Render Unto Caeser

VII

Janus's Feast

The stadium track had two permanent stone posts, one at the northern, and the other at the southern end. A full chariot race consisted of ten circuits around these turn posts. (The Circus Maximus track was only seven circuits, but our stadium was a bit smaller) The centerline between the turn posts had a number of rock-lined postholes that allowed a wooden barrier to be erected down the center of the stadium during races. At the very center of the Stadium was a deeper posthole for the heavy signpost that held the lap counter. There were also four postholes forming a square around the central lap counter so that a number of officials could safely stand within a fenced in area during the races. These four corner posts were now being erected. The posts were about three-fourths the height of a tall man. The tops were planed and carved and could accept the mortise notch of a patibulum. Four crossbeams were secured to the tops of these posts. They were much shorter forms of a patibulum, only about twice the width of a woman's shoulders. The four corner posts were firmly sunk and the top beams secured. The men now turned toward the naked women waiting on the branding stools.

Caesar had spent his lust inside Leona and attempted to dismount. The woman screeched in agony as the beast tugged against her. The knot at the base of his penis had swollen inside her, and he was firmly lodged in place. For the time being they were truly mated. Caesar released his grip on her chest. Standing over the trussed woman he was resigned now to wait until his swollen member shrank. She cringed beneath him, his panting tongue drooling on her bare back.

The men began to release the other women one by one, but only to bring them to the center of the stadium. The raised posts with the short patibuli fastened atop made up four very short Tau crosses. The women's arms were hoisted up over the crossbeams and then were pulled down behind the crosses. As they hung by their shoulders their wrists were bound together just below a wooden peg at the back of the cross. Their stretched arms were held against the peg by their own weight. The position caused their breasts to jut out lewdly, and their feet could barely touch the ground. The shortest of their number was in fact hanging free; her feet kicking feebly, searching for support, while the tallest was able to stand without any difficulty. They were bound like four tethered lambs, wiggling on their poles as the crowd awaited the slaughter to come.

While these four were being secured, another group of attendants was bringing the "Seat of Honor" into the stadium. Few would have recognized it, as it had not been used for over two years.

Nearly three years past a Syrian "Prince" had taken up arms against Rome. He began his campaign with an army of nearly three thousand men, but within six months he and his remaining followers were little more than a roving band of bandits preying on the caravans and travelers on the Damascus road. My century had been among the first to drive them to ground, trapping them in a series of caves fifteen miles southwest of Damascus. After a number of skirmishes, and a few weeks without food or water, his own followers delivered him to us. He and the other survivors had been marched to the Capital where the Governor decreed that the "Prince" should die on a cross befitting his noble birth.

The crux sublimus that was constructed for the occasion had stood almost eighteen feet tall. It was made of well-planed cedar and painted pure white. The Prince had squealed like a child as he hung nailed to his cross. His own men had been forced to fight in the arena, slaughtering each other for their captor's amusement, under the gaze of their dying "Prince". After a few painful hours hanging from the nails, the Prince took his seat. The cornu that the Prince eventually impaled himself upon was carved from the fire hardened wood of an olive tree. The horn was trimmed in brass and gold leaf. Now the "Seat of Honor" had been restored to its original glory, and a shepherd girl would be honored for having had the bad fortune of being selected by our own "Caesar".

"Caesar" had managed to disentangle himself by now, and the dog handler was leading him quickly away before he developed a renewed lust for his newfound lover. Leona was released from her branding stool and led sobbing and befouled to the center of the stadium. The Crux Sublimus waited next to the central posthole. Eight men gathered around her and she was quickly laid down and stretched out on the cross. Another dozen workers poured out from the northern entrance to help erect the cross. Her hands were stretched out across the pure white patibulum and held firmly down. Two men with hammers worked in unison to drive in the spikes that secured her wrists. Her screams were even louder than those that had accompanied her bestial rape. Her hips were drawn up above the tip of the cornu. Her knees were bent and her feet were pressed flat against the wood of the stipes. Again two carpenters worked together to quickly affix both her feet to the wood.

