Gladiators vs Zombies (6 page)

THE ESSEDARI

He had been a druid once, in the days when his name had been Maedoc, when his family lived under a roof built by his own hands, and his gods spoke to him with voices of wind, root, and hoof. He spoke the tree language, and he wore the white robes on feast days. Then the Romans came to the Green Isle, and they cared only for gold and slaves, and knew nothing of the gods. Their red armies had always stayed in Pictland, and the folk of the island were unprepared for the onslaught.

Maedoc’s family had been put to the sword in the first days of a war that seemed unending. Like the picts the island folk were a hardy race, and not suited to life under the iron rule of the Roman. Maedoc walked among the villages, and raised many swords to his banner, and a mighty revolt they fought. Yet for every Roman slain another took his place, and soon the rebel strength was spent, and Maedoc himself was captured.

He had been tortured, and the last of his men executed before him, and the few women of his band were raped unto death while his eyes were forced open. Such was the reprisal of the Romans, such was the price of revolt. Maedoc was stripped of his name, and given a Roman name to mock his revolt. So it was that Maedoc the Druid became Cassius Rex, or King Cassius.

Word of his skill at the reigns of a war chariot had passed from legionnaire to slave trader, and slave trader to potential buyers. Soon Cassius Rex was forced, by brand and by lash, to race in the arena. He was so far from home, and the voices of his gods were at first faint, and then silent. In time he learned to accept his life as one of the essedari, the chariot gladiators of Rome.

Only the wealthiest of Romans could sponsor games that involved spectacles of the essedari, as they required horses, chariots, and arenas large enough to provide the chariots room to move. As such, Cassius Rex soon found himself competing in the Coliseum of Rome. The former druid took what pleasure he could in this new life, becoming a friend to horses, and nurturing a love for the speed of the wheel and the thrill of victory. Cassius Rex was an expert at the races, and also a master of spear and bow.

When House Laeca revealed the golems in the Coliseum, Cassius had felt the stirrings of old voices in his spirit. It was as it seeing the creatures had shaken him to the core, and at once he knew that these were abominations of ancient magic and vengeance. He knew not what tribe had called down this curse, though a curse he knew it was. Leave it to the Romans to bring such a thing to the capitol of the empire and put it on display, he had thought. They are, in their own way, like me, a relic of some distant land that only exists in stories and the arena.

Lanista Laeca had made purchase of Cassius Rex some months later, once the lanista’s wealth had begun to grow by leaps and bounds as his golem gladiators became the craze of the empire. Dignitaries and politicians flocked from everywhere to witness the creatures in the arena, while merchants and paupers alike flooded the city streets. As Lanista Laeca’s power and influence grew, he promised the people of Rome a great spectacle of golems, gladiators, and glorious carnage unlike any other.

So it was that Cassisus Rex found himself in the Coliseum, the crowd packed in like cattle, with the overflow leading well outside the viewing area. The editor had placed criers outside the arena to tell the tale of what happened inside, so that those unlucky hundreds who could not witness with their own eyes could hear the deeds of the day. The sun was nearing the end of its course through the sky, and the shadows were growing long. Torches had been lit across the building, and many burned on long poles set in the arena floor.

Large stone pillars had been set in several places in the arena, serving as markers that would allow both the essedari and the crowd to follow the progress of the race. The arena was teeming with golems, many of who were the dozens of gladiators who had been slain during the last two days of games. There had to have been nearly a century of golems and golem gladiators milling about the arena. A large canvas banner had been hung behind the editor’s podium, where the names of the six essedari had been written. The editor explained to the crowd that for every golem slain the essedari responsible would receive a mark, for every other essedari two marks, and for every lap he completed he would receive three marks. They would race until all of the golems had been slain, and the essedari with the most marks would be awarded a rudius. To be awarded the wooden sword of freedom was to be set free from one’s life as a slave, often accompanied by enough coin to start a new life as a free man. Those essedari who survived the race, though lost the battle of marks, would be executed. Only one man would survive the day.

Cassius steadied himself, and whispered soothing words to his horses, even as he worked to keep himself calm. The chance of freedom had ignited a fire within his spirit, a dream he had so long forgotten now awakened in him like a beast straining against the bars of a cage. He gripped the reigns, and looked down at his weapons rack. In his chariot there was a short bow and several arrows, two throwing spears, and fastened on the side of the chariot hung his small oval shield. At his waist hung a gladius. Cassius, like the rest of the essedari, was very lightly armored, only having wrapped leather greaves on his calves, a heavy leather girdle to protect his belly and kidneys, and cloth wraps on his hands for holding the reigns. The essedari had all dispensed with their helmets, though less protection the editor had demanded it so that he could better see who performed what deeds.

