You stand not yourself.
Argh!
It lifts spirits to see you rise again.
Tarchon assumes mantle
until such time you are able to reclaim it.
I would take up fucking spear.
What fucking hand laid marks upon you?
The fat one.
Petition for seat towards very front next I fight.
And I will give him spectacle not soon forgotten.
I would have my name upon your lips.
Ashur!
And know that my heart is yours.
You tainted fucking wine?
Opiter's holdings fall to the house of Proculus.
The fate Opiter feared.
He feared Cilician assault?
- No. - Whose, then?
One I would enlist aid in holding to deserved account.
- Why reveal the Syrian's plan? - A loathsome creature,
eyes slithering across my daughter.
I would see him to quick and unfortunate end.
But how best to rid ourselves of such annoyance?
I will send counterfeit message,
confirming meeting in place far removed from view.
I shall see the matter properly attended.
It shall not be the cries of Ashur
that fill the air this night.
Fucking cunt!
Argh!
Carry a message to your master.
I would not have let him live.
I would reclaim title.
Doctore.
Summon your dominus!
Aedile.
You grace us with unexpected presence.
Let us see pleasantries abandoned
and come to blunt words.
Proculus asserts grievous loss at your hands
and seeks appropriate redress.
Demands upon position must exceed reason,
to find you in such low fellowship
at early hour, Uvidus.
Do more lanistae convene?
Shall I send for wine and olives?
I merely request Opiter's medicus,
purchased with his holdings at auction.
Such could have been satisfied
absent need to rouse esteemed Aedile.
I thought it prudent to make request among proper company.
Ah.
We stand in agreement, then.
I leave you to your duties, such as they may require.
- Well, Syrian? - I shall see the man produced.
Satyrus will secure him from your ludus.
You would have me descend there? Alone?
See troubled mind set to ease, little one.
I shall see you escorted by trusted doctore.
Where are their bodies?
My brothers stood gladiators
and deserve the honor of funeral rites!
They shall not have them,
nor you the opportunity to break farewells.
Why stay hand from my blood as well?
To deliver message to your fucking master, as I said.
Claiming life would have sent the same.
It is a terrible thing, is it not?
To have those held to heart ripped from it.
Suffer, little man.
Until the gods drag you to the afterlife.
That seeping cunt!
Bringing fucking aediles and guards to bear.
Perhaps wise precaution, considering passions aroused.
Tongue wags absent fucking thought.
Apologies.
Word of this will reach ear of Gabinius,
weighing scale already tipped to disfavor
in wake of embarrassment at auction.
You will find means to balance them again towards your favor,
as you always have and always shall.
Does faith ever waver towards me?
Cause has yet to be given.
I would keep sentiment close,
to brace coming days.
We stand, once again, in need...
of a medicus.
I will send word throughout Capua in attempt to secure one,
in advance of further injuries.
Strike with spear, not fucking jaw!
Your little stick falls short of purpose.
Again!
Hold!
I would see title of doctore restored.
Well, the gods rejoice...
to see you again of a form,
old friend.
Fall to position, you sentimental shit.
And see return to glory upon the sands.
Doctore.
Attend!
Achillia crawls back to us
from the depths of the underworld.
And your dominus blesses her once more
with mantle of champion.
The bitch returns.
Celadus, pair with the champion.
Doctore.
The goddess of death rises again.
Upon wings of your instruction.
Begin!
Perhaps it would be prudent
to remove ourselves from the streets.
You fear renewed assault by the Cilicians?
No.
City guards but conjure thought
towards reason of increased presence.
The loss of dearest friend.
As you once counselled me
to face the darkness of this world together,
know that I offer same.
I am undeserving of such a child.
Apologies. Do I intrude upon tender moment?
Proculus.
In the flesh, warm with life.
Viridia, return to villa.
I would break words with Proculus
concerning acquisition of a few of Opiter's trifles.
Might I be of some small aid?
Well, I would not refuse such glorious company.
See her to escort. I will join you presently.
May the gods favor your dealings.
Such a beautiful, ripe child.
I did not expect to find myself
downwind of you this day, lanista.
I am yet of this world.
