The Beast of Verona: Book I of the Decimus Trilogy Read online

  He raised a finger and looked back to Caius. “I’ll make you a deal as well. If he lives, if Lupus is the victor in your event, you must grant him his freedom by presenting him with the rudis.”

  Quintus had seen it done many times for those gladiators who proved themselves remarkable in the arena. There was no reason that Caius could not do the same for Lupus.

  The senator jerked his chin down. “Did you just not hear what I said? Emperor Vespasian wants him to continue his career as a gladiator until the amphitheater in Rome is complete. Why should I release him from his service when he will be needed in a matter of a few years?”

  Quintus wiped away his words carelessly. “What if I can give you his word that he will return from retirement upon request from Emperor Vespasian? Would you agree then?”

  Caius thought for a long, tense moment. The only noise in the atrium came from the dinner guests who were still laughing and giggling through their wine cups.

  Finally, the senator turned to his old friend and nodded. “I suppose. You have my word that if Lupus is the victor, and he gives his vow to come out of retirement for the emperor, than I will award him his freedom at the end of the match.”

  Caius grinned, feeling as if his worries were gone. He wouldn’t have to pay an outlandish fee for the gladiator, his daughter would be able to see a freed man, and Decimus would be released from his service. He had no doubt, however, that Decimus would win. He was too skilled of a warrior to lose. Even against five other gladiators.

  The two men shook hands on the matter and returned to the dining hall.

  12

  Museo della Civiltà Romana, Rome Italy, 2015

  Howard approached the back service entrance to the museum, cloaked in shadows. He wasted no time in getting to the museum from the library after he hung up with Marina.

  Rapping three times on the door, he waited like she told him to. The door flew open and her hand grabbed at his shirt collar. He let out a weak yelp as she tugged him into the museum and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Howard, with his sharp eyes, could see her determined expression in the darkness of the storeroom. She was cute the way she acted like sneaking someone into a closed museum was in the same ballpark as committing a felony. He grinned and glanced around.

  Lined up against the walls and in rows down the middle of the warehouse were metal shelves that held crates and other artifacts wrapped in plastic for their protection. He spotted a few of the old gladiator relics from the exhibit not too far away.

  Marina began walking off toward the other side of the room where there was a pair of double doors leading out to the museum show rooms. “The office is this way,” she whispered.

  Howard obediently followed and after taking turn after turn down darkened halls and corridors, they came to the office. The walls were consumed by file cabinets and bookshelves. It must have been more of a research room than an office dedicated specifically for any one person.

  In the middle of the room was a long polished wooden table, cleared away and awaiting his use. In one corner was a thick stack of papers that appeared to be photocopies.

  He rushed to the pile, unable to contain his excitement. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had set foot on Italian soil to find evidence of his ancestor and now it was in his hands.

  Howard glanced at the first page and frowned.

  “It’s all in Latin,” he remarked. He hardly knew any Latin except what can be inferred from other languages. With a sigh he rubbed the back of his neck.

  Suddenly, the florescent lights buzzed to life above his head, flooding the room with brightness that hurt his eyes a bit. He winced and looked back to Marina still standing at the door with her hand on the switch. She looked lovely in her black pantsuit ensemble with white blouse underneath and equally dark hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  “How could you tell? It was pitch black in here.”

  Howard clenched his jaw. For one moment, he behaved carelessly. “I just have really good vision, that’s all.”

  She gave him a wary look and then joined him at the table. “Um, yes, it’s in Latin. Do you know Latin or do you need help translating?”

  Howard weighed the options. If she helped, it would take less time to decipher the account, but there could be content in these simple words that would hint at both Howard and Decimus’s secret. This would then lead to a string of questions that he wasn’t willing to answer. He had the choice to answer them once before and he didn’t. Why should he now?

  “I know Latin pretty well. I can do fine on my own,” he replied with a smile and sat down onto the wooden stool beside the table.

  “Ok. I’ll be finishing up some paperwork in my office just down the hall. If you need any help, just call for me.”

  The corners of Howard’s mouth drooped a bit. He had hoped she would stay in the room anyway to keep him company. Drowning in the deep espresso hue of her eyes, he realized how much he missed her company.

  “Actually, you can do me a huge favor. Is there any place to eat around here?” he asked.

  Marina looked curious for a moment and then glanced at her wristwatch. “I think so. There’s a pizzeria just up the road.”

  Howard cringed at the idea of ingesting too much cheese. “Do they have any steak or chicken entrees?”

  Her eyes roamed around the ceiling as she thought. “I believe they have tagliata e filetto.”

  It took a moment for Howard to translate that she meant sliced beef and steak fillets. His mouth watered. “That sounds good. Would you mind running there to grab me something if you’re not busy?”

  She brightened the room with her warm smile. “I’d be happy to,” she replied.

  “Great. You’re a lifesaver,” he said as he fished out a wad of euros from his pocket and handed them to her. “Get whatever has a ton of meat and whatever you do, don’t let them put cheese on it.”

  “Are you lactose intolerant?” she asked, taking the bills. Howard caught the slight trembling of her hand as it reached out to him.

  “In a way, yeah, I am.”

