Casca 7: The Damned Read Free Page B

you lose every tooth in your head but one and have an ache in it for the rest of your life!"
    Vergix chuckled at Casca's curse. "You have a mean streak, Roman, but if you didn't notice, the man is already toothless!"
    Before noon, armed guards came in and began separating the men into groups; those who were old or disabled were put into one group and taken away. Shortly afterwards, they heard the sounds of the crowd roaring in pleasure and cries of dying men as they were fed to the beasts.
    Those who were fit enough to fight were taken one at a time into an anteroom where they were outfitted in armor left over from the days when gladiators were treated like prized animals. Casca took the familiar helmet of the Galli with its fish crested crown and perforated steel facemask.
    Expertly, he checked over his equipment, exchanging one set of steel mesh wrapping for his sword arm for another. Quickly, he tied the straps on properly, swinging his arm to see if it limited his motion. Satisfied after a couple of minor adjustments, he then selected a set of Thracian style brass greaves to protect his legs and a wide leather embossed belt that buckled in the back. His weapons would be given to him later.
    The guards noticed his expert familiarity with the gladiatorial armor and made notes to lay bets on his winning against whomever he fought. Vergix also saw his new ally's familiarity and was pleased that his judgment of the man had been accurate. For himself, he chose that which he was most familiar with, and which would also make him stand out in the crowd when he and Casca made their play , a massive horned helmet with a brass strip running from the crest down to protect the nose.
    As they were getting outfitted, the cries of dying animals reached them from the arena. The beasterii had been sent in to finish off the lions and leopards. It would be time now for the audience to take a break and get lunch from the vendors outside the arena, and talk over the morning's show.
    The Emperor hadn't shown up for the morning games, but would be there to open the proceedings after lunch. This gave the arena attendants time to clean up a bit and spread fresh sand after hauling off, on long hooks, the remains of man and beast.
    Many Christians refused to attend these slaughters, but even more did come and found great satisfaction in watching the heathens destroy themselves. Fresh in their minds still rang the screams of their own brethren. Revenge lies solid within the breasts of most men, and no amount of erudite philosophy and sanctimonious moralizing can cover it up completely. They found enough reasons for their attending some to witness the final destruction of the heathen, others for the sheer pleasure of it, which they hid behind pious mottoes and phrases.
    From the arms rooms, those next to fight were escorted to the cages next to the gates that opened onto the sands. Casca felt a familiar quickening of the pulse; the smell of blood was still on the warm air. Staying to himself, he began to exercise to loosen up muscles stiff from his night's sleep on the floor. Vergix merely sat in the shade and wished for a horn of ale before going out.
    A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the Emperor. Honorius, escorted by a squad of praetorians nodded pleasantly to the acclamations of the crowd.
    Honorius, son of Theodosius, whose edicts against paganism he was enforcing in order to provide this day's entertainment, was a troubled man. He had none of the strength of the Caesars in his blood. His body was weak and soft. He had never fought in battle or faced any danger other than that of the court. His eyes were lackluster under the pressures of his office. Soft hands trembled as they gripped each other. The wreath of his forehead accented his thinning hair.
    His role was not one he relished, but once he had power, there was no way for him to be able to give it up and live. Even if he abdicated, he knew that his successor would have him