Yet, deep wound
has been inflicted upon poor Satyrus...
in form of beloved brothers put to grass,
in addition to several valued men.
How unfortunate.
More so for those who move against me,
absent thought of retribution.
You forget who stands my fucking husband.
Memory holds of the man towering over Capua
lo these many, many years.
I pray he clings to the ones left to him,
for fear of what may befall wife
and cherished daughter upon his passing.
You attempt to cower with veiled threat?
I attempt nothing, save idle conversation.
Know this, lanista - the woman before you
does not shrink at thought of blood upon her fucking hands.
Perhaps you shall...
when it is your own.
Husband.
I would break words towards decision made in error.
Whatever the infraction, consider it forgiven,
in favor of more vital concerns.
It- it is not a matter of forgiveness.
I do not stand of fucking mind to hear it upon the moment!
What so consumes you to bare teeth towards loving wife?
Apologies.
Response arrives at last from Pompey,
towards Cilician incursion.
"I am otherwise engaged...
"with Caesar."
- What other words did he break? - That is the sum of them.
Crassus dispatches his vagrant sword to cleave alliance,
whilst his army marshals at the gates of Rome.
The man stands tyrant in the forming,
with Caesar stitched of equal thread of ambition.
If you feel such, why did you concede to Caesar's demands,
while he was yet within Capua?
Crassus, Pompey and Caesar each maneuver towards power
currently beyond reach.
We must tread every path presented
towards peaceful resolution
or see beloved republic devoured by ravenous appetites.
Knot of Pompey's bond loosens by day and hour.
Should he unravel towards cause of Crassus and Caesar,
confederation formed would be crushing blow.
Well, you state but the fucking obvious.
And draw towards obvious conclusion.
Pompey's allegiance must be moved toward advantage
and desire.
I have attempted all
to tether the man towards greater fucking purpose.
Not all.
How turn your thoughts, woman?
Marriage would seal him towards your cause.
You propose union
with our daughter?
Have you swam in fucking wine in advance of entry,
sinking towards murky bottom?
I but seek elegant solution
to myriad difficulties presenting themselves.
And to ensure Viridia is secure in her future
when unthinkable day arrives
and you stand no longer among us.
Oh. Am I so grim of countenance, to incite such worry?
No.
Yet...
If the gods snatched her husband from her upon whim,
as they did Opiter.
From warm embrace, we cannot know what future holds,
only guard against possibility.
Well, if I were to shed mortal coil
at setting of fucking sun,
you would fall beneath wing of my brother.
And is that a fate you would wish upon us?
There must lie another way.
You have said yourself there is not.
Something must be done, and swiftly.
I shall give thought upon suggestion.
Messia.
I would have a moment.
I have none to give. Domina requires attention.
We seldom have occasion to speak since her arrival.
You have said all I need to hear.
You were mistaken regarding Dominus.
- His heart is mine. - You believe so?
He has professed as much.
Hilara?
Your master calls.
Gabinius has summoned me to his villa.
He seeks to mend relationship?
Or to rend meat yet clinging to bone.
Has search for new medicus born fruit?
It has not. I- I shall redouble effort.
See that this one breaks word in common fucking tongue.
Fall to my side.
And do not break from it until I stand embraced
within senator's villa.
Apologies.
Your father had summoned me.
He should return upon a moment.
Do you play?
Such has been known to occur.
Although deeper strategy eludes.
Well, let instruction see mystery dispelled.
Pieces do not move of own accord.
They rise and fall in response to hand upon them.
Firm, at times...
to insert where movement is desired;
soft at others...
when seduction of opponent is aim.
I have been eager to break words with you again.
Towards what subject?
All of them.
There - I have broached first move.
How will you counter?
Cautiously, and with great trepidation.
Ah.
I fall to rapid disadvantage.
To triumph, you must not be consumed by present loss.
Gaze instead towards horizon...
and victory it may yet hold.
Ah, um...
Are you certain this is the move you wish to make?
Father.
I was just schooling your guest towards game.
So I see.
I will leave you to private words, as men often desire.
Gratitude for instruction.
Perhaps continued upon another day.
She favors your company.
I yet stand unworthy of hers.
We find ourselves in agreement, then.
