Gladiatrix

XLIV

‘He’s coming? Here?’ Sextus Julius Frontinus was as close as he ever got to panic.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Diocles, a Greek freedman, regarded his former owner calmly.

‘When?’ Frontinus clambered from his couch.

‘Perhaps three months.’ Diocles ran a hand through his thin-ning hair. ‘Perhaps sooner. The letter is dated July and we are close to September now.’

Frontinus began to pace. ‘But this is unscheduled,’ he accused, as if there were something the secretary could do to alter the matter.

‘Rome feels no need to observe protocol, Governor,’ the slender freedman commented, slightly disdainful. ‘She makes protocol.’

Frontinus glowered at him. ‘Shall I tell you what this is, Diocles?’

Diocles nodded, a man who had no choice in the answer to the question.

‘This is a spying mission. There’s no other explanation. He’s coming here to make sure I don’t botch the preparations for Domitian’s birthday celebration. These new men think we of the old guard can’t take a shit without their help.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Diocles said, keeping his expression neutral.

‘Well, I’ll show this Trajanus how we do things in Halicarnassus.

Not by half measures, eh, Diocles?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Three months, Diocles. Not long to put an extravaganza together for his elucidation. But, this is something we must do.

Can’t have Rome saying my province wasn’t up to scratch!’

‘My thoughts exactly, sir.’ Diocles injected enough boredom into his voice to let Frontinus know that he was rambling and that decisions should be made — and quickly at that.

The governor bristled for a moment and then laughed. ‘Well, no sense in panicking over something we can’t change.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Well, let’s start to call in the debts and the favours, my boy.

Get me Balbus. Get me that Syrian whoremaster — you know the one. Get me…’

‘I am sure that I can find what you are looking for. Catering, entertainments, both visual and sensual — and, of course, a games.

Accommodation for him and his retinue — et cetera, et cetera. ’

‘Yes, Diocles, that’s it.’ Frontinus sat back on the couch and mopped his brow. ‘The buggers thought they had the General outflanked! Well, not this old soldier.’

‘Of course, my lord. I shall make sure all is in order.’ Diocles smiled slightly, inclining his head, and turned away. There was much work to be done.

‘It’s going to be huge,’ Balbus told his retinue of trainers. ‘Bigger even than the Games of Aeschylus. In fact, the perfect prelude to the grand battle we plan next year. I want the women in top shape,’ he added, stabbing a finger.

Stick lounged on a couch. ‘What about the growing army?’ he said. ‘ General Lysandra will be most displeased if her training regimen is interrupted.’

‘I think all will be well with that,’ Titus broke in. ‘She has her daily routine off to a fine art.’ He turned his attention to Balbus.

‘Did Falco get back to you with reports on the acquisition of mounts for the other schools?’

Balbus did not want to let the conversation gravitate to matters totally concerned with Lysandra but he realised the veteran very much saw this as his own project. ‘Yes, and Lysandra was right, an annoying habit of hers. Word is that the other lanistas are playing to their strengths, and are investing heavily in their women’s natural skills in horse riding. So, our Spartan shall have her way.

Frontinus, however, is being tight with the purse strings, now that we have our visitor from Rome to contend with. But I am sure the proceeds from this next game will more than cover our expenses.’

‘ We’re putting the money up for the horsewomen?’ Stick was incredulous.

Balbus made an expansive gesture. ‘Speculate. Accumulate. If Lysandra loses, we’ll be ruined. If she wins, we’ll all be rich beyond the dreams of avarice, with fame to match. But moving on to more immediate matters…’ Balbus determined to get the discussion back on track. He prided himself on his man-management skills. ‘There can be no mistakes, men,’ he said, feeling rather like a general himself. ‘Our women must perform to their best in front of this advisor of Domitian’s. Rome must hear of our work and, perhaps…’ He trailed off, his eyes swimming with visions of the capital and the adoring Roman populace. He brought himself back to the present. ‘Our reputation will stand on these… Games of Trajan, as they are coming to be known. This means that we cannot afford internal strife. Let the women know that Romans are enthusiastic with their granting of freedom in such events. Let them know that any infractions between them will result in not only severe punishment, but also they will be denied the chance to appear at the games.’

‘And so deny them a chance at freedom.’ Titus looked satisfied with that. ‘A worthy solution, Balbus.’

‘I thought so,’ the lanista agreed smugly.