The editor, his explanations done, stepped back and called for the start of the race. Horns blew and the essedari cracked their whips, sending the six chariots careening into the arena. Cassius held his reigns in his left hand, using his right to crack his whip over the heads of the horses to drive them onwards. The golems had only barely turned towards the essedari when the six chariots slammed into their ranks. Each of the chariots were equipped with long curved blades that protruded from the wheels on either side, and these blades scythed through the golems as if they were wheat stalks. Most of the golems hit by the blades were taken in the legs, though some were decapitated as more chariots swept past them. The editor kept a careful watch, and made marks for kills as they were made. 

Cassius preferred to win races by keeping a steady pace, and not using the limited energy of his horses on the first laps. Cassius moved his whip to his left hand in addition to the reigns, and grasped a spear from the rack. He hefted it into a throwing position, and using his left hand tugged on the reigns, veering his horses to the right to close distance with the essedari nearest him. The other gladiator was too busy focusing on the chariot in front of him to notice Cassius close in and hurl the spear. A cry went up from the audience as the spear burst through the essedari’s chest, and he fell from the chariot. The man’s hands still gripped the reigns, and it brought the horses up short, causing the chariot to flip back over front, crashing into the horses that had once pulled it.

Cassius veered left to avoid the crash, and brought his whip across his own horses, spurring them onwards to complete the first lap. That was five marks for him within moments, and he was sure that he had scythed several golems with his chariot during the course of the race so far, though he dared not glance at the canvas to see how the others were doing, better to focus on the battle at hand. The screams of the horses filled the arena as the golems were upon them, feeding on the fallen beasts as ravenously as they would the flesh of men. An arrow thudded into his chariot, then a second, as another essedari drew near Cassius. The former druid looped his reigns on the pommel of the chariot and swiftly took up his own bow, knocking an arrow as fast as he could. Both of the essedari were gambling that their horses would follow the track and not wreck the chariot while they used their bows. Cassius let fly with his own arrow, only to miss his target by mere inches. The enemy essedari loosed a second arrow, this time into the flank of the right horse that pulled the former druid’s chariot.

The horse screamed and kicked, but held its course. The crowd was booing loudly, calling down curses on the enemy essedari for his dishonorable shot, though cheered even more loudly as Cassius drew back another arrow. He let out his breath in measured bursts as his perception of the world slowed to a snail’s pace. Cassius placed all of his focus upon target and arrow, pushing all other details out of his mind, and let loose. The arrow flew true, and slammed into the throat of the enemy essedari, who slumped out of sight.

Cassius discarded his bow, letting it fall away as he grasped the reigns again, correcting the horse’s path. The horses had strayed from the course, and Cassius had to turn in a wide circle to complete his next lap, though he could not tell if it was his second or third. As he came around he got a wide view of the arena, and it was a tempest of chariots, dust, gore, and golems. Many of the golems had been shorn at the legs or waist, and were crawling across the arena, dragging themselves along on their hands. One essedari had crashed his chariot though had recovered his sword and shield. As Cassius brought his chariot around he watch the essedari slay several of the golems, though the gladiator was soon dragged down by the crawling golems and devoured.

Cassius thundered back onto the track, crashing his chariot into that of another, and their blades snapped off as each was caught in the spokes of the other’s wheel. The two men immediately moved their whips to their off hands and began fighting. Cassius reached for his second spear, only to find that somewhere in the melee it had been lost, so drew his sword, just barely twisting his torso out of the way of a thrust from the other gladiator’s spear. Cassius had to lean out of the chariot to slash at his opponent, while the other gladiator tried to keep his distance and impale Cassius upon the spear. After a flurry of blows the chariots rounded the corner, and both gladiators were forced to temporarily abandon their battle to guide their horses through the corner.

As they took the corner a golem that had been cut in half had climbed aboard the former druid’s chariot, and it clawed at his shoulder, digging furrows in the man’s flesh. Cassius screamed and let go of the reigns as he bashed at the golem with the pommel of his sword. The golem fell away and disappeared into the dust. Cassius grasped his shield and stepped down from the chariot as it slowed to a halt. The horse that had been wounded by the arrow had finally worn out, and it collapsed on the ground.

