Gladiatrix

XII

Balbus had a slave wake him before dawn the following day and bring him a hot cup of mint tisane: the lanista found he could not face the day without his morning brew. Even so, rising at such an unearthly hour was far from pleasant. He sipped the herbal infusion, his hand idly playing with the sleeping Eros’ golden hair. The youth stirred and opened his eyes blearily.

‘Must you go?’ he mumbled.

‘Business is business.’ Balbus said gently. ‘I want to ride to Halicarnassus and I know how you hate horses. I shan’t be gone long.’

‘Just make sure you are not.’ Eros’s hand moved under the cotton sheet, stroking the lanista’s thigh and began moving inwards languidly. ‘You know what you’ll be missing.’

Balbus felt himself jerk in response, swelling into life. He chuckled. ‘I have appointments,’ he said, placing his cup to one side. ‘I must get going.’

‘Feels like I’ve got you going already.’ Eros disappeared beneath the covers.

Balbus sighed, and gave in to the delicious warmth as Eros took him in his mouth. Time enough for business later.

It took a day and a half for Balbus and his bodyguards to ride to the city of Halicarnassus, leaving the lanista somewhat saddle sore. Still, for all that, he usually enjoyed his time on the road, finding that the occasional foray away from the comforts of home had an invigorating effect.

Balbus loved the city. As he and his guards stabled their horses, he recalled with fondness his early days in the place that had made him his fortune. Living on a small inheritance, he had invested wisely and had made enough money to buy a share in a small but profitable inner-city ludus. From there, he had never looked back. He reminded himself to make a donation at the shrine of the goddess, Fortuna. Balbus was always careful to honour her, as she had always looked out for him.

The horses stabled, Balbus booked himself and his entourage into a reasonably priced tavern on the outskirts of the city before going about his business. There were accounts to be settled, supplies to be purchased and a dozen other minutiae that had to be taken care of. Of course, he could delegate tasks, but Balbus prided himself on his business acumen and knew that, whilst Fortuna may have a hand in his success, hard work and the personal touch provided its own reward.

It took some hours to attend to these matters and it was mid-afternoon by the time Balbus felt that he could indulge himself in a trip to one of Halicarnassus’s excellent public baths. He let the busy cosmopolitan atmosphere wash over him as he threaded his way through the crowded streets. Many of his social standing preferred to travel in a litter, but not Balbus. He had no wish to miss out on the vibrant hum of the city by being encased in a box. And he was big enough to admit to himself that he enjoyed the occasional recognition his work as a successful lanista afforded him.

As always, the baths were crowded, but not overly so. Balbus liked to visit the more exclusive facilities that, in his view, were well worth the extra expense. There was a time for frugality and a time for extravagance. No use in wealth if one could not enjoy it, he told himself as he languished in the deliciously warm waters. He had lolled luxuriantly for some time, eyes closed, senses soaking in the perfumed air, when his relaxation was interrupted.

‘Greetings, Lucius Balbus.’

The lanista opened his eyes, recognising the voice at once.

‘Septimus Falco,’ he said, smiling. ‘Greetings.’ Falco was a young man, not yet in his thirties but, like Balbus, he had made his fortune early in life. They were long-time business associates, the glib younger man a promoter of some repute in Halicarnassus.

‘Are you here on business or pleasure?’ Falco asked him.

‘A little of both, of course. Do you have anything for me?’

‘Always, Balbus, always. You’ll be pleased to hear that Fat Aeschylus is making another bid for government, this time as aedile.’

Balbus chuckled. Fat Aeschylus was an Asiatic Greek with more money than sense, who had been trying to buy his way up the political ladder for more years than Balbus cared to remember.

An accepted part of political manoeuvring was to provide games for the public in an attempt to secure votes from the plebs.

Unfortunately for Aeschylus, the plebs were happy to enjoy his entertainments, but were well aware that he was not taken seriously enough to be considered a viable candidate for office.

Aeschylus however, was a fan of female combat in his games and Balbus was his preferred supplier. And, if his bid for the office of aedile were successful, it would mean that, alongside supervising public works, Aeschylus would also be responsible for sponsoring the games for the province. ‘Good news for all of us,’ the lanista said, nodding.

‘Indeed. But this time Fat Aeschylus is going to the expense of hiring another lanista to provide women to fight. He feels that he can offer the plebs more by pitting one school against another.’

Balbus was scandalised. ‘That’s absurd,’ he said. ‘My fighters have always provided him with excellent quality.’

