31 BC
Senses dulled from the hangover of too much plebian wine Gannicus trudges up the stairs of the hypogeum, the large spiral staircase used to release combatants onto the sand. Cages line the circular stairwell six stories deep into the foundation of the mighty Coliseum. Light makes its way down to the lower levels along with the clamor of the crowd, a hundred thousand strong. Passing the cages of two separated tigers, they snarl and howl at one another batting claws through the metal bars of their cells. With a high pitched wail the larger of the two beasts empties its bowels. The refuse falls down through the grated flooring splattering a group of Numidian captives, who erupt into cries of disgust. Amused Gannicus trudges upward, two pronged pole arm in his hands, the mask of the Bestiary obscuring his smirk. More than a decade and a half has passed since his time at the House of Batiatus.
Time has weathered our hero, his brow is bald and his visage grown grizzled. The years of drinking the cheap common wine given out to the masses have wrinkled his skin into a cured hide. His once handsome face now sports a bulbous nose. Muscles flex beneath a layer of protective fat, one he learned to maintain when possible after years of military service and hard labor following his departure from Capua. Employment was scarce in this time even for a man of such refined talent. Conscripts from neighboring regions provided cheap and timelier assistance than private Roman armies. The Imperial Army maintained a rigid order based on familial lineage and as a freed Celt his fortunes would always be first to turn for the worse. Working as a legitimate tradesman was no better as the entire system of trade was controlled by a networked group of old Roman families who could all trace their paternal lines to the founding of Alba Longa. There was nothing he could earn for himself that a well networked Roman couldn't take away by legal trickery or sheer force. Having exhausted all avenues of income Gannicus had decided regrettably to take to the sands once again.
His return to the Dimachaerus style of fighting was initially successful. Five victories in he seemed to be returning to his younger form. His sixth contest against a young Thraex champion of Roman descent fighting in front of an adoring home crowd cut both their ascents short. In a grueling battle of wills the two traded seemingly mortal blows early in the contest. Long into the afternoon the two fought, bleeding out onto the hot sands. The sun beat down on the crowd, whose fury was stoked by blood and wine. In an amazing show of endurance the two men collapsed crawling toward one another. The Celt was run wounded deeply in the left side and had the Thraex's dagger protruding from the antecubitus of his right arm. The Roman was crawling toward his sword, hamstrung in one leg and ribs protruding from his back from Gannicus's early assault. Missio was given willingly and enthusiastically. That it was never asked for was a small irony lost on the lust filled crowd. The younger Thraex would never walk again and soon succumbed to infection. The Celt healed but his wounded arm would never be the same. No one doubted his footwork and wits, so once fully recovered Gannicus was offered the role of Bestiary to pay off his debts.
Stepping out onto the sands, he raises the weapon over his head in both hands. Basking in the cheers and clamor of the drunken crowd, he can hear them. The cries of the women calling out the name of the mighty Celt. Gannicus smiled broadly and roared. It was true what his new Doctore had said as he healed deep below ground in the medicus of the Great Ludus of Rome. The crowd had not forgotten and they will remember your sacrifice, he kept saying. What of Melitta? Forgotten and buried as a slave. What of his brother? Forgotten the moment the Druids got what they wanted from him. What of Vercingetorix? Forgotten, as soon as Rome's amusement at his torture dimmed. Over sips of wine and tales of battle the old Roman Doctore won our mighty Celt to the notion that once again the crowd would cheer the name Gannicus. The bitterness of his doubt passed as he delighted in whipping the masses into a frenzy.
The other Bestiary clad and armed the same stood at Gannicus's right side, flanking him wide. In training the two men had perfected herding and pinning animals with blunted devices of similar construction. The animals they worked on being no larger than cattle and boars were simple to maneuver. In the Arena they bore weapons tipped with metal and weighted for greater counter balance, but faced foes of far greater ferocity. Three tigers were to be released from the Hypogeum and killed one at a time. The best technique was to herd each animal into a corner, pin it between the prongs of one fork tipped pole arm and run it through with the other. For the crowd's pleasure to be maintained the kills needed to be executed with precision. Each battle in the Arena is a metaphor for the world outside its walls and the Bestiary represented Man's absolute mastery over Nature. Should either man fall, the survivor would not be granted mercy.
The Arena came to a respectful level of silence as a Magistrate stood in place of the Emperor Caesar. They fought just after dawn, the sands already whet with the blood of prisoners and criminals. The official stood and lazily waved the match on, sat back and disinterestedly carried on with his breakfast of fruit and wine. The first tiger was released from deep within the hypogeum. Handlers directed the beast up onto the sand with blows through the grating of the great stairwell's walls. Small and terrified it runs out and cowers at the sight of the screaming mob. Clearly a juvenile the beast was half starved and bald in patches. Its ribs showed through as it sulked low to the ground, backing itself into one side of the Arena.
Gannicus roared a command to his companion above the raging din and they strode forward as a unit. The young tiger for a moment terrified by the enormity of the crowd paid them no mind. Halfway across the sand the beast recognized their advance and stood up on its hackles, wailing. A second of indecision and then the beast ran to its left seeking escape. The younger Bestiary's pole arm swung wide and blocked its advance. Gannicus closed in quickly seeing the opportunity to cleanly end the sad beast. He pinned its neck and right forepaw to the sands with the head of his long weapon. The other man roared and ran the two pronged weapon into the abdomen of the trapped animal. Flailing they fought to keep it pinned. Even half grown and emaciated the tiger's rage in death was barely containable. As Gannicus pressed his full weight down on the cat he glared at his younger fighting partner.
