Read Online Spartacus by Howard Fast - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Howard Fast
Tags: Biographical fiction, Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Romance, Historical, Rome, History, Ancient, Slave insurrections, Spartacus - Fiction, Revolutionaries, Gladiators - Fiction, Revolutionaries - Fiction, Rome - History - Servile Wars; 135-71 B.C - Fiction, Gladiators
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another.”
“But you destroyed Spartacus.”
“Does, that matter?”
“I love you for it—I hate him.”
“Spartacus?” asked Crassus.
“Yes, Spartacus.”
“But you never knew him.”
“It doesn’t matter. I hate him—more than Cicero. I don’t care about Cicero. But him, that slave, him I hate. If I could have killed him myself! If you could have brought him to me and said, here, Caius, cut his heart out! If you could have—”
“Now you’re talking like a child,” the general said indulgently.
“Am I? Why not?” Caius said, a whining note in his voice. “Why shouldn’t I be a child? Is it so rewarding to be grown?”
“But why did you hate Spartacus so when you never saw him?”
“Maybe I did see him. You know, I went to Capua four years ago. I was only twenty-one then, I was very young.”
“You are still very young,” the general said.
“No—I don’t feel so young. But then I was. A party of five or six of us went. Marius Bracus took me with him, he was very fond of me.” Caius said that deliberately for the effect it would have; Marius Bracus had died in the Servile War, so there would be no question of current involvement, but let Crassus know that he was not the only one and not the first one. The general stiffened but did not speak, and Caius went on,
“Yes, there was Marius Bracus and myself and a man and a woman, friends of his, and two others, I think, whose names I have forgotten, and Marius Bracus was acting in the grand manner—yes, very much in the grand manner.”
“Did you care for him greatly?”
“I was sorry he died,” Caius shrugged, and the general thought,
“What a little animal you are! What a filthy little animal!”
“Anyway, we went to Capua and Bracus promised us a special circus, which was more expensive then than now. You had to be a rich man to do it in Capua.”
“Lentulus Batiatus had the school there then, didn’t he?” asked Crassus.
“He did, and it was supposed to be the best school anywhere in Italy. The best and the most expensive, and you could buy an elephant for what it cost to fight a pair of his boys. They say that he made a million out of this, but he was a pig in any case. Did you know him?”
Crassus shook his head. “Tell me about him, I’m very interested. It was before Spartacus broke loose, wasn’t it?”
“Eight days before, I think. Yes, Batiatus made a name for himself because he kept a regular harem of slave women and people don’t like that sort of thing. Not out in the open. It’s all right if you do it in a room with the doors closed, but it’s rather tasteless to do it on a public highway. That’s practically what he did. Also, he used his boys for stud and the women for breeding, which is all right, I suppose, but he didn’t know how to do anything delicately. He was a big, fat ox of a man, black hair, black beard, and I remember how dirty his clothes were, food stains all over them. An egg stain when he talked with us, a fresh egg stain right on the front of his tunic.”
“The things you remember!” the general smiled.
“I remember that. I went to see him with Bracus, and Bracus wanted two turns to the death; but Batiatus was reluctant to do it. Batiatus said that there was no point trying to develop anything in the way of style or technique or precision play when every rich and bored gentleman in Rome came down for his own particular circus. But Bracus had a purse, and money talks.”
“It talks with that kind,” said the general. “All lanistae are contemptible, but this Batiatus was a pig. You know, he owns three of the biggest tenements in Rome, and a fourth that fell in last year, and half his tenants were killed in the rubbish. He’ll do anything for money.”
“I didn’t know you knew him.”
“I spoke with him. He was a mine of information on Spartacus—the only one, I suppose, who really knew about Spartacus.”
“Tell me,” sighed
“But you destroyed Spartacus.”
“Does, that matter?”
“I love you for it—I hate him.”
“Spartacus?” asked Crassus.
“Yes, Spartacus.”
“But you never knew him.”
“It doesn’t matter. I hate him—more than Cicero. I don’t care about Cicero. But him, that slave, him I hate. If I could have killed him myself! If you could have brought him to me and said, here, Caius, cut his heart out! If you could have—”
“Now you’re talking like a child,” the general said indulgently.
“Am I? Why not?” Caius said, a whining note in his voice. “Why shouldn’t I be a child? Is it so rewarding to be grown?”
“But why did you hate Spartacus so when you never saw him?”
“Maybe I did see him. You know, I went to Capua four years ago. I was only twenty-one then, I was very young.”
“You are still very young,” the general said.
“No—I don’t feel so young. But then I was. A party of five or six of us went. Marius Bracus took me with him, he was very fond of me.” Caius said that deliberately for the effect it would have; Marius Bracus had died in the Servile War, so there would be no question of current involvement, but let Crassus know that he was not the only one and not the first one. The general stiffened but did not speak, and Caius went on,
“Yes, there was Marius Bracus and myself and a man and a woman, friends of his, and two others, I think, whose names I have forgotten, and Marius Bracus was acting in the grand manner—yes, very much in the grand manner.”
“Did you care for him greatly?”
“I was sorry he died,” Caius shrugged, and the general thought,
“What a little animal you are! What a filthy little animal!”
“Anyway, we went to Capua and Bracus promised us a special circus, which was more expensive then than now. You had to be a rich man to do it in Capua.”
“Lentulus Batiatus had the school there then, didn’t he?” asked Crassus.
“He did, and it was supposed to be the best school anywhere in Italy. The best and the most expensive, and you could buy an elephant for what it cost to fight a pair of his boys. They say that he made a million out of this, but he was a pig in any case. Did you know him?”
Crassus shook his head. “Tell me about him, I’m very interested. It was before Spartacus broke loose, wasn’t it?”
“Eight days before, I think. Yes, Batiatus made a name for himself because he kept a regular harem of slave women and people don’t like that sort of thing. Not out in the open. It’s all right if you do it in a room with the doors closed, but it’s rather tasteless to do it on a public highway. That’s practically what he did. Also, he used his boys for stud and the women for breeding, which is all right, I suppose, but he didn’t know how to do anything delicately. He was a big, fat ox of a man, black hair, black beard, and I remember how dirty his clothes were, food stains all over them. An egg stain when he talked with us, a fresh egg stain right on the front of his tunic.”
“The things you remember!” the general smiled.
“I remember that. I went to see him with Bracus, and Bracus wanted two turns to the death; but Batiatus was reluctant to do it. Batiatus said that there was no point trying to develop anything in the way of style or technique or precision play when every rich and bored gentleman in Rome came down for his own particular circus. But Bracus had a purse, and money talks.”
“It talks with that kind,” said the general. “All lanistae are contemptible, but this Batiatus was a pig. You know, he owns three of the biggest tenements in Rome, and a fourth that fell in last year, and half his tenants were killed in the rubbish. He’ll do anything for money.”
“I didn’t know you knew him.”
“I spoke with him. He was a mine of information on Spartacus—the only one, I suppose, who really knew about Spartacus.”
“Tell me,” sighed
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