Previously On Clarkus Maximus:
"When do we sail?" Lois asked, her face white with terror for Clark, though she held a note of determination in her voice. Her nightmares were coming true.
"I'm still working on that. The best we can hope for is the day after tomorrow. There's a ship headed for Rome at dawn. It's a trade ship, but any ship's captain can be persuaded to take passengers for the right price. I'm going to talk to him in the morning."
"But in two days, Clark could be hurt or worse!" Lois' voice was creeping into a high pitched panic.
"He'll be okay," Xena assured her gently. "It's the earliest ship I could find. And I'm going to need tonight and tomorrow to gather supplies."
"Supplies?"
Xena nodded. "I need to make some money to bribe the captain with. Passage to Rome doesn't come cheaply. And we are all going to need disguises."
"Disguises?"
Xena nodded once more. "Spartos was overheard boasting that his prisoners will probably be fighting shortly after they arrive in Rome. Julius Caesar is having some sort of festival. The gladiator games are always a part of his celebrations."
"That doesn't explain why we need disguises," Lois prodded, chewing the last bite of her venison.
Xena locked eyes with her. "Caesar and I have a history. I met him about ten years ago when my army and I sacked a village. As I got to know him, I thought we could join forces to take over the world. But he had other plans. He captured my ship, stole my treasure to finance his war campaigns, and crucified all of us. I would have died if it hadn't been for an escaped slave girl named M'Lila. Ever since then, I've been the thorn in his side - the one enemy who got away. If Caesar recognizes me, we lose our chance to get Clark out of Rome alive."
***************
Clark slowly and painfully slipped back into consciousness. His head throbbed. His stomach roiled and he felt like throwing up. He tried to open his eyes, but it was too much, too soon. Instead, he settled on leaving his eyes shut, reaching out with his other senses. The unmistakable stench of horses and unwashed, sweaty bodies surrounded him. He knew that he was laying over the back of one of the horses. The beast was moving at a swift gallop beneath him. His head and feet dangled over the horse's flanks. Clark gently tried to move his hands and feet, moving as slowly and discreetly as he could. He didn't want to attract attention to the fact that he was awake.
His hands and feet were bound. He guessed that he must have been tied to the horse as well. Surely he would have slipped from the horse's back if he wasn't secured to the animal. Around him, he could hear the thundering of hooves and the raucous laughter of the men who had captured him. They shouted merrily to each other. Clark caught tattered bits of their conversations. Most were discussing how many women they would buy the affections of once they received payment. One voice was very close by. Clark guessed that he was tied behind one of the men, like a piece of luggage.
He finally cracked one eye open, wincing against a fresh explosion of white hot pain in his head. All he could see was a green blur. He closed his eye again; laying on his stomach as he was, he could see nothing but the ground rushing beneath the horse's hooves. Still, he knew that it had to be late afternoon, by the way the sunlight hit the grass and the long shadows that he'd glimpsed. He slipped back into an uneasy sleep.
Hours later, he was callously thrown to the hard ground. His shoulder connected painfully with a half-buried tree root. His eyes flew open as a grunt of pain escaped from his lips. The man who had tossed him to the ground laughed and tied him to a stunted tree, the way he would have tethered a horse. Clark's hands and feet remained bound. Another man, with a scar running diagonally across his face, threw a few strips of dried meat at Clark. They landed on the grass before him, and he was forced to brush dirt from the food before he could eat. A little while later, the same man threw a nearly empty water skin at him. Clark drank slowly, savoring the warm liquid as it eased his parched and aching throat.
The sound of more horses approaching perked up Clark's ears. Within minutes, a new group of thugs burst through the trees and undergrowth. A few of the horses had bodies slung over their backs. The leaders of each group greeted each other as the horses were relieved of their burdens.
"You've done well, Minos," said the leader of the thugs who'd captured Clark.
"Only one, Spartos?" replied the man in question, gesturing towards Clark. "You're losing your touch."
Spartos shrugged. "I was ordered by the gods themselves to take this one."
