The time had come. The two teams were evenly matched; there were about twenty men left standing. Casca grinned at the Greek, his teeth showing below his protective nose guard. "Greek!" he called. "Freedom is just a wooden sword away!" He took his helmet off, letting the crowd see his face. The act alone made him stand out from the rest. He threw the helmet at the astonished Greek and went into a low, leaning position, his blade extended out, the flat side up. He motioned the Greek to come closer.
"Come here, lover of boys," he mocked. "Come on, hero."
He feinted a short thrust and sliced a small gouge from the Greek's left shoulder-just enough to piss him off.
The Greek roared and fell on Casca like a whirlwind, raining one blow after another. The crowd was screaming its approval. Casca let the Greek almost hover over him, and then, with one quick, clean motion, he turned his body sideways and leaned away from the Greek… almost as though he were going to try and run away.
The Greek bellowed with pleasure and went at it even harder. He beat at Casca's shield, trying to get around it. Then, as Casca completed his turn away, his left foot was between the legs of the Greek. With one quick, clean motion he jerked his foot up into the balls of the Greek, striking with the back of his heel.
The audience roared with laughter as the Greek looked startled and tried to throw up even as he went down. The audience knew then that Casca had been playing with them and with his opponent, but the Romans had a good sense of humor and bore no grudges. Cheerfully they turned thumbs down on their previous favorite. The Greek was doubled up on the sand, holding his balls. Casca raised his blade and turned to the emperor for the signal. Nero was laughing so hard at Casca's trick that he nearly choked on a piece of pomegranate. Still coughing, he motioned for the kill.
Blade raised, Casca stood over the Greek. The man's eyes asked for nothing. He bared his neck for the blow. "Make it clean, Roman," came his choking voice. "Make it clean."
Casca nodded, his face shining with sweat. "Clean it will be, Greek. I give you peace." There was a whishing sound followed by a thunk! and the Greek's head was off. Arterial blood spurted on the much-stained sand. Casca then raced to where his teammates were still engaged and began lending assistance to them, getting them organized. As they cut a man down they would band together to finish off the next… until the Dacian school's team was no more. Only the dead and dying littered the ground. Some were permitted to live, even though defeated, if they had fought well. The victors were thrown money by those who had wagered on them. A few cried out for the wooden sword to be given to Casca for his tricking the Greek, but not enough cried out for it, so the request was ignored by the Imperator who went back to playing with Acte's breasts while the Praetorians watched over him.
The survivors made their way back into the cool interior of the Circus, holding their wounds and calling for wine. The arena attendants were out dragging off the bodies of the fallen, using long poles with hooks.
Casca's teammates congratulated him on his victory. Crysos came to him and unlaced his greaves and the straps holding his armor on. "See, master," he said, "I told you that you would win the favor of the crowd. Freedom is not very far away. Even now they know your name and will be watching for you in future games. Fight well and use your brains and we may both be free from this house of carrion one day. We are fifty sesterces closer. I doubled our money." Sponging Casca down quickly, Crysos went about his duties tending to the others, bringing wine and posca to those who called for it.
Every now and then a scream punctuated the heavy atmosphere as the physicians used their favorite remedies: cauterizing a wound with a redhot blade, or, if there was a stump, smearing the open and raw wound with hot pitch. This gentle treatment always sent the patient into a fit of screaming until they passed out-which was not long in coming. While they worked, the physicians would argue among themselves the various aspects of their profession… and was the latest theory correct about laudable pus and the benefits that good healthy pus had on healing.
The men who could walk were marched in loose order back to the school. Those who could not were brought back in donkey carts. For them the games were over, but the roar of the arena followed their footsteps to the outskirts of Rome.
The games continued into the night, and Rome exhausted herself like some great whore on blood and slaughter.
TWENTY
Casca's first entrance into Rome on leave had been a moment to remember. For the preceding months he had been curious about the city behind the walls. He had heard tales, naturally, but once through the Ostian Gate the impact of the largest city on earth was almost more than his senses could take in at one time. True, he had heard that were it not for the grain ships bringing constant cargoes of food from the African provinces, it would be impossible for the great city to maintain her one-million-plus inhabitants, but those had been just words to him. Now to see with his own eyes the great sprawl of the teeming city was to realize that it was impossible to imagine how many people one million were. Damn!
He made his way through the winding streets asking directions now and then. The swarm of humanity was unbelievable… merchants selling goods that had come from as far away as Britain or Mauretania… jewelers in the Street of the Jewelers hawking wares that decorated the breasts and fingers of the rich with pearls and precious stones… butchers selling chopped lamb and goat for the tables of the city… There was no beef. It was seldom used for anything except the sacrifices.
He passed the Tiber wharves and saw stevedores shouldering the grain of Egypt into warehouses in preparation for the daily dole to those who possessed citizenship. He headed east toward the Forum, his well-muscled hide drawing more than one interested look from the Roman ladies, but right now he was too involved with the immensity of the city and its myriad people to take advantage of the obvious opportunities. He passed along the Agiletium, a street running just north of the most corrupt street of the city-and therefore of the world-the street called Suburra. He made a mental note to go back there later. A couple of the establishments might be fairly interesting… That had been the first time. This day he knew where he was going. Resisting the entreaties of the barbers to make his face anew-they were known to intentionally dull good razors-Casca made his way finally to the baths of Sura. Here slaves were permitted to use the facilities as long as they did not make a scene and gave priority to the freeborn and the nobility. The hour was fast approaching midday. Wending his way inside, Casca found the steam baths. Removing his tunic, he put it in one of the small cubbyholes provided for such and entered the bath. There in the corner, sitting quietly, his slanted eyes closed in contemplation while he breathed deeply of the vapors, sat Shiu.
As Casca approached, he said, without opening his eyes, "Welcome, big nose. It has been a long time, and I have missed the sight of your oversized body trying to fit in normal space."
"Tze, you slant-eyed old viper, can't you ever say anything straight out?"
Tze laughed. At the familiar tinkling sound Casca realized how much he had grown to like the yellow man, and how much he had missed him.
They were alone in the steam room. It was pleasant to let the vapors reach deep into their lungs, to enjoy the cleaning process of sweat. Shiu Tze sat placidly, hands around his knees, slowly rocking back and forth, looking as if he had an eternity to do nothing but enjoy his thoughts and senses. For a long while the two were silent.