The House of Ashur would carve its own path
and fuck into oblivion all who stands in its way.
You have not earned position in this fuckin' house.
They will never welcome a woman
as one of their own.
She's not absent skill.
And when were you last upon the sands, old man?
Gabinius? He hosts the game of the Ludi Apollinares.
I see a man possessed of serpent-tongued wife.
Perhaps the House of Opiter
shall present surprising challenge.
You worry over him beyond reason.
Yet who worries over you?
Apedemak. God of war and conquest.
Then why work his image?
As a reminder what was lost.
She took the life of a brother,
yet you let her live.
She drew blood.
And any man who lays undesired hand upon her
shall feel my own at fucking throat.
You risked life of valued acquisition
by pressing grievance with fucking steel?!
And what of the life of Creticus?
Was it not a thing of equal worth?
No one would produce coin
to see shit walking upright upon the sands of the arena.
We do not overflow with men of skill
that the passing of one should be met with indifference.
Does voice sound fuckin' indifferent?
The man stood but crudely formed brick!
Achillia stands as fucking foundation.
Her entrance to the games of the Ludi Apollinares
will secure the ascent of this house
that you're always moaning on about!
You have swayed Gabinius to our cause?
Prize was within grasp when we broke meal,
until unfortunate turn of humors.
Your words have been known to carry such effect.
He pressed for honesty, you towering fuck,
and, when presented with such,
took offence and commanded me to fall from fuckin' sight.
So... we remain beggars,
knees upon ground, mouth open
to pleasure any cock that rises to favor.
You need concern yourself with the duties
I paid you for in coin,
most pressing of which
seeing Achillia ready to face the Brothers Ferox,
not taking actions absent authority.
I gauged the woman to be wild and untamed,
yet you did not heed warning.
I stand fucking Dominus.
And I fucking Doctore.
Upon the sands, my word is law.
You would place yourself above me?
I place my experience in such matters beyond any man.
Then why does Achillia yet draw breath
if you find her such an affront to delicate sensibilities?
Because she proved herself worthy,
at least of further consideration.
Ah...
You speak of worth and the proving of it.
I will set you upon task to mirror the same.
Hm. And what vaunted purpose moves my hand?
Whatever fucking purpose I require
towards satisfaction of loyalty.
We stand dishonored,
lacking Dominus with fucking cock to reclaim lost glory
from the days of Gannicus and Crixus.
True fuckin' champions.
Far eclipsing the shit Syrian!
Break words more wisely...
or see own questionable manhood parted from body
in unfortunate manner of Creticus.
His pet Nubian claims life of a brother
absent consequence, a jest to all who greeted him as friend.
A thing uncontested,
yet I bow to the will of our Dominus,
as all of us must.
For now.
Hmm.
Erato's words hold truth.
They could hold the world and still prove
of little use.
Does the honor of the house
not stand above all else?
It should.
Then our fucking Dominus has tainted it
by positioning woman towards the arena.
Attend!
I am set to task beyond these walls.
In my absence, Celadus shall stand Doctore until my return.
Gratitude.
It is a heavy honor.
The honor is mine to have old friend assume my place.
See the men to purpose.
Resume training.
Tarchon, Erato, take position
- and fall- - Brace!
Youthful fury pales against the master of fucking sword.
Aargh!
Inform me when such a master presents himself...
and I will serve same meal that fills fucking mouth.
Tarchon!
Had you faced an opponent of the slightest worth,
wild attack would have seen you upon the ground of the arena
with addled brain spilled from fucking head.
Retake position
and fall to proper form.
Doctore.
She fights as one yet burdened by chains.
Perhaps she is shackled by thing of more crushing weight.
Expand upon thought.
I noted a shadow within eye,
as of lingering specter.
When did you find yourself so close to her
to observe this?
I had occasion to break words when you ventured upon Appian--
You summoned her into the villa absent my presence?
No, Dominus. I went to the Nubian's cell,
accompanied by guards--
You are forbidden in the ludus.
It is unsafe for one so soft, even with presence of escort.
I am no mouse, nor shall cower as such.
Apologies, Dominus.