Minos laughed harshly. "Nice try, big brother."
"It's true," Spartos pressed. "A god appeared in our camp and instructed me to take this one to the traders."
A god? Clark wondered. Could he mean Tempus? Or did some ancient god take offense to our being thrust into this universe? No, it has to be Tempus. He's got something planned for Lois and myself. I just wish I knew what it was. I wonder who these traders are that Spartos mentioned.
"And which god was it? Strife? Ares?" Minos's voice was dripping with disbelief.
Spartos shook his head. "He didn't say his name. But he killed Talos by shooting fire from his hands."
Fire from his hands? A gun! That has to be Tempus! Clark nearly spat at the thought.
All around Clark, the men settled down for the night after unloading their horses. Clark could see bedrolls being spread around the meager fires. He took the opportunity to look around the camp. Five other men were tied to trees around the perimeter. None were close enough to talk to. He leaned his head back against the sturdy trunk of his own tree and closed his eyes. His head still ached dully, but at least he no longer felt like there was a dagger stabbing at his brain.
Lois, he thought to himself. I don't see her here. Maybe she got away. But what do these men want from me? And how I am going to get out of this one?
He tried to think of a way out of his situation, but the fact was, without his powers, he didn't really think he had a chance. He struggled against his bonds. They were of a sturdy, thick rope and tied tightly with expert knots. He squirmed a little as he tried to break the rope, but he couldn't do it. He tried rubbing it against a rock on the ground between his legs, but the rope refused to cut and the rock was far too rounded for that purpose anyway. He didn't dare try to undo the rope binding his feet. One of the men was patrolling the small camp, passing by him every few minutes. Clark decided to bide his time and look for a better opportunity to escape. He closed his eyes once more and fell into a troubled sleep.
He felt as if he'd barely just closed his eyes when the men broke camp. The world was dark and grey in the early predawn hours. Clark imagined that they couldn't have stopped for more than four or five hours. But the thugs who had captured him seemed not to feel any weariness. Clark was untied from the tree and slung roughly over the back of a horse, as he'd been before. He tried to sleep again, but sleep remained elusive this time. All he could think about was what his fate would be and what had happened to Lois. He prayed that she was safe with Xena. But what if she was hurt? Dread weighed heavily on his heart. He wondered, too, where Tempus was. Was he still hanging around waiting to see whatever was going to happen next? Or had he simply abandoned them in this time and place, as H.G. Wells had abandoned Tempus in Smallville 1866 on their first time traveling adventure?
Morning finally dawned, hot and clear. The band of thugs rested for an hour or two in the midmorning, stopping close to a stream to water the horses. Clark was let off of the horse for a short time. He found himself close enough to one of the other captives this time. Keeping his eyes on the thugs, Spartos in particular, Clark whispered to the other man, if man was the right word. The kid barely looked eighteen, but was well built. Clark wondered what sort of life the boy had been living before he was captured.
"Hey," Clark whispered.
The kid turned a nervous eye in Clark's direction.
"W-what do you want?"
"What's your name?" Clark thought it best to try and gain the boy's trust before going for the hard questions.
"Ren," the boy replied.
"Ren," Clark said, trying out the name. "I'm Clark." He was forced to stop as a couple of the thugs walked by. When they were gone again, Clark continued, speaking softly and moving his lips as little as possible. "Where are you from?"
"Antiquitus," the boy said nervously. "It's a little village, just north of where Cirra used to be. I was a blacksmith's apprentice."
Clark managed a small smile for Ren. "I can see that."
"They captured me when I went to spend the day with my betrothed," Ren said sadly. "We were going to have a picnic in the hills just outside of the village. I hope Daphne is all right. We were to be married this fall, right after the harvest." A tear formed in Ren's eye.
"Do you know what these men want with us?" Clark asked gently.
Ren nodded. "I overheard Minos talking. We're being taken to Rome to be sold as gladiators."
"Fantastic," Clark dryly muttered to himself. "Makes sense with Tempus' lust for violence." To Ren, he simply said, "Gladiators huh?"