‘Of course,’ Falco soothed. ‘He’s just looking to increase interest in his spectacle and you can’t really blame him. You know how fast the mob gets jaded; and you have to admit, it’s highly ostentatious. The teams of women together with male fighters — that makes four schools.’

Balbus mulled that over. He considered it a professional slight, but he had no intention of missing out on the business. He would overlook any bruises to his pride as long as his purse was not similarly dented.

‘I understand that you have recently acquired some new stock, Lucius.’ Falco was always well informed. ‘How are they shaping up?’

‘Extremely well,’ the lanista responded. Even if some of the latest novices had been extremely poor, Balbus was not about to give any impression other than a good one. ‘As you know, I have an excellent eye for quality merchandise and my recent purchases are no exception.’

‘Yes, I saw your new girl at Frontinus’s recent games.’ Falco’s gaze became feline. ‘The dimachaera. She was impressive.’

‘Oh, her.’ Balbus grinned at his young countryman. ‘Very dangerous, that one. She’s from Greece.’ He paused for effect.

‘Sparta, in fact.’

‘Really?’ Falco’s eyes lit up. Like most Romans he was enamoured with tales of ancient Sparta and its illustrious Three Hundred.

Already, in his mind’s eye, he was probably creating scenarios where he could use her famous background to the most profitable advantage. ‘We could use that to increase the interest in her.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Balbus was pleased that Lysandra had caught the other’s imagination. On no account was he going to let the promoter know that the Spartan was proving trouble-some. ‘Anything to get them going. You know how cynical the mob can be about new fighters,’ he finished smoothly.

‘Tell me about it.’ Falco’s sigh was world-weary. ‘It’s a problem always being one step ahead of them, they demand new diversions every games, it seems.’

‘Falco, I must be away. I have matters to attend to.’ Balbus said, inwardly wishing that he could spend more time idling with the younger man. ‘You’ll be in touch about Aeschylus’s forthcoming games?’

‘Indubitably, my friend. If he has the money, I’ll put on a show none will forget in a hurry. I might even get him voted in this time.’

‘I doubt that.’ Balbus laughed, and lifted himself from the pool.

Even though they lied to each other all the time and often cut each other short in profits, he had a genuine affection for the flashy promoter. ‘Take care of yourself, Falco.’ He tipped a finger to his brow.

‘You know me, Lucius.’ Falco kicked out into the water. ‘I always do!’

Balbus left the baths with a specific purpose; there was, after all, a twofold objective in his visiting the city. Having concluded the usual business earlier in the day, he now made his way to the Greek quarter. Certainly, there was a large population of Asiatic Greeks throughout Halicarnassus, but the suburb he was headed for was renowned as a hive of expatriates from the ‘old country.’

Balbus could not resist a smile as he made his way into the quarter. Having visited Athens in his youth, he instantly recognised the essential Greekness of the place. Togas had been replaced by chitons and the clean-shaven Roman fashion had no place here; most of the men wore beards, oiled and curled. On every corner there was a debate of some sort going on, philosophies being exchanged, politics being argued.

He stopped by a street-side vendor to enjoy a cup of wine.

The man tried to fleece him in the typical Greek manner but Balbus rebuked the fellow flawlessly in his own language.

‘I thought you were a tourist,’ the wine vendor apologised.

‘Afraid not.’ Balbus’s answered lightly. ‘Tell me, my good man, is there a Temple of Athene hereabouts?’

‘Athene?’ The vendor scratched his ear, and examined the residue before answering. ‘I thought you Romans called her Minerva? She has a temple in the city.’

Balbus did not take offence at his abrupt manner; Greeks were famous for their xenophobic attitude. ‘I promised a Greek — ’ he stopped and corrected himself, knowing that the Greeks preferred to be addressed in their native terminology, ‘a Hellene friend of mine that I would make an offering for him while I was in the city,’ he lied smoothly. ‘He insisted that I make his devotion in a Hellenic temple of the goddess.’

The vendor sized him up for a moment. ‘Yeah, there’s one down the street. Not much of a temple, though. More of a shrine.’

He gave Balbus the directions. In return, the lanista flipped him a coin, which vanished with preternatural speed.

Balbus found the shrine with no difficulty. It was a small building but, as with most Greek architecture, it was quite beautiful. He made his way inside, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the comparative darkness within. Incense hung heavily in the air, giving the interior of the shrine an ethereal atmosphere. At the far end of the room was an altar behind which was a tall statue of Athene, resplendent in her armour and war helm. Her presence dominated the room and Balbus bowed his head in acknowledgement. Like most Romans, he had a healthy respect for the religions of foreign lands.

‘Can I help you, brother?’

