Chapter 11: Spartacus (4)

In the most spacious and lavish room at the Batiatus gladiator training camp, reserved exclusively for VIPs, Marcus relaxed and ate fruit with an air of ease.

Danae, standing behind him, appeared impatient.

"Young Master, wouldn't it be better if Septimus were here as well? If anything goes wrong—"

"If something does go wrong, Septimus's presence won’t change anything," Marcus interjected.

"Still, was it necessary to send him away?"

"I’m uncertain about what might happen. While Septimus seems to trust me now, his primary loyalty is to my father. I can't have him in a meeting like this until I'm certain he is fully on my side."

Danae smiled, her fingers twitching slightly. Marcus's words implied that she was fully accepted and trusted by him, which filled her with a warm sensation of satisfaction.

"Then, young master, do you plan to make the gladiator named Spartacus your own as well?"

"I'd like to if I can. But first, we need to discuss whether or not I'm worth serving."

"If the gladiator has any sense, he would definitely want to serve you."

Marcus smiled and handed Danae a basket of fruit. Without hesitation, she picked a fruit and brought it to her mouth.

Despite Danae's unshakeable confidence, Marcus only saw the odds as being uncertain.

For the future, it was crucial to recruit people who were both physically and militarily superior. While Marcus could manage with wealth and political influence, he lacked confidence in the military arena.

To seize power in Rome, military skill and talent were essential. Marius, Sulla, and Caesar, who reached the pinnacle of Rome, all relied on their military prowess. Augustus, who lacked military talent, compensated with loyal confidants.

Marcus decided to adopt Augustus's approach. If his own abilities were lacking, he needed to recruit subordinates to make up for it.

Spartacus represented personal military might. Given Caesar’s assassination, having a reliable bodyguard was crucial.

Marcus knew he could recruit talented leaders in the future, but the timing wasn’t right yet. He was confident he could secure them with certainty, but Spartacus’s situation was more complicated. Marcus was unsure of any potential enmity Spartacus might harbor against Rome.

The rebellion of Spartacus is a year away. His anger might be reaching a critical point.

If Spartacus were discontented with the status quo, his rage might block him from hearing any rational proposals.

If Spartacus was consumed by hatred, no matter how well Marcus explained himself, Spartacus might refuse to listen.

At that moment, it wasn't a matter of reason but of emotion.

'In the end, it depends on how well I can reach his heart.'

Just as Marcus had gathered his thoughts, someone knocked on the door and spoke.

"May I come in?" The voice was low and blunt.

Marcus responded immediately. "Yes, you may enter."

The door opened, and a silhouette of a person appeared. "Nice to meet you. My name is Spartacus. Did you call for me?"

Spartacus's presence, as formidable as it had been in the arena, remained unchanged. Seeing him up close made Marcus feel he needed to steel himself against the intimidation.

"That's correct."

"What is the reason? Why did the noble want to see this lowly slave?"

Though Spartacus's mouth was smiling, his eyes were not. Marcus recognized ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this expression well—it was a façade, akin to the polite smiles he had used when he worked part-time.

"Lowly slave? Who would dare disrespect an excellent gladiator like you? Even in Rome, you might be unmatched in skill."

"It's merely a skill I developed to survive." There was no trace of pride in Spartacus's voice. Instead, it carried deep remorse and bitterness.

"You seem discontented with your situation."

"What can I do if I don't like it? Only those with choices can afford to be discontent."

"Even without choices, as long as you're alive, you can still think. I understand that the treatment at the Batiatus training center isn't the best. Complaints from gladiators are not uncommon."

"There's no such thing. No one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is dissatisfied." Spartacus’s voice trembled slightly.

Marcus gleaned that Spartacus was an honest and tenacious person, perhaps why he found it hard to mask his true feelings. Historical records indicated that Spartacus, even during the war, had restrained his fellow gladiators from unnecessary slaughter. Such a noble character must have found his current hellish circumstances particularly unbearable.