Iron rings had already been imbedded in the ends of the patibulum and these were used to attach ropes. Four men guided the base of the stipes into the posthole while four others started lifting the top of the stipes. The crowd was clapping in unison as the rest of the workers took their places on the ropes. The cross rose smoothly and slid into its hole. The poor, shrieking victim atop the cross was jarred about, and fresh rivulets of bright red blood flowed across the white painted wood. The crowed cheered as the men finished erecting the cross. The white of the cross contrasted well with her sun darkened skin, and the downward trickle of blood from her wounds was visible throughout the arena. Leona was now almost fifteen feet above the sands, and her nakedness was gloriously displayed for the thousands who had gathered for the games. She hung low on the cross, her hips thrown to one side. Her knees protruded the other way, forming a shapely crescent around the glittering cornu that she would eventually need to sit on.

Even before the crowd could fully appreciate Leona's lovely features, the southern gates opened and the Governor's pride of lions entered. The male stood three feet tall at the shoulders and was nearly ten feet long. He weighed more than three grown men, and he had been kept hungry for this very event. He strode into the arena and the crowd roared noisily. He looked up at the spectators in disdain and roared back at them. He strutted out toward the center of the stadium followed by his harem of three lionesses. The largest of the females was about two-thirds the size of the male, the smallest of the three a little over half his size. The females seemed to slink behind their lord and master, waiting for him to select the first victim. The stadium had fallen completely silent, almost from the moment that the lion had roared back at the raucous mob. Now the crowd strained to hear every little noise that came from the women and the lions.

The four women bound to the low posts at the center of the stadium had seen the animals approaching, and were screaming hysterically as they struggled to free their pinioned arms. Leona, high above them and presumably safe from the beasts' attacks, screamed along with the others as she desperately pulled against the iron spikes that held her. Her struggles sent fresh streams of blood trickling down the painted wood

.

The lion strode through the screaming women, heading directly toward Leona's cross. His tongue, nearly as wide as the stipes itself, licked delicately, smearing the fresh blood that dripped down toward the sand. The three lionesses were milling and circling some twenty feet away from the screaming women. The lion looked up at Leona, measuring, calculating. His head tilted back, and he bellowed a mighty roar. She shrieked, jerking straight upward, standing fully erect on her pierced feet, trembling in terror.

The lion turned and pattered away, almost in disgust, and joined the females prowling in a circle around the other four women. After making a complete circuit around the four shorter posts, the lion dropped down onto his belly. He was about twenty feet away, facing the cross that held the shortest of the four women.

He stared into her eyes. The woman's feet scrabbled against the post that held her, as if she were trying to climb it. The lion inched his way forward, crawling on his belly. Then his haunches tensed, muscles bunching. The woman opened her mouth to scream, as the lion pounced. His paws struck her shoulders, and a sharp crack reverberated through the stadium as the post snapped. The roar of the crowd was deafening. The woman, the post and the lion all tumbled into the sand. The woman landed on her back, she was free of the post but her hands were still bound behind her back. She slid across the sand, desperately pushing backward, the heels of her feet churning the sand as the lion regained his footing. He shook his huge mane and then focused on his intended meal. With a short bound the lion was on top of her. He lifted her by her neck shaking her as she made a last gurgling attempt at a scream. The woman's body went limp, and blood spurted over the beasts mouth. The lion dragged his fresh kill into the shade of the eastern wall. He plopped down with the carcass between his paws and prepared to gorge himself.

While this was happening, the tallest of the women had managed to free her wrists from the restraining peg. She slipped off the crosspiece with her hands still bound behind her. She ran toward the northern gate. Two lionesses took off in immediate pursuit. The closest one brought the woman down before she had run a dozen feet. The second lioness plowed into the two of them and sank her teeth into the woman's right shoulder, lifting her upper body as if to drag the prize away. The first one, who was the oldest and largest of the lionesses, gave a warning growl before clamping onto the woman's left thigh.