Balbus saw a priest approaching him from behind the statue.

The man moved with an assured grace, his arms and chest were muscular, giving him more the look of an athlete than a cleric.

‘You are the High Priest here?’ Balbus asked in a reverential whisper. It always felt wrong to him to speak at normal tenor in a place of worship.

The Greek’s rugged face creased into a grin. ‘I am the only priest here, brother. Though I think those in Athens might take issue with me if I affected myself with so a grand title as High Priest.’

‘Yes, I should think so.’ Balbus returned the smile, finding the man’s gentle manner putting him at ease. ‘Is there somewhere we might talk? I have some questions that I feel you might be able to help me with.’

‘Of course.’ The priest indicated that Balbus follow him. He lead the lanista back towards the statue of Athene, behind which was a set of steps leading down to a small door. ‘This room is set aside for such purposes,’ he explained as he unlocked the door. ‘As you can understand, people wish to discuss matters with a priest that they feel they can discuss with no other.’

The temple’s anteroom was small and comfortable. There were couches on which to recline, between which lay a small table, decked with fruit and a jug of watered wine.

‘I am called Telemachus,’ the priest said as he sat.

Balbus introduced himself but if the cleric had heard of him he gave no indication.

‘How may I help you then, Lucius Balbus? Do you wish to commune with the goddess? To beg a divine favour?’

Balbus poured a small measure of wine for himself and the priest. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Tell me, Brother, have you heard of Athene’s Temple in Sparta?’

The priest laughed aloud, so surprising Balbus that he spilled wine down his toga. ‘I certainly have,’ Telemachus replied after a moment. ‘A very strange place indeed. Why do you ask?’

There was, Balbus knew, a time and a place for lies. Any good businessman knew when to cast the dice in honesty, or weigh them to fix an outcome. The lanista felt that there would be no point in trying to deceive Telemachus. Also, it would be impious in the extreme to lie in a temple. ‘I am the owner of a school for gladiatrices,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Telemachus sat up on the couch. ‘You are that Lucius Balbus! I did not want to say before. I have seen your women on occasion, they are very entertaining.’

‘That’s always good to hear.’ Balbus was somewhat taken aback but was ever the professional. ‘I did not think the priesthood would approve of the games.’

Telemachus’s smile was disarming. ‘Athene is not only the goddess of wisdom, lanista. War is also her dominion.’

‘Ah yes, of course.’ Balbus nodded. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘one of my newer charges is a former Priestess of Athene’s temple in Sparta.’

‘Indeed?’ Telemachus motioned him to continue.

‘I was hoping you could tell me a little of this sect and their ways, Telemachus. My Spartan has it within her to be a famous gladiatrix, but of late she has seemed out of sorts. One of my trainers mentioned to me that she — Lysandra is her name — feels abandoned by the gods. I thought you might know how I could counsel her through this difficult time.’

‘The Spartans are a strange breed, lanista. Nowhere is this more evidenced than in the sisterhood your Lysandra was part of. As any learned person knows, Sparta’s history is steeped in military stoicism and covered more or less with glory.

‘This excellence on the battlefield was not attained cheaply, however. From ancient times, even up till today, Spartan youths from the age of seven are compelled to attend the agoge, the Spartan upbringing. It is not dissimilar to a ludus, in its atmosphere and purpose. The difference being, of course, that the Spartans are training their youth for defence of the state, not for the pleasure of the crowd. Their women also are duty-bound to compete in athletic contest, in order that they beget strong sons.’

‘Athletics?’ Balbus brushed absently at the spillage on his toga.

‘That would not explain Lysandra’s brilliance with weapons.’

‘Well, Sparta’s Temple of Athene is an oddity.’ Telemachus nodded. ‘Let me explain. Some three hundred years ago, the Epiran warlord, Pyrrhus, invaded Lakedaimonia, the Spartan heart-land.’

Balbus nodded; all Romans knew of Pyrrhus. He had inflicted many defeats on the fledgling Roman city-state, but his victories had been so costly to his own men, it had given rise to the derisive phrase ‘a Pyrrhic victory’.

‘Then, as now,’Telemachus went on, ‘Sparta’s heyday had passed and, in truth, she was nothing more than a minor Hellenic polis.

Pyrrhus wanted to be the first conqueror to walk in triumph through her streets. As you know, the city of Sparta has never fallen to a foreign power — Alexander chose to ignore her and you Romans chose to make her a client state. But in those days, the memory of her grandness was still fresh in men’s minds and the Epiran decided that he would be the one to take the city.’