Ren nodded again. "They expect to sell us to the gladiator owners. There is a lot of money to be made in fighting men in the arenas. So I've heard." His voice was resigned to his fate and tainted with fear and despair.
"We'll find a way out of this," Clark vowed.
In his heart though, he wasn't quite sure that he was telling the truth.
Still, with Lois remaining free, he could imagine her on his trail. And when Lois wanted something, she was sure to find a way to get it and destroy any obstacles that stood in her path. Bulldozers had nothing on Lois when she was on a mission. It gave Clark some hope yet. But, did he really want her to risk her life for him? These weren't ordinary thugs like she'd faced in Metropolis, the times that she'd saved his life before. These men were far more dangerous, far more deadly. These men possessed a violence that the villains in Metropolis could only dream about. Stubbornly, Clark pushed the thought from his mind.
Both men went silent again as a couple of the thugs approached. Once again, they were bundled onto the backs of the horses. The thugs mounted up and the animals sprang away. Clark let his mind wander as he was borne ever further from Lois, but always his mind wandered to her. Was she on his trail? Did she know what Spartos had planned for him? If she did follow him, would she be able to free him? Could he free himself? If he did, how was he ever going to find Lois in this unfamiliar country?
Another two days passed in the same manner. At night, the group rested for a few short hours to eat and sleep. Clark and the others were kept bound and tied to trees. They were always guarded. Before dawn, the men would tie their captives back onto the horses. Twice during the day, they would rest for an hour, but never more than two. The thugs would eat and rest their horses. Clark and the others were given food only when they stopped to camp at night.
It was nothing short of one, long, continuous nightmare for Clark. Never before had he faced such fear, not even when he'd been locked in a Kryptonite cage in Lex Luthor's wine cellar. At least then, he'd been sure that Lois was safe, even though he'd dreaded the fact that she was about to marry Luthor.
By the end of those two days, his nerves were shot. All he could do was to worry about his fate and Lois'. He did not have any further chances to speak with Ren, or any of the other captives, for that matter. Whenever he was not being watched, he tried to break his bonds and plan his escape, but he remained unsuccessful.
Late at night, they passed into a large city. Kratos, Clark heard one of the men call it. They were brought straight through the city to the docks. There, Minos and Spartos argued with a couple of sailors. Clark and the other men were taken off the horses. Each man had an armed thug guarding him, with a weapon in hand. One of the sailors rushed off and came back with a thin, mean looking man with an eye patch over his right eye. Clark strained his hearing to listen.
"Captain Daimos," Minos greeted the man.
"Minos. Spartos." The captain of the ship acknowledged them. "Back again so soon?" He laughed - a high, wheezing sound that ended with a phlegm-filled cough. "I take it that you want the usual passage?"
"Aye, to Rome and back again."
Daimos eyed the six captives for a long moment. Then he nodded. "We sail at first light."
"No," Spartos said. "We leave now. Our orders come from the gods themselves."
Daimos considered and nodded. "It'll cost you extra." Then, raising his voice, he added, "load the prisoners and make ready to set sail!"
Around him, barefooted sailors rushed to their posts. A few approached the captives and prodded them along the docks, up the gangplank, onto the ship, and into a room below decks. Half of the room contained a large metal cell. Their rope bindings were taken off and replaced with sturdy manacles and chains that ran down to heavy metal rings embedded into the floor. There was nothing in the cell except for a warped wooden bucket that would serve as their chamber pot. There was no bench, only the hard wooden floor. Clark and the others stood, chained in place, as the door was locked. They were left alone, for the time being.
Clark sighed and sat. Ren, chained beside him, did the same. Clark carefully tested each link in his chain, as well as the metal ring in the floor. Speaking in barely a whisper, he had the others test theirs. The chains, though covered in a fine layer of rust, were still as strong the day they'd been forged. Again, Clark wished despairingly for even a tenth of his former strength. He would have been able to snap the metal like dry twigs. He clenched his jaw in frustration.
