Free Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two by Nick Morris Page A

public, a third of which was unemployed. It fed the redundant mob’s lust for entertainment too – the bloody spectacle that was The Games . Each year they became more elaborate in their bloodletting and ever more expensive. Freedom of worship was thus a gratuity granted by Rome in order to keep its subjects happy, said his mother; as long as nothing was preached that undermined the flow of silver and ultimately the stability of the Roman state.
    Clodian sighed, realizing how much he missed a mother who’d been such a dear, trusted friend. Perhaps Belua would change his mind when he came to know him better? And, perhaps the serious Neo too?
    After the operation, Clodian had introduced himself to the still groggy patient, and had also received words of thanks.
    It was very quiet as he looked around the ludus , and then he realized that the troupe would be occupied with their evening meal. The palaestra was empty, the head – high training posts casting tired shadows across the sparse grass. The sun was sinking behind the great mountain, and he thought how peaceful the ludus now seemed, a marked contrast to the noisy exertion he’d witnessed by day.
    Opposite where he stood, behind the colonnaded portico that bordered the training field, were the shadowed cells of the trainee gladiators – small stone boxes that were their home until they became victors and could afford to live outside of the school, or until they died on the arena sand. The knowledge saddened him.
    His reverie was broken by Belua and Neo joining him.
    “Your assistance today was appreciated,” stated the physician.
    Belua stood with his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable.
    “I was glad to help, and I was very impressed by your skills.”
    “Thank you,” said Neo. Clodian thought that he looked weary following his
exertions, deep lines etched at the corner of his eyes.
    “I have a favour to ask.” Clodian directed his words to the physician.
    “Then ask.”
    “Could I spend some time with you…I mean when you are treating the men?”
    “Neo is a very busy man, and –” Belua began.
    Neo interrupted by raising a hand.
    The physician studied his face for long moments. Clodian’s mouth felt very dry and he thought that he might have caused offence in some way.
    “Come to the infirmary at the first hour in two days’ time,” Neo replied, finally. “And, don’t be late.”
    Clodian’s mouth split into a wide smile.

Chapter 9
     
    THE SERPENT
     
     
    Beads of sweat stood out on his father’s fore-head, and Clodian dabbed the moisture away with a damp cloth.
    He was shocked by the change in his father’s appearance as he lay in the wide bed. The weight had dropped from his bones and his skin had adopted a sickly yellow pallor. Thankfully, the vomiting had stopped but the sour stench of loose bowels filled the room. And, he could not remember a time when his father had been so ill that he’d had to take to his bed, and it worried him.
    “How are you feeling?” he asked.
    “Better today,” replied his father. “Yet I feel so weak.”
    “Shall I have some soup brought up, to help build your strength?”
    “I don’t think that I’d be able to keep it down.” He breathed in deeply through his nose. “Tomorrow, perhaps?” He turned to look out through the shuttered doors of the bed chamber, thrown open to cool the room and help with the smell. He seemed preoccupied with the view, the forested upper reaches of Vesuvius visible above the clutter of the city’s roof-tops.
    “The mountain always reminds me of my puny insignificance in this life,” said his father, his voice sounding tired. “The gods surely moulded its vastness to censure the pride of men. “
    “I’m sure the Greeks would agree, father.”
    “Very true,” said his father, smiling weakly.
    “Do you think it might be prudent to consult a physician regarding this ailment?” Clodian proposed. “The physician at Ludus Gordeo is held in high esteem,