Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two Page 6

  “We all get by as best we can. And, no doubt you have a little silver put aside for retirement too.” Belua took no offence at the procurator’s jibe, familiar with Gordeo’s astuteness where money was concerned.

  “A little Belua, a little,” Gordeo replied. “But, now I have business to attend too and must take my leave of you. Good day to you doctores, and to you, young Clodian.

  He watched the procurator walk away, his ample bulk swaying like a ship. Strabo met his eye, flashing him a dark look before re-joining the practising gladiators.

  “You dislike him, don’t you?” stated Clodian.

  He’d almost forgotten the youth’s presence.

  “Who?”

  “You know who I refer to.”

  “Yes, I do,” he confessed, facing the youth.

  “Does he bother you?”

  “Fuck him,” said Belua.

  “That is a no then,” said the youth grinning.

  Belua tried hard not to smile. “Time to see my old friend, Neo. He’s the ludus’ physician. It will be rare event if you can make that miserable bastard smile too.”

  “A physician,” the youth’s face lit up. “Excellent!”

  “But, first some refreshment. I have a good Falerian in my quarters that is calling my name.”

  “Just water for me,” said Clodian. “The memory of the wedding feast is still fresh in my mind…and stomach.” He mimicked a retching motion.

  “Very wise,” said Belua, pointing him in the direction of his quarters, “I’ll drink for the both of us.”

  The infirmary was small and very clean. Rows of surgical instruments were placed neatly on the multiple shelves that covered three of the four walls; on which were placed neatly ordered surgical instruments, rolls of clean dressings and jars containing various salves and tinctures. The fourth wall had a large shuttered window that provided ample light, alongside which was a life-size map of the human body with the skin removed.

  The physician was occupied stitching the leg of a black skinned gladiator who lay prone on a large wooden table that commanded the centre of the room. He did not seem to hear Belua and his companion enter. Belua cleared his throat to get his attention again.

  “You can see that I’m busy, can’t it wait Belua?” The physician’s words were clipped, and he didn’t look up from his work.

  “It’s a private matter…and important,” replied Belua.

  The physician glanced around. Dark, serious eyes scanned Belua above pointed cheekbones, the jaw firm below hollow cheeks. Taut skin was salt-sprinkled with short whiskers. It was a distinguished face, suggesting wisdom. He looked from Belua to Clodian.

  “So, I’ve an audience too,” he stated.

  “This is Clodian, son of Gaius Caesilius Ralla, who I told you about,” said Belua, before adding, “and, this is our good physician, Neo.” When he turned to Clodian, he found the youth staring with interest at the map of the human torso.

  “This is wonderful, who drew this?” Clodian asked, preoccupied.

  “Me,” said the physician, who, having finished his task straightened up, arching the stiffness from his back. He handed the gladiator a small jar, adding, “Apply once a day, and come back in four days and I will remove the thread. If the wound starts to smell or bleeds yellow muck come back immediately.” Nodding his acknowledgement, the gladiator limped from the room without comment. The physician washed his hands in a nearby bowl of clean water. Once dried, he walked past Belua to stand by Clodian who was still studying the map.

  “Do you understand what you study so closely?” the tall physician asked.

  “I believe it marks out the vessels that carry the blood around the body as well as the shape of the bones and muscles under the skin. I’m not sure what these smaller lines are, but I expect that they must have an important function.”

  “A very good answer,” said the physician. “It’s my belief that these smaller lines carry messages to all parts of the body. If damaged, a limb can become useless as a result.”

  Belua watched as Neo explained in detail certain parts of the body map. Clodian stood as if entranced, listening intently to the physician’s every word. Belua was a little surprised as he studied the pair, knowing that Neo rarely took time from his duties to expand on such matters. The diligent, skilful physician was a man of few words and as prickly as a briar rose. Belua had known him for over ten years and had felt the sharp lash of his tongue more than once when he’d disturbed him at work. Belua coughed, an exaggerated gesture to get his attention. The physician turned around, looking vexed by the interruption. Belua braced himself.

  “Well,” the physician prompted. “Out with it, I have other duties that will not see to themselves.”