"As long as you avoid Batiatus's ears, you don't need to worry about being honest with me. I promise that this conversation will remain between us. That’s why I’ve already sent my attendant away."

Spartacus’s gaze shifted to Danae, standing by Marcus’s side. "But what about that girl—"

"Oh, she’s trustworthy. If I ask her to keep a secret, she won’t speak even in front of the archon. Would you like some fruit? It’s quite good." Marcus gestured to the fruit basket he had given Danae earlier, but the fruit that had been piled high was now missing.

Danae blushed and tried to shrink away. "I’m sorry! I thought I could eat it all and—"

"—Ah, no, that’s fine. I see how my actions might have been misinterpreted—"

"—Is she from Thrace? Close to Greece?" Spartacus didn’t listen to Marcus and kept his gaze fixed on Danae. It was an impolite question, but he seemed unaware of any offense.

Marcus was pleased that Spartacus had shown interest, so he chose not to address it directly.

"Yes, she’s from Thrace. Her name is Danae. She’s under my protection."

"I see..." Spartacus’s mind was filled with a tangle of complex emotions.

First of all, Spartacus was surprised to encounter someone from his homeland in such an unexpected place. However, he felt anger that Danae was living as a slave of the Romans.

Yet, upon closer inspection, Danae's expression showed no sign of distress.

'Did she just eat all the fruit the owner provided?'

At first, Spartacus wondered if Danae was Marcus’s concubine, but given their ages, that didn't seem likely.

Spartacus continued to watch Danae and asked, "Why do you keep that girl with you?"

"I'm learning a lot from her," Marcus replied. "I want to broaden my horizons. There are experiences you can't gain from sitting at a desk."

"Education of female slaves?"

"There's no law against it, is there?"

Spartacus was unfamiliar with this idea. He revised his opinion of Marcus, now seeing him as an unusually enlightened aristocrat. Yet, even if Marcus treated slaves well, he was still a Roman aristocrat, and Spartacus expected him to eventually conform to the typical Roman norms.

"... So, what is it that you want to discuss with me candidly?"

"To be straightforward, I want to take you out of here and bring you to Rome. I want you to cooperate with my plans. Are you willing to do that?"

"That’s an odd request. If you want that, you need to speak to Batiatus, not me. I have no choice in the matter."

As a slave, Spartacus had no control over his own fate. If Marcus wanted to take him, he would need to negotiate with Batiatus.

Marcus frowned and clarified,

"I will consider your answer and then speak with Batiatus. What matters is whether you are willing to come with me. Are you?"

An awkward silence followed. Eventually, Spartacus spoke, "What will you do if I refuse?"

"I'll attempt to persuade you. I believe once you hear my plan, you'll be convinced. If not, I'll respect your decision and give up."

"You won't need to persuade me. I will never go to Rome."

Marcus was taken aback by Spartacus’s firm refusal. "May I ask why?"

"Going to Rome would just turn me into a spectacle for more people."

"You don't want to entertain the Romans as a jester?"

Spartacus's face hardened. His suppressed emotions spilled into his voice. "That's not a position ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anyone would desire."

"So, you'll remain here in Capua?"

"Is Rome so grand? My world is confined to training camps and gladiatorial arenas. What would change if I went to Rome? A slightly larger arena? A training camp with more space?"

"I have no intention of treating you that way."

"That's nonsense!" Unable to contain his frustration any longer, Spartacus shouted. He had forgotten Batiatus’s warning about maintaining decorum.

While the environment in Rome might be better, Spartacus knew that fundamentally, nothing would change. Marcus was a Roman aristocrat, and Spartacus believed Marcus was merely interested in making money from him. Spartacus refused to sell himself merely to amuse the Romans.

"I understand your concerns, but please, calm down and listen to my plan. It’s not too late to decide after that."