Cassius looked around the arena and saw that only the one essedari he had been fighting was still racing. All of the rest had crashed or been killed, two of them by his own hand. Cassius knew that he could not stop moving, as the arena was still crowded with golems, though all that remained were shorn and crawling. He dispatched two that were near him as he moved directly into the path of the final essedari. Cassius knew that if he had any hope of victory he had to un-seat the essedari so that he could not complete more laps and pull ahead in score. As the chariot drew near the enemy essedari drew his spear back for a throw, and Cassius ran directly at the chariot.

At the last moment the enemy essedari hurled his spear and Cassius ducked underneath the shaft, then as the chariot passed by him he leapt over the remaining scything blade. As soon as he landed he hurled his shield like a discus, and at the short distance it struck the lower back of the enemy essedari, and he toppled from the chariot. The crowd was howling its applause as Cassius started sprinting for the other end of the track. He did not look behind him as he heard the sound of the enemy essedari being consumed by the crawling mass of golems.

Cassius reached the other side of the track in time to take the reigns of the runaway chariot, taking it for himself. He then rode down the last of the golems, finishing the bout with a sizeable score in addition to being the sole survivor. The rudius was his mark of freedom to any Roman he crossed, for he was Cassius Rex the essedari. The coins of the winner’s purse bought his passage to the distant Green Isle, where the voices of his gods called to him as Maedoc the druid.

THE MANEAD

The wine slid down her throat, burning sweetly as it made its way across her tongue. This was the rite, the act of worship, and only the first of many she would perform this day. Dionysus whispered within her soul, stoking the fires the wine had ignited, filling her with purpose and hardening her resolve. Her god was with her, and there was no dousing the fire set in her heart.

Hesta looked at herself one last time in the mirror like surface of the water basin. No longer did she see the grim slave girl staring back at her. The face she looked upon was beautiful and terrible, eyes afire and a wicked smile slyly hiding on the edges of her lips. It had been a long journey to this day, rich with lust and courage, the meat and drink of her chosen god. Dionysus, the outsider god, the wanderer of the way, a harbinger god who brings careful wisdom and wild passion in equal measure.

I am a maenad now mother, she thought, I walk in your footsteps. I worship with wine and blood and lust. In this madness I shall offer up the whole of Rome to Dionysus, though my flesh be forfeit I shall not die a slave.

Her course was set, and her plans already in motion. She thought on the events of the past months as she grasped a small piece of coal and used it to draw symbols upon her smooth skin. She wrote the names of her family long forgotten, and she wrote the names of fellow slaves, most dead and gone, others lost to the vastness of the empire.
Dionysus had long been the patron god of her family, and though the life of a slave had been rigid, she had kept her covenants in secret. As the Lanista Laeca slipped deeper into his own darkness, so had Hesta’s spirit held closer the flame of her ancient faith. When the lanista had unveiled his golems in the arena, it was as if the coin and glory had doubled his desire for her, and his cruelty. Swollen with his newfound wealth and power, he had become a monster. Hesta and the other slave girls were abused and humiliated, though Atticus chose to slake himself upon Hesta more than any other, and it was she that he marked.

It was the mark that pushed her over the edge, the spark that ignited the fire of the maenad in her. Lanista Laeca had returned from the Coliseum after the glorious victory of Cassius Rex, flushed with pride and desire. He’d forced her to drink cup after cup of wine, until she was intoxicated and unable to defend herself. It was then that he attacked her, hurling her to the floor and climbing atop her as he ripped away her clothing. He savaged her as he took her, moaning and grasping as if he had become one of the golem creatures upon which he had built his new fortune. His nails dug furrows into her back as he thrust against her, and at the moment of his end, he bit her on the shoulder.

It was not the bite of a lover, but the mauling of a beast. Atticus worked his teeth into her soft flesh and Hesta screamed. The lanista bit deeper and deeper, moving his jaws to tear her skin and sink into the meat of her shoulder. Even with a head full of wine Hesta screamed in pain and thrashed against the lanista. Her resistance seemed to only inflame his passion and re-double his strength. He moaned like his golems as he chewed, her blood smearing across his face and all over the floor. She fought as best she could while on her stomach, to no avail.

It was in that moment that a still small voice spoke within her spirit. Through it all she found a retreat, a sanctuary in the euphoria of pain mixed with the numbing intoxication of the wine. She let herself go to that place, leaving her body behind and soaring with the god. She saw Rome burning, the scrabbling hands of golems tearing apart slave and dominus alike, and at the center of it all she saw herself.