  She nodded and smiled. “I’ll let them know. I’m pretty hungry anyway, so I’ll get something while I’m there.”

  “Oh,” Howard said, probably a little too loudly, “then get yourself something on me. Is there enough there?” He was still getting the hang of the conversion rate.

  Marina blinked, looking a little stunned and unsure as she flipped through the bills. “Um… Yes, I think there’s enough. But you really don’t need to.”

  Howard gestured towards her. “No, it’s the least I can do for you letting me stay here and do this. And I still owe you for that dinner at your apartment.”

  She seemed torn, unsure of how to react to his flagrant generosity. He watched as her face twist uncomfortably, turning the wad of bills over in her hand. He knew plenty of people who would jump at the chance for a free meal, but Marina was apprehensive in accepting his offer.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded. “Ok. Thank you. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  She turned and left without a second glance, leaving Howard confused and concerned. Was there something wrong with a man buying a meal for a girl in Italian culture? Or was this something having to do with Marina?

  Howard swiveled on the stool to turn his attention to the photocopies, but his mind had gone out the door with the beautiful Italian.

  Arena di Verona, 71 AD

  Decimus listened to the crowd outside, rowdy and begging for the show they had come all this way for as they stood in the hot sun. It reminded him of that first day in the arena when he faced the lion that was supposed to execute him.

  But here he was, alive and standing today two years later to face his death once more. Marcus was done with him. This match he made was a testament to that. He obviously didn’t expect Decimus to be capable of such a challenge.

  Five other gladiators awaited him behind the gate. He could hear their racing hearts drumming
over the noise of the spectators. They knew this was a battle to the death too. Today was their one chance to claim victory over the beast that inhabited their ludus. They hated him just as much as they feared him.

  With a meager meal of roast pork in his belly, courtesy of Quintus, Decimus knew he had the strength to fight. And to win.

  Quintus had convened with him just the day before about the arrangement he had made with the senator. Decimus had to put on a good show, win the crowd so the senator didn’t look like a fool to be awarding his freedom.

  But underneath the calm exterior beat the flaming spirit of the beast, thirsty for the blood of the men waiting in the arena. Decimus resisted him, fought him back. The struggle was clear in his eyes if anyone cared to gaze long enough. The gold flashed in and out, fading against the hazel hue.

  Decimus knew that if he killed just one gladiator, his soul would be lost. He couldn’t stand anymore killing. The feeble hold on his humanity would snap and the beast would be revealed in all his glory to slaughter anyone that got in his way. He couldn’t let that happen.

  Don’t kill.

  Don’t let them hurt you.

  Don’t let the beast out.

  Put on the grandest show in all of the Roman Empire, just this one day.

  Earn your freedom.

  The gate rose and bright sunlight washed over Decimus. He stepped onto the field to face his opponents.

  Sizing them up, he knew each one by their style. The Murmillo was a given by his fish like helmet, gladius and large shield.

  One equal in armor and weaponry was the Gallus with a great plum along the crest of his helmet.

  Another, called the Dimachaerus for his dual wielding fashion held a gladius in one fist and a siccae, or curved sword, in the other.

  Beside him was the Thracian, standing there confidently with his siccae and small round shield.

  And lastly was the Scissores with his shear-like half moon blade and helmet with tiny eyeholes.

  All wore their respective armor, staring down Decimus and waiting for his first move.

  With his net, dagger and trident, Decimus knew this would be a spectacular show indeed.

  He quickly scanned the crowd and was dismayed to see that Caprasia and her father had come to watch. If he could have spared her the violence she was about to witness, he would have.

  He stood before his opponents and watched their movements with great anticipation. His cursed blood raced through his body, preparing him for the action that was to come. Like a mantra, he repeated to himself silently, “Don’t kill, only injure. Don’t kill, only injure.”

  The Gallus let out a great cry and charged for Decimus.

  With the might of his one arm, he swung the trident around his head, gaining momentum to strike the Gallus in his shoulder armor. The metal cracked and bent inwards. Decimus nearly grinned when he heard the snapping of the Gallus’s collarbone.

  The Gallus dropped his shield and staggered a few steps back to strip off his broken armor.

  Decimus turned his head to see the Thracian bolt forward. His siccae sliced into the bottom side of Decimus’s upraised arm. The searing pain rushed through him like a fire, igniting his soul with the motivation to live. Not only his, but that of the beast’s

  He roared and knew that the animal eyes were there to stay. But he didn’t care. Decimus parried most of the strike that cut into him, but he could feel the hot blood seep down his arm and onto his unarmored torso.

  Decimus tossed the net at the Thracian, ensnaring his helmet. With a quick tug, his opponent was reeling and losing his balance in the shifting sand beneath his bare feet. With his shaft, he struck the Thracian in the shoulder and kicked him away. He released his grip on the net and let it fall with his foe to the wayside as the Thracian struggled to be free of it.

  A sword came slashing across his back and even greater pain spurred him into action. His arm was already healing, but the blood was not even dry before this new wound was inflicted. Every move was agonizing as Decimus turned to see the Gallus had returned to face him.

