Empire of Shadows Ch 3: City of Death
The sounds of bronze blades striking shields resounded through the air. The sight of them clashing, of blades and shields at work and the desperate struggle between those in the arena drew loud cheers from the gathered crowd. One of the men had a large helmet, a bare chest and a large tower shield. He wore a loincloth, and made to parry the blade of the other man, if one could even describe him in such a manner. Where the man in the loin-cloth was tanned from a lifetime of hardship and outside, the other sported the upper body of a man and the lower one of a horse. The Centaur wore a large steel hauberk and sported a similar shield to his foe which he often used expertly to protect his lower body in particular from harm. The aggression in the ring inspired a great deal excitement in the crowd, amongst man and woman alike. Throughout the tense exchanges of blows bets were made, among peasant and noble alike. The boxes of the elites had proper seating and shade from the suns’, so that none of them were burnt by the suns’, thus protected it did not keep the women from keeping slaves nearby to fan them, as they eyed the sweaty physique of the first of the two warriors hungrily. The elites also feasted as they observed the match on fine foods brought to them by servants where the people in the stands looked on and satisfied themselves with hard bread and watered wine. The ladies in these shaded, comfortable seats gossiped amongst one another and discussing which of the gladiators could teach their sons to fight like men. All while the men from the nobility discussed matters of trade and the recent increase in pirate raids.
The Circus Orissius was always open on the first day of the week, and was treated as an event every time. Built during the reign of Orissius the Founder, who had escaped from the destruction of Atenia, rallied a number of the Ifriquyan Legios and set the first stones down upon the five hills of what later became Orissia. Once he had built the first buildings of the city he set about over the next fifteen years planning and constructing such structures as the Hippodrome and the Circus Orissius. He had done so with the aid of more than three hundred thousand men from Tirreinia and Kulævron, along with Punicia, with his Circus no less grand than that which had once stood in Roma. The Circus itself was an impressive structure more than three hundred meters long, two hundred and fifty nine meters wide and seventy meters high. Able to fit nigh on one hundred and sixty-thousand individuals it was considered the envy of all lovers of gladiatorial spectacles. It was also the favourite of Magrias’ many distractions and the reason for which he made certain to visit it every week, at times twice a week.
Three members of the Imperial Senate, seated in the second to uppermost boxes (the one directly to the left of the great Imperial one) atop a series of cushioned benches bent their heads together to whisper among themselves. They were seated nearest to the great stone wall that held up the Imperial-Box, with the three of them dressed in tunics, breeches of the softest silk and with great cloaks thrown over their left shoulders in what was the latest style for men. The first among them wore a green tunic with his cloak a soft blue, and red breeches, the second wore a blue cloak and tunic and red breeches, while the last one wore brown and had a red cloak.
Each of them were plump, middle-aged and had come a long way in their careers and were more preoccupied with whispering among themselves than worrying over what the other twenty men in their box were doing, or what their wives were up to in the box with them were doing. Each of them had already placed their bets and felt comfortable in his choice, even as their wives watched with bated breath the match progress.
“It really has gotten out of hand, the Scarlet-Lady’s pirates are said to have raided the village of Villia to the east,” one of the lords, Avarius grumbled furiously. “I shan’t believe how much more common these raids are becoming!”
“She has been recruiting from among those captured I imagine,” Verdian hissed with no less apprehension and fury. “I have also heard she has not been setting the ships’ she captures ablaze but recruiting them into a growing armada!”
“This would not be a concern if we had a stronger Emperor, or still had the armada of old,” Fallerian complained loudly.
The peasants themselves for their part sat upon large open air benches, each of them sweating and suffering under the heat of the suns’, not that they paid them much mind. They had come to the Circus Orissius for a show of combat, just as the nobility looked on, and betted so too did those throughout the rest of the arena. Notably, the young women of the lower classes just as those of the upper ones did in the private boxes swooned, while young men and boys alike cheered for their preferred fighter.
Therein the middle of the arena, there was not a care for the thoughts or opinions of those watching them. The armoured gladiator slashed diagonally from top right to the bottom left, only for his blow to bounce off the shield, his foe for his part thrust out his shield in order to send him tumbling backwards, tripping into the sand. The fallen man drew a gasp from a great many of the women, whereupon he slid backwards and back onto his feet. Rolling with the blow, and regaining his feet with all the smoothness of a panther. When next they came together, the man threw his shield to the ground to the surprise of his enemy, and moving forward, grabbed at the shield of the Centaur, who surprised by the attempt to grapple for his shield, tried to thrust the shield once more at him. The shield was pulled free and thrown away, only for beast-man’s attack to be anticipated, with his foe catching his sword-arm by the wrist.
While the two struggled for dominance, each one gripping the other’s sword-arm by this time, in the Imperial-box seated atop a grand gilded, golden throne, Magrias the Emperor of all Orissia looked on. Most had learnt over the years to fear that gaze, for whomsoever it should descend upon could more often than not count upon death being quick to follow after it.
