Lion At The Gate

Part 2

Avidius awoke to a nudge from a slave boy.

"A scroll from the aedile, Dominus. He has sent one of his gladiators – he says it is most urgent."

"Wine," Avidius barked as he looked up to see the slave holding a scroll of parchment bearing Marcus's seal in one hand and a full goblet of wine in the other. Avidius grabbed the wine first. He had taught his slaves well. After he'd had a good slug, he grabbed the parchment and nodded for the slave to depart. The wine helped lessen the pounding of his head. Looking out the window, Avidius guessed that the sun would not rise for a few hours at least.

Avidius removed Marcus's seal from the scroll and began to read.

"Good Avidius,

My worst fears stand realized. Sulla's legions have entered the city from the east, but I daresay they'll be at your doorstep by the rising of the sun. I am off to the western docks to prepare a ship for you to quit the city. I've sent a man to see you safely to me.

Make haste,

Marcus Lucianus Maximianus"

Avidius was taken aback. If he had not known Marcus quite so well, he might have taken it for some kind of jest, but Marcus was not the sort of man to play at such a thing, and the letter, though hastily scrawled, was most clearly in Marcus's own hand.

Rome was a large city, the greatest in the world of men. Avidius had been from one end of the city to the other countless times. It would take time for the legions to reach his villa in the city's western quarter. They had doubtless been marching since the moment the letter was written.

Avidius drained his goblet and made for the doors of his chamber. There he saw the great hulk of a man, dressed in a black robe. The man bowed slightly as Avidius approached.

"Senator. My Dominus would have you to the docks with haste." The voice was deep and booming, bearing the trace of a foreign accent. The man removed his hood, revealing a square moustached face and fair hair in long braids. Avidius recognized the man from the games; he was one of Marcus's gladiators, a Celt. The Celt thrust a bundle of cloth in Avidius's direction and nodded. It was a black robe like his own, which Avidius promptly donned. He saw the sense in it; it wouldn't do to be recognized.

From the windows of the corridor, Avidius heard distant shouting. The Celt raised his hood. "We must be off at once, Senator." Avidius nodded and they tore off down the corridor and made to exit the villa.

From the gates at the entrance of the villa, Avidius saw smoke billowing up to touch the sky in all directions, collecting in a dark cloud that threatened to block the moon from view. The shouting had become much louder, and Avidius heard the shrill screams of the Roman public fill the air. Though the rising smoke was still far off in the distance, Avidius's blood boiled as he pictured the centuries-old Roman monuments burning, the great stone arches collapsing onto their weakened frames, all for the pride of a boy separated from his plaything.

Sulla would pay. Avidius Cassian, founder of the affluent house of Aelianus would not rest until he did. Avidius stowed away much of his coin in Capua at his father in law's villa. Between the two of them, there was enough to raise a large army. Once he was safely to the docks and off to Capua, Avidius would see that Rome was once more invaded with Roman standard. He felt sick to his stomach, remembering his conversation with Marcus the previous afternoon.

The Celt thrust open the iron gates of Avidius's Roman villa and handed Avidius a short sword of Rome's finest steel. Avidius stared down at the blade, admiring the craftsmanship of the artisans of his great ludus in what little moonlight penetrated the vast clouds of smoke hovering over smouldering Rome. For a moment Avidius regretted his never having set foot in the ludi that acted as the source of so much of his coin.

"We must away, Senator," the Celt boomed. They took off down the street that led to the docks from which, to Avidius's dismay, the loudest shouting could be heard. The screams came from the east, in the opposite direction, and Avidius heard wine in the voices that emanated from down the street they traveled. The stone buildings that dotted either side of the street were yet unscathed, and Avidius saw not a soul but the Celt. No doubt most of the inhabitants of Rome's western quarter still slept sound in their beds, wholly unaware of the reckoning that was to come.

The voices grew louder as Avidius and the Celt reached the end of the street. Avidius guessed there were a handful of men, and by then it was clear that they were very drunk indeed. At the end of the street, Avidius and the Celt halted to listen. The men slurred together half coherent sentences of idleness and desertion. The Celt peered down the next street briefly, then removed his hood, unsheathed a short sword hidden underneath this cloak and walked out into the street. The shouting grew louder and more urgent, and beginning to hear the clashing of steel, Avidius peered into the next street himself.

He saw the Celt in combat with three armed legionaries in full military garb. Another lay sprawled on the ground, bleeding from a large gash across his neck. Well over six pedes high, the Celt stood a giant next to the three men as he parried their blows in succession. Knocking one back with a hard parry, the Celt planted his enormous foot onto the chest of another, launching him back and onto the pavement. He opened the neck of the last man with a quick swipe of his blade, flipping the sword upside down in his hand in one motion and driving it down into the neck of the downed man. The last remaining legionary scrambled to his feet and tore off down the road as if propelled by the wings of Hermes himself.

Avidius looked down at the three legionaries, all cleanly dispatched with precise cuts to the neck, and then back up at the Celt, who was wiping the blood off his sword with his cloak. Avidius couldn't help but admire him. He moved like a man half his size, his long braids waving along with the momentum of each strike. Naturally, Avidius thought, such a man could only have been trained in a Roman ludus – one of his very own, in fact. It was a wonder what even the most base of savages could do with a spot of Roman discipline. Avidius determined that he would shower the man with wine and women upon his safe arrival in Capua.

Glancing around him, Avidius saw a cask at the side of the street, surrounded by overturned goblets. He frowned, lamenting the great tragedy of spilled Roman wine. Ah, wine, he thought. His greatest ally, even in the mouths of his enemies. Avidius bent over, grabbed one of the goblets and filled it. Turning it to his lips, he drained it with a speed that would impress the gods themselves, and filled it again.

"Senator, we must press forth at once," the Celt boomed once more. Sighing, Avidius drained the goblet and placed it delicately on top of the cask. The Celt raised his hood and they continued down the street.

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