Gratitude for invitation,
coupled with deepest apologies.
Towards?
Outburst of my doctore at auction.
A regrettable fit of passion.
Forgotten as it happened.
Does Achillia stand ready to grace the arena once more?
Injury has required shift in style
towards that of hoplomachus.
Does she stand ready?
- She does. - Good.
I have intentions towards unannounced games,
to lift spirit...
and distract from recent Cilician assaults.
A most excellent notion.
And who shall my champion face?
Proculus crows to aedile that he has acquired a Scythian
of most frightful prowess.
I have not laid eyes on the man,
but we shall put boast to test in the Primus, yes?
I shall see Achillia prepared for most welcomed spectacle.
Linger...
a moment.
What know you of Caesar's intent
towards meeting with Pompey in Sinuessa en Valle?
It remains enigma.
Yet Caesar's machination forever move towards his own elevation.
If he can sway Pompey towards such,
he'll spare nothing to see it so,
to the detriment of us all.
Yes. Course of action avails itself that may see Pompey
again aligned towards this house, and greater cause.
Yet cost of it carves grievous wound.
The sting of yesterday's sacrifice,
in service of greater glory of tomorrow.
You turn my own words against me, Syrian?
I but echo wisdom dispensed.
Wise words often elude ear of the man who speaks them.
Gratitude for breaking them, when most needed.
I but serve more eminent cause.
See Achillia and a clutch of other offerings
readied for the games -
a distraction I find myself unexpectedly in need of as well.
Celadus, press advantage.
Achillia, seek opening in retreat.
- Your form returns. - Yours never faltered.
Attend!
Senator Gabinius presents games
to quell nerve from Cilician attacks.
Those to stand in blood and glory for the House of Ashur
shall be soon posted.
Yet know that the goddess of death again
honors this house in fucking Primus!
Try not to lose the other hand.
Helios enters arena!
Oh! Pray you don't leave it upon fucking back!
We both gain position.
Yet are to stand alone.
I give no shit to position if it is not as champion.
- A title Achillia has earned. - And I have not?
All I have ever known is the way of the brotherhood.
From first breath, ludus has been my mother...
blood my fucking milk.
She bested Ammonius in the arena.
It's a feat yet beyond your skill.
You defend her at every turn.
I but defend the champion of this fucking house.
She stands more than that.
I see how her eyes fall upon you.
And yours upon her.
I- I am your father, Tarchon.
Yet I also stand a man.
And you would deny me the same comfort
that you seek with your whore?
Then cast off bonds of father...
standing only as a man.
And call me son no more.
The man not only extended olive branch,
he bestowed entire fucking tree.
My men to crowd arena,
and Achillia to resume ascent towards fucking heavens!
Mwah!
Once more, my faith in you proves true, Ashur.
Ashur?
You overreach familiarity.
When last we laid together,
it was your bidding that I call you by name.
Words truly broken.
Yet tongue and mind were tainted with opium
from that bitch Cornelia, absent consent.
Words held no meaning, then?
Know that I hold you of importance above all others...
within this house.
Yet beyond it,
another lays claim to heart.
Apologies.
For misunderstanding.
- Uh... - Fetch wine.
And we shall think no more upon it.
Yes... Dominus.
It is I who was mistaken.
Professions of love were conjured in error.
How do you come by such revelation?
From Dominus himself.
He holds affection towards another.
The daughter of Gabinius.
I am a fool.
Bitter taste of rejection dilutes
with passing of days.
Apologies...
for wounding loving heart so carelessly.
Domina requires wine.
Is this not what you desired?
With all my being.
Yet you shall never be free of him.
Nor I, you.
Once again, you wander astray.
Course was carefully chosen.
Mmm.
You wish to be alone?
Attention pulls towards troubling words
broken with errant son.
Are there any others that spill from his mouth?
You were born free.
As was I.
Tarchon was conceived in bondage.
I forged the boy towards singular purpose.
Desire hammered and heated in his blood
from first fucking step -
rise as champion.
In ludus and arena and beyond.
You have trained him well.
There's no other gladiator in this house
that could stand against me.
Save present company.
I have but made him blind to all else in life.
And now he now counts father as enemy obstructing ambition.