Hesta stood before the statues of the empire, facing them down, and holding before her the tattooed head of the golem primus. She had known of the golem primus, the severed and undying head that the centurion had sold to the lanista. Slaves of the house whispered of hearing it moan, and some had accidentally overheard Lanista Laeca speaking to it as if it were a man. There she stood, holding the golem primus up to the statues, as if she herself was Perseus using the severed head of Medusa to do battle against the Kraken.

To you I shall offer up this sacrifice, Hesta spoke silently to herself, as she ran her hand across the wicked scar left behind by the lanista’s assault. She was marked now, as if she was one of the lanista’s golems. A cruel jape of domination and power, his own attempt at owning her soul in addition to her flesh. No longer, she thought to herself, for now I belong to myself, and to my god. Her thoughts fell upon the plan as it unfolded while she took up her butcher’s blade, stolen from the kitchens, and drank another mouthful of sacred wine.

Once Hesta had healed from the lanista’s assault, she had begun to execute her scheme. Most of the slaves in the household knew of the golem primus, and how Lanista Laeca would use it to create golems for the arena. She also knew that Atticus often kept a handful of the creatures in the old noxii cages down in the bowels of the ludus. Her first task was to seduce one of the guards, which proved easy enough. Hesta had wondered if she would be nervous coupling with another man, as Atticus had been the only man she’d ever known, though discovered quickly how powerful she could be as a woman. The guard was like clay in her hands, easily molded to suit her needs, and happy to lay with her. Unlike Atticus the guard was not cruel, and his desires were simple and over quickly. The guard never noticed that in their passion Hesta had stolen his key to the cells beneath the ludus.

She knew that the guard would not report the keys missing, for in doing so would lose his position. Likely he would assume that he’d lost it while coupling with the golem-marked slave girl, and would certainly not report that, given that Hesta was the lanista’s favorite. Over the next several weeks Hest carefully assembled the mixture of herbs and spices that were to be mixed into the sacred wine of the maenad. Without observing the proper rites this sacrifice would have no significance, and so it had to be done with reverence.

Once the sacred wine was prepared, Hesta had taken a hearty jar of it with her into the pens beneath the ludus during the dead of night. She padded silently to the cell in which Drust, the blue painted man whose gaze had always followed her when she attended the lanista during his tours of the ludus during training. In the past Drust had frightened Hesta, his scars and tattoos making him seem monstrous, though now she knew that monsters more often looked like respectable men until the doors were closed. Hesta opened the pict’s cell, and found him crouched in the corner, fully awake and ready to pounce.

She had come to him then, boldly striding towards him and taking his body in hers. He resisted but for a moment, his dismay at her unannounced appearance giving way to his lust for the lithe body under his hands. In the darkness of the cell they coupled, sharing the sacred wine, and coupling again. As they thrust against one another Hesta whispered her plans into Drust’s ear, telling him of the sacred wine of Dionysus, of her seduction of the guard and the key, of her plans to unleash the golems upon the city. She told him that on the following night she would bring the gladiators a chance at freedom, though they would have to fight for it. Their sacrament of lust spent, she took the empty wine jar and left the cell.

The sacred wine granted strength, and speed, and visions. That is what the ancient faith had taught, and Hesta felt as if the world of spirit and the world of flesh were about to tear each other apart. She could not tell where one began and the other ended, and that was how she knew it was time for the final act. Her blade was keen, a larger flat knife of the butcher’s trade, designed to hack through joints and bone. The incense smoke curled upwards, spiraling in the candlelight as Hesta whispered her prayer and stood. Using lard she had rolled her hair into locks, anointing them with incense. Her skin was covered in the names of her honored dead, and her veins burned with the fire of sacred wine, while her loins thrummed with lust.

She slid from her chamber, keeping silent and watchful, not wanting any guards or slaves to see her until the moment was right. She crept through the sleeping villa, careful to remain in shadow, using her knowledge of the household to avoid the scant few guards and slaves who walked the halls. Finally she reached the lanista’s office, and as she suspected there was light shining from the bottom of the door. She took a deep breath, and walked inside the room.

Lanista Atticus Laeca was at his desk, pouring over ledgers, with the golem primus resting on a small wooden mount at the edge of the desk. The golem’s gag was no longer the strips of leather used by the centurion, but fine chains of iron and gold that wrapped around from its mouth to its head. Atticus did not notice her at first, as Hesta had made sure to rub small amounts of pig fat in the iron hinges of the door, using herbs and incense powder to mask the smell. The maenad was halfway across the room before Atticus looked up and started to rise from his seat. Before he could stand or speak Hesta slammed the cleaver down into the lanista’s forehead, burying the blade deep in his skull.

