Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (50 page)

“I must object,” Licinus called out. “We have rules, a system. What is Rome without order? We must stay with the path.”

“Your proconsul said the same,” Julius Gemminus replied. “But the emperor is intrigued by these creatures, and the people insist these barbarians are punished for daring to challenge Rome's authority.”

It seemed as if the emperor also had an abiding interest in House Sertorian's business and what it was up to on Olympus Decimus. Julia told me the Blood Hawks were going to leave the course and visit the Hyperborean tunnels, and now the emperor was diverting the entire contest to the exact same area. That meant the Golden Wolves would be right at hand if I spoke the code word and requested their assistance. The emperor was turning out to be an unexpected ally.

“Now mount up,” Julia said. “We've still got the final day of the chariot rounds ahead.”

We returned to our camps and mobilized.

As we headed out, Julius Gemminus announced that today's round would be all about speed and maneuverability—and, as it was the last leg of the essedarius, the winner would be granted a great prize—a precious immunity amulet that would shield one contestant from all physical attack for the length of the bestiarii round.

Both sides raced toward low ground with small lakes spread out across it and high-walled cliffs of dark green rock bordering its edges. As with the first day, we could not commence combat until after we passed the green boundary markers.

As we arced around with the course, we saw a long object hovering off the ice ahead of us.

At first I didn't understand and, judging by the faces of the others, neither did anyone else. A spina, just like you'd find at a chariot race in the circus back in Rome. But they couldn't mean for us to go around it, could they? This was a post-to-post race, not lap based.

“The spina is an essential ingredient in any Roman chariot race,” Julius Gemminus said. “But instead of circling it, all you have to do is be the first to race past it.”

That sounded far too easy. It was a mile long, sitting in the middle of the tundra. There was no sign of a triumphant arch marking the finish of the race; it must have been miles off in the distance.

Then we were past the start markers and it was on.

We raced, angling for position, until the pack of chariots was halfway along the spina, and then suddenly it moved. A side to side motion, small at first but increasing as we raced along until it reached the point where it would move right away from the chariots before pushing back in, threatening to crush us against the electrified shield wall. On the inward swings, the chariots quickly fell into a single line in the narrow space left between spina and shield wall to avoid destruction. On the outward swings, the charioteers vied to overtake and be the first in line. As we approached the end of the spina, it moved faster. The Dioscurii used our engine boost and we surged clear, but those behind us weren't so lucky. The Viridians were driven into the Flavians and they in turn piled up against the Ovidians, driving them into the purple energy field. They managed to pull free in time, suffering some circuit problems to their chariot, judging by the sparks and sudden erratic path, but no deaths. The Tullians and Calpurnians weren't so lucky. They were caught trying to slip around the other side of the spina as the course drastically narrowed. The spina crushed them against the wall, and they each lost a contestant to electrocution—Salcus Tullius Coruntus, the charioteer famous for his ramming skills, and brave Sempronius Calpurnius Galeo, the well-proportioned hoplite from Marcus' arena team—their burned bodies falling to the cold ice, their hands reflexively clawing at the snow.

But the spina had finished its work. It moved away and the chariots were able to race past it. Perhaps Julius Gemminus had dictated that there had been enough deaths at its hands. We were charging ahead toward the finish, our attention on getting ahead of the other teams, when Licinus called out, “Brace yourselves!”

The victory arch constructed especially for the occasion was in view now, another mile ahead, and we came hurtling toward it. The Flavians and Calpurnians had made good ground, but we caught up, all three chariots racing neck and neck. Triumphant anthems played, spurring us onward as our chariots rushed at breakneck speed. The stadium pods had been permitted to descend to observe the final push firsthand. They lined the track, behind the barriers. I couldn't help wondering if my father was among them.

The Calpurnians couldn't match the Flavians or our chariot for raw speed, and it was a game of speed now. The Silver Sparrows, the flighty Flavians, were far and away the quickest and nimblest chariot racers, their war chariot stripped down for speed and lightness. I didn't see how we could outpace them with the finish line less than a mile out. We pulled away, leaving the Calpurnians' black chariot in our ice particle wake.

