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

  Was this why his father wanted Howard to learn from Decimus? To discover how a gladiator in the first century was able to conceal his secret identity so well in such a crowded, high stress environment? Howard already knew the key to blending in with the crowds. How could he learn anything new from Decimus?

  The far away wailing of the police siren brought Howard back into the twenty-first century. When he opened his eyes, he saw the light was waning quickly from the sky. He didn’t have much time and the urgency in his soul was growing greater.

  He straightened up and looked around him to gain his bearings. There had to be a forest or preserve somewhere near this city.

  Villa of Quintus Marius Strabo, 71 AD

  Decimus relished in the sensation of freed hands and feet. Not willing to insult the politician with the sight of his honored guest in shackles, Marcus allowed Decimus to come to their villa unchained. It was a welcome relief.

  Guards, as always, kept him under their tight surveillance as they traveled through the streets of Verona. Decimus kept a wary eye on the sun above, estimating exactly when he would need to leave the villa in order to return to the ludus safely. Despite himself, he felt a twinge of anxiety quiver in his belly.

  Traveling through the gridded streets of Verona, Decimus felt lost as he always did when venturing out of the ludus. It was a queer sense of near freedom that taunted him.

  Passersby stared and gawked at the gladiator surrounded by so many guards. If he had not built a reputation for himself as a gladiator, they would have believed him to be a criminal. And a criminal he was, but no one remembered it except for him.

  The guards led him to a large villa in the heart of the city. As soon as they came to the front door, Decimus wanted to turn and run. Mingled in with the aroma of cooking food that came from inside the villa, he picked up a familiar scent. It was of the young girl that had visited him in the ludus.

  A deep growl rumbled in his throat at the realization that this was her home. Was she the one that summoned him? No. Marcus said it was a politician that requested his presence. Was it her father? Older brother? Husband, perhaps?

  Decimus felt a confusion of emotions roil within him at the remembrance of that day. He had sensed her coming down the hall, inhaled her perfumed body and listened to her lithe steps drawing closer to him. He was surprised to see how young she was at first. Then he was angry. She had no right to disturb his solitude.

  When she had begun asking questions, Decimus felt even more confused. He was excited to know that someone had taken an interest in him, yet troubled all at the same time. A lady as young as she was had no business visiting a gladiator without a chaperone. On further thought, no lady had any business visiting Decimus at all.

  When the lady left, he realized how lonely he had become. Her presence, however unnecessary and tiresome, was more welcome than he had ever imagined. His first visitor in two years and he would get to see her again.

  Decimus tensed himself, muscles and spirit, for this evening. What lay behind those doors was uncertain at best. He resolved to be as cold to her as he had on that day, as long as it didn’t displease his host. There was no reason to lead her to hope that anything would develop between them.

  The guard pounded his fist upon the door and a servant opened it to admit them inside.

  “My master has been expecting you, gladiator,” the slave said, his voice meek and accented strangely. Judging by his deep brown complexion, Decimus knew he must have been taken from the southern regions of the empire.

  He gave the slave a nod of acknowledgement and passed through the threshold with the guards. The clanging of metal echoed in the high atrium beyond the vestibule. Ahead, he could see through the tablinium and into the garden beyond. Amber light filtered through the villa, glistening off the cool tile flooring.

  The slave led them a few feet into the atrium where they were immediately greeted by his host.

  The politician was an older man with greying hair, a weathered face and shallow beard that encased his lower jaw, chin and above his lips. His frame was not frail with age, but solid and healthy. His tunic and toga were clean and Decimus felt slightly embarrassed by the dinginess of his own tunic tied down by his thick leather belt. Marcus should have given him something nicer to wear for the occasion.

  The politician grinned and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to my home, Lupus,” he greeted warmly as if they were old friends.

  It was then that Decimus recognized him as a frequent sponsor for the events held at the arena. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely the young lady’s doing that he was summoned here.