"Why pass up a mortal blow and allow the beast to linger?" Gannicus yelled at the blood maddened fool.
"It's half dead anyway, why not take our time and give them a…". The man was cut short by the roar of crowd announcing the next tiger's release. Gannicus spun to face the great red tiger which charged out of the Hypogeum, alert and ready. The other Bestiary tugged on his pole arm to free it from the small tiger's carcass but found it caught on the bones within. The adult tiger quickly sized up the weaker of the two prey and pressed forward. As it closed in on the younger man Gannicus tracked its path with the dual points of his weapon. Dashing forward and he closed in as the creature raced to lunge at the helpless man. One point of the long spear sank into the cat's hind leg, throwing it off balance. Gannicus pushed through the blow and drove the blade deeper. Bracing as it thrashed he pulled the pole arm free and stood his ground.
As his less experienced ally joined Gannicus' side, weapon freed, the crowd erupted into laughter. The other man stood shaking, the blunt counter balance of his pole arm aimed at the ferocious animal. As the crowd jeered and turned on the match the tiger backed down hissing in retreat. Blood pooled at its feet from a mortal wound to its side.
"If one falls both fall!". Gannicus screamed over the crowd as his terrified partner switched his grip. Resolve in their eyes they stepped forward evenly spaced. Four points of deadly metal stared at the beast down eight feet of stout wood. The flaming red tiger backed away, convulsing blood onto the sand. Gannicus maneuvered to his right, herding his prey in the other direction.
"Block its path!" The Celt yelled as the creature tried to dash between the Arena wall and the other outstretched pole arm. The man's stab fell short and low into the sand. As he struggled to reel in the long weapon the stricken beast made its move. Dancing over the weapon and lunging the animal closed in on its prey with two deadly steps. As its forepaws and jaws closed on the once and former Bestiary, the two feel to the ground heavily. The great cat's momentum spun the two around as they landed. Wasting little time the tiger's hindquarters dug in deeply, opening the man's abdomen. Hunger driven by the taste of blood provided the distraction Gannicus needed. A well aimed stab into the feasting animal's neck slid readily into the lungs and then heart. To its end the animal clung to the fallen Bestiary, their bodies only separating as Gannicus pulled his weapon free. Unscathed but shaken he stood ready to face the last tiger alone. His right arm ached from the strain of his grip, weakened by a wound many said he would never recover from. The crowd grew quiet as a metal door slammed open deep inside the hypogeum. Gannicus drifted away into troubled thoughts long buried. Jeers erupted into screams from the bottom of the metal dungeon. The cries of men were then muffled by the deep growls of the freed beast.
Melitta in his arms breathing her last breath, taken from him by Roman trickery. His brother Amelcor sacrificed, used and forgotten like an ingredient in a Druid's spell.
Silently the great cat emerged, tail and ears alert. Its green eyes wide at the sight of Gannicus, weapon drawn. It stood frozen in time as the jaded crowd relented in its crass taunting. Not one citizen present could deny the beauty of the creature presented. The morning sun still hung low, setting flame to the profile of the great tiger. Wreathed in red, eyes were aglow at its lone prey.
The Celt peered into another time absent concern. The vision of a great leader in chains haunted him. After the watershed battle of Alessia, Gannicus had been quickly sold by Julius Caesar along with 53,000 other men. He was marched to Rome under the crack of a slave trader's whip and sold in front of the Senate under the supervision of a Quaestor. Atop a rotating platform he stood naked in chains while Roman bidders argued about his age. The crowd took a moment from gazing upon his physique to turn their discontent on one lone wretch in chains. Soldiers escorted him, dressed in expensive raiments of armor, as the man crawled naked save for a breechcloth. The crowd closed in as men kicked dirt and spat, the women howling insults. Unaffected the man crawled toward the Senate hall, his enormous size apparent even from afar. His frame had wasted away, his bones barely covered by quivering muscles. Dirt streaked the red hair hanging round the man's face, cast downward. Gannicus gaped as he recognized the once fearsome Gaul as his king, Vercingetorix. As the macabre entourage passed the crowd's fickle attention fell on the business at hand.
The once belligerent crowd remained quiet. The giant tiger's eyes burned with rage as it licked fresh blood from its cheeks. The screams from the hypogeum had not been for sport. Scars could be seen along the animal's striped hide Gannicus noted. The crude broad slashes of swords left their mark rather than the telltale pattern of claws. This beast had been unchallenged as master of its jungle, man alone having the hubris to test its mettle. Gannicus could see its heart pounding and knew those sinews would not be made still by his hand. Still the creature's eyes burned, smoldering as the cat calculated its next move. What hand dare seize that fire; the Celt thought.
Helpless he stood in awe of the red beast's beauty. Only once before had he ever stood so entranced. Melitta's eyes upon him, looking down from the Villa. As the whole world collapsed into the frame of her gaze Gannicus had at that moment welcomed death. He survived only because Crixus was too honorable to lay a mortal blow upon a defenseless opponent. The great cat before him had no such credo to uphold. The beast knelt down in anticipation, its hindquarters flexed. The striped red tail snaked back and forth through the air, hypnotic and deadly as the sway of a cobra. As the beast squared itself to Gannicus he looked fearfully upon its symmetry. The burning eyes gazed back, wanting for life both to take and to have. Sadly it could only have one. Our star knew then how he was to face his end. Casting down his spear, he watered heaven with his tears and cried for Melitta. As the beast sprung upon its helpless foe the crowd roared at another glorious death.