It is the goddess of death...
he holds guilty of imagined offence.
You but stand accomplice.
I will speak to him
and attempt to mend bridge.
- You would do such a thing? - I guarantee no result.
He is thick of head...
as is his father.
Gratitude.
And how shall you show it?
In all forms and manner...
my goddess.
- Pompey? - He stands a consul of Rome,
equaled in position only by Crassus.
The gods themselves could not produce better match.
But a handful of days past,
you believed Quintus Thermus to stand in such regard.
Thermus points towards cause
for union with Pompey to be considered.
You would trade my life
for more favored political winds, absent my consent?
What have I done to see value so diminished?
You stand... a woman.
Consent is what paterfamilias deems.
And you deem it so?
Honored mother stands correct in word,
though misguided in father's intent.
It is not valuation of you that moves me.
It is fear.
And desperation.
Caesar maneuvers Pompey
towards alignment with himself and Crassus.
If they form triumvirate,
republic and all within - including beloved daughter -
will fall to severest concern.
Is there no other path?
I have failed to divine one.
As paterfamilias, it is within my right
to command you to accept this union.
Yet you have suffered much.
And I would not add to it by proclamations and demands.
You turn from fucking union?
Hold tongue.
I but place decision in hands that must carry burden.
It is a weighty decision -
impact of which shall resound
beyond our reckoning and years.
Measure it with care.
Tarchon.
I would share words.
Break them with someone not fucking before you.
I would see us no longer at odds.
Then relinquish title undeserved.
How do you perceive it so?
Did I not fight to gain it, as everyone within this house?
You did not gain it through skill,
but by novelty of cunt standing gladiator.
Ammonius did not give shit towards what lay between my legs
when I took his fucking life.
Nor will I, when I take yours upon a day.
Let us come to common ground.
- Your father does not wish-- - I have no father.
Nor desire towards further words with his whore.
Do not turn from me.
Argh!
Have you lost fucking sense?
- Apologies, Dominus- - Fuck your apologies!
Can she fight?
If we yet retain medicus, perhaps - by end of month.
Argh!
Dominus.
I shall assume position and fight as champion.
You shall never stand champion, boy!
If matches were not already posted to the aedile,
I would see you over the fucking cliff!
- Dominus! - Do not fucking speak!
We must present alternative champion to Gabinius
and pray offering does not tip scale back to disfavor.
Who stands above all others beyond Achillia
and this fucking pup?!
There is but one.
Argh!
You promise fucking moon
and conspire to present shadowed reflection.
Apologies. Achillia suffered--
These games were built upon name of your champion,
and now you shit upon fucking effort.
Pray the crowd does not demand Syrian blood
in reply to such offense.
Is there any endeavor that does not find you failure?
I hold no humor to spar with you.
Why does Proculus yet live?
The fault lies with you.
The man was not produced at appointed time, as promised.
Fault is indeed mine,
for ever laying trust in one so beneath me.
Argh!
Your man stands victorious.
- Mm. - Yet you do not rejoice?
Your father is of a mood.
Mm.
You must forgive it.
Matters of gravest import weigh upon him.
Let us announce next fucking contest.
Proculus, who do you present?
- Satyrus, thraex. - Ah.
Last survivor of the deadly Brothers Ferox.
Last? What befell his horrible little siblings?
Tumbled to misfortune.
As many in Capua are wont in these troubled times.
- Syrian? - Helios. Hoplomachus.
I fear Satyrus will soon be reunited with his brothers.
From the House of the Syrian, Helios - hoplomachus!
Argh!
Your dominus must be truly displeased -
to send a third of a man to meet his doom upon the sands.
I shall honor my brothers!
And see all who hold me in doubt
fucked to the afterlife!
Argh!
Satyrus - thraex.
Argh!
The gods have sent me fucking child!
And I shall swiftly return him to their hands!
Begin!
Argh!
Send more of your men for me to kill, you fucking oaf!
Most unexpected result.
Yes. Perhaps the little man yet holds worth.
The gods conspire against your man,
to see such unfortunate turn.
It is but a day, in an endless string of them.
How does fire eternally burn,
in face of grim reality?