  Decimus gave him a strained, tight-lipped smile, still caged behind the wall of guards around him. It was then the politician noticed the guard detail and his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

  “Come now, you men can leave. The gladiator is in good hands here, I assure you.”

  “No, sir,” the head guard replied. “We were given strict orders to accompany him here and keep watch over him.”

  The politician’s arms dropped, realizing that he would be receiving no friendly embrace from his guest in that moment. “There is no danger here. The gladiator will only be joining us for a meal.”

  “My orders remain, sir.”

  The politician’s mouth quirked up in bemusement and then shrugged. “Then at least let him walk about freely.”

  The guards slowly began to unfold their tight circle about Decimus to release him into a room. With steady steps, he left the broken circle and stood before the politician.

  The old man’s smile returned and he patted Decimus heavily on the shoulder. “I’m glad you could make it, Lupus.”

  “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I’m honored.” Decimus gave a humble bow and allowed himself to be led towards the dining hall.

  The dining hall was masterfully decorated with fresco, tile mosaics, vases upon pedestals and ample lighting. In the middle of the room was a table prepared with every sort of dish imaginable. Fish and roast poultry was accompanied by bowls of exotic fruits.

  Decimus’s mouth watered at the sight of the splendid feast. It was the most food he had seen in one place in almost his entire life. Surely there were more guests to arrive than just himself to partake in this meal. The guards took their posts around the room as Decimus and his host made their way towards the table.

  “My name is Quintus Marius Strabo. But I’m sure you’ve at least heard of me from the arena and the election notices around the city.”

  Decimus pulled himself away from the vibrant display on the table and looked to his host. “I knew of your face from the arena, but not your name.”

  Quintus seemed slightly disappointed, but then quickly recovered. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t hear of much outside of the ludus. Come and sit down. We’re just waiting on my daughter.”

  As Decimus was taking his seat upon one of the three broad couches positioned around the table, he heard the whisper of linen against the tile and the light sashay of sandals. He turned to watch as the young lady sauntered into the dining hall.

  She was dressed in her finest gold jewelry and most elegant garment of bright colors and modest concealment. Her brown eyes met his and held his gaze. Her expression remained placid, but he could sense the thrill she felt over luring him to her home. The feeling was not mutual. Her heart was rabbiting in her chest at the sight of him, sounding intolerably loud in his ears.

  But there was a confidence about her that did not fit with her first appearance at the ludus. There she had put on the robe of authority to conceal her frightful racing heart. Now, as if she drew strength from the setting of her own home, she donned the same poise, supported by her sincere surety that she was in control of this visit and not Decimus.

  “Ah, here she is. This is my lovely daughter, Caprasia.” Quintus came to her daughter’s side as if to present her to a potential suitor. Decimus knew better that this mustn’t be the case.

  “Hello, gladiator,” she said,
her words dusted with a sensuality that made his heart freeze. This was not what he wanted.

  He gave a short bow of his head. “Good evening, Caprasia.”

  Quintus and Caprasia joined him at the table and lounged upon their own respective couches. They were the very picture of luxury and comfort. Decimus felt strikingly out of place here in his dirty tunic.

  Quintus clapped his hands and slaves appeared with goblets and pitchers of wine.

  “I hope we haven’t taken you away from any training this evening, Lupus,” Quintus remarked as he held his cup for pouring.

  “Not at all. I completed my daily training this morning.”

  Decimus watched as the slave poured the deep rep liquid into his cup and handed it to him. As he reached out his hand, he could already feel the acidic qualities of the goblet. He thought that perhaps the cup was made of pewter, but he was wrong. He dared not to touch it, but motioned for the slave to set it on the table.

  He looked to Caprasia who seemed to be watching him with the utmost interest. “Where do you train in the ludus? In the field with the other gladiators?”

  Her incisive question was not lost upon Decimus. She wanted to know if he ever emerged from his underground prison.

