Deposed: An epic thriller of power, treachery and revenge by David Barbaree

Author:David Barbaree [Barbaree, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2017-05-03T23:00:00+00:00

XIV

The Hunt Continues

A.D. 79

DOMITILLA

4 April, afternoon

The Campus Martius, Rome

The people chant his name before he enters the arena.

‘Ba-tavian! Ba-tavian! Ba-tavian!’

The wooden arena rattles and sways.

‘I do hope he doesn’t disappoint,’ Domitian says, pushing his black hair out of his eyes. He has recently returned from Campania, and hasn’t yet seen the Batavian in action.

Three lions prowl the arena floor. One raises a leg and pees. A puddle of dark, wet sand doubles, then triples in size. Their fur looks metallic under the sun’s glare.

Vespasia snorts sarcastically. ‘He can’t lose. His good luck charm is here.’ She stares at me, waiting for me to acknowledge her wit. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

Old Graecina sighs. ‘Vespasia,’ she says, ‘do not indulge the rumours, even in jest. Caesar’s family must be above reproach.’

‘She’s the one who wore green today,’ Vespasia says. ‘They’re matching.’

Gods, am I never to wear green again?

‘Why isn’t Titus here?’ Vespasia asks without taking her eyes off the arena.

‘Titus thinks he’s too good for the beast hunts,’ Domitian says. ‘He doesn’t understand the sport’s nuances.’

‘Titus is meeting Cerialis today,’ I say. ‘Welcoming a victorious general is more important than the beast hunts.’

The steady beat of drums overtakes the crowds’ chanting.

The doors at the far end of the arena open, slowly; a hush fills the stadium.

Domitian says quietly, ‘I hope he at least survives the lions. We’ve arranged some stunning beasts.’

A man walks into the stadium; tall, graceful, moving with the controlled step of a soldier. He is holding a long spear and wearing barbarian trousers, a silver cuirass . . . and a green mask, which covers the top half of his head.

The crowd is silent.

He raises his spear above his head and the crowd erupts.

*

It has been three months since the Batavian saved my life. In the days that followed, Father sent Nerva a golden chest studded with emeralds to thank him. To the Batavian, he sent an Egyptian courtesan and a boy, gelded and drowning in perfume – Father is always one for contingencies. The Batavian was told he could have one, or both, and that Caesar thanked him for his bravery. The Batavian, however, refused both the courtesan and the boy. I was with Father when he heard. ‘Should I have sent a sheep as well? I’ll not spend more time learning what makes a slave’s prick hard. Let him be content with the deed itself.’

Nerva entered the Batavian into the hunts the next month. I’d heard he did well his first two matches, and the crowd was beginning to grow fond of him. It wasn’t until his third match, at the Quinquatria, when I saw him again. The hunt was held in the circus, on the third day of the festival. The Batavian came into the stadium and I gasped. He was wearing a silk mask – a particular shade of green I recognised: my shawl, part of it at least, the one that was torn the night he saved my life.

The Batavian made his name that day.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.