But these were only the preliminaries.
The time for the sacrifice arrived.
Trumpets blared, echoing through the giant U-shaped structure of the Circus. The seventy-five thousand in the stands went silent. The priests entered, walking with stately strides to the shrine running down the center of the Circus. Here were the altars to Jupiter and Mars. The priests led out a pure white bull for the sacrifice, its horns covered with gold foil and with garlands of flowers draped around its neck-but with a ring in its nose by which the priests led it. The bull's eyes rolled from side to side, the red rims showing, as though he sensed that this was no normal day. The deep smell of blood lying covered by the clean sand made its way into the bull's flaring nostrils. But he felt no real fear. All his life men had tended gently to him, brought him the best of fodder, and washed him every day. From the time of his calving men had been gentle to him.
Then it happened.
His legs were bound, and he was thrown on his side.
The bull gave one short, startled bellow before the slicing blade of the priest severed his great artery. The dumb brute's mind had not really registered what had happened, his body had not stopped its death tremor before his entrails were out and were being inspected for omens. The priests then removed the bull's heart and set it in the flaming altar before Jupitar and announced- as always-that the omens were auspicious and the games could continue.
The audience roared its approval. The entire company of the day marched around the Circus so the people in the stands could get a good look at them. Gladiators in the dress of a dozen nations appeared. Retarii with their nets and tridents were followed by a group of condemned prisoners from Germany who had been taken while raiding the northern provinces. Sleek and black Numidians rode ostriches and the striped horses of Africa. Cages of lions and leopards rolled by. Slave girls scattered flowers and garlands from baskets. Choruses sang paeans to the glory of Rome and her gods.
Late to enter the arena were the bestiarii, those who would fight the animals. Some were armed with swords for killing bears. Others carried the stout boar spear with its iron circular guard about midway on the shaft. The guard was to prevent the boar from sliding on down even after it was speared, and getting to the bestiarii with its flashing tusks. The beast men took up positions while the rest of the day's entertainers returned to the cool interior of the Circus to wait their turn on the hot sands. The preliminaries were over. Now the games would begin in deadly earnest.
A great rumbling came from the crowd as the beasts were let loose in the arena. Nearly a hundred and fifty animals raced into the open. Some, like the deer, fled with wild, flashing eyes. Others methodically stalked their prey. The great cats slunk low and stayed to the wall sides as a house cat would have. Bulls, antelopes, hyenas mixed in confusion. Several wild dogs with firebrands tied to their tails were let loose, helping to drive the beasts into a frenzy. The cries of "Kill! Kill! Kill!" echoed from the chambers and arches of the Circus.
And kill they did.
Men and animals.
Slaughter…
Casca caught one quick look outside and saw a leopard dragging a boy off to a quiet corner where it could enjoy its meal. While he watched, the beast began eating its victim's face. Casca turned away in distaste. This was not the business of soldiering he knew. To kill was natural… but to feed the beasts was not.
One spectacle followed another. In one pleasant diversion a great number of condemned criminals were let loose in the arena to kill each other off- and then lions were released to kill and eat the survivors. One insane depravity followed another, glutting the Romans' senses… Beneath the arches and alcoves the whores' trade tripled… The slaughter continued past midday, with only short breaks while attendants spread fresh sand on the floor of the Circus and raked it smooth. Fine entertainment. Seventy-five thousand spectators…Sick damn bastards. Casca thought… and turned his attention to his own group.
Corvu briefed them on the day's schedules. They were to fight as a team. There would be fifty of his men in the traditional dress and armor of the Secutoris, with the fish symbol of Gaul on their helmets. They would be matched against a like number from the Dacian school dressed as Thracians with great curved swords and short brass bucklers as shields. The curved Thracian sword was longer than their own gladius iberius, but it had disadvantages to it-particularly where the straight thrust was concerned.
Casca's mind strayed from the briefing. Another smell had joined the existing odors of blood and animal sweat that permeated the entire structure. Now the scent of excited humanity wafted down from the stands, the smell of excitement and sexual arousement. Casca could see the looks of depraved passion on the faces of the people in the stands above. Only the vestal virgins in their box seemed to make any attempt to maintain some form of dignity. They would be disdainfully observing all that took place as if it were a burden on their sensibilities when they would much rather be at a clean and pleasant temple praying.
And, at the opposite end of the arena, the gladiators of the Dacian school would be listening to a briefing likewise. This would be a fight where only the victors of the winning side walked away.
The moment had come.
The games master signaled. Trumpets blared. The senior gladiators held the front ranks. Casca and the others picked up the step and marched into the arena, Corvu's voice following after them, exhorting them to remember the honor of their school and give a good show.
Each school marched across the arena, turned, and faced the Imperator's box. There the divine Nero was playing with the breasts of his newest paramour, Acte, a pleasant blonde girl of perhaps nineteen, a street whore who had screwed her way to the top. Nero sat with his hand down her stola oblivious to all that was transpiring until Burrus, the prefect of the Praetorians, called his attention to the men below. Removing his hand from Acte's breast, he made a small face and turned to the hundred men below on the shining sand. As one voice, the gladiators cried out: "Hail, Caesar. We who are about to die salute you!" Gaius Nero acknowledged their salute with a wave of his hand and motioned the games master to get on with it.
The men from the two companies squared off and sized each other up. Casca locked eyes on a tall Greek and assumed the basic defensive posture rather than the attacking attitude, letting his actions say that he was unsure and giving the big Greek the impression he had the mental edge on him.
The gladiators closed.
His scream was already in the air when the sword arm of one of Casca's teammates went down before the curved flashing blade of his Dacian opponent. The victor did not have time to finish off his victim before he, too, was down with both hands holding his belly trying to keep the large intestines from falling out onto the sands. The men swirled and milled, changing opponents again and again.
Casca kept his eyes on the Greek, letting the Dacian beat him back farther and farther from the main battle, away from the larger group of killing men. By separating himself from the mass, Casca knew the audience would be watching him more closely, which was proved by the jeers from the crowd, the calls of "Coward!" and the demand that he fight. They also encouraged the Greek to finish this swine off. The curved blade of the Greek repeatedly pounded on Casca's protecting shield. The Greek was seemingly trying to beat him down through sheer exhaustion. That curved blade kept hacking gouges out of Casca's shield, sending aching vibrations running up his arm. One of the Greek's teammates started to come and help finish him off, but the Greek waved him away. He wanted no help with this kill. Good, thought Casca. Good. Let the others waste each other. If I just hold on to this one until the odds are reduced, then… The crowd screamed and wagered on their favorites. Several women had already bet themselves into slavery and were even now at the feet of their new masters. Others in the stands stood with glazed eyes in sexual excitement as ecstatic shudders ran through their bodies… as though they were making love and were in an uncontrollable climactic response…