Free The Song of the Gladiator by Paul Doherty

presbyter Sylvester, had the ear of the Empress. He had secretly reviewed his own position, concluding that it might be best to renounce the teaching of Arius and embrace orthodoxy. That was the way to proceed, to get noticed and so win approval, and what better way than in public, declaring, ever so humbly, how he had been convinced by the arguments of his opponents?
    ‘Are we enjoying the garden?’
    Dionysius started and glanced up at the figure towering over him. Because of the position of the sun, the philosopher couldn’t recognise who it was who had addressed him. He lifted his hands to shade his eyes, but he had hardly stirred when the rock smacked against his head. He felt a searing flash of pain and the tang of blood at the back of his throat, then slumped over. His assailant hastily bound his hands and feet and laced a coarse rope round his middle. Dionysius tried to move but couldn’t. He was pulled across the ground like a sack, his body jarring against hidden stumps and stones. The pain drove him in and out of consciousness. He was choking. He tried to scream, only to realise that the pain in his mouth was caused by the stout gag forced between his lips.
    Now they were going deeper into the trees, and the rope pulling him went slack. A blindfold was put across his eyes and his hands were freed. Dionysius tried to struggle, but it was fruitless. His opponent hummed quietly as he pegged the philosopher out against the ground and proceeded to slice his captive’s arms, legs and chest. Dionysius really believed the Manes had come. He was in a sea of pain, tossed here and there, his feverish mind drifting in and out of consciousness. He was back in Capua, in the schoolroom or walking out in the fields, until another cut brought him back to the tortured present. His body bucked against the ropes. His assailant was slicing his flesh as he would a piece of beef.
    Eventually Dionysius lost consciousness and his assailant left him there, pegged on the ground, blood running out like rivulets across the lush green grass. It took him an hour to die.
    His corpse was discovered by Gaius Tullius as he was doing his usual rounds with four of his men. They all gazed in horror at the blood-soaked body, the ground around saturated with a dark stain.
    ‘Fetch the Empress,’ Gaius ordered.
    ‘And his Excellency?’
    ‘I said the Empress,’ Gaius insisted. ‘The Augusta will know what to do.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Our Noble Emperor has taken a few cups of wine; he is with some of the maids and would not like to be disturbed.’
    A short while later, the Empress, accompanied by her woebegone bodyguard, came striding through the trees. She gave an exclamation of horror, then walked round the corpse, noticing how the legs and arms were held taut, the rope tied to pegs driven into the ground.
    ‘How long, Captain?’ she asked.
    Gaius, his sandals squelching on the grass, gathered up his gown, leaned down and pressed his hand against the dead man’s face.
    ‘At least two hours, possibly less.’ He ran his hand across the stomach. ‘This is hardly bloated with gas.’ He got to his feet. ‘Whoever killed him truly hated him. Augusta, shall I arrest the others?’
    ‘Nonsense!’
    ‘There is a physician in the villa,’ Burrus murmured.
    ‘Unless he can resurrect the dead, he is of no use here,’ Helena retorted. ‘I wonder—’
    She broke off as Timothaeus the steward came hurrying up. He took one look at the corpse and turned away to retch. Helena walked over and patted him gently on the back.
    ‘I’m afraid,’ she murmured, ‘it is not your week, is it, Timothaeus? Now, be a good chap, take this hulking piece of meat,’ she gestured at Burrus, ‘and, when you have settled your stomach, go back to Rome, to the She-Asses near the Flavian Gate, and bring Claudia. I want her here tonight.’
    Helena walked into the trees, breathing heavily. Yes, she thought, it’s time my little mouse was here, with her twitching