The woman was still alive and screaming as the two great cats swatted at each other and tugged on her, each trying to get the better grip. The entire crowd was on their feet; yelling, clapping and cheering the two lionesses on. You could hear bones snapping as the cats tugged upon the prize. The Cats were swatting at each other over the body and one of the swatting paw slashed open the woman's belly. Somehow she was still screaming. Entrails spilled out onto the sand and flesh tore. It seemed to last forever but her backbone eventually snapped and the two startled lionesses tumbled backward, each with half a mangled corpse. I would have sworn you could still hear the echo of the woman's screams. The surprised lionesses regained their footing, each clutching half a bloody body in her jaws.

I have been to many a circus since my father first took me as a boy in Rome, but I have rarely seen such an amazing kill. The audience loved it. They were still on their feet cheering; they would be talking about this one for weeks. The two lionesses picked up their respective meals and dragged them into the shade to feast. They sat on either side of the male lion, still growling at each other. He roared out a warning for them to stay away from his kill.

The last lioness (who was the youngest of the pride) had a choice of two trembling morsels trapped within her reach. She paced back and forth as if unable to decide, but finally approached the plumper of the two women and gave her belly a tentative lick. The woman screamed, and the cat swatted the woman across her protruding breasts. A huge bloody gash opened and the woman shrieked in agony. The woman kicked out desperately with her feet, as the lioness approached again. The beast seemed unsure how to proceed, and so it came up behind the cross and clawed its way up the post with its front paws. The shrieking woman couldn't see what was happening, but she could feel the hot breath on her back.

The lioness sank her teeth into the back of the woman's neck, killing her almost instantly. The beast shook her victim's body, and you could hear an audible pop as the shoulders dislocated. With a few more tugs she managed to pull the corpse off the post, and dragged it over into the shade where the rest of the pride was feeding.

The crowd had quieted somewhat, and most had retaken their seats. They watched in stunned awe as the pride fed. The lions were contentedly stripping warm flesh and muscle from the bones, and their muzzles were painted crimson.

It had been a breathtaking show. No one would call that this was a waste of women flesh. It had been more entertaining, by far, than the rape and crucifixion that had proceeded it. There was a pause in the entertainment as the lions fed. One doesn't rush a pride of lions through their meal. Vendors began circulating through the stands, offering food and drink to the crowd. The business was brisk and a few saw the irony of people slacking there hunger and thirst while the lions fed on fresh corpses. The pride had failed to kill all four of their intended victims, and that was a slight concern, but the circus would go on and some other method of execution would be improvised.

Perhaps for those few brief moments, Leona was grateful for the relative safety of her cross, but the others were dead, and while their death may have been gruesome, it was relatively quick. She, on the other hand, would continue to suffer through the long day. She still hung by the nails, struggling upward to breath and slumping down to rest. The cornu waited patiently for her, digging furrows across her back when she slipped down, and pressing tantalizingly between her legs when she stood. She knew that once she took her final seat the horn would tear into her guts, spilling more blood down the cross and bringing her that much closer to the inescapable death that awaited her. She just wasn't ready for that yet.

A group of eight men entered from the eastern gateway. Some where armed with spears, while the rest carried whips and nets, They worked as a close knit team, driving the lions back toward the southern gate and their pens. The lion pride moved with reluctance, dragging the mauled corpses with them. It was nearly time for the gladiator contests to begin.

Once the lions had been driven into their pens, a very nervous elephant was used to drag the long narrow cage containing the tiger to the center of the arena. The inconvenient presence of the fourth female had to be dealt with. She was pulled down from her post with her arms were still bound behind her back. The woman's ankles were then crossed and bound. She knelt in the sand at the northern end of the tiger cage. The Governor had ruled that the women would face wild beasts, and if the lions wouldn't finish the job, the tiger was available and willing.