He leaned his head back against the wall and tried to listen to the sounds coming from the ship's deck. He could just hear the thumping of heavy boots as they crossed the deck above them. He frowned. There were only a few booted feet on deck. He thought for sure that Minos and Spartos would be on the ship. And Daimos had been wearing boots. Perhaps the rest of the thugs were being left behind?
After a time, he heard the creaking of the ship as it began to move. The vessel gently swayed back and forth as the sailors took their positions behind massive oars. Clark could imagine it all in his mind. He'd watched enough movies to picture the long rows of men pushing and pulling at the oars as the ship set out to sea. From his position to the side of a small barred window, he could just barely hear the singing of the men as the oars splashed violently in the waves. It sounded like a song of praise to Poseidon.
His hopes of escape died in his heart. True, Lois was still free, but what chance did she really have now of finding him?
He didn't have time to ponder it. Minos unlocked the cell door, threw in a tray of food and water, and relocked the door before striding from the room. The famished men grabbed for whatever they could. Clark felt lucky to grab a loaf of stale bread, an apple, and a skin of water. He ate quickly, his hunger getting the best of him. He wondered idly about his hunger. Did the lack of his powers mean that the sun no longer recharged him, forcing his body to require food for fuel instead? Surely the sunlight was no longer healing his wounds. It wasn't the first time that he'd experienced the phenomenon, but never before had he experienced such a ravenous hunger.
He learned a little bit about the men who shared his fate. Two of the men, thin, mean looking fellows with beady, rat-like eyes had been mercenaries. They'd been taken unaware late one night as they had slept. They had fought back, killing four of Minos' men before they were overpowered. One brawny man had been a retired veteran from Troy. He bragged about having fought side-by-side with Achilles himself. He boasted that he would kill any gladiator that he might face in the arena. The last man had been a simple farmer. His wife and son had died in childbirth. Without them to return home to, the man seemed resigned and indifferent to the possibility of death in the arena.
Days and nights melded into one. Only the meager shafts of light coming through the tiny window marked the separation of time. Clark thought they must have been traveling for a week, maybe more. He was growing thinner by the day on the paltry food rations, his Kryptonian metabolism burning off far more calories than he was taking in. Still, he took only enough food to survive on, opting, instead, to let the other men eat. A beard had sprung up on his cheeks and chin and his unwashed body itched.
It was funny, in a way, he mused darkly to himself. When he was a child, he'd loved movies with gladiators in them. He'd occasionally even played at being gladiators with a couple of his friends; Mark and Brian in particular. He had fond memories of waving branches like swords and having mock battles with those childhood friends. Now he was actually living the life of one and he wanted nothing more than to find a way out of it.
The bumping and jostling of the ship broke Clark from his thoughts. He stood and tried to see what was happening. His angle was bad though, and he could see nothing. He motioned for Ren to stand.
"What's happening?" he whispered to Ren.
The young man strained his neck to peer out of the window.
"I think we're docking," he replied. "Yes, I can see the tops of buildings in the distance. We must have reached Rome."
For twenty long minutes, the sailors carefully maneuvered the ship into its place at the docks. The thumping of feet above them marked the work that the sailors were doing on deck, unloading the wares that the ship had carried. Clark could hear barrels of olives and casks of wine being rolled across the broad deck. At length, Minos and Spartos came to lead Clark and the others out of their cell. Their hands were bound behind their backs and heavy metal collars were fitted around their necks. Each collar was linked to another, forcing the men into a straight line, with Clark at the head of the procession. Clark attempted to fight back, but a blow to his stomach ended his escape attempt almost before it had begun. Spartos yanked on the chain attached to Clark's collar and dragged him and the others from the ship.
Once off the ship, the captives were paraded through the densely packed streets of Rome until they came within a block or two of the Coliseum. Clark and the others were led into a wide, airy building. Sunlight streamed in through a dozen open windows. Men stood around, watching as slaves and gladiators were sold on the raised dais at the back of the room. Most of the onlookers were sipping wine from goblets. A few were smoking pipes, their heads wreathed in smoke. All of the men were leering at the young redhead on the dais as the auctioneer took their bids.