Balbus was enjoying himself. He loved a good yarn and the Greek, like most of his countrymen, liked nothing better than the sound of his own voice.

Telemachus drank some wine before continuing. ‘Typically, the Spartans decided that they could fight him off, despite being overwhelmingly outnumbered. They retreated behind their city walls and prepared for a siege.

‘Pyrrhus did not disappoint them and hurled his men at the defences, seeking to swamp the Spartans by sheer weight of numbers. At first the tactic seemed to be working. However, it was at this time that a Spartan Princess called Archidamia went to the women of the city and led them to the walls to fight alongside their menfolk.’

Balbus was scandalised. A Roman woman would never be allowed to pick up a sword and fight. That was man’s work, and women had no business interfering in the business of men.

Admittedly, he had Roman women in the ludus, but that was different. They were slaves, not Roman citizens.

The priest smiled slightly at the lanista’s expression. ‘Against all odds, the Spartans crushed the invasion force, inflicting huge casualties on the Epiran army. This great victory had to be due to the intervention of the gods. Athene is the patron of Sparta as well as Athens, Lucius Balbus, and the triumph was attributed solely to her. As thanksgiving, the Spartans set up a new religious sect to honour her. It had a typical Spartan twist, however. They set up an agoge for Priestesses on their acropolis, replacing the more traditional temple with a fortress.’

‘They have a ludus for children. For girls?’ Balbus could scarcely credit it.

‘Worse than a ludus. Your charges are adults. That the Spartans subject their children to this regimen is inhuman. I cannot describe to you how horrific the agoge is in its practices. It goes beyond mere religious and physical training, friend Balbus. These children walk barefoot in winter snow, are mercilessly beaten for any transgression, real or imagined, given so little food that they are forced to supplement themselves by stealing. Indeed, such thievery is encouraged, for it shows resourcefulness. But the penalty for being caught is terrible, for it is seen as failure.’

The priest paused in his narrative, letting Balbus assimilate the information. The lanista was shocked that such antiquated and barbaric practices went on in Greece, supposedly the font of civilisation.

‘All the while, they are being schooled in military doctrine,’

Telemachus continued. ‘They spend years studying weapons and tactics in this crucible of discipline; of course, it’s antiquated and highly ritualised. Indeed, Sparta is the only place in the world where one can still see an ancient hoplite army, albeit one formed solely of women. This is done, ostensibly, to answer any future call of Athene to bring the women of the city to arms. In addition, it is their religious and secular education. You will find your Lysandra eminently well schooled, my friend.’

‘So, if Lysandra has been trained with weapons since childhood, why then is she not performing?’ Balbus asked.

‘Ah ha!’ The Greek smiled, and tapped his nose. ‘The heart of the matter. For centuries, Spartan power was based on the subjugation of her neighbouring state, Messenia. The Spartans put the entire population to slavery. To a Spartan, the enslavement of another race is a proud part of her heritage. But to make a slave of a Spartan…’ He shook his head. ‘You have made your Lysandra everything she despises. You have taken away that which makes up her psyche and she is as lost as a babe. For all their prowess, all their training, these priestesses are very flat in their thinking. All Spartans are, but they especially so. Things are very simple to them, and they can rarely find a middle ground as more cultured people can. To her, as you say, it appears that the goddess has turned her back, abandoning her to the most shameful, the most ignoble fate a Spartan can imagine. It is no wonder she cannot function.’

Balbus felt utterly defeated. ‘She has the potential to become my greatest asset,’ he said. ‘Are you saying there is no way to convince her to fight,’ he patted his chest, ‘from her heart?’

‘No.’ Telemachus drained his cup. ‘I think perhaps I could find a way to convince her.’ As he poured more wine, he sighed. ‘But unfortunately, my work is here, and I cannot afford to leave. The people around here are not rich and the votive offerings barely cover the expenses of the shrine.’

‘I see.’ Balbus smiled, now on familiar ground. ‘Of course, I can understand that. If you can find it in your heart to take a short leave of absence to aid this poor child, I would be extremely grateful, both to you personally and to the goddess herself.

Though earthly things cannot compensate for the good work you will do, I am sure that my provision would be such as this temple has never known before.’

‘The goddess loves a generous man, lanista,’ Telemachus said.

‘Shall we say twenty thousand denarii?’

Lucius Balbus balked inwardly at the sum but reasoned that Lysandra had come to him for nothing and so perhaps this was the gods’ way of balancing the scales. She was a rare piece of merchandise — young, fit and already trained. She would have cost a lot more if he had bought her on the open market, that much was certain. ‘Twenty thousand, friend Telemachus,’ he agreed.