The gladiator prince, p.1
The Gladiator Prince, page 1
The Gladiator Prince
A Centurion Story
By Minnette Meador
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
The Gladiator Prince
Copyright © 2011 Minnette Meador
Edited by Wendy Williams and Juli Simonson
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-398-0
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: September 2011
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To Lisa, Delilah and Kristina
To my good friend Samantha
With my thanks
Glossary
Auctorati — volunteer gladiator
Balteus — leather belt with hanging strips of leather, which were sometimes studded, used to protect a gladiator or Roman soldier’s privates during battle
Belatucadros — Celtic god worshipped by the Britons in ancient times. Equivalent to the Roman god Mars.
Boudiga (Boadicea, Bodica) — Celtic Queen who gathered and organized the largest Britannia Celtic uprising against the Romans after the invasion. The Roman Legion slaughtered her warriors somewhere in the West Midlands. The Romans decimated her tribe and the tribes of those who fought with her afterwards.
Bona Dea — Goddess of chastity, fertility and healing. Also known as Feminea Dea or the Women’s Goddess, her cult was led by the Vestal Virgins
Brettaniai Albion — Great Britain
Camulodunum — The Roman name for today's Colchester, Essex, England.
Canella — cinnamon
Carus abbas — beloved father
Circus Maximus — oblong amphitheater famous for its chariot races and gladiatorial games
Corked Sandals — To get the best traction on the field and in the arena, gladiators and soldiers had hundreds of small screws, called corks, screwed down into the leather souls, making the bottoms of the sandals sharp where the screws protruded.
Corieltauvi — ancient Celtic tribe located in the East Midlands
Cubiculum — bedroom
Decumo-mnsris — December
Delicatae — unique type of prostitute, kept by highly ranked men or running their own houses where senators and even emperors visited. Some were mistresses to wealthy, powerful men. Disregarding the legally required attire of the common prostitutes, it is said the Delicatae were only distinguished from virtuous woman by the superiority of their gowns. Very little is known about these woman except for small entries in scattered Greek and Roman works.
Doctores — gladiator in charge of training
Doctores Secutorum — A doctores who trained secutores (gladiators who fought with helmet, shield and sword) and the tiros (beginners)
Familia Gladiatorium —group of gladiators belonging to a single man or entity. They fight and live together, some for many years.
Garum — fermented fish sauce
Gladiatrix — female gladiator.
Gladius — (plural: gladii) short thick sword used by both gladiators and Roman soldiers
Hortus — Latin term, meaning literally “enclosed garden”
Impudens es leno — You shameless pimp
Intentio — attention
Iter III — main Roman road going from the east to the west coast of Britannia, modern day Watling Street.
Legate — General of a legion
Londinium — city built on the eastern shore of Britannia as a resort for retiring military, modern day London
Ludus — gladiatorial training and housing compound
Lanista — owner and/or government official of a gladiatorial familia
Manduessedum — today’s Mancetter, located in the county of Warwickshire in central Britain
Manica — armguards used by gladiators and soldiers
Merda — (slang, vulgar) dung, excrement
Myr — Egyptian word for love
Ocrea — greaves that wrapped around the gladiator’s legs.
Per barba of Zeus filiolus vomica vos — By the beard of Zeus the gods curse you
Pila — Roman spear
Praetorian Prefect — Commander of the elite Praetorian Guard; Counsel to the Emperor
Primus Palus — highest rank of gladiator
Puttees — cloth or leather strip wrapped around the leg from ankle to knee, Roman soldiers wore around their legs in cold climates, such as Britannia.
Retiarius — net and trident fighter
Rudi — wooden training sword
Rutupiae — main harbor of eastern Britannia where merchant and military ships alike landed year round
Silphion — herb used in cooking and to treat common illness such as fever, sore throat and indigestion
Synthesis — casual dressing gown used for dinners or lounging
Taranis — Celtic god of thunder
Trinovantes — One of two tribes who rose up against the Romans during the Boudiga revolts. The Romans destroyed both the Iceni and the Trinovantes in the aftermath of the Celtic defeat.
Thracian — gladiator who resembled a warrior from Thrace in Greece. He wielded a curved short sword, the sica, and a small round shield, the parma.
Verulamium — modern day St. Albans in Hertfordshire
Prologue
From the verbal tales of Chane the Bard as transcribed by the Monks of Essex Abbey, dies martis, a.d. X Kal., Feb. MCIII, a.u.c. (Tuesday, 24 January 350 AD)
…when the prince beheld the blood of his kinsmen gushing onto the field of battle, the warrior Queen’s golden chariot toppled among a mound of Iceni dead and the advancing hordes of barbarian Romans, in his heart he wept. A surge of hate filled him, blackening his soul and deranging his senses. He would rather die upon the Roman gladius fighting with his last breath than surrender as a slave!