  “Would you visit Prudes with me?" Belua understood that being direct was the best strategy. Neo frowned, and Belua noticed that his greying hair was receding, accentuating his high forehead. Gods, the serious bastard is getting old. We both are.

  “Is it his arm?”

  “Partly,” said Belua. “I’ve heard that he’s fallen on hard times, and I have an offer of work for him – to teach Clodian the short sword. I know he’s been avoiding me.” He glanced towards Clodian who was still studying the wall map.

  “I have not seen him since his last visit to the ludus, not long after the training accident,” said Neo, his expression a little softer. “I told him that his arm had been cut too badly to heal, and that in time it would wither. He would not accept it. “

  “Can you do anything for him?”

  “I would advise taking the arm off, as it’s dead and of no use. But, his mind I cannot mend.”

  “Leave his mind to me,” said Belua. “Can you come today?”

  “I have another two men to see and then I can accompany you. But, if he agrees to the arm coming off, we will need another to hold him down.”

  “Good,” said Belua, knowing that Neo could be relied upon in things that really mattered. The matter of holding down his old friend fresh in his mind, he pointed his head towards the unsuspecting Clodian.

  Chapter 8

  PHYSICIAN

  Belua and Neo stood in the shade of the inn’s tattered front awning.

  Belua knew The Inn of Mithras by reputation. A real shit-hole, it was rumoured that the cockroaches were the size of mice and the resident whores putrid.

  After a brief enquiry in the bar it was revealed that Prudes had rented a room on the third floor at the back; the inn’s cheapest. Stood at the inn’s entrance Belua wrinkled his nose, the smell of stale sweat, piss and vomit wafting from the narrow street as the afternoon sunlit its shadowy recesses. In the adjacent alleyway a fat drunk was fucking a whore bent double against the insula wall. The whore kicked out at a stray dog that was licking her calf. The fat drunk didn’t miss a stroke.

  “Do you think Clodian has had difficulty getting the right Falerian?” Belua asked.

  “No,” replied Neo. “He’s a bright lad and the city’s busy. Don’t worry, he’ll be along.”

  “Perhaps I should have gone?” said Belua, starting to feel edgy.

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “It’s what I’m paid to do.”

  “After all these years you think I don’t know you at all.”

  “None of your Greek logic please.”

  “I think the young noble brings out the best in most people. “

  “Even a sour bastard like you?” said Belua, uncomfortable that Neo saw through him so easily.

  “Even me,” said Neo. “He has a keen eye and an enquiring mind. I can imagine he is much more comfortable with a stylus in his hand than a sword.”

  Before Belua could respond, Neo pointed to a figure dodging through the crowd towards them. It was Clodian. Looking flushed and a little breathless, he handed Belua the small amphora he’d been holding tightly against his chest.

  “It’s the dark Falerian, the strongest the inn-keeper had,” said Clodian, looking pleased with himself.r />
  “Good,” said Belua, before suggesting, “perhaps I should have just a small sip to confirm its strength?”

  It was halfway to his lips before Neo prised the amphora from his grasp, stating firmly, “No need for that. What I’ll add to it will finish what the wine cannot. I suggest you get on with it. We’ll wait here until you summon us.”

  Belua pushed back his shoulders and headed into the inn. Worried about what he‘d find, he was sure a swallow of the potent wine would have helped.

  The inn was busy. All the wooden tables were occupied by a selection of early drinkers. There was a smattering of artisans, and a group of gladiators joking loudly. Sat in one corner was a brace of Nubian sailors, their skin the colour of ebony. A whore draped herself around the more sober of the two, one hand coaxing her breast to his mouth. Belua took it all in without breaking his stride to the stairwell. The steps creaked under his weight and he headed to the third floor without pause.

  Stepping over a sleeping guest he stopped at the entrance to Prudes’ room. A filthy drape covered the doorway. The smell of stale body fluids from the interior was overpowering.

  Swallowing his gorge he went in.

