Bookworm Gladiator

How many men does it take to carry a litter of two pastry eating patricians? Four should have been enough, but one of Atia's servants had taken ill this morning, and so we shuffled down the colonnade lopsided. The carriage and everything inside tipped to the left, and I hoped the weight would not cripple the poor man on that particular side with no partner to share the burden. "Honestly, there was no need for this. I could have taken the mule," I said to Atia.

The Priestess plopped a powdered treat in her mouth and licked her fingers clean. "Oh you don't want to be out in this heat, trust me. Besides, I was headed to the agora either way." Her priority today was to have a new dress tailored, specifically for the second bracket of the tournament, and Hurek's long awaited bout with Shams. I, on the other hand, was to spend the entire day out in the hinterlands by some charnel house to oversee Hurek's training.

Pace, reflexes... and what was the third thing? I rubbed my temples trying to remember and the carriage almost toppled over to the side as the over-burdened servant fumbled. Strength! I had to make sure that Hurek made noticeable improvement in these three areas, beyond just being fully healed and rested. Shams' skill seemed a bit out of my mental domain, but I was sure that Hurek must hone his reflexes if he was to catch Shams' burst of unorthodox strikes. Pace and stamina were something he needed to improve overall. And strength would be the key to defeat the young prince. There was no way around it. Not only was it the one ability that I was confident of in Hurek, I also had reason to believe that Shams was a weakling in the clinch and especially wrestling. Hurek had to get close.

But should Hurek play defensive and let Shams control the pace? Or should he chase the young man and leave himself open to counters like Jirikoy? And most of all, how confident was I in Hurek's ability to actually finish the fight in a lethal manner and put the runt out of this tournament permanently? Surely, he must be full of rage at his friend's death, no?

I noticed Atia smiling at me. She tapped one of the bangles on her wrist thoughtfully. "What is it?" I asked her.

"Nothing," she replied.

"It's something, so out with it."

"You've changed a bit, haven't you?" Atia said. "I'm afraid the Palmyran sun has dried your heart."

"Quite the opposite, domina."

"Oh?" Atia said, leaning her head. "How so?"

"I rather focus on the fight, if you don't mind."

"Of course, ever the reserved scholar." The Priestess settled back in her cushion, her eyes scanning something outside the little window as we turned a tight corner. "You don't speak of your past either. Of your life back in Rome."

"There's not much to say." What was she trying to get at?

"No loved ones waiting for you back home, then?"

"You mean like a son?" I watched closely the tiniest movements on her face, and I could feel my heart quicken. But if there was any indication that she knew of Lepidus' demise, she didn't show it.

"Or a daughter, or a wife?" she waved her hand casually, "A concubine, even."

So that's what this was. I sighed, not bothering to entertain her questioning. I would rather not be a yarn to a bored house-cat. "How much further to this charnel house?"

"I think I'll drop you at the gates, then," Atia replied shortly, folding her arms under her chest. "I have to get back to the Temple."

"Fine, I'll grab a mule."

***

I was drenched in sweat when I finally slipped off my mount, staring at the barren land all around me. I was south of the city, near the southern oasis but not close enough to find any trees for shade. The charnel house was an old tomb down the path of the burial ground, and beyond it, I saw the smoke of the brick kiln where most of the Palmyran hard labor was done. I hadn't approved of Hurek forcing this place to be his training grounds, but I'd finally relent. It would be good for Hurek to be surrounded by his slave brethren, and it might also discourage any spies on Flamma's coin.

A small boy ran out of the charnel house with a cup in hand. He looked faintly familiar. "Paco?"

"Master Cicero, you're here! Father and the others are at work, but I can take you to Hurek."

"Wonderful, I hope he's been running like I'd expected." I took the cup from his hands and realised it was the putrid and overly diluted drink called posca. It was the only type of wine allowed for slaves to drink. Along with milk, porridge and nuts, this completed their sad diet. Although for Hurek, I'd requested Atia to provide good meat and bread. "Take me to him then," I told the boy.

"Did you hear? Uncle Lamur will be fighting Brutus!" the boy announced proudly.