This striped cat was barely smaller than the male lion, but much more agile. The tiger was never released to roam free in the arena, there was a good chance that it could make its way up into the stands and cause some havoc before it escaped. Even in the palace grounds it was tethered at all times. The creature wore a thick leather collar that was used to chain it. The animal paced in its cage. The cage was about fifteen feet long and five feet wide, but only four feet high. The spear carrying men tried to force the cat back against the southern wall of the cage, even as the cat snarled and swatted at the poking spears. An attendant armed with a slave catcher (an eight foot long pole that ended in a metal shaped U) finally was able to push the cat's neck up against the iron bars, and a stout rope was secured to the animals collar. With the beast tethered so she could only reach half way down the length of the cage, the northern wall was unlatched, and the fourth woman was unceremoniously tossed inside. The opening was secured again. She landed on her side, but tried to right herself and was soon kneeling again facing the snarling beast. The cage made viewing a little bit more difficult from the stands; but the tiger was known to play with its meals before killing them. The tethered tiger and the shaking woman stared at each other waiting. Her death would come when the first round of the gladiator contests ended.

The male prisoners would be allowed to fight first. The winner would not be given a chance to use her, but he would be allowed to win the crowds favor by releasing the cat within the cage. If he fought well, and her death was sufficiently entertaining, he might survive the day to become a true gladiator.

The men were armed with short swords and bucklers. The short gladius is a weapon designed for thrusting and stabbing. The buckler's are barely twice the size of a man's fist, made of wood sheathed with copper. Hard as a whore's heart and half the size, as the saying goes. When fighting the opponents faced each other left foot forward. When one of them lunged forward with the sword the other would try to knock the thrusting blade aside, He would then twist his body in the opposite direction and follow through with a sword thrust to his opponents back or belly depending on which direction he had twisted in. There were variations of course, A double feint with the thrust and you might be able to slash the leather strap off your foes buckler leaving him unguarded for the rest of the fight. An artful extension of the blade might convince your opponent to push forward only to find your buckler rising up from below to knock his blade high as you drove into his belly. There were hundreds of variations to this deadly duel. Professionals could make these fights an eloquent dance of peril and death. Amateurs tended to make a hapless and pathetic show of it, running about slashing wildly.

The eighteen prisoners were brought before the Governor, and mumbled their way through the traditional Gladiators salute. They were then paired off and the battles began. Most were dismal displays of hacking and flaying about. Three of the men had some innate skill, and quickly disposed of their opponents. The others used both buckler and sword as blunt instruments to batter at each other with. Even buffoons can be entertaining at times. That was the case when one of the hacking blows severed a man's forearm. His adversary, having lost his sword, picked up the severed arm, still clutching a buckler, and used it to smash his adversary's head in.

After an inordinately long time, nine men lay slain and the nine survivors stood with various injuries. Rather than continue the paired fighting, the officials decided to stage a brawl with no rules. The nine survivors were quickly whittled down. One of the three men with some fighting potential fell stabbed in the back. The six men who showed little skill died one by one, and we were left to watch two fighters facing each other among the scattered bodies of their fellow villagers. The larger of the two had sustained a wound on his right thigh, and was being slowly forced backward by the smaller and younger of the two fighters. The older one appeared to falter, his leg giving way as he stumbled down onto his left knee. The short fellow rushed in, overextending as he thrust his blade. The bigger man simply twisted to the left and popped up behind his opponent, slamming him face down into the sand. He pressed his gladius between the man's exposed shoulder blades and looked up to the Governor's box. The Governor's thumb pointed down. The sword plunged through the chest of the hapless loser.

The victor limped forward to stand before the Governor. There would be no garlands for this man. He was a condemned criminal. This was however, his one chance to seek the clemency of a life as a fighting slave. The Governor rose and spoke to the winner. " You have fought with courage and skill," The Governor stated. "You have earned the honor of feeding my pet." He held out his hand, palm up, toward the caged tiger and the trembling woman who knelt bound just beyond its tethered reach.