Dusky skinned, dark eyed with a thick beard, Magrias had long since gone bald and had developed a pronounced paunch due to his over-indulgence. Dressed as always in purple silk robes tied together by a golden-girdle and with golden coronet that was decorated with rubies and emeralds, Magrias gripped the sides of his throne with visible eagerness.
The throne itself was a gold chair that was a foot higher than the seats of the men and the divans of the women who reclined before the men and to the sides of their box. Most of the chairs were made of bronze so as to distinguish them from the golden chair of their ruler, with their armrests cut in the shape of herons, whereas those of the Emperor were shaped in the manner of phoenixes. Where the princes wore red, green and blue silk with cloaks cast over their left shoulders, their father did not.
The great phoenix-shaped chair of Magrias long known as the Agate-Throne was bedecked also in jewels such as rubies, topaz stones, emeralds and purple gemstones all along the back of the chair. Many were those who had been caught staring greedily at it, with those slaves that did often tossed from the Imperial-Box and into the arena as punishment. Those princes and noblemen that did had a frequent tendency to often be reprimanded or their corpses found in the streets the morning after.
At present he was seated with his family and favourites, with a number of them all seated around him, with the dusky-skinned Emperor leaning forward on the cushion atop his intricately forged throne.
Seated before the men-folk were the women who reclined on a series of cushioned sofas, near to the edge of the Imperial-Box, most of them fanned by fans made of ostrich-feathers which were wielded by a number of female slaves. The slaves themselves were better dressed in many respects in their pale silk dresses than the peasants that were seated to either side of the five great boxes reserved for the nobility and Imperial family.
A man prone to playing favourites with his court and family, it happened that for the first time in a great many years Magrias had scandalized a number of the merchant-Senators as they were called by some of the old warrior-nobility and invited a man of common-birth into the Imperial-Box.
The newest of Magrias’ favourites was Berach. A bluff old soldier, who sat upon a hard, wooden chair with the upright posture of a man accustomed to being on the road. Though he ran towards stoutness in recent days, there was a glint still in his old blue eyes, a vigour to his movements and formidable air about him. It was for these reasons that he impressed the Emperor, who had once soldiered to the southernmost edge of the Empire and even travelled to the east, just shy of Deshret.
What separated Berach from the likes of other generals was his humility. He knew his position at the side of the Emperor was a dangerous place to be, and did not seek to enhance it. To the contrary, his only hope was to be dispatched once more to the frontier finish bolstering the defences of that region whereupon he intended to retire. Fear of the factions that surrounded his liege and of the mad glint in the man’s eyes were what prevented him from becoming ambitious.
Though most had not taken to him, there were however some of the princes that approved of their patriarch’s choice with Aberash the one who approved the most. Always eager to please his father, he was also the most approving of war, the gladiator matches and of the races in the Hippodrome.
“Look at him! I have never seen a man fight quite like him,” Prince Aberash murmured to the man to his left as he pointed out the tanned, helmed figure struggling with the Centaur.
“I have once or twice in my time,” General Berach admitted, though he was nonetheless impressed and studied the warrior with a great deal of care. Hitherto now he had not gambled, and so he turned to the second to eldest of the princes and with a glint in his eyes he said to the youth to the right of the Emperor. “Prince Bukarus, you placed a rather large bet upon the Centuar I do believe.”
“Boagrius yes, as he has never lost a single match before,” the prince confirmed with a slight twist of his lips. “And it was a rather large piece of land just to the west of Punicia, why do you ask?”
“I would place a bet; I will gamble you the whole of my past year’s salary and the town-house your father recently gifted me, on the victory of that man down there.” Berach replied pointing at the arena.
This statement amazed those around him, with only a few turning to gape at this rather expensive gamble. More than one of them guffawed now, for most were quite impressed by the feats of strength and skill that the gladiator had achieved certainly, yet none believed he could secure victory over Boagrius.
The Centaur may have originated in Punicia’s great arena the Circus Punicius, where he had dominated for twenty-two years every match he had participated, however he had struggled more than ever before in his entire career, with the greatest of Orissia’s gladiators. At first he had circled about, preferring to err on the side of caution before he had pounced, at which time he had seized the advantage in the fight.
Observing this, the warrior returned his attention to the battle happening before them, his gaze hard and yet still interested. Seeing this Magrias leant over to whisper to him, with most not able to hear what was said.
When the Emperor leant away, he was to lean towards his heir Ejike to whisper now to him, whilst his favourite continued to study the Gladiators.
“What is his name?” Berach asked after he had placed his bet, keen to hear more about the man upon whom he had staked his future, his eyes never leaving the distant figure, such was the interest he had taken in him.
“His name is Lachlan, he is a Caled,” one of the women piped up.