"Lamur?"

"Septimus," the boy replied. I figured Lamur was Septimus' Nokchi birth name. "Who is your father, then?" I asked. "He was with the imprisoned slaves, then?"

"You call him Lucius Merkov," Paco replied. So the boy was Nokchi? I'd mistaken him for an Arab or Aramean street urchin. Maybe even with some Greek blood.

Paco led me around the charnel house, where some tents had been set up as shade. Thank the gods. Underneath, I saw Hurek's large figure hunched over some parchment on the table, and a piece of chalk in his over-sized fists. "Hurek!" I called. "Recovering well, I hope?" His shoulder wound was mostly healed, and his bruises had disappeared, thank be to Mars. Hurek's toughness was in tact.

As I neared, my curiosity peaked at what Hurek was writing. Or rather, drawing. "You've taken up the arts then, eh?"

Hurek offered a smile, an open and honest one. After a rugged week, it was good to sit with someone who had no ill-intentions towards me. Or anyone for that matter. "Good afternoon, priest," he said, and held up his chalk drawing, "would you like to see?"

"Of course," I took the paper and tried to make sense of the figure. It was some kind of creature, "A dog?" I asked and Hurek shook his head.

"A hamel," he replied.

"A what?"

"Hamel," he said simply, as if it was something I should immediately understand. "A horse and a camel, look," he pointed to the head of the creature, which resembled a camel, and the body was that of a horse.

"What nightly terror is this... you need to hide this atrocity before someone burns you for witchcraft!"

"No," Hurek snatched the drawing from my hand. "I like looking at it. It calms me."

I must admit, what began as worry in my heart quickly formed into annoyance. How could he be wasting his time like this? "Aren't you angry or disturbed by what Shams did?" I asked plainly. "You sit here drawing, when I clearly asked you to run this morning."

"I did run," he replied, "one full lap around-"

"It's not enough, Hurek," I said, fighting the urge to raise my voice but failed, "it's not nearly enough! You should be angry, you should full of... something! I just don't understand." I realised my outburst had scared Paco away and he was hiding, peeking around the corner. "You need to channel your rage into action," I implored the large Nokchi.

Hurek stared down at his hands, silent. I thought I saw a tremor, fingers shaking, but Hurek quickly closed his fists and looked away. "I can't be angry, priest. Not ever. No good comes from my anger."

"You know you have to kill him, Hurek. We can do it in the shadows, even, if you prefer not to in public..."

I studied the brooding man for his reaction. Head bowed, he breathed deep, almost as if he was meditating. His fist shook again as he slowly crumpled the drawing in his hand. But as soon as the flash of rage had come, it dissipated and Hurek sighed. "You want murder in the dark?"

"Yes," I hissed, "I can arrange for you to enter the palace at night, and-"

"No," he cut me off. "I can't"

"How can you-"

"If I die, who take care of Jiri son? Who take care of Ollia?"

Exasperated, I was at a loss for what to say, and kept repeating the same thing, "Revenge, Hurek! Don't you want vengeance? What kind of a man are you..."

Hurek's jaw twisted into a grimace as he faced me, but there was still little anger in his sad eyes. The next words that came from his mouth reached into my gut and tore me from the inside. "Revenge is weak man emotion, priest. You know this."

"How dare you, you fucking prole," I raised my hand to slap Hurek in the face but he didn't react, accepting whatever punishment I would lay on him. I couldn't, though, could I? I gritted my teeth, knowing full well I could strike the large man and he wouldn't do anything. Slowly, I lowered my fist and jabbed a finger towards him, "you get up and you run. Now!"

Hurek stood without another word. The crumpled paper dropped from his hands into the dirt, and it flew away in a cloud of dust as the fighter launched into a powerful sprint towards the open burial grounds.

I fell back down into my stool, and quickly wiped my tear-brimmed eyes as Paco skulked closer. "Are you alright, Master?" the boy asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm well," I said, clearing my throat.

"How about some posca?"

"Yes, thank you Paco. I could use a drink."

***