The victor nodded to the Governor and turned, limping out toward the cage in the center of the arena. He approached the southern end of the cage, his sword reached out tapping on the knot that held the tiger in check. The woman pleaded, choking back her terror. He circled to his left now, to the northern end of the cage where the woman knelt pressed up against the bars. Most thought he was going to torment her a bit before he released the beast. He said not a word. His sword slide between the bars and into the woman's belly. The crowd gasped in horror as blood welled from the wound and formed a puddle in the sand beneath her. She seemed to smile, but as she opened her mouth to speak to her killer/savior, blood welled up in the woman's throat and she slumped forward dead. Curses and screams of outrage poured out of the stands.

It had been a noble gesture. One I would hope I was capable of if I ever found myself in such a circumstance. It was also a very foolish gesture, which had endeared him to no one in the stands. A pair of gladiators jumped forward, trying to salvage something from this disastrous turn of events. One hurried to the cage to slash the rope restraining the tiger, while the other warily approached the last armed villager. The tiger growled as it pounced, picking up the already dead woman by the neck and shaking her broken body. The startled villager looked toward the cage, and was almost skewered by the first attacking gladiator. He managed to block the blow and respond with a thrust of his own. He had forgotten the second gladiator, who had continued around the cage and was now behind him. The first gladiator smiled at him and thrust again. He stepped backward and was neatly impaled by the second gladiator. It seemed the two gladiators were a bit quick in dispatching the villager. Perhaps they felt a twinge of admiration for his last noble deed. The crowd cheered the death of the upstart. He had denied them the delight of watching the tiger toy with her prey before her bloody feast.

The tiger shook the woman's dead body about, tossing it against the bars before she gutted it with her claws. She sank her muzzle into the still warm entrails, and began to greedily stuff herself. Blood splattered her finely marked fur, but it just wasn't the show the people had anticipated. While the tiger feasted, the bodies of the dead villagers were dragged from the arena floor.

The real gladiators now marched into the arena. They stood in a loose formation, raised their swords, and loudly hailed the Governor. The cage containing the tiger and her prize was slowly pulled from center of the stadium and the first pair of gladiators took to the field.

The first fight ended with a badly wounded gladiator on his back, the victor poised to strike at the Governor's command. Both had fought well and the Governor was inclined toward mercy, despite the crowd's blood lust. The wounded man was carried off to be treated and perhaps fight another day.

In the second pairing, the victor slew his opponent outright and the crowd was thrilled. The victor retired to the pit, and his opponent's body was dragged away. The third match was well fought, and lasted quite a while. Eventually one of the gladiators managed to ensnare his foe from behind, blade pressed to his throat. Again the crowd roared for death, but the Governor was disinclined. Decent fighters were expensive to train and care for, so if they fought well they were often allowed to survive a close match. The next two matches were not close and the Governor acquiesced to the crowd's blood lust, allowing the vanquished to be slaughtered.

High above these battles, Leona had continued her struggle mostly ignored by the excited throng. Her legs now trembled constantly, barely able to support her weight when she was forced to rise. It was during the break between rounds of the gladiator's contests that she surrendered to the inevitable and lowered herself onto the cornu. She screeched in acute pain as the metal tipped horn sliced into the soft flesh of her bowels. Fresh blood ran down inner thighs and dripped from her feet onto the painted cross. She might have hoped this would end her suffering quickly, but in fact she had a few more hours to endure before death's sweet release. The crowd was momentarily amused by her renewed struggles, but then the next round of fighting began.

Pia Fidelis, who was the local favorite, was allowed to wait while the remaining four were paired and fought. One fight ended in a death, and the other in a display of official clemency. The two victors then fought for the right to challenge Pia Fidelis. That battle was hard fought, and lasted longer than any thus far. In the end the victorious gladiator managed to gut his opponent when his gladius slipped from his sweating grip.

The winner was exhausted, Pia Fidelis was fresh and well rested. The fight for the laurel should have been very one sided, but the underdog had grim determination on his side, and Pia Fidelis was perhaps a bit overconfident. Not only did the fight last beyond anyone's expectation, it soon became apparent that Pia Fidelis was fighting for his life. In the end, the upstart, a native named Yoseph, not only defeated the great Victrix Pia Fidelis, he did so with a fatal thrust to the neck, eliminating any chance for the popular fighter to be spared.