  Now with only his gladius and no shield, the Gallus dared to continue the fight.

  Decimus swung his trident at his opponent, but through the blinding pain, he managed to miss and slipped on the blood that ran down to his heel. The Gallus swung too, but Decimus ducked and came back with another assault.

  The edge of his trident connected with the Gallus’s helmet just below the visor around the side of his head. The force of the blow was so massive that the Gallus, as big as he was, was sent spinning towards the wall of the arena.

  A great clang rang out upon impact that the crowd both cheered and grimaced over. Decimus, feeling light headed from the loss of blood rolled his shoulders, feeling the edges of his torn skin begin to mend.

  He needed to be careful. Too many wounds and the crowd will suspect something. Another massive blow like the Gallus just received and they would truly wonder if he was human or not. He took a few deep breaths to calm the thrashing beast inside, but it was no use. It was restless, gaining strength from the stench of blood and thrill of battle.

  His ears caught the sound of the Thracian coming at him again from behind. His small shield clanged heavily against his skull. Decimus fell and rolled to dodge the lashing of the Thracian’s siccae.

  Decimus shook his head and blinked hard until the effects of the assault wore away and he could see straight again. He stood quickly with his trident in hand. Generous streaks of blood rivered down the nape of his neck from the wound on the back of his head.

  He deftly lunged forward and caught the Thracian’s hand between the prongs of his trident. With one swift twist, Decimus snapped his opponent’s hand to release the siccae it was holding.

  The Thracian cried out in pain, but would not let himself be defeated. He raised the edge of his shield and jabbed it into Decimus’s chest, throwing him backwards and freeing his now broken hand.

  Decimus pressed his hand to his chest, waiting for the bone between his pecks to heal before charging back. By now, the Thracian had dropped his sword from his good hand and picked up his siccae, still caked in the blood of his gladiator opponent.

  Decimus raised his staff and speared the blunt end against the Thracian’s shoulder. He felt the sickening crack of bone, stepped to the side and swung the trident behind his opponent, striking him behind the knees.

  The Thracian released his siccae, sending it flying into the air as he fell flat onto his back. Sand plumed into clouds all around him, coating him in a thin layer. Now disarmed and unable to wield a weapon in either hand, the Thracian was finished.

  Decimus took one last look at him and the unconscious Gallus before facing his three other opponents. They appeared hesitant. Even through their helmets, they could see his vicious eyes. And it was hard to ignore that he was half covered in blood and still standing.

  The beast within him raged with each heavy breath, but Decimus would have no anarchy this time. This battle was his and his alone.

  The Scissores boldly charged forward and Decimus ran to meet him.

  In one move the shearing blade of the Scissores sliced into Decimus’s upper arm. Decimus unsheathed the dagger strapped to his belt and dove down to plunged the blade into his opponent’s foot.

  Blood poured down his arm, mixing with the blood of the Scissores as it pooled in the sand where they stood. .

  Decimus stood and bashed the pummel of his dagger into the Scissores’ faceplate, denting the metal inward. He heard his opponent’s nose crack as he lost momentary control and drove the dagger into the fleshy shoulder of the Scissores.

  His beastly eyes watched as the lifeblood oozed down his opponent’s chest and Decimus fought to gain his grasp on reality. The roar of the crowds and the screams of the gladiator in front of him were little more than muffled noises, mere distractions as the beast floated in and out of his mind.

  He left the blade lodged there and took the trident in both hands to send the blun
t end soaring between the legs of the Scissores. Breaking the pelvis bone, he then threw a kick into his opponent’s knee for good measure.

  The Scissores toppled to the ground, broken and bleeding, but still breathing.

  Decimus heard the Dimachaerus approach him from behind, but it was too late to turn. The wound on his back had just healed when he felt two blades slice deep into his skin. He roared in anguish.

  He spun around, grasped one of the Dimachaerus’s arms in one hand and twisted it until the elbow popped clear out of its joint, rendering the arm useless. The dual wielder howled in pain and dropped his siccae.

  The Dimachaerus struck with his gladius still clenched in his other hand, but Decimus parried the blow between the sharp prongs of the trident. He swung the shaft of his trident down onto his opponent’s wrist.

  The Dimachaerus dropped his last weapon just as Decimus rammed the blunt end of his trident into his faceplate as he had done with the others. He fell flat onto his back and Decimus backed away, hearing the stirrings of another foe.

  He turned to watch in amazement as the Scissores, limping and bleeding down to his loincloth, was approaching him for another round.

  Decimus found himself growling as the wounded gladiator circled him. The Scissores lunged out with his shearing blade, but he easily parried it with his trident. Using the blunt end once more, he snapped the Scissores’ ribs so deeply that the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

  The Scissores wheezed and was sufficiently distracted by the intense pain as Decimus began to pummel his opponent’s helmet with the shaft of his trident.

  Dazed and disoriented from the loss of blood, the Scissores fell backwards onto the ground, unable to move or stand. Decimus watched him for a moment, unsure if the Scissores was still breathing.

  His senses exploded and he felt fear for the first time in days. The beast fled as guilt and remorse welled up inside of him. Decimus had lost control and now this man could be dead.