And did you divine the cause of this shadow
you fucking noted?
- No. - No.
Yet...
mood grew ever more somber
when eye fell upon scars marking the back of her hand.
Whatever weights soul may be tethered
to how she came by them.
Hold.
Return to your labors...
as we fall to our own.
I am to train with you?
I am to gauge first hand your progress.
Yes, Dominus.
Is this the style favored when you drew blood from Doctore?
That of murmillo?
No, Dominus.
Sword and torch, absent weight of fucking shield.
Akin to that of dimachaerus.
A style favored by Spartacus himself.
Sword.
Let us divine if you stand his equal in promise.
Am I to be punished if I draw blood?
Such a feat will be met with reward.
Begin.
Offerings to offend eye, and all...
related senses.
Fault lies with Cilician cutthroats
preying upon ships bearing goods of more earnest quality.
- Words well spoken. - An enduring bane
which must be handled with greatest urgency
by those imbued with the power to act.
I can assure you, my husband is maneuvering
toward such an end.
I shall pray to the gods the attempt is not mired
in pompous rhetoric, as often turns within the Senate.
An encumbrance thankfully not suffered by your husband,
who remains well-satisfied in the unrivalled monotony
of tax collection.
Horatia!
Clouds form upon horizon.
What unexpected joy to fall upon you.
Mwah. Mwah.
Had I known-
mwah, mwah- you were venturing about,
I would have gladly set aside more urgent concerns...
...and joined you.
A decision conjured upon the moment.
A thing too slight to mention.
Horatia, I must implore you to break words with Uvidus
to open new grain routes.
We were not so burdened by scarcity under watchful eye
of previous aedile,
a man much deserving of honored position.
My husband sits in esteemed counsel this very moment,
attempting to bring relief to the good citizens of Capua.
My husband was not informed of stated gathering.
Such meetings are confined to men of note.
Gratitude for clarifying such matters of import.
And I would be remiss if I did not inquire
after the welfare of beloved daughter.
Has she yet left villa since her husband's untimely demise
at the hands of Spartacus and his rebel horde?
Viridia shows no inclination to end mourning.
I stand deeply concerned for her well-being.
Of course.
I but hope to see grief balmed by that of new-sprung love.
As would we all.
My youngest son, Manilius,
has come of age and seeks wife of proper breeding. Perhaps--
A name worthy of consideration.
Yet I crave more equitable pairing for deserving child.
The wife of noble Gabinius
knows best in all regards.
Please convey thoughts of better days to your poor daughter.
It is a wonder, is it not, to behold a sow
bedecked in silk and jewels?
Shit! Fuck!
The gods curse me! Lend hand if you are able!
You stand the Syrian's man, do you not?
A thing well-known.
Yes, well-known indeed.
- Horatia, the aedile's wife. - Modesta, wife of...
who does it fucking matter?
I trust you were not too grievously wounded
by the loss of your man to the Brothers Ferox.
Scarcely thought upon.
Yes, I suppose you must have grown
accustomed with failure,
given the quality of your offerings.
Apologies, but I'm pressed upon urgent business.
For your Dominus?
You mistake me. I am a free man.
Oh, apologies for the error.
It is a truth presenting challenge to recall.
May your day be blessed as richly deserved.
Years have advanced, yet he is still of a form.
I have heard tales of his sword
impaling the most brutish of opponents
in advance of winning freedom.
Mm. Would that his own weapon
be put to more intimate use.
You lower yourselves,
and towards one who favors cock to moister offerings.
Let us to midday meal, and the hope of more elevated discourse.
Do eyes fucking deceive?
The gods grant favor to cross our paths, brother.
Fides. You wander far astray from your man Proculus.
The fucking cunt parts with coin
as readily as he would arm or cock.
I lay wager in the pits to repay debt owed
to shriveled noble absent reason or mercy.
The old fuck would see me to the mines
if the ledger is not balanced.
I shall leave you to it, then.
Place from fucking mind, brother.
What moves you to fall from such lofty perch?
You never cared for this fucking place,
nor those that haunt its walls.
Years have not dimmed aversion, yet I am set to task
upon vital errand in service of my employer.