New slaves began to arrive in increasing numbers, wide-eyed and frightened at their unfamiliar surroundings. Lysandra realised that Balbus was doing his best not to scrape the bottom of the barrel and was grateful: the newcomers were of sturdy Hellenic stock for the most part, hands worn from the loom and the washing stone.

These recruits would form the main part of her army. Though she was well pleased with the women she had trained in the hoplite fashion, she knew that her force must be more flexible than the outmoded formations of centuries ago. Given the historical theme of the spectacle, she could not equip her women in the modern style but she felt that arming the main part of her troops after the Macedonian fashion would not be stretching the rules too much.

Thus, the bulk of the army now found themselves wielding the huge sarissa, the eighteen-foot pike used by both Phillip’s and Alexander’s soldiers with such deadly efficiency. When formed correctly, the phalanx presented an impenetrable wall of spears.

On this wall she would impale the enemy and hold her fast whilst her elite troops finished the task.

Lysandra was keen to root out the Rhodians and Cretans amongst her women. The majority of the former were shepherd-girls, well skilled with the use of the sling; an ancient weapon long used to keep wolves and other predators away from the flocks though, its use in war was undeniably effective. The Cretans used the bow for much the same purpose and Lysandra knew that, by combining the ranges of these two weapons, she could rain down a withering hail of missiles on the horsewomen she would face. To supplement these troops, Lysandra also began to form a detachment of lightly armed women: peltasts, would act in concert with the islanders as skirmishers to break up and disrupt enemy formations.

As before, she trained a core herself, and then allowed the natural leaders that emerged to train the newcomers: it was proving a most effective form of administration and a necessary one.

Though much of her focus was on the training, she could not ignore the fact that a lavish spectacle was planned in the near future, and she could not afford to ignore her own preparations.

But now that she had a command structure in place, the army was largely running itself.

‘Hard to tear yourself away from the soldiers, General,’ Thebe mocked gently after they had sparred one afternoon.

‘Indeed,’ she said, sitting, mopping her brow. ‘There is a sense of satisfaction to be had when one sees one’s genius come to fruition.’

‘Of course.’ Thebe grinned. ‘Only you could have achieved such a feat, great one.’

Lysandra mulled that over for a moment. ‘Perhaps you are right,’ she agreed. ‘Though any priestess of Sparta may have my skills, I feel that it is my natural flair and charisma for leadership that has been effective thus far.’

Thebe grimaced; Lysandra was so arrogant it was almost endearing. ‘Alexander himself would be envious,’ she said, and was rewarded with a self-depreciating smile from her friend. If anything had come from the tragic death of Danae and the barbarian Eirianwen, it was a slight softening in the Spartan’s attitude. Certainly, she was still stiff-necked and haughty, but Thebe had seen her ‘discipline’ some of her recruits of late and there was no evidence of the horrific beatings and tortures that Lysandra advocated as ‘the Spartan way’.

But it seemed to her that the twin deaths had caused her to lose something of herself. She had become driven to the point of obsession, her only focus her troops and her training. She spoke of nothing else but tactics, weapons, and killing. It was as if she had armoured herself against all feeling, wearing the facade that was ‘Achillia’ to protect herself from further pain. The priestess was all but gone and Thebe found herself looking at the gladiatrix who had become a stranger.

‘Are you mocking me, Thebe?’ Lysandra broke her from her reverie.

‘I?’ she took on a scandalised expression. ‘How could one such as I mock the great General Lysandra?’ She would try to treat Lysandra in her normal manner and hoped that she came back to herself.

‘These next games are being highly publicised,’ Lysandra said, changing the subject.

‘That’s the truth. I heard that a Roman senator was coming to watch. That’s what all the fuss is about. It will be the biggest spectacle this province has ever seen, that’s for sure. Four months of games.’ She shook her head. ‘ Four months! ’

Lysandra glanced in the direction of the plains where the women trained. ‘I must see if I can be given dispensation to leave the arena after my bouts and return to the ludus to oversee the troops.’

‘They’ll wear that all right,’ Thebe agreed. ‘This whole ‘battle’ venture must be costing Balbus a fortune. He’ll want to ensure that all goes well. And, with no joke, you are the best person to oversee that.’

‘Naturally.’ Lysandra got to her feet. ‘Let us continue.’

Thebe shook her head as she rose. There was no doubt that the arrogance was still there.