However, such is the hubris of the gods; for before Thane could throw his mortality against the victory of the usurpers, a child’s voice, no more than a whisper, deafened his ears to all other sound, a child’s hand quelled the madness in his head, a child’s tears fell dry upon his mad heart and stilled it. He gazed upon the illusions standing small and pure at his feet, passion froze in the searing screams of war, and the fire in his mind burned into sodden ash.
Princess Anwen and her sister Mabyn called out to the warrior, “Father, do not leave us for the Romans to devour!”
It is said, even in the midst of the battle roar around him, Thane threw back his head and laughed with such great power that those who heard it, whether friend or foe, halted in their places, stunned by its glee.
In one swift plunge, the Prince buried his sword to the hilt in the blood soaked Britannia mud, hoisted his two small daughters upon his mighty shoulders and took them away, leaving the din behind him, swearing retribution for all his enemies’ crimes against his people. The Romans had won the day.
…the wolf, they called him, for no hunter’s skill could track him, nor mongrel catch scent of his passing, yet the Roman general did not weary of the chase. Days followed hours and weeks followed days. The relentless hunt traversed forest and bog, river and rocky hill and gorse filled trenches. The gods guided the prince and his brood turning them ever east toward their own land.
On the night of the moon’s mid-cycle, at the apex of the dying season, word reached Prince Thane’s enervated ears, decrying the horrors that awaited his return to the shores of his home. For its distant hill forts had been razed to the ground, its forests burnt, its earth drained and salted so that no living thing could grow there, so great was the Roman general’s wrath against the Trinovantes. Thane’s family had been slaughtered, every babe, every child, every man and woman. There were neither kith nor kin to greet the warrior should he return home.
Upon hearing these tidings, he became inconsolable and sank into a deep despair. It is said that so great was his sorrow he tore out his hair, crying, “Damnation to the seeds of Rome, destroyers of the innocent. May the gods spit thee into the mouth of Belatucadros where ye will burn in his immortal fire!” His lament rose upon a strange wind of magic, echoing through all the remaining lands of the Brettaniai Albion. The young daughters, fearing his madness, piled mounds of duff and rain-soaked moss from the forest floor upon their father’s head to keep his cries from betraying them to the devils that passed in the night.
When he returned to his senses, he took his young children to the land of the Corieltauvi where the Guardian Queen ruled with her Roman King. It was said they harbored what few of the Iceni and Trinovantes remained and hid them with enchantment and old magic from the blood thirsty general and his soldier dogs.
When Thane crossed the border of that land, the Romans surrounded and descended upon them out of reach of their rescuers.
In that hour, the gods, even Belatucadros himself, visited themselves upon Thane, filling his arms with the strength of the sun and his mind with the madness of Taranis; lightning spewed forth in great strikes from his hands. In th
Alas, when the maids were safe, the gods of the forests forsook Thane in his greatest hour as test of his conviction. Unarmed and surrounded, he fell to the might of the Romans though it took a full complement to bring him to his knees. They bound his arms with hammered iron, for no rope would hold him, and placed upon his head a band of bronze to cool his madness. By midnight, the silver red dogs had wrapped him in chains so that he could kill no more. Many of their number lay bleeding into the dirt at his feet.
By the next day he was thrown upon a boat… by the next month he was forced to bend a knee to the heathen Emperor Nero and there condemned to the arena to fight until he died.
Against his will, Prince Thane brawled for Rome to entertain her whores and arrogant thieves, killing many brave and true men in the name of Caesar, and training even more, biding his time for the day of his revenge.
…and when his time came he visited such wrath upon the Roman oppressors that it would change the history of that nation for all times, armed only with his guile, his wits… and the magic of his barbarian bride.
Loathed would forever be the name of Thane, the Gladiator Prince…
Chapter I
Phaedra fought the chill of titillation skimming down her back as she watched the golden-skinned gladiator thrust his gladius towards her younger brother Bahar. A shudder of disgust followed. Throwing a guilty glance from side to side, she pushed her long dark hair behind one ear to cover the motion. To think she could be so moved by the flex of muscles of a nearly naked slave. Worse, a gladiator. She knew better.
Her father would skin her alive had he caught her at the ludus, especially when the familia gladiatoriumwere out in force. She studied the forty-two men with skins in shades from pale birch to darkest black, fighting to the rhythm of each deadly blow of wooden gladiiagainst beaten scutum, each exquisitely muscled and slick with sweat.
It is the only place where I could find a moment’s peace, she told herself. In anticipation of her betrothal, the insistent chatter of slaves and relatives alike had driven her from the house.
Betrothal.
She had not met her future husband, but her father assured her of his wealth and status as an Egyptian merchant. His father was a Greek procurator from Alexandria and his mother a royal princess, no less. Phaedra’s father, Abella, said the man would make her forget her former husband’s death. He had painted pictures of exotic hot sands, endless gold and pampering that warmed Phaedra’s chilled shoulders in this sodden weather. Giving the air a haughty sniff, she wrinkled her nose and lifted her shoulders against the cold.