Lanista Laeca fell back into his chair, his body twitching as he made the smallest of groans, then in moments he stopped moving at all. Hesta paused for the briefest of moments, looking directly into the eyes of the dead man, and then she began quietly searching his desk for the ludus gate key. While she had the key to the cells and the noxii cages, she needed to give Drust and the gladiators the gate key. Soon she found it, and strung it around her neck. She then took the lanista’s jeweled gladius from its wall hanging, and grasped the golem primus by the chains, pulling it from its mount.

Her heart was pounding in her breast as she left the office and made her way deeper into the household. She went into the sleeping chambers of each of the guards and paid house staff. She stood over them as they slept, putting the golem primus next to their throats, then removing the gag. As the golem bit into their soft throats Hesta held her hand, wrapped in sturdy cloth, over their mouths. She’d seen what happened to men in the arena when killed by the golems, and knew that a man killed by the bite of the golem would rise again within moments. Hesta had finished using the golem on the last of nearly a dozen sleeping people when she heard the first moaning of a victim rising again as a golem. It had begun.

Hesta rushed down the stone steps to the side-entrance to the ludus, where she knew there would only be one guard. It was a full moon, so she did not need a lantern or candle to light her way, and somewhere in the back of her mind she suspected that Dionysus would have helped her see in the black regardless. She was a divine instrument on this night, and could not be halted.

The guard never had a moment to reach, as Hesta’s sword flashed in the moonlight a breath before it transfixed him. The man crumpled to the ground, and Hesta unlocked the doors. This was the moment upon which the survival of the gladiators hinged. There were six armed men in the guardhouse that served as the barrier between the gladiator pens and the ludus training area. Through a side door in the guardhouse there was an entrance to the arming room, where all of the weapons and armor for both training and arena combat were stored. If the gladiators were to have any hope of surviving the wave of carnage that was about to break upon the city, they must take that room. Even with her god’s aide, she knew better than to attack six hard men, the best of the Laeca guardsmen.

She waited, keeping her breath shallow as she used her legs to hold herself steady at the top of the hallway leading to the entrance where she’d killed the guard. Her legs were splayed out, bracing against the walls, allowing her to hoist herself towards the ceiling, so when the guards came through they would move beneath her and she would remain unnoticed. Hesta had to hope that the chaos erupting in the villa would reach the ears of the men in the guardhouse, and draw off enough of them that she could best the few who remained.

After what seemed like an eternity her legs were beginning to quake from effort, though she heard a bell toll in the distance. It was a warning bell to be sure, but was not of the pitch and keen of the bell in House Laeca. It had to be one of the villa estates nearby, the golems having already spread out from the Laeca villa. She had left the door open to help the sound carry, and the guards finally took notice. Four of the six men took up their weapons and rushed out the door and into the villa, shouting to their comrades the fate of the door guard.

As she worked her way back down to the floor she could hear the sounds of fighting outside, and knew that the golems would penetrate the ludus soon. She crouched near the entrance to the guardhouse, and then began to sprint. She ran through the guardhouse and right past the two remaining men, one dropping his shield in surprise. They both shouted and gave chase as she careened down the tight passageway into the gladiator pens. Despite the shouts and pleas of the gladiators she rushed past them and into another hallway, towards the noxii cage, only glancing back long enough to see that the two guards had recklessly followed.

Hesta reached the noxii cages and immediately began unlocking them. Thankfully the golems were possessed only of the most basic intelligence, so for a few brief moments they did not open the cages. Moving as fast as she could the maenad hefted herself upwards next to the door, with one foot upon a torch holder and one hand holding the hilt of the gladius as she plunged it into a cross beam. She used the opposing tension to hold herself steady, though immediately her limbs began to quake from the effort.

Heedless of danger and focused on their quarry the guards burst into the room, leaving just enough space for Hesta to leap down and close the door behind them. She shoved her ludus key into the crude lock and wrenched it, snapping the key in two and leaving the door jammed. She knew it wouldn’t hold for long, but it would buy her the time she needed. As she rushed back up the hallway towards the gladiator pens she could hear the hinges of the noxii cages creak as the golems within surged forward. The screams of the dying guards filled the passageway.