Minos strode ahead of Spartos and the captives. Clark saw him speaking into the ear of a giant wall of a man. The man nodded and gestured. Minos waved Spartos over to a back room. Clark and the others were towed along. Once they reached the back room, each man was unchained from the line and brought to the dais, starting with the last man in the line.
All too soon, it was Clark's turn. He was to be the last sale of the day. Spartos dragged him on stage by the chain and collar around his neck. Clark fixed his eyes on the gathered buyers with a hard stare. Proudly, he kept his chin up. Clark barely heard what the auctioneer was saying about him; he was too busy assessing the crowd before him. Most of the buyers were richly dressed men, though a few wealthy women were in the crowd. Servants and slaves attended to their masters, eyes downcast. Some of the buyers had new acquisitions. Clark saw the collars and leashes that held those men and women until they could be broken and made submissive.
"Let's start the bidding at twenty dinars," the auctioneer stated, showing no signs of the weariness that he must have been feeling from hours at the auction block. Clark's attention snapped abruptly back to the man. "I see twenty...thirty...forty-five...do I hear fifty? Fifty dinars! Going once, twice, sold to Tersius! Enjoy your new gladiator, my friend."
Clark was mildly offended by the low price he had brought in. He'd heard the bids on the others. Each of the mercenaries had gone for well over a hundred dinars. Most of the women, who were being sold as slaves, had also gone for more than Clark had. He shook his head to dispel the thought as he was led off of the stage and handed off to Tersius.
Tersius was a fat, hard faced man dressed in rich robes of navy blue, shot with silver vines along the edges of the fabric. Rings adorned each of his fingers, some with blood red rubies, others with sparkling sapphires, and one with a deep green emerald. Clark disliked the man immediately.
Tersius paid for Clark and handed the chain to his servant. Clark noticed that the man had also bought Ren. For that, Clark was glad. He liked the younger man and intended on protecting him as best he could. With a stiff tug, Clark and Ren were led out of the building and out of town. They arrived at a walled off camp just outside of the city limits. Clark and Ren were brought inside of a stone building, down some steps, and locked in a cell together. Similar cells lined the room, each one holding one or more gladiators. All were heavily muscled, scarred, and violent looking.
Beside Clark, Ren trembled in fear. Clark slid the stoic mask of Superman onto his face as the rest of the men in the room eyed the two new arrivals from their cells. He hoped that the unyielding look convinced the men that he was not to be trifled with. After a long moment, the other captives seemed to lose interest, and Clark turned to Ren, clasping the younger man's shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
"I promise," Clark said, only loudly enough for Ren's ears, "I'll do what I can to protect you."
Ren seemed to relax a little, even managing a weak smile for Clark.
Hours later, food was brought to all of the gladiators. It was at least a little better than the food that Clark had experienced under Spartos' control. A thick venison stew was dished out to the men, along with mugs of cool water. Clark noticed that some of the men received plates of meat and loaves of bread along with their meal.
They must be Tersius' prized fighters, Clark thought, disgustedly.
Sleep came uneasily to Clark that night. He was more afraid now then he had been on the entire strange journey thus far. Tomorrow, he knew, his gladiator training would begin. His stomach was twisted into knots with that knowledge. Clark glanced at Ren. The kid was sound asleep on one of the hard benches, stretched to his full length, snoring lightly.
Clark stood in the darkened cell and looked through the tiny, barred window. The window was high - Clark had to stand on his bench to peer out. The window was placed just above ground level.
His narrow, shared cell overlooked the wide courtyard where he was sure that the training took place. It reminded him a little of a prison yard, only this one swept around in a smooth circle, mimicking the conditions of the Coliseum. A few racks with weapons stood at intervals around the perimeter. In the moonlight, the yard took on a ghostly appearance.
Please hurry, Lois, he pleaded silently.
To Be Continued....