For the fucking Syrian?
Whatever he asks of his better,
Fides will aid in effort.
Gratitude. Yet it is a private matter
ventured upon discretion.
Your lips were ever sealed,
and even now more so you stand as Doctore
in a house blessed by Crassus himself,
while poor Fides toils for scraps from fucking Proculus.
Bridle overreaching desire
and see prospects brighten.
May the gods grant such discipline.
Come, let us share a drink and relive days past
when we stood yet at shoulders.
A dire warning to every shit who dared break unflattering word.
I would welcome such fond memories, and uh,
petition kindness to help ease present burden.
You stand so defiled by misdeeds
you beg absent honor?
Ram cock up the arse of honor.
I need coin, mm,
and you stand well-positioned to provide such.
Misfortune can forge iron in those who bear its heat.
I would not obstruct such vital lesson for one with keen need
to set foot towards more auspicious path.
Perhaps the Syrian or withered noble
might prove more generous
in return for tales of your past misdeeds.
Be well...
and place me far from fucking thought.
Our business is not--
Avert fuckin' eyes next they light upon me.
Fire burns bright,
as it did in the eyes of the mad Thracian.
He too made attempt upon life of his Dominus.
Yet his venture proved more successful.
Why do you fail?
Your skill with sword exceeds my own.
By considerable fuckin' margin,
yet insignificant towards question. Why...
do you fail?
Perhaps wooden man will offer greater opportunity
for reflection.
Work the palus, and turn thoughts inwards
towards more enlightened response.
Shit struggles against piss.
Make offer towards winner.
No more than three denarii.
Day unexpectedly brightens.
You stand absent wine.
Allow unworthy hands to see offense corrected.
I am for business,
and the swift fucking concluding of it.
We stand the same in that regard.
Recent losses have depleted stable,
forcing me to restock offerings towards arena.
These men would see your ludus
a greater disadvantage.
Was not the mighty Oenomaus
birthed from such darkness?
Was not the Bringer of Rain condemned to hardened purpose
within these very bowels?
Singular fucking men, their reflection unlikely
to be glimpsed among the chattel displayed.
What business compels visit to Stygian depths
if they so offend?
I would break words with Anubis,
former overseer of the pits.
Anubis? Towards what purpose?
Rumor holds that he has a bounty of grain
much in need by the house of my employer.
I fear you have been led astray by errant tongue.
I had dealings with Anubis only this morning
and can assure that grain not among his current holdings.
Well, then I am sent upon a fool's errand.
Only foolish,
if you return to the Syrian empty-handed.
A true friend would see them filled to overflowing.
You hold grain?
- To excess. - At what cost?
Only honored presence,
honeyed by wine and engaging discourse,
far from the noxious scent of unwashed patrons.
Then I am your man.
As I stand yours upon the moment.
Ah...
Thoughts wander afield,
and loving daughter steals advantage.
Hand moves as it was taught upon loving knee.
I give invitation
for you to join me in the city
to find you playing games with your father.
She prefers training of mind to clucking of hens.
More years are yet required to best you.
I concede contest.
You but humor an old man to believe himself
master of strategy.
A thing received with much gratitude.
I but bow to elevated skill.
It is far too early in the day
to yet be dressed for its end, Viridia.
Fall to baths and proper attire
befitting daughter of noble senator.
He's forever held in highest regard.
Aw. As he eternally holds beloved daughter.
You coddle her in obstruction of needed return
to the world of men.
She recovers herself from loss of cherished husband
at measured gait.
Sharp words to spur action will but harden resistance.
Then aid me in seeing it soften.
Reality of unmarried daughter elicits whispers.
I would not have name sullied by wagging tongues.
Such as the ones you wasted hours with
this very day?
I did not deem you concerned by the clucking of fucking hens.
Let ill temper fall to faded memory
and common ground regained.
Much desired, as is the breaking of words
towards the impending games you so generously host.
What of them?
They present much needed opportunity
to reintroduce Viridia after long absence in public eye.
You well know her feelings towards the games
and the gladiators who play them.
Feelings can be molded,
especially if reformed...
by loving hands.
