Read Pompeii: City on Fire for Free Online Page B
Authors: T. L. Higley
tradition of strolling the area during theater breaks remained, and many followed Cato and his sister into the rectangular area.
Portia clucked her tongue as they entered, then pointed to the fighters at the end of the field. "That's why you wanted to come down here." Her tone was indulgent. "You didn't tell me there would be gladiators."
Cato laughed. "How could you have missed them entering the city yesterday?" He eyed the men, who looked small at this distance, curious to see if he could pick out the champion, Paris. The men trained in pairs, their movements fluid and graceful, like the dancers that sometimes entertained in the baths. Outstanding. He watched one pair with interest, for they seemed a strange mismatch—a muscle-bound, seasoned fighter with a young man struggling to hold his own, inexperienced. They did not wear their costumes to train, so he could not tell their positions—Retiarius or Secutor, Gaul or Murmillo, it was impossible to guess. He followed every parry and thrust, the rhythm of the fight he had loved since childhood. It would take more research to decide where to place his bets. The blood sport was more than entertainment. Fortunes could be won or lost.
A silky voice spoke between them and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I see you are an admirer."
Cato turned to find Maius smirking at his back. The older man jutted a heavy chin toward the gladiators. "All of Pompeii is talking about the fight I have sponsored. It will be worth all my expense, I am certain."
You can save your politicking, Maius. He shrugged the hand off his shoulder. Maius's attention shifted to Portia.
"Ah, here you are again." Maius sidled closer. "As if Fortuna herself smiles down on me."
A small crowd had grown around them, no doubt curious to see who the great Maius deigned to address. But it was Maius's interaction with Portia that troubled him. The politician was welded to his sister. Portia pulled her head back, as though to remove herself from him without the insult of stepping backward. She was elegance personified, as always. Cato saved her the trouble and inserted himself between them, resting a hand on his sister's lower back. He could feel her tension. "Come, Portia, I shall give you a lesson in the way of the games. I know how much you love blood and glory."
Maius extended his arm toward the fighters, like a host inviting a guest into his home. Cato bristled at the condescension, but strolled toward the end of the grassy field, his hand guiding Portia. He would not give Maius the satisfaction of seeing him perturbed.
A group had formed to watch the fighters, and Cato joined it, hoping that Maius would drift away. The man was ruining his good mood. But Maius remained close, even introducing him to several prominent men of Pompeii.
"Portius Cato," Maius offered to one of the nearby men. "Come to our little town to grow grapes and sell wine."
The patrician's eyebrows raised. "I knew your father in Rome, Cato." His expression grew haughty. "And many of the Portii clan. None of them were farmers that I remember."
Cato bowed slightly at the veiled insult. "An indulgence of mine, I will admit. But I am certain you will be glad of my new hobby once you have tasted my wine."
Maius laughed and elbowed the patrician. "Ah, but the wine supply in Pompeii is more than adequate with my vineyards and shops, is it not, Gracchus? Cato here refuses to see that his predecessor failed for just this reason. People simply prefer my wine." His voice was softness, undergird with iron.
Gracchus bowed. "And your fruit stands. And bakeries. Even your brothels."
Cato stifled a snort at Gracchus's fawning tone. "Perhaps they have been kept from a better alternative." His voice hardened and he smiled. "They need to be freed to try something new. Something superior."
From Maius's glare the man understood the deeper meaning of his words. But Maius recovered and again attached himself to Portia. "Well, if the Catonii family can
Portia clucked her tongue as they entered, then pointed to the fighters at the end of the field. "That's why you wanted to come down here." Her tone was indulgent. "You didn't tell me there would be gladiators."
Cato laughed. "How could you have missed them entering the city yesterday?" He eyed the men, who looked small at this distance, curious to see if he could pick out the champion, Paris. The men trained in pairs, their movements fluid and graceful, like the dancers that sometimes entertained in the baths. Outstanding. He watched one pair with interest, for they seemed a strange mismatch—a muscle-bound, seasoned fighter with a young man struggling to hold his own, inexperienced. They did not wear their costumes to train, so he could not tell their positions—Retiarius or Secutor, Gaul or Murmillo, it was impossible to guess. He followed every parry and thrust, the rhythm of the fight he had loved since childhood. It would take more research to decide where to place his bets. The blood sport was more than entertainment. Fortunes could be won or lost.
A silky voice spoke between them and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I see you are an admirer."
Cato turned to find Maius smirking at his back. The older man jutted a heavy chin toward the gladiators. "All of Pompeii is talking about the fight I have sponsored. It will be worth all my expense, I am certain."
You can save your politicking, Maius. He shrugged the hand off his shoulder. Maius's attention shifted to Portia.
"Ah, here you are again." Maius sidled closer. "As if Fortuna herself smiles down on me."
A small crowd had grown around them, no doubt curious to see who the great Maius deigned to address. But it was Maius's interaction with Portia that troubled him. The politician was welded to his sister. Portia pulled her head back, as though to remove herself from him without the insult of stepping backward. She was elegance personified, as always. Cato saved her the trouble and inserted himself between them, resting a hand on his sister's lower back. He could feel her tension. "Come, Portia, I shall give you a lesson in the way of the games. I know how much you love blood and glory."
Maius extended his arm toward the fighters, like a host inviting a guest into his home. Cato bristled at the condescension, but strolled toward the end of the grassy field, his hand guiding Portia. He would not give Maius the satisfaction of seeing him perturbed.
A group had formed to watch the fighters, and Cato joined it, hoping that Maius would drift away. The man was ruining his good mood. But Maius remained close, even introducing him to several prominent men of Pompeii.
"Portius Cato," Maius offered to one of the nearby men. "Come to our little town to grow grapes and sell wine."
The patrician's eyebrows raised. "I knew your father in Rome, Cato." His expression grew haughty. "And many of the Portii clan. None of them were farmers that I remember."
Cato bowed slightly at the veiled insult. "An indulgence of mine, I will admit. But I am certain you will be glad of my new hobby once you have tasted my wine."
Maius laughed and elbowed the patrician. "Ah, but the wine supply in Pompeii is more than adequate with my vineyards and shops, is it not, Gracchus? Cato here refuses to see that his predecessor failed for just this reason. People simply prefer my wine." His voice was softness, undergird with iron.
Gracchus bowed. "And your fruit stands. And bakeries. Even your brothels."
Cato stifled a snort at Gracchus's fawning tone. "Perhaps they have been kept from a better alternative." His voice hardened and he smiled. "They need to be freed to try something new. Something superior."
From Maius's glare the man understood the deeper meaning of his words. But Maius recovered and again attached himself to Portia. "Well, if the Catonii family can