight for the amusement of the beasts outside, those people in the seats. They're the ones who should be in cages. But we will go out there and kill each other off for their pleasure. And ours, too. For the gods help us. Man was made for battle, and when the fight starts you can't help but be drawn into the killing. But there is something out there we can win."
The Dacian knelt beside him. "What's that, soldier?"
"The wooden sword," Casca stated through half-clenched lips. "The wooden sword is out there. If we can please the beasts that judge, freedom could come today. And for that freedom, Dacian, I would kill you and everyone else here gladly. That is our fate-to kill or be killed. As with the great beasts of the jungle-eat or be eaten. And this day, Dacian, I will feed."
Still on his knees, the Dacian backed away from Casca, fear running over his skin, running over the crawling flesh. He turned his eyes away. He left. He gave thanks to his gods that he would not fight against that madman today…
The morning's entertainment began with mock battles between naked old men and midgets cavorting and thumping each other with wooden swords and flails made of animal bladders. These were followed by more forms of mild entertainment, including a lottery in which the winners won prizes of young slave girls and money.