There were exercise facilities at the baths, of course, but I needed something livelier, so I crossed the river and went to the ludus. Hermes was still there, and for once I wasn’t displeased. He was supposed to be attending upon me by noon, even if I didn’t want him with me but he would spend his life at the ludus if I let him. Since I had imprudently given him his freedom, he abused his new status shamefully.
Just then I needed a sparring partner and the gladiators were seldom satisfactory for this purpose. Either they were overawed by my senatorial status and wouldn’t give me a good fight or they were vicious brutes who would beat me bloody for the fun of it. Hermes had long experience of both my abilities and my temper.
When I entered the training yard the head trainer strode up to me. “Are you here to see the doctor, Senator? I’m afraid he went off somewhere this morning and he’s not back yet.” This man, like all the trainers, was an old champion. His arena name was Petraites and his many dreadful scars displayed Asklepiodes’ expert stitching. He belonged to what we still called the Samnite school in those days. That meant he fought with the large, legionary-style shield and the short sword, usually with a helmet and at least one leg guard, and always wearing the wide, bronze belt of our old Samnite enemies. The biggest and strongest men fought in this category. Since the Samnites have been citizens for the last generation, the First Citizen has renamed this style of fighter the Murmillo. He has a passion for putting everything into strict categories.
“No, Petraites, I’ve come for a workout. I’m getting soft.”
“Always a good idea to keep up your sword work. Some of your fellow senators are here today. With a big war coming up, a lot of them want to sweat a little lard off before they have to go off to Parthia.”
It was not at all unusual for highborn men to train with the funeral fighters back then. That is another thing the First Citizen has cracked down on. He doesn’t like aristocrats to mix with the scum. In those days the fighters were mostly volunteers and even condemned criminals and prisoners of war often re-enlisted after they’d survived their sentences, because it was a good life for a poor man with no marketable skills. You could get killed, but then senators got killed, too. Everybody else, for that matter.
For a while I watched the men train. Slave and free, volunteer fighters and condemned men, equites and senators, they were slashing and sweating with a will. Some of the highborn men were surprisingly expert. I saw the great senator Balbus practicing with a famous Thracian named Bato. That is to say, he belonged to the Thracian school and fought with the small shield and the short, curved sword, with both legs protected by armor. He was Illyrian by birth. Balbus of course used legionary weapons, similar to the Samnite.
“Senator Balbus could be a top professional,” Petraites said admiringly. “I think he’s the strongest man in Rome, and he fights like he was born with a sword in his hand. Maybe it’s the Spaniard in him. They’re great warriors.” Balbus was a rare non-Roman in the Senate, a man who had gained his rank through his services to Rome and his personal friendship with Pompey and Caesar. “Your boy Hermes could make you a fortune in the arena, Senator, if you’d let him. He’s an excellent light swordsman. Not enough bulk for a Samnite and he’s not comfortable with Thracian armor, but as a Gaul, with the narrow, oval shield and light helmet and no armor, he’d be perfect.”
“He’d like nothing better,” I said, “but I’ve forbidden him to fight professionally. And he’s not my ‘boy’ anymore. I freed him a while back. Luckily, I still have some control over his more foolish leanings.” At that moment Hermes was sparring with a dreadfully earnest-looking youth whose tunic had the stripe of an equites, doubtless recently made a Tribune of the Soldiers and soon to join a legion. Hermes was a joy to watch. He fought with grace and style, but he lacked the true brutishness that a professional must have to survive for years in the arena. When they were done with their bout I joined them. Hermes looked only a little shamefaced.
“Senator, this is Publius Sulpicius Saxo, who will be serving with Voconius Naso next year.” Naso was one of that year’s praetors, and sure to be given a legion command if not a province. You could never tell, with a dictator in power.
“Family connection?” I asked.
“I’m his son-in law.” He didn’t look old enough to be married, much less hold a tribuneship. I wondered if I could ever have been that young. Then I recalled that I had been this boy’s age when I was sent out to Spain as a military tribune to fight Sertorious. That was where I acquired the biggest of my facial scars.