"Ha! No matter what flattery you offer, I've already made up my mind. I will never surrender to the Romans or the aristocrats. Even if I remain a slave, I won’t sell my dignity and pride."

"Sigh, that’s not the issue..."

Spartacus was in no mood to listen. His anger wasn't directed at Marcus but at Rome itself. This was precisely what Marcus feared.

According to Heinrich's law, a statistical principle, major events are preceded by numerous related signals. Spartacus’s rebellion was no exception.

How much resentment and hatred must have built up before these emotions manifested in the form of rebellion?

Marcus was witnessing those emotions firsthand.

Spartacus perceived the shadow of Rome looming ominously behind Marcus. This wasn't the kind of anger that a Roman, even a noble like Marcus, could easily calm.

'Is there no choice but to give up...'

Marcus believed he could persuade Spartacus if he heard his plan, but communication was impossible with someone who had closed their heart and ears.

Just as Marcus was about to resign himself, an unexpected breakthrough occurred.

Puck!

A sound echoed through the room.

Both Marcus and the enraged Spartacus looked toward the source of the noise.

A fruit basket rolled to Spartacus’s feet.

Danae had thrown the basket at him.

"Apologize to the young master right now! The young master is not like that at all!"

"...?..."

Danae stood firm, unflinching in front of the much larger man. Her voice trembled slightly. "Yes, most Romans don’t see slaves as human. But the young master is different. He rescued me and even confronted a fellow Roman who was beating me. He gave me the chance to learn things I couldn't even in Thrace."

"It doesn’t matter. A slave is still a slave."

"Maybe so... But even as a slave, my young master always seeks my opinion and respects me. He has never touched me inappropriately. He encouraged me to remain a person, not just a tool. When we went to watch the gladiator fight, he worried about my comfort. If I hadn’t wanted to go, he wouldn’t have taken me. How can you say he is like other nobles? Take back your words immediately!"

Even though tears welled in her eyes and her voice trembled, Danae didn't falter. Her gaze held no trace of hesitation or doubt. Instead, it was Spartacus who seemed taken aback.

"If what you say is true... then yes, that person might be different from other nobles."

"Don’t judge the whole world based on your narrow experiences. That’s what small-minded people do. You’re different." Danae spoke with unwavering confidence before the skeptical Spartacus.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because the young master wants to recruit you. He will be the one to change Rome, not the other way around. Rome will change with him, not corrupt him."

Her belief was so steadfast that Spartacus struggled to find a counterargument. What could make her so sure of her master’s integrity?

A crack appeared in Spartacus's hardened heart. He turned to Marcus and asked, "To you, am I... a human?" His tone had softened considerably.

Marcus replied firmly, "Then what are you, if not human?"

"I see. So you intend to change Rome? Do you really think that’s possible?"

"If I thought it was impossible, I would have compromised and lived like other nobles from the start."

"I don't know... Sigh, what are you really thinking?" His voice, now weary with sighs and questions, seemed to hang in the air like fog.

Marcus’s voice cut through the fog like a ray of light. "First and foremost, what I want to achieve through you is to improve gladiatorial combat. That’s why..."

Spartacus paused, considering Marcus’s words. His head lifted with a mix of doubt and a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Is that really possible? Or is it impossible?"

"I’ll make it possible if you come to Rome with me." Marcus’s earnest words reached the heart of the disheartened Spartacus. "It doesn’t end there. Improving gladiatorial combat is just a starting point. Not just for me, but for you as well. Do you want to spend your entire life as a gladiator trapped in an arena? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Probably not. My efforts may create many enemies, so watch me closely and protect me. You’ll witness the man you trusted rising to the pinnacle of Rome and transforming everything."

Marcus’s words became a promise, and the light in his eyes pierced through the darkness in Spartacus's heart.

Rome, once seen only as an enemy, now began to symbolize new challenges and hope.

Seeing Spartacus’s changing demeanor, Marcus realized that the first step of his grand plan had just begun.