My armilla chimed and flashed, and I quickly glanced down to see the signal. Gods! The Dioscurii were going to unleash their secret weapon. I let go of the central pole and grabbed on to the starboard rail. And then we were separated. Split down the middle and sailing apart, slowing a little to allow the Flavians to pull ahead. The adamas-edged discs, the hardest substance in the galaxy, began to spin. The spikes shone and gleamed in the sunlight. Our opponents were going so fast that their driver, Titus Flavius Cursor, so intent on the finish line, didn't stop to think about what move we might make. Then the jaws closed. Before they could clear past us, the two halves moved above the line of the enemy chariot then reunited, drawn by powerful magnetic fields.

The Flavians were trapped; Septimus Flavius Stolo, their leader, trying to strike out at Licinus, was cut clean in half at the waist. Licinus, Crassus, Barbata, and Mania cut into them with efficient, mechanical precision. I reluctantly raised Orbis and put the Flavian bestiarii Tremelius Ralla out of his misery, his legs already severed by the cutting discs, his body skewered on the spikes.

It was all set to be a complete disaster for the sparrows until their backup driver—Macro Flavius Cato—who had ducked down to avoid our spinning blades, threw himself forward to the chariot's reins. He yanked them port side and down, and suddenly their vehicle pulled away. They were down to five contestants now. What was more, they were out of the race. With no more enemies to crush, we accelerated toward the finish line. But wait! We had slowed to employ our secret attack, and the Calpurnians had somehow managed to catch up. There was less than a half-mile to go to the arch. The Dioscurii tried to block them and stop them passing, but to our surprise, the Calpurnian driver Trio Calpurnius Trigeminus suddenly reared up, his chariot's prow pushing into the air, and then it was sailing right up on us.

“Down!” Licinus yelled. “Testudo!”

We crouched and activated our shields, locking them together above our heads in the tortoise formation, an impenetrable wall. We were beneath the rim of our vehicle, and its frame took the brunt of the weight as the Calpurnians ran roughshod right over the top of us. I was crushed to the deck along with the Sertorians until the Calpurnian chariot had passed and hit down on the ice right in front of us. They had the lead. We took up our posts once more, and the Dioscurii drove forward with everything they had, but it was too late. The Calpurnians pushed over the line, passing through the arch a second ahead of us—the undisputed winners of the chariot round.

We rode through the arch but had to veer off, denied entry by a crackling force shield to the winner's circle that was for the Ravens alone. For them there would be applause, cheering, garlands and wreaths placed about them, warm spiced wine thrust into their hands. They were victorious, the pride of their house and their faction. The Calpurnians would be granted privileges and an easy transfer to the start of the next round. For us there would be only recriminations and the pain of losing. Our team was silent with shock and anger. Along with the other remaining houses, we were funneled down various paths to transit to the camp location.

“Order or chaos. Peace or war. Harmonious music or a cacophony to make your head split!” Julius Gemminus zipped above us as we cruised. “We have a winner, but now it's time to pick the least popular house. Which team will you choose to punish before the next round begins?”

For a fee, wealthy audience members could direct that curse amulets studded with sharp nails should fall on their chosen team. Most times the amulets didn't actually injure the team members, but occasionally a gladiator was wounded or killed.

Each team was directed to take a different route—the Blood Hawks were to follow the course of a slender stream. After a few miles a sign flashed above us reading
CACOPHONIA.
I didn't understand it. Crassus the hero was with us. My own support had been strong, I'd kept track of the audience ratings on my armilla. And with Aquilinus' promise of ambrosia for the masses, why on earth would they choose us to punish?

“It's the emperor,” Licinus grumbled. “He's strong-armed enough of the nobles and senators aboard the orbital stadium to throw their money behind registering his displeasure.”

“It won't make him popular with the people,” Barbata said.

“That doesn't do shit for us now,” Licinus said.

