Read Online Spartacus by Howard Fast - Free Book Online Page B
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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Caius.
“You were telling me—that perhaps you saw Spartacus.”
“Tell me,” said Caius petulantly.
“You are remarkably like a girl sometimes,” the general smiled.
“Don’t say that! I don’t want you ever to say that!” Like a cat, Caius tensed and bristled.
“Now what have I said to anger you so?” the general soothed him. “You want me to tell you about Batiatus? It’s of no great interest, but I will if you want me to. It was over a year ago, I think, and we were being clawed badly by the slaves. That was why I wanted to find out about this Spartacus. You know a man, and it’s easier to beat him . . .”
Caius smiled as he listened. He didn’t wholly know why he hated Spartacus so much; but sometimes he found a deeper satisfaction in hatred than in love.
PART TWO. Being the story which Crassus, the great general, told to Caius Crassus, concerning a visit to his encampment by Lentulus Batiatus, who kept a school for gladiators in Capua.
----
(This, then, said Crassus, as he lay beside the young man, happened shortly after I had been given the command—the kind of an honor that you take with you to a quick grave. The slaves had torn our legions to shreds, and to all effects and purposes, they ruled Italy. This, they told me to rescue. Go out and defeat the slaves, they said. My worst enemies honored me. I had encamped my troops in Cis-Alpine Gaul then, and I sent out a message for your fat friend, Lentulus Batiatus.)
And rain was falling lightly as Lentalus Batiatus approached the camp of Crassus. The whole landscape was miserable and desolate, and he was also desolate, being a long way from home and from the warm sunshine of Capua. Not even the comfort of a litter was his; he rode on a skinny yellow horse, thinking:
“When military men take over, honest men dance to the strings they pull. Your life is no longer your own. People envy me because I have a little money. It’s fine to have money if you are a knight. It’s even better to have money if you are a patrician. But if you are neither of them, only an honest man who made his money honestly, you can never lay your head down in peace. If you are not bribing an inspector, you’re paying off a ward heeler; and if you’re rid of both, you have a Tribune on your payroll. And every time you wake up, you’re surprised you weren’t knifed in your sleep. And now a damned general does me the honor of dragging me halfway across Italy—to ask me questions. If my name was Crassus or Gracchus or Silenus, or Menius, it would be a very different story indeed. That’s Roman justice and Roman equality in the Republic of Rome.”
And then Lentulus Batiatus entertained a series of uncomplimentary thoughts concerning Roman justice and a certain Roman general. In these thoughts, he was interrupted by a sharp interrogation from road guards stationed before the encampment. He halted his horse obediently and sat there in the cold, fine rain while two troopers advanced and examined him. Since they had to stand in the rain anyway for their time on guard, they were in no haste to relieve his discomfort. They examined him coldly and unpleasantly and asked him who he was.
“My name is Lentulus Batiatus.”
Because they were ignorant peasants, they didn’t recognize the name, and they wanted to know where he thought he was going.
“This road leads to the camp, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“Well, I’m going to the camp.”
“For what?”
“To speak with the commander.”
“Just like that. What are you selling?”
“Why, the dirty bastards!” thought Batiatus, but he said, patiently enough, “I’m selling nothing. I’m here by invitation.”
“Whose invitation?”
“The commander’s.” And he went into his wallet and brought out the order Crassus had sent him.
They couldn’t read, but even a piece of paper was sufficient to pass him on, and he was allowed to walk his yellow nag down the military
“You were telling me—that perhaps you saw Spartacus.”
“Tell me,” said Caius petulantly.
“You are remarkably like a girl sometimes,” the general smiled.
“Don’t say that! I don’t want you ever to say that!” Like a cat, Caius tensed and bristled.
“Now what have I said to anger you so?” the general soothed him. “You want me to tell you about Batiatus? It’s of no great interest, but I will if you want me to. It was over a year ago, I think, and we were being clawed badly by the slaves. That was why I wanted to find out about this Spartacus. You know a man, and it’s easier to beat him . . .”
Caius smiled as he listened. He didn’t wholly know why he hated Spartacus so much; but sometimes he found a deeper satisfaction in hatred than in love.
PART TWO. Being the story which Crassus, the great general, told to Caius Crassus, concerning a visit to his encampment by Lentulus Batiatus, who kept a school for gladiators in Capua.
----
(This, then, said Crassus, as he lay beside the young man, happened shortly after I had been given the command—the kind of an honor that you take with you to a quick grave. The slaves had torn our legions to shreds, and to all effects and purposes, they ruled Italy. This, they told me to rescue. Go out and defeat the slaves, they said. My worst enemies honored me. I had encamped my troops in Cis-Alpine Gaul then, and I sent out a message for your fat friend, Lentulus Batiatus.)
And rain was falling lightly as Lentalus Batiatus approached the camp of Crassus. The whole landscape was miserable and desolate, and he was also desolate, being a long way from home and from the warm sunshine of Capua. Not even the comfort of a litter was his; he rode on a skinny yellow horse, thinking:
“When military men take over, honest men dance to the strings they pull. Your life is no longer your own. People envy me because I have a little money. It’s fine to have money if you are a knight. It’s even better to have money if you are a patrician. But if you are neither of them, only an honest man who made his money honestly, you can never lay your head down in peace. If you are not bribing an inspector, you’re paying off a ward heeler; and if you’re rid of both, you have a Tribune on your payroll. And every time you wake up, you’re surprised you weren’t knifed in your sleep. And now a damned general does me the honor of dragging me halfway across Italy—to ask me questions. If my name was Crassus or Gracchus or Silenus, or Menius, it would be a very different story indeed. That’s Roman justice and Roman equality in the Republic of Rome.”
And then Lentulus Batiatus entertained a series of uncomplimentary thoughts concerning Roman justice and a certain Roman general. In these thoughts, he was interrupted by a sharp interrogation from road guards stationed before the encampment. He halted his horse obediently and sat there in the cold, fine rain while two troopers advanced and examined him. Since they had to stand in the rain anyway for their time on guard, they were in no haste to relieve his discomfort. They examined him coldly and unpleasantly and asked him who he was.
“My name is Lentulus Batiatus.”
Because they were ignorant peasants, they didn’t recognize the name, and they wanted to know where he thought he was going.
“This road leads to the camp, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“Well, I’m going to the camp.”
“For what?”
“To speak with the commander.”
“Just like that. What are you selling?”
“Why, the dirty bastards!” thought Batiatus, but he said, patiently enough, “I’m selling nothing. I’m here by invitation.”
“Whose invitation?”
“The commander’s.” And he went into his wallet and brought out the order Crassus had sent him.
They couldn’t read, but even a piece of paper was sufficient to pass him on, and he was allowed to walk his yellow nag down the military
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