She hated Britannia. Living in Rome for the past two years had made her detest it even more.
The grand city was opulent, noisy and rich with sounds, smells, hot baths, spicy food, warm wine and cold clean water, crowded in high brightly painted buildings and even more colorful people. Everything this cursed city of Verulamium was not. Rome had been her paradise, just as Britannia was her hell. Why Abella had ordered she and Bahar back to the island was beyond her. Abella had been insistent, and she did not dare go against her father’s wish. This sudden recent betrothal had been the only high point. She looked forward to leaving this island for good. When the Egyptian’s letter had come two weeks before, it had created an uproar of glee among the slaves and free men of the house, her father not least of all.
Turning her back and leaning against the fence, Phaedra folded her arms and let hot tears fall down her cheeks unchecked. Why hold them? Was it not her right to grieve for her lost husband making her a widow at twenty?
Despite her efforts, reality set in, freezing a sob in her throat. The secrets she held made her tremble now that she was back in her father’s house. She swallowed them in a quick panic.
Wiping away the tears with the back of a long fingered hand, Phaedra turned to concentrate on the rest of her young brother’s training, as she had promised him she would.
Bahar’s curly black hair blew like reeds in the cool wind. His brown eyes shone in the late afternoon shadows of the ludus, his delicate face fierce now in concentration and slick with sweat. He reminded her so much of their mother. A pang of sadness flushed under Phaedra’s skin when she thought of the day her mother died, but she pushed it down. She would let nothing mar the excitement of her betrothal.
Bahar was fighting well today, amazingly well considering his fifteen summers and the fact that he was a… but she did not dwell on that.
Instead, she found her eyes drifting once again to the massive brute moving in tight perfectly graceful circles around the youth, his deeply muscled arms and legs slick with the rain now pouring onto the sand. His unusual dark red hair tied behind his neck whipped with each cat like move. He wore it long, unlike the other gladiators who usually preferred their heads shaven close.
When he suddenly glanced in her direction, she tucked herself back into the shadows. Those azure blue eyes struck her strangely, and she pulled in a breath. They seemed to burrow into her soul when she let them linger. Phaedra snorted, took a purposeful step forward and twisted her lip in disgust. A slave, she reminded herself again, a gladiator. Not even human.
Thane.
He was famous, of course, and she had to admit curiosity had been a strong motivation earlier when Bahar had invited her to watch the training. There was nothing she considered more disgusting than men sweating like pigs as they swung wooden weapons at each other, acting like savage children.
Prince Thane. The title made the fine hairs on the back of her arms dance in the wet air.
Was he really a prince? She doubted it; maybe some bastard child born to one of the thousand chieftains that claim lineage on this forsaken island. Of course, everyone in the empire called him The Gladiator Prince. Some said he was more than half god. From what she could see, though he was very handsome, in a vulgar, animal kind of way, he was still only a man… like other men.
That same chill sent a shudder through her again, and she pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and put up her hood to stay the rain now crimpling her dark hair.
Rome had been abuzz with his unparalleled showing at the Circus Maximus… then devastated when her father had left with him to tour Greece, Egypt, Gaul then the slave’s native Britannia. Roman citizens from every province paid thousands of denarii and tolerated seasickness just to follow him abroad, including, Phaedra thought with contempt, many highly pursed women. She had heard a parade of rich mistresses vied for the pleasure of his company… and his bed.
The thought forced a small smile to her lips, imagining what it would be like to find herself in those massive arms, his breath on her neck, his manhood…
She blew out a breath when another chill trickled up her arms and she rubbed them, moving a little closer to the slatted gate to get a better look.
A clang off to her right caught her attention, and she noticed two well-built Thracian gladiators had donned their full regalia for what she assumed was preparation for tomorrow’s match.
Moving to the other side of the gate she watched as the two men crouched in the sand and others gathered around them. They did no more than circle, playing at fighting, and Phaedra soon became bored.
She knew it was scandalous for a Lanista’s daughter to detest the fights, but she could not help it. They sickened her. How much blood could one endure? It was vulgar and barbaric, and she knew if she stated her opinions to her father, he would have her whipped. Phaedra always kept her thoughts to herself.
Thinking it was time she returned, she lifted her tunic away from the wet sand and whirled around to rush back to the house and out of the rain before her father missed her.
In a flash, she found herself entwined in two massive arms belonging to a monster in a gladiatorial loincloth and nothing else.
Where the man had come from, she had no idea. He stank of sweat, stale fish oil and rancid food, towering a good two heads above her. She had to twist her neck back all the way just to see his face. The sweat and dirt from his arms left black streaks on her white tunic and cloak.
