Read Online A Gladiator Dies Only Once by Steven Saylor - Free Book Online

would be for you to restore our family’s fortunes and to make a place for yourself in the state, so that when you are my age you can look back upon a long career and a world you have had a hand in shaping to your liking. Do not throw your life away! Please, I beg you, calm your passions and let reason guide you. Come back to me! The man who bears this message has funds sufficient for your passage home. Mamercus, son of my son, I pray to the gods that I shall see you soon!
    After a while, Mamercus pressed the tablets together and retied the ribbon. He averted his eyes in a way that reminded me of his grandfather. “Thank you for bringing the letter. Is that all?”
    “Is it all?” I said. “I know what’s in the letter. Will you honor his request?”
    “No. Leave me now.”
    “Are you sure, Mamercus? Will you think on it? Shall I come back later?”
    “No!”
    My commission from Gaius Claudius was specific: I was to locate Mamercus, to deliver the message, and to help Mamercus, if he chose, to escape unscathed from Sertorius’s service. It was not incumbent on me to persuade him to leave. But I had come a long way, and now I had seen both the old senator’s distress and his grandson’s response to it. If Mamercus had reacted with derision, if he had betrayed no love for his grandfather, that would have been the end of it. But his reaction had been quite the opposite. Even now, from the way he gently held the tablets, almost caressing them, and reached up to wipe his eyes, I could see that he was feeling a great flood of affection for the old man, and consequently, perhaps, considerable confusion over the choice he had made.
    I thought it wise to change the subject for a moment. “You seem to have done well for yourself, here in Sertorius’s army,” I said.
    “Better than I expected, in so short a time,” admitted Mamercus. He tucked the tablets under his arm and smiled crookedly. “The commander was very glad to take me in. He gave me a position on his staff at once, despite my lack of experience. ‘Look,’ he said to everyone, ‘a young Claudius, come all the way from Rome to join us! But don’t worry, son, we’ll be back in Rome before you know it, and it’s the blasted Sullans who’ll be searching for their heads!’ ”
    “And do you believe that? Is that why you choose to stay?”
    Mamercus bristled. “The question is, what’s keeping you here, Gordianus? I’ve given you my answer. Now go!”
    At that moment, the crowd before the commander’s tent broke into a cheer. I heard the name of Sertorius shouted aloud in acclamation, and saw that the great man himself had emerged from the tent. He was a tall, robust-looking man with a strong jaw and a smile that radiated confidence. Years ago, he had lost an eye in battle. Other men might have been embarrassed by the defect, but Sertorius was said to consider his leather eye-patch to be a badge of honor. The many battle scars scattered over his arms and legs he considered to be his medals.
    Some mortals possess a charismatic allure that is almost divine, that anyone can see at a glance, and Quintus Sertorius was such a mortal. This was a man whom other men would trust implicitly and follow without question, to glory or death. The cheers that greeted his appearance, from both his own soldiers and from the local petitioners, were absolutely genuine and spontaneous.
    Then the cries died away to a whispered hush. Eco and I looked at one another, puzzled. The cheering was understandable, but what was this? It was the hush of religious awe such as one hears in Rome at certain ancient rites performed in the temples in the Forum, a barely audible welter of whispers and murmurs and muttered prayers.
    Then I saw the remarkable creature that had followed Sertorius out of the tent.
    It was a young fawn. Her soft pelt was utterly white, without a single spot of color. She gamboled after Sertorius like a loyal hound, and when he paused, she nuzzled against his