  Quintus sighed. “Don’t ask him such questions, Caprasia. Of course he trains with the others. Where else would he train but in the ludus?” The host turned to Decimus and leaned in as if to speak somewhere privately. “I apologize for my daughter. I learned of her flagrant scandal when she visited you in the ludus. I hope she did not bother you.”

  Decimus gave him another fake smile and shook his head. “Not excessively.”

  Quintus snorted a laugh and settled back. “Which means she must have bothered you very much. My daughter embarrasses me at every given chance. I should really lock her up one of these days.”

  At the mention of imprisonment, Decimus and Caprasia exchanged knowing glances and she gave him a sly smile. It was obvious that she did not tell her father that Decimus was kept in a cell under the ludus with the beasts.

  “By all means, eat your fill,” Quintus interjected. “You are my guest of honor. I suppose you don’t make many informal visits as this?”

  Decimus reached for a slice of meat near the middle of the table, being careful not to touch anything on the table that even resembled silver. He couldn’t take the chance. “I don’t. Anytime I am summoned into the city is for entertainment purposes.”

  “For you to be entertained or your host?” Caprasia asked, her cadence colored once more with vulgar insinuations.

  “Caprasia!” Quintus scolded. “That is not your business. Truly, you must forgive my daughter. She lacks the proper upbringing that is due to her. I blame myself.”

  Decimus genuinely smiled in spite of himself. “Don’t apologize.” He did not appreciate her advances, but he admired her wild spirit. Out of respect for his host, he knew he would have to answer every question. Ignoring her like he had in the ludus was not a convenience. “I normally come into the city to entertain others. Private fights held in their homes for banquets such as this.”

  He took a bite out of the fowl and felt his mouth explode with flavors he had never experienced before. He had never tasted the cuisine of the region before. The meat he was served in the ludus was bland and in want of seasoning.

  “So you battle as a gladiator outside of the arena as well?” Caprasia asked.

  “Yes, but not very often.”

  “And do you always have a company of guards with you?”

  Quintus’s mouth was full of grapes and was unable to reprimand his daughter again before Decimus answered.

  “In fact, I do,” he replied before taking another sumptuous bite of meat. He could slowly feel his primal hungry abate with each mouthful of the feast.

  “I hardly find it necessary,” Quintus added after a draught of the wine. “I assume it’s to keep you from running away. Am I correct?”

  Decimus shrugged. “That’s partially why.”

  “Have you attempted escape before?” Caprasia questioned from behind her goblet as she sipped, casting a furtive look his way.

  “Not once,” he answered.

  “Is it your lanista that gives the order?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’ve proven yourself trustworthy,” Quintus said, “then why does he persist in the use of the guards?”

  Decimus would not lie to his gracious host. “The guards are there for my safety as well as the safety of those around me.”

  Caprasia’s shoulder swayed as she leaned closer. “How dangerous could you possibly be?”

  He would not answer her, but gave her a cautionary glance. Pressing further would only annoy him and she would not receive a truthful answer.

  “You saw him in the arena, Caprasia. He can rip a man apart if he wished. I’ve seen him do it.” Quintus stuffed his mouth with flakes of cooked fish flesh.

  Decimus ducked his chin a bit, wishing that he had not mentioned his infamous brutality. This was not a night that he wanted to remember the arena and the murders he committed there. He wanted to enjoy the feast and the fleeting taste of freedom.

  “I’m glad I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing such things,” Caprasia said, her voice turned icy and it peaked his interest.

  Decimus looked up to see her staring away with her bony shoulders scrunched inward as if to fight off a chill or unpleasant thought.

  “You don’t like the games?” Decimus asked, curiosity laced in his tone.

  She looked back with a haughty sneer. “I detest violence. It is the bane of the empire, the reason we are no more civilized than the barbarian hordes in the north.”