While gambling on the fights was never officially sanctioned, like the game of "Caesar's choice," a lot of small fortunes exchanged hands. Few had seen the possibility of such an upset. Those that did profited handsomely.

The body of Pia Fidelis was carried out, and Yoseph was presented the laurel by an unenthusiastic Governor. Then there was a pause as the stadium was prepared for the chariot races.

The center axis of the oval track was dotted with evenly spaced postholes. A wooden barrier half the height of a man was erected. In the very center of the stadium directly across from the Governor's viewing stand, the post that the lion had snapped was replaced. Now the four posts would be put to their intended use, and form a corral for the race officials in the center of the track. The lap counter for the race usually went into the posthole that held Leona's cross. The lap counter normally flew a different colored pendent for each lap of the race. Ropes still hung from the imbedded iron rings on the crossbeam of Leona's cross. This allowed her cross to function as a convenient replacement for the official lap counter.

There were five stables in the city that raced chariots. They were named for the colored livery of their teams. The Blue, Green, Yellow, White and Red stables all fielded very competitive teams, as did the Tenth Legion itself. Two and four horse chariots were raced. The racing chariots were nothing like a military chariot. They were little more than a frame, two wheels, and an axle. The charioteer literally balanced on the frame above the spinning axle. The charioteer had to be light to be competitive, but also had to have enough weight to balance the chariot as it tilted on the tracks corners. The Legion had yet to lose an official race, but the competing stables were determined that the day would soon come.

The two horse chariots began the competition. The six teams competed by pairs in races to eliminate the losers. The three winning teams then drew lots to see who would be ceded a berth in the final race, and the other two would race for the honor of challenging them. The Red and Blue stables, as well as the Legion, won the first elimination round, and then the Legion defeated the Red team to challenge the Blue. Dust rose in a fine mist throughout the center of the stadium as the races proceeded. Leona high on her cross became a bit paler as the fine film of dust coated her sweating body. She was coughing and hacking as she struggled to breathe on her cross. The dust turned the trails of blood that trickled down the wood a dark muddy brown.

The honor of the legion was not besmirched in the two horse chariot races, and very little money changed hands as few would bet against the Legions record. The sun was just reaching the lip of the western wall of the colosseum when the four horse chariot races began. At some point in the second elimination race, Leona stopped choking on the dust, though few noticed her death. This time the Blue and Yellow stables raced for the right to challenge the Legions champion. The Blue team won the honor, but of course lost the final race.

A flourish of horns announced the pageantry of the final parade of champions. The ceremonial bestowing of garlands proceeded with pomp and splendor, and the Governor was roundly applauded for the excellent entertainment. Much of the crowd had begun to file out of the stadium and head back toward the city. I remained with the Governor's party. They continued to drink and feast until the stadium was almost empty. It was about two hours before darkness when they finally decided to return to the city.

As we passed the execution site, it became obvious that Judith and the old man both were alive, and would still require a guard through the night. For some reason this disturbed the Governor. " Finish this." He ordered, gesturing to me.

I was happy to be done with the whole sordid affair. In an act of compassion, I had the men break both their legs. The old man expired in less than an hour. Because of Olivia's gift of the Ivory horn, Judith was able to linger on into the evening even with her legs broken.

I took one of the men's pilum, hefted it, and sent it flying into her chest. The iron shaft lifted her off her cornu, pinning her body to the cross. The wooden handle snapped away as her body slid down. Blood oozed down the iron shaft, and she opened her mouth as if to thank me, but only blood and bubbles issued forth. With a shudder she was gone, the last of her village, and so we were able to retire. I had my men retrieve the ivory cornu and clean it.

I returned that bit of ivory to the first Consort the next day. Olivia offered me a small purse of silver to reward my honesty, but I politely declined. She was surprised and looked me over with renewed interest. " And you are?" she inquired. " Centurion Cassius Priscus of the First Century, Third Cohort." I replied. She nodded and I saluted. I turned to leave our business finished. When next we met, she would remember that she was in the presence of an honest and loyal ally, and I would know the same.