  Feeling the muscular legs tense beneath him, Clodian bore his weight down on the knees as instructed. Belua gripped Prudes’ shoulders. He watched, fascinated, as Neo reached for a curved blade; honed to a razor edge. The blade was eased beneath Prudes’ damaged arm just above the elbow. A thin leather strap was fastened tightly around the bicep. Neo said that it would restrict the flow of blood and prevent Prudes from bleeding to death when the first cut was made.

  Prudes’ eyes were half closed and Clodian thought that he was lapsing into sleep. The wine with the tincture Neo added to it had quickly done its work. Prudes wore a ragged tunic, its colour hard to discern beneath the overlapping stains. His jet black hair hung in greasy strands across his face and a vomit stained beard framed his gaunt face. Clodian guessed he’d seen about thirty summers.

  The strong smell of urine and old sweat stuck to the back of his throat. He bit his lip.

  “Hold him,” Neo instructed.

  In one swift movement Neo cut through the flesh of the arm. Prudes’ eyes flashed open. “Bastards!” he screamed.

  Clodian pushed down as hard as he could as the body bucked off the table beneath him. Belua was leaning his considerable bulk across Prudes’ head and shoulders.

  Neo quickly relieved himself of the curved blade and picked up a fine edged saw. Without pause he sawed deftly through the arm bones, the sinews of his wiry arms standing out from the skin as he worked.

  A final push with the saw and the limp squid of an arm fell to the floor. Neo reached for the nearby heated iron. He pressed it against the severed stump. Like roast pig, the thought flashed into Clodian’s mind, and he held his breath.

  Prudes thankfully passed out.

  He’d accompanied Belua and Neo back to the ludus. The two older men now stood to one side, deep in conversation.

  Clodian had been surprised how quickly Prudes regained consciousness after his ordeal. Neo had dressed the seared stump and given him medicine to help with the pain. Belua left a pouch filled with coin, together with blunt instructions to clean himself up, find new accommodation and to see him at his quarters in five days.

  Prudes had thanked the two of them. Neo had said nothing and Belua had responded with something very lewd. Clodian saw through the silence and gruffness realizing the men were very close. It was the type of camaraderie that he envied and hoped that he’d one day find. He knew that his father loved him, but he‘d never seemed like a friend. His mother had filled that gap, but there was no one after she died. They’d been very close and had talked about many different things. He’d shared all his secret fears about the world, and growing up he’d always believed that she had answered him honestly, from her heart. They’d shared common interests – a love of nature, growing things and the miracle of the human body. His mother regularly helped the servants and their families when laid low with common maladies. He remembered visiting their homes with her, and how afterwards he’d promised to say nothing to his father. “He’ll not understand, Clodian,” she’d remark, “and, he’s enough on his mind without us bothering him with such trifling matters. Let’s keep it as our little secret.”

  He’d never broken his word and clearly recalled how he felt after helping in a small way those individuals without the means to aid themselves. It was a good feeling. He’d said as much to his mother and she’d smiled and laid her hand on his cheek. When he thought back there were very few subjects that they hadn’t discussed. The gods had been one of his favourite topics and they had talked for long hours in the shade of the garden’s fruit trees about this subject that intrigued him so.

  His questions had been many, as if his mother was the wisest of people. He’d asked why Rome tolerated the numerous gods of the people they conquered to be worshipped freely? He drew attention to the fine temples of Egyptian gods Isis and Serapis that adorned the streets in Pompeii, as well as the numerous cults that paid homage to exotic gods from the far reaches of the Empire; like the Phrygian god Sabazius and the dour god of the Judeans. She’d said it was a matter of pragmatism. Rome’s rulers were concerned above all things about maintaining the Pax Romana – the Roman Peace. When there was peace in the provinces, then the collection of taxes continued unhindered. To finance its standing armies cost Rome money and the flow of revenue from its conquered peoples provided this. Revenue in its many forms fed the Roman public, a third of which was unemployed. It fed the redundant mob’s lust for entertainment too – the bloody spectacle that was The Games. Each year they became more elaborate in their bloodletting and ever more expensive. Freedom of worship was thus a gratuity granted by Rome in order to keep its subjects happy, said his mother; as long as nothing was preached that undermined the flow of silver and ultimately the stability of the Roman state.

