Amazon - Slave of Rome

Chapter 1 - Hippika Gymnasia

Cavalry line faced cavalry line. Armoured horses staring out from their ornate head-dresses. Gaudy plumes dancing with every movement of their heads. Harness bells jangling. Cavalrymen dressed in scale armour  stared toward the opposite line.

Sarmation standard bearers the Draconorii circled the field holding aloft the Dracos. The beast-headed standards twisted and writhed, the silk-hooped bodies funnelling the wind through their gaping mouths sending out a chilling ghostly wail. All was ready for the Hippika Gymnasia to begin.

The Deva campus was dressed for the cavalry games. It’s red sandstone cleared of debris left by yesterday’s heavy artillery practice. Shards of shattered wood and buckled plating removed to leave the floor of the training ground smooth for the horses of Ala Sarmatarum. The legate’s platform was draped with cloth ready for the arrival of the guest of honour, Clodius Albinus, governor of Britain. Either side of the tribunal stood two more platforms already bustling with spectators. Set before them altars to Jupiter Tanarus and Mithras.

Titus, a decurian of the Ala Sarmatarum gazed through the metal framed eye-slits of his copper sports’ helmet at his turma, the thirty battle-ready warriors were a beautiful sight.  Facing his cavalry thirty auxiliaries commanded by that old-war horse, decurian Abragos. In the centre of both lines were the cataphracts, heavily armoured horses and men their lance-like conti resting across their thighs, stretching out past their horses’ heads and shoulders. Needle shadows reaching towards their rivals.

 “Budge up…you and your lousy fat mare”, snarled Necrimus annoyed by the constant shifting of his neighbour’s horse.

“I’m trying – perhaps if your arse weren’t so big you wouldn’t need so much space!”

“Tul’s got a point there Necrimus” chuckled Xobas his own well-apportioned girth shaking the scales of his armour , “Your woman is feeding you too many honey cakes.”  Xobas fondly patted Necrimus’ stomach. Tul couldn’t help but laugh at Necrimus’ discomfort.

“I’ll give you arse, whipper-snapper….”

“Shut up down the line” growled Abragos’ optio, Bastakas,  ”Governor’ll be here soon. Get control of that bloody horse!”

Necrimus leaned over to Tul,

“You’re on my list…watch your scrawny Sarmatian back”.

Tears pricked the new recruit’s eyes. Tul fought them back . This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Tul’s brother had died for this fraternity. Tul had willingly taken his place by setting foot on the tribal hide and pledging a life to the ranks of Sarmatians who now fought for Rome. All Tul had to show for it was a bruised ego, a battle nervous horse and a suit of over-large horse-hoof armour which although Tul was tall had been made to fit a much broader man. Like a bored child with too few chores to do Tul sought distraction by moving from side to side to see how much this could be done without the armour shifting too.

“Sit still” spat Necrimus “You’re making the horses nervous in that monstrosity”.

“How much longer are we going to wait?” Tul’s arm was beginning to tremble. Tendons straining with the effort of keeping the long lance from following its own inclination to send the tip drooping to the soft earth. Still, Tul thought wryly, the pain made the prospect of hurtling forward to certain death seem appealing. The young Sarmatian wasn’t afraid to die. Sarmatian warriors knew no fear and death would also mean that Tul could put the damned conti down.

            “Scared are we?” Necrimus sneered.

            “I won’t tell you again down there. You’ll be feeling the strength of my boot up your hairy arses if you don’t shut up. Eyes front.”  Bastakas barked.