The tunnel led us away from the other contestants. The moment we exited it onto hilly ground, the curses came. They fell from the stadium on high, small silver balls stamped with an array of customized curses chosen by the audience members who paid for the privilege. As they fell, they gathered speed and spikes emerged from them. They clustered, ensuring they fell close enough to have an actual chance of killing us.

“Testudo!” Licinus ordered, and we all used our armillae to generate shields, interlocking them to form a barrier to stop the curses from striking home. We had to hold tight to prevent the wind lifting our shields.

At first only a few fell, range finders to ensure accuracy. Then the rest arrived. The resultant noise of the spikes striking the shield barrier provided a deafening cacophony, just as Julius Gemminus' sign had promised. After ten minutes, my arms hurt, and my ears ached from the loud drumming. While we endured the lethal rain, the spectators would be watching us on giant screens, while others showed slow-motion replays of the highlights of the chariot round, especially the deaths and the killing blows in glorious detail.

Already I was feeing weak, hypersensitive, delirious with the need for more ambrosia.

We survived without injury, but the humiliation had clearly served to anger Pollux. “It's not fucking good enough! I'll take the eyes of the next one of you to fail!”

Unable to recall ever hearing Pollux Corvinus speak before, I was stunned; even more shocking was that the other Sertorians didn't challenge his sudden outburst. They only looked cowed and put up no argument, even Licinus.

The team meeting was unpleasant but mercifully brief. I didn't dare ask Licinus or Mania for ambrosia, but afterward I followed Crassus to our tent. Julia made sense, I couldn't take drastic action without enough information. She also said that if I couldn't detect Aulus with the pin, my next best bet would be to get the information directly from Crassus. Regardless of whether the Sertorians still had my brother or not, I'd still need a precise location. Then I wouldn't have to worry about doing without the ambrosia. Yes, that was the way. Only, if I wanted Crassus' secrets, I'd have to give him some signal that I could be trusted, a reason to let down his guard and embrace me as an ally. Julia had great success with him in the bedroom, and she was nothing to Crassus. If I decided to make the effort to win him over, to give him what he'd sought for so long, then, I was certain, there was nothing he would deny me.

XXVI

C
RASSUS WAS WAITING FOR
me when I entered our tent. His seat was cup shaped with a cross-piece base and padded with plump cushions. He was dressed in thick, white fur robes. Crassus indicated for me to sit in the one opposite him, but I stood looking down at him.

“You've come for your ambrosia?” he asked.

“You know I have.”

“Then come and sit with me and I shall give it to you.”

“What do you want with me? Call Julia if you want a companion.”

“I don't want Julia, I want you.”

“You made your choice, now live with it.”

My body wanted him, to mount him or kill him in equal measure. Perhaps both at the same time.

“Ah, I must admit I did hope to fan the flames of jealousy just a little,” Crassus said.

“To what possible end?”

“I think you know,” he said. “I've made no effort to hide my interest in you, and I think it's fair to say that I've been patient beyond measure.”

“The last time I expressed an interest, you cursed at me like a drunken sailor.”

He looked at me, perplexed, his head cocked. He didn't remember.

“Come, Accala. Let's talk honestly,” he said. “There's something I've been wanting to tell you, something you've earned the right to know.”

“Tell me.”

Was this the moment? Was he actually going to tell me about Aulus, serve it up to me free of charge?

“I want reveal the proconsul's seventh precept.”

Gods, I felt like drowning myself. Was he serious?

“The seventh precept? Because you know I've been staying awake at night desperately anticipating the moment you'd tell me.”

“This is serious.”

“I thought you were going to tell me something useful. Like why Licinus and Mania have been interrogating me. They think I can be of use to them, above and beyond my role as a gladiator, and I want to know more.”

“I don't know all their plans. You know Licinus is no ally of mine. And don't jest. The seventh precept masks a great secret. Now sit,” he said forcefully.

I sat with a sigh, trying to appear nonchalant while hiding the pain of lowering myself into the chair. Crassus took a dramatic pause to ensure he had my full attention.