Prologue: The New Recruits

“Sir, the new recruits are here.” Quintus Galbi, the lanista of the gladiator school, looked up from his desk with aching eyes. His warden, Cotta, stood straight with his arms behind his back. A former legionary, the man had the succinct military manner that Galbi appreciated.

“Thank you, Cotta; I will be down in the yard in a moment.” The warden left and Galbi eased himself onto his feet. He stretched his arms out, almost brushing the ceiling of his study. Galbi was a tall lean Patrician, with a proud family history dating well back into the republic. While he was never in the military, he had been trained in the use of a gladius and pilum. His family scoffed when he became a lanista, and even to this day, one of his brothers still called him the gladiator.

But Quintus had seen what others in his family had missed. Their finances had been shrinking for a long time, as had other Patrician families. The Equestrian class was simply not doing enough to keep an income. So while the rest of his family remained impoverished, too proud to take part in most work, and unqualified for the jobs they would do, Quintus had a summer home in Campania and a ludus in Rome.

It was a cool spring morning when these new recruits came in. as he appeared on the balcony, all the gladiators saluted him. Galbi didn’t notice, instead studying the four men in the cart. He had to admit, they looked formidable. The first appeared to be an Israelite, small and wiry, with a long dark beard that concealed the lower half of his face. He looked like a fighter, with hard flint like eyes, and a face that had taken a beating over the years. He was maybe nineteen. Next to him, there appeared to be what was either a Pict or a Hibernian, he couldn’t tell which. He was short and powerfully built, with red hair and a short red beard. He looked about the same age as the Israelite, though much heavier. To his right was a tall Numidian who looked younger, only fourteen perhaps. He looked around in barely contained fury. A rebel, Galbi decided. He wasn’t sure he wanted him. Maybe he’ll reject him as noxi, or the men who are sent to certain death in the amphitheater, usually reserved for criminals. Finally, the last one appeared to be a Roman. He was massive, with powerful arms and a broad chest. His arms were extended in the salute, so Galbi could see the small dark scars on his hands and arms. He was a blacksmith, then. That would explain the powerful upper body as well. Most likely, he was a volunteer, a man looking for a way to feed his family. May the gods protect him from the rest of this lot.

Galbi indicated that the men should be brought off the cart. Cotta pulled on a rope, and the men were jerked to their feet. As the men stepped down, Galbi studied their demeanor. The Israelite seemed defiant, the Numidian angry, the Celt in awe, and the Roman nervous. Get used to it Plebeian you’re not in the forge anymore, Galbi thought wryly. The imposing lanista strode up to his new slaves with a cold domineering expression on his face. He stepped up first to the Israelite.

“What is your name?” He said coldly. The Israelite looked him in the eye without blinking. There was no hatred on his face, but all the same, Galbi felt strangely uncomfortable. He masked it though, and the Israelite spoke simply.

“Judah” He answered in Latin with only a slight accent. So he was a Jew. That sometimes created a problem, because often Jews were very much against violence, and would not give in under pain of death. This one, however, had the cold guarded eyes of a killer.

Galbi then looked over at the Celt. He asked the same question. This time he was met with a shrug and the Celt responding, “No Latin” in barely comprehensible pidgin.

“His name is Cavan” The Israelite answered, “He doesn’t know much Latin, but he’s learning as much as I can teach him.”

Galbi turned to Cotta, who elaborated. “He was a Hibernian pirate that got captured in a raid; he’s apparently quite the fighter.”

Then he was of use. He needed to learn enough Latin to communicate, but that was by no means impossible. The lanista turned to Judah.

“You are to teach him Latin, I want him as fluent as possible.” He said curtly. “Tell him that if he doesn’t learn it, or his fighting displeases me, then he will be killed.”

He paused a moment as the Israelite muttered to the Hibernian, and Galbi could tell the message was received by the grim cast that covered the warrior’s face. Next up was the Numidian.

“What is your name?” He was surprised to realize that this young boy was tall enough to look him in the eye. There were few enough men who could do that, let alone fourteen year olds. The Numidian stared at him with barely masked contempt, and Galbi felt a distinct uneasiness within him as the dark eyes bored into him. After several moments of silence, Cotta cut in.

“The boy hasn’t spoken since I bought him. The traders who sold him to me said they found him wandering the desert, with just his clothes and a sword.” Galbi had been about to ask what was going through Cotta’s head when he bought this one, but decided against it. Who knows maybe he’ll turn out to be good. If not he’d be good practice for the others. Finally, he looked at the Roman, and asked him the same question.

“I am Caius Varrus” the Roman answered. He was even taller than Galbi and had a hugely strong upper body.

“He’s a volunteer,” Cotta said, indicating Varrus, “his papers have been signed by the magistrate, and he is good to fight.” Galbi studied the new recruit with a critical eye.

“You will be treated no better than these other wastes of life,” the lanista adopted his best commanding voice, “In the next few months, you will become fighters. Not soldiers or warriors, mind you, nothing as dignified as that. You will fight for the pleasure of the mob, and when you die, and you will die, your body will be thrown in the garbage heap.” Some of what Galbi said was not expressly true. They would not necessarily die in the arena, though doubtless some of them would. They were also not as useless as he made them out to be. He paid good money for them; he wouldn’t throw them away if he didn’t have to. “Now, let’s see if you all are as incompetent as you look.”