  Decimus, once again, smirked at the young lady’s words. Already he was beginning to see that she was different than the rest. Her class hid the fiery opinionated spirit within her. Just as his human exterior, masked the animalistic truth of his nature.

  “Caprasia,” Quintus rebuked. “I think that conversation is a little too weighty for a dinner as this.”

  Ignoring his host, Decimus shifted forward on his elbows. “If you detest violence, then why come to reward me for the fight that day?”

  It was his turn to challenge her with his questions, to make her uncomfortable. Decimus longed to see how she would hold up under the pressure.

  “That is no secret, gladiator. I wished to meet you in person.”

  “But if I am nothing but a barbaric heathen, why bother? Surely you must have known I am not a Roman like you.”

  Caprasia was silent, unable to answer but her severe gaze was more than enough to satisfy Decimus.

  “Not even I knew that you were not Roman,” Quintus said, surprise prevalent. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of your past before the arena.”

  “No one has,” Decimus replied as he popped a grape between his lips. Biting down into the succulent fruit, he relished in the rush of sweet and slightly bitter juice that flowed over his tongue.

  “Then regale us with your story, Lupus,” Caprasia gently commanded.

  A few beats of silence passed as both of them waited for Decimus to begin. He sighed and averted his eyes for the moment. He didn’t intend to trap himself in this conversation, but he supposed that there was nothing else he could do. Not even Marcus knew of his past and these fine people were about to understand why he was a gladiator.

  “First of all, my name is Decimus. I was born in the Batavi tribe in Germania Inferior. My father was a Roman soldier, my mother a native of the region. As an adult, I was well respected. The Batavi, as you must know, are prized by the Roman Empire for their skills as warriors and excellent swimmers. Two years ago I was conscripted into the Roman army under the governor Vitellis to fight against the current emperor Vespasian.”

  Quintus raised a thick hand to pause him. “Was this the year where Vitellis was emperor for a time?”

  Decimus nodded. “Yes. As well as Galba and Otho and finally ending with Vespasian.”


  Quintus reeled on his couch. “Oh, what a time that was for the empire,” he exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Decimus replied. “And what a time for Batavi. Vitellis violated the treaty and conscripted more men than what the maximum dictated.”

  “Right,” Quintus recalled. “I believe I remember hearing about this. Some man named Civilis mobilized against Vitellis.”

  “Gaius Julius Civilis,” Decimus corrected. “He mobilized our people to rebel against Rome. At the time, I was serving as a cavalryman under the Romans. At the battle of Nijmegen, we Batavians abandoned our posts to join Civilis.”

  Caprasia shook her head in confusion. “Wait, if you are not a Roman, then why do you bear a Roman name?”

  “My mother gave it to me to honor my father’s lineage instead of hers.”

  “Then you are not a citizen of Rome?”

  “Because I am a slave, I am not. But I was, at least partially since Batavi is an asset to the Roman Empire.”

  Quintus waved his hand at his daughter with much impatience. “Let the man finish his story.”

  Decimus took an apple from one of the bowls and rolled it between his palms as he continued. “I served in the rebellion under Civilis. Vespasian was ready to forgive him for his rebellion and grant freedom to Batavi for distracting Vitellis in the campaign to win his title as emperor. Civilis, the fool, wasn’t satisfied with that and set his sights on attacking the Roman legions.

  “I served at the battle of Castra Vetera. When my comrades fled, I continued fighting for my life against the Romans. I was captured and sentenced to death as a traitor by the general Vocula. Then I was sent here to Verona to be executed in the arena. But I defeated my executioner. When I was sent back to my cell, my lanista, Marcus, purchased me for one thousand denarii. And here I am two years later.”

  Caprasia’s eyes were filled with wonder at his tale.

  “So,” Quintus broke the silence that was heavy in the air, “you are a traitor to the Roman empire?”

  Decimus stared down to the half empty platter of poultry in front of him. “Now, I can guess, you regret inviting me to feast with you.”