Oh. Countenance did noticeably brighten
when bestowing gratitude upon the Syrian
in aiding the downfall of the rebel Spartacus.
Fucking Syrian.
He stands serpent, grinning with human teeth.
He is a creature not to be trusted.
Trust is as water transforming to vapor or ice
upon varying conditions.
You speak in knotted riddles.
Then let us untangle mystery.
Why do you think I invited him to break meal?
Your machinations elude.
To gauge the man towards usefulness
in rising conflict between Pompey
and the Syrian's patron, Crassus.
And how is such worth measured?
By revealing desire towards presenting motion
in the Senate,
to see Pompey unmoored from the gates of Rome,
in pursuit of the Cilician shits
plaguing the waters of the Republic.
You take the fucking Syrian into confidence?
A false one, unbeknownst to the man himself.
You test him.
If knowledge imparted finds way to Crassus,
then we shall know the Syrian's loyalty holds firm.
And if the cur holds tongue?
Then he may be of use to more... agreeable master,
and perhaps maneuvered to aid in brokering peace
between Pompey and Crassus, averting civil war.
Truly believe that the Syrian holds sway
over the will of Marcus fucking Crassus?
Even a crude lever
can displace the largest of stones when put to proper use.
The only use for such a man
is to see worms to ravenous meal.
Does he not stand Dominus of his own ludus
once claimed by Batiatus?
Favor granted by Crassus himself.
His fucking house is buttressed
upon back of his Doctore Korris.
Absent him, the Syrian would fall to deserved ruin.
True. As many before,
the Syrian stands upon shoulders of his betters.
And seeks to gain further purchase beyond reason.
As all of base position dream.
Why do you think they come to those of us higher born,
seeking the borrowing of coin?
The loaning of it a loathsome thing,
and your brother never should have moved you
toward such base venture.
Let us not gather Servius into argument,
nor turn from fact that interest paid on 'base venture'
offsets costs of fineries
you so enjoy.
We stray from point.
I hold suspicion you shall navigate us back round to it.
Do you not glean desire simmering in the eyes
of the Syrian when lighted upon our daughter?
Is it a wonder? She is of a form,
as her mother so stands.
You flatter when you should be rising towards anger.
And you anger when you should descend towards quietude.
Now, attend to Viridia,
and place thoughts of the Syrian from mind.
Words difficult to embrace. He--
I will hear no more of it!
If he proves of no value,
he shall surely manufacture his own demise.
Draw comfort from such, and let that be an end of it.
- Leave it! - Yes, Dominus.
Assessment holds true. Achillia yet proves unable
to shatter chains tethering ascension,
and with it, the rise of this fucking house!
The Nubian sours mood,
a thing keenly felt since her arrival.
Untamed oxen break countless yokes
until they learn to walk where strong hand leads.
Am I to be a farmer then, plowing fields of shit?
Apologies, Dominus.
I-I did not mean to speak out of turn.
Achillia presents annoyance
absent benefit of beast of burden.
Perhaps you should reconsider
staking future in imagined abilities.
What words broken led belief I sought your counsel
towards fucking resolution?
I only seek to protect--
You do not stand fucking wife,
nor I husband
in need of fucking concern!
Apologies.
I overstep.
What fresh shit pours into open mouth?
Fall to fucking position.
Fuck position!
I will not work palus beside fucking woman!
A blessing to be so removed from distraction
of lesser presence.
Put tongue to proper use...
and lick fucking cock!
Fall to command, you mad fuck!
Dominus watches.
Hold ground, Erato!
Calm your mind.
Tarchon, Erato! Fall to fucking position!
Do you know the fucking man who stands before you?
I am Celadus!
I bested Anthus in the fucking arena.
Camulus fell to my
fucking sword!
As did Magnetius, once champion of this fucking house.
Now, you shall heed word and show respect
for this fucking ludus,
or see your blood on the fucking ground!
Embrace warning.
Witness feats accomplished when mind is set to purpose.
Aspire to such...
and one day, you may also recount grand tales...
of faded glory.
Apologies.
Message has been delivered for Dominus.
Give it here.