  Clodian sighed, realizing how much he missed a mother who’d been such a dear, trusted friend. Perhaps Belua would change his mind when he came to know him better? And, perhaps the serious Neo too?

  After the operation, Clodian had introduced himself to the still groggy patient, and had also received words of thanks.

  It was very quiet as he looked around the ludus, and then he realized that the troupe would be occupied with their evening meal. The palaestra was empty, the head – high training posts casting tired shadows across the sparse grass. The sun was sinking behind the great mountain, and he thought how peaceful the ludus now seemed, a marked contrast to the noisy exertion he’d witnessed by day.

  Opposite where he stood, behind the colonnaded portico that bordered the training field, were the shadowed cells of the trainee gladiators – small stone boxes that were their home until they became victors and could afford to live outside of the school, or until they died on the arena sand. The knowledge saddened him.

  His reverie was broken by Belua and Neo joining him.

  “Your assistance today was appreciated,” stated the physician.

  Belua stood with his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable.

  “I was glad to help, and I was very impressed by your skills.”

  “Thank you,” said Neo. Clodian thought that he looked weary following his exertions, deep lines etched at the corner of his eyes.

  “I have a favour to ask.” Clodian directed his words to the physician.

  “Then ask.”

  “Could I spend some time with you…I mean when you are treating the men?”

  “Neo is a very busy man, and –” Belua began.

  Neo interrupted by raising a hand.

  The physician studied his face for long moments. Clodian’s mouth felt very dry and he thought that he might have caused offence in some way.

  “Come to the infirmary at the first hour in two days’ time,” Neo replied, finally. “And, don’t be late.”

  Clodian’s mouth split into a wide smile.

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nbsp; Chapter 9

  THE SERPENT

  Beads of sweat stood out on his father’s fore-head, and Clodian dabbed the moisture away with a damp cloth.

  He was shocked by the change in his father’s appearance as he lay in the wide bed. The weight had dropped from his bones and his skin had adopted a sickly yellow pallor. Thankfully, the vomiting had stopped but the sour stench of loose bowels filled the room. And, he could not remember a time when his father had been so ill that he’d had to take to his bed, and it worried him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Better today,” replied his father. “Yet I feel so weak.”

  “Shall I have some soup brought up, to help build your strength?”

  “I don’t think that I’d be able to keep it down.” He breathed in deeply through his nose. “Tomorrow, perhaps?” He turned to look out through the shuttered doors of the bed chamber, thrown open to cool the room and help with the smell. He seemed preoccupied with the view, the forested upper reaches of Vesuvius visible above the clutter of the city’s roof-tops.

  “The mountain always reminds me of my puny insignificance in this life,” said his father, his voice sounding tired. “The gods surely moulded its vastness to censure the pride of men. “

  “I’m sure the Greeks would agree, father.”

  “Very true,” said his father, smiling weakly.

  “Do you think it might be prudent to consult a physician regarding this ailment?” Clodian proposed. “The physician at Ludus Gordeo is held in high esteem, and I can ask him to visit if you wish?”

  Before his father could respond, the new domina’s voice echoed from behind him. “I really don’t think that will be necessary, Clodian.” He’d not heard her enter the room.

  Flavia glided past him to sit at his father’s side. She kissed his father on the forehead before turning to him.

  “I know that you are concerned about your father, as we all are.” She stroked his father’s hand gently as she spoke, and he saw that each of the long, slender fingers was adorned with a gemmed ring of gold. The shift of pale green that she wore complimented her cat’s eyes and did little to disguise the womanly curves beneath. “But, I can assure you that it is only a passing malady. Akana is well versed in the healing arts of her country and ours, and she has assured me that he will get better soon. The dear girl has made sure that your father has had only the freshest honey that he so enjoys. And, remember that your father is a strong man.” She emphasised the word strong as she smiled at his father. The smile had a lascivious aspect and Clodian recognised that it hinted at private matters between them. The knowing was new for him and made him feel uncomfortable.