Spartacus Morituri by Mark Morris

Author:Mark Morris
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780857687296
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Lucretia entered the atrium just as Oenomaus was leaving, escorted by one of the house guards.

“Domina,” Doctore muttered with a short bow, and Lucretia acknowledged him with a nod. As Doctore and the guard marched away, toward the door that opened on to the stone steps leading to the ludus below, Lucretia saw her husband’s head droop, his hand rising to cradle it.

“What unfortunate news troubles my husband?” she asked tentatively.

Batiatus uttered a loud groan and looked up, his face etched with weariness and anger.

“Jupiter’s cock,” he snarled. “Why do the gods offer sweet honey with one hand yet shove shit in face with the other?”

Lucretia sauntered across and reclined on a couch, accepting a grape from a bunch on a salver offered by a slave.

“Surely tongues do not still babble of sorcery?”

Batiatus shook his head.

“I command lips sealed yet still they flap like an old whore’s cunt. Tomorrow offers vital contest in the arena, hard won with substantial sums already expended, and all that will be offered for combat is assemblage of madmen and fucking invalids!” He rounded on a young slave girl. “Bring fucking wine for parched throat!”

As the girl scuttled away, Lucretia asked, “What words fell from Doctore’s lips?”

“Words of fucking destruction! Four more men join Crixus in infirmary, stricken by fever.”

“How could simple fever fell men such as them?”

“Fever stands word too commonplace to tell the story. Their ailment yet remains mystery. Causing unrest to ripple through ludus.”

“What symptoms present to medicus?” Lucretia asked.

Batiatus flapped a dismissive hand.

“They cannot fight! What symptom could stand worse? They grow cunts in place of cock.” Batiatus calmed for a moment. “Doctore speaks of broken sleep, dreams of dire visions forged by fever. Limbs weighed down as if by lead, pains wrapping joints. Some spew wretched mess from every orifice.”

Lucretia sighed. “What of tomorrow then? Do we have men left with strength to fight?”

Batiatus shrugged miserably.

“Swords will be placed in hands of those who stand upright and we will hope for fucking miracle.”

The slave girl reappeared, carrying a tray bearing a jug and two goblets. A slight flush on her cheeks evidenced the fact that she had been hurrying.

“A man could die of thirst within walls of his own house. Did you take route through fucking Rome?” Batiatus snapped at her.

“Apologies, dominus,” she muttered, the goblets rattling as she trembled.

“Make haste and fill my cup! Must I instruct in everything?”

The girl put down the tray and hastily filled both goblets with wine from the jug. She handed the first to Lucretia, who took it automatically, with no acknowledgement. As the girl approached Batiatus with the second he reached up between her legs and rammed his middle finger inside her. She stifled a gasp of pain even as she uttered it, and tried not to wince, her hands tightening instinctively on the goblet.

Batiatus flashed his teeth in a vicious grin.

“At least she does not spill upon pouring,” he said to Lucretia. “She is not completely absent skill.”

He wiggled the finger that was inside the girl, peering into her face for any reaction.

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