Shall I fetch him?
No.
'Tis a matter beneath his attention.
I will deal with it directly in his name.
Domina.
He views you as a common slave.
I stand a free man,
receiving coin for service rendered.
And what amount graced palm for removing
decaying vestiges of cherished brothers upon cross?
Did you wrest such knowledge of our labors
from that shit Proculus?
Men of brute strength may wrest such truths
from unwilling mouths,
yet, lacking such stirring form as yours...
I must rely upon other skills.
I would be privy to which skill one so slight
could muster in aid of such endeavor.
Oh, there are many who have been persuaded
by the lilting tone of my voice, yet...
I favor listening.
Arrogant tongues often reveal secrets that fall to advantage.
There are many paths to victory absent force of arms,
to those with a mind to pursue them.
You exhibit rare insight,
even for storied Doctore.
It stands wounding shame that the Syrian fails
to place respect where it is so lavishly deserved.
Hm. A thing I would never allow beneath my roof.
You broach offer?
I merely make observation
in advance of... future possibilities.
I fear they are bleak towards house blemished
by constant defeat in the games.
It's true.
Losses mount.
Yet, unlike the Syrian,
my house holds position
in the arena.
Imagine heights achieved if drunken excuse training my men
were to be eclipsed by a more...
radiant sun.
You place blame for failure outward
towards your Doctore?
I place it where it is firmly deserved.
Present Doctore has the mind of clotted earth.
Men grounded by dull wit seldom grasp the heavens.
And only a fool leaps from a cliff
expecting wings to sprout as if by miracle.
And how might a hawk ever know he possesses such
when confined to restrictive cage?
How high could such a bird soar?
Far above the walls of a ludus,
borne aloft by the turbulent winds of opportunity.
You are not what expectation conjured.
Well, I stand honored in the exceeding of it.
Achillia!
Fall to position.
Let us divine if sober reflection
birthed desired result.
Dominus.
Begin.
Dominus' words were ill-spoken against you.
Yet he broached no lies.
Even hard truth may be honeyed with gentle tone.
Such was deserved.
I do not stand wife...
nor should assume such position.
Nor should I see you so aggrieved by love withheld.
Presence warms heart beyond words.
I would warm more than heart... if so allowed.
Sentiment is well received.
I have long desired to hear those words
fall from ripened lips.
Messia, I hold you dearest friend.
Friend?
There is no more truer word
for those who care for each other.
Then let us stand as such
and condemn errant musings to forgotten memory.
Perhaps the gods will bless us this day
and they will kill each other.
Good.
Use nimble body of a woman to advantage
against more lumbering opponent.
Yet do not fall to overconfidence.
A mistake you may never rise from in the arena.
I ask again,
why do you fail?
Fail.
Fail!
Why...
do you...
fail?
Because I stand unworthy!
My duty forsaken!
And the memory
shackles fucking mind!
The weight you carry,
memories from the land you hail from,
of love, family, triumph and tragedy.
It is of no interest for the eyes upon you in the arena.
The past,
stands not who we are.
The present is what holds meaning.
The promise of tomorrow.
Resume training.
And seize fate,
as champion of this fucking house.
How gauge you my form against Achillia?
You stood as colossus, Dominus.
Question was not posed to you.
Yet words are plucked from my thoughts.
You stood as described,
unequalled by man, nor undeserving woman.
I will not have reply from slave to Dominus...
but from Hilara
to Ashur.
I hold deep regret...
that eyes never witnessed you upon sands of the arena.
Had they been upon me...
I would have risen to champion.
You forever stand as such
to those who hold you to heart.
I would fall to bath to erase day's labor.
I would have you as you are,
a god among men.
Fetch wine.
Wait to be summoned.
You find offered distraction lacking?
Passion fails to rise towards early contest.
Blood stirs with unveiling of the primus.
Hm.
Then let us not delay anticipated arrival.
You present such diversion
to all who call upon you?
Such titillation pleases the elite of both Capua and Rome,
knowledge embraced by the previous Dominus
of the Syrian's own house.
I am yet astounded
that women of position lower themselves
to such base entertainment.