You yourself counsel not to be consumed with present loss,
yet look towards horizon of future victories.
Hmm. Words spoken absent thought...
void of meaning.
They hold such to me.
I... I would remove myself, to seek shade and water.
You remember my teachings, and see yourself to victory.
And perhaps a return to Dominus' favor.
You are the past.
I forge my own future.
Enter Tarchon - thraex!
And standing for the House of Proculus, Viction - murmillo!
Begin!
Stands swell to bursting.
With equal number refused entry beyond gates.
Would that space presented for all of Capua to witness display.
You strike upon vexing truth.
Syrian.
Where does effort stand
in swaying your patron towards coin,
in service of seeing old arena restored to former glory?
I labor unceasingly towards such a day.
I have not heard Crassus mention it.
Does he even recall the Syrian yet draws breath?
Favor holds firm and shall produce desired results.
You take leave while your man yet fights?
Excess of wine, demanding relief.
Our ranks noticeably thin.
Argh!
Yes!
Have I offended?
If so, give voice to transgression,
so I may strangle it till void of life.
You stand free of burden.
Yet burden exists.
It's never far from presence,
for those who carry the name of woman in the republic.
Were you born a man...
I fear I would turn from softer touch.
Would that we were not who we are.
Yet still within sphere of each other.
Viridia, I...
I should return to pulvinus before absence draws question.
What has come between us?
Is it your mother, or--
I have been asked to consider marriage.
Yes. Yes, to Quintus Thermus.
I have already spoken to your father against it.
- He agrees that-- - No.
I have been asked to consider marriage to Pompey.
Pompey?
My father fears what may happen if Crassus, Caesar and he
were to stand united against the republic.
And he seeks to firmly secure the man...
in opposition.
You cannot do this.
Pompey casts wives aside with shifting of fucking breeze.
He but marries towards power and position.
What man does not?
The one before you.
Allow me to amend.
What Roman man?
Presence was sorely missed.
I am here now.
And I stand for the republic.
Would that all fathers were so blessed as I.
You appear abandoned.
Come on!
Yes!
Yes, Tarchon!
Get up!
Argh!
Gods!
- Halt contest! - Guards!
Argh!
He strikes down a Roman!
Execute the man!
I will personally see my gladiator put to death!
Quickly! Move!
Argh!
Reclaim seat.
My man has seen to fucking deed.
A Roman has been struck down, yet justice has been meted...
by the House of the Syrian!
Yes! Yes!
You! You fucking god!
A victory well earned.
I do not need your praise. Nor seek it, champion.
You return to Primus after too long an absence, old friend.
It should be Achillia upon my place.
Yet it is you the gods have chosen this day.
Honor them, with blood and glory.
Primus at last arrives.
And with it the return of the goddess of death,
to further excite the crowd.
I fear they shall stand in disappointment.
Achillia does not take to the sands?
She does not.
Then who is my champion to face?
A mystery yet to unfold.
Syrian. Present contest.
And let your voice be harbinger of fucking dissatisfaction.
Achillia, the goddess of death, stands champion in this arena!
Not by mere name, but by conquest!
Would you see her face one of equal skill
towards blood and victory?!
I would see it as well.
Yet who stands worthy of facing her?
Let this Primus answer question
and see victor
stand against the goddess of death in future contest!
From the House of Ashur,
I give you a legend in the arena.
Enter Celadus!
Dimachaerus!
Achillia!
- Give us Achillia! - Where is Achillia?!
And from the House of Proculus...
I give you the Unknown Scythian.
Again, dimachaerus.
You present another fucking woman?
Apologies.
It is what the crowd now demands.
Begin!
Fucking kill her!
Proculus, how did you acquire such a specimen?
She stands a marvel.
At great expense to myself, and those who dare to face her.
Contest has only yet begun.
And my man has drawn first blood.
Yes.
I instructed her not to end the match too quickly,
so that the crowd may stand satisfied.
How absolutely delightful.
- Get up! - Regain feet old man!
Break defense and answer fucking assault!
Argh!
Kill her! Fucking kill her!
Argh!
Achillia's absence falls to faded remembrance.
A fine showing.
By all involved.
Yes. Mmm.
Look towards horizon.