Their appetites far exceed those
of languid husbands.
You would marvel at those who have crossed threshold
in such pursuits.
Surely none of esteem within city walls.
No less than the wife of the aedile himself.
Horatia?
And what of her friends?
Modesta? No.
I fear she lacks courage to propel desire.
But the honored wife of good Gabinius, however,
stands opposite in all regards.
Cossutia?
The woman's disposition cuts sharper
than well-honed blade.
How did you fall to such prickly acquaintance?
As with... many women of a certain age,
she craves days forever lost
and attention faded by passing years.
Praise and gentle words dull even the sharpest edge.
The Syrian possesses no such insight
that would sway nobles to his cause.
He does lack a certain art of tongue,
causing those of position to shun his presence.
A thing of no concern
if you labored beneath a more appreciative lanista.
I have lingered beyond reason.
You spoke of grain.
I shall see you well satisfied
to be delivered upon break of day when storm has passed.
Gratitude.
I should fall from presence...
while- while I still remain upright.
What wonders could be presented in the hopes of basking
in such glorious light on a more permanent basis?
- Evidence. - Towards?
I would see my men in deserved position
in the impending games of the Ludi Apollinares.
You wish me to secure purchase
for the house where you stand dishonored
while elevating the Syrian at my own expense?
I trained those men, not the fucking Syrian.
They stand but reflection of my worth.
Victory in the arena swells esteem and conveys advantage
towards next who would embrace me as Doctore.
And if gentle breeze lights upon receptive ear
in service of desire?
Then perhaps we shall share wine and words once more.
Apologies.
Coin or blood?
Blood, then.
Fuck ya, bastard!
How's your fucking honor now?
Fides, you fucking cunt!
Spare life! I beg you!
I'm not in a forgiving mood.
Wrath falls upon mistaken form!
It is not my hand that moves against you!
Who set you to fuckin' task, eh?
Fides!
The past stands not who I am.
Achillia.
You are summoned.
There are those among you, I am told,
who take issue with latest acquisition
and hold she does not stand among the brotherhood.
Let us put such concerns to fucking grass.
Dominus.
Apologies, but she has not yet been tested upon bridge,
as each of us has.
Have you ever drawn blood from your Doctore?
Hmm?
Have any of you fucking cunts?
Speak now
and dispel ignorance.
Achillia need prove herself worthy of the mark to but one
in this house, and I...
stand well fucking satisfied.
Kneel.
Set mind towards glorious fuckin' purpose
in honor of the House of Ashur...
and receive sacramentum gladiatorum.
Echo my words.
I commit my flesh, my mind, my will to the glory of this ludus
and the commands of my Dominus.
I commit my flesh, my mind, my will...
to the glory of this ludus...
and the commands of my Dominus.
I swear to be burned, chained, beaten
or die by the sword in the pursuit of honor in the arena.
I swear to be burned, chained,
beaten,
or die by the sword...
in the pursuit of honor in the arena.
Oath has been spoken.
She now stands among the brotherhood.
Let this hold end of fucking disagreement.
Doctore!
That shit Proculus moves against us?
The villain Fides is known to be his man
upon necessity and occasion.
And you ripped confession out of him?
No, he slipped from grasp-
Attend with more considerate touch
or see wound afflicted upon own flesh!
I yet live,
and all that follows I hold to be a fucking blessing.
Lifts heart to hear it so.
What of your task?
Were you able to secure what I've asked of you?
I broke words and wine with Opiter
and gained his confidence as instructed.
And he suspected nothing of your chance encounter
at the pits he often frequents?
He believes I was sent upon errand
to secure grain from Anubis.
And how did you leave the man?
Swelled with hope of me becoming his Doctore,
if he moves Cossutia towards our inclusion
in her husband's games.
You prove yourself beyond measure.
Rest and see health restored.
And what of Proculus?
We shall repay blood with fucking blood
upon time and place of our choosing.
I am in need of a fucking medicus.
It is done?
Korris yet lives,
though grievously fucking injured.
See debt owed to your husband stricken from ledger
as agreed upon in reply to today's message,
and I shall redouble-
Consider ledger balanced.