madnovel Chapter 0.3
Chapter 0.3
chapter 0.3
days passed. it was amusing, the places you crossed paths with someone.
at dawn, ducking into the kitchens for a morsel and encountering a surly roman applying altogether too much force to the bread dough he was kneading, to the dismay of the slave girl trying to teach him. glancing into an open bedroom on the way to the courtyard to see him fitting a sheet over a featherbed with meticulous precision. paying the youngest of the initiates a visit during their leisure hours, and finding them gleefully playing one of his legion dice games.
and here he was again, attending in the rosy dawn’s gymnasium while mystikos of varying ages trained their bodies and minds under the gymnasiarch’s watchful eyes. sol, for his part, stared sightlessly ahead. cloth towels were draped over one of his arms, and a jug of olive oil was cradled in the other.
his disgust with the situation was plainly apparent as i approached.
“be honored, sol,” i told him, shucking my tunic and tossing it over his shoulder. his upper lip twitched. “it isn’t every day a barbarian lays eyes on our divine cultivation in motion.”
“where is it?” he asked tonelessly. “all i see is bare ass.”
“lust is a sin,” i chided him. he sneered fully. “turn your eyes to the palaestra and try to control your urges, you just might learn something. ah, first though.” i spread my arms wide, nodding to the jug.
he didn’t hesitate. “never.”
“the young aristocrat demands it.”
“allow this one to assist the young aristocrat!” a man in slave garb interjected. sol’s teeth clicked together, though i could guess as to the words that had almost left his mouth. the older slave’s frantic movement and tightly controlled terror as he rubbed me down with olive oil spoke volumes. he’d known it too.
“next time,” i said, amused, and left him to his work.
to reach the palaestra, the marbled octagon where pankration was practiced and refined, one first had to pass through the central plaza where young men gathered to socialize and trade discourse. mystikos called out cheerfully to me as i passed, some attempting to coax me over to talk or participate in whatever gymnastics they happened to be practicing. most knew better, though. i accepted friendly slaps on the shoulder and exchanged greetings with initiates as i passed, but my sights were set.
i stepped onto the raised octagon and rolled my shoulders, surveying the current match.
no, that wouldn’t do at all.
“cease!” the two initiates froze. they were each younger than me, but not by much. they’d been locked in the ground game when i spoke, the larger of the two struggling to submit his opponent with a leg wrapped around his neck and an arm pinned to his side.
“old perdix takes time out of his day to watch you two roll, and this is what you give him?” i waved a hand and they hurriedly disengaged from one another, taking a knee in front of me. each of them heaved for breath, sweat mingling with oil on their bodies as they awaited judgement. i supposed i couldn’t fault their effort. their form, though? hells.
old perdix watched on in amusement just outside the octagon. he was one of the cult’s elder philosophers, a respected cultivator of advanced rank as well as the cult’s gymnasiarch. the daily physical and mental training of the cult’s young men was his responsibility, and within the gymnasium’s walls his word was second only to my father’s. i waited until he inclined his head, and then i went to work on the initiates.
“aktis and sinon, correct?” the two nodded silently. “the palaestra is for pankration. if you’ve come here to rub up against one another like needy whores, the baths are over there.” i hooked a thumb to the pools in question on the opposite side of the plaza, where a dozen mystikos were currently playing a ball game.
“we’re here to fight!” the smaller of the two insisted. his partner nodded firmly.
“so you say. but are you here to learn?”
their eyes lit up.
cultivation.
it is said that there are as many paths to cultivating virtue as there are ways to climb olympus mons. every path, followed with a clear mind and a virtuous heart, leads to the same place - the peak of the divine mountain, where men become gods and the fates weave their threads. it is a simple progression. of course, the climb is rarely straightforward.
there are four cardinal realms, each standing on the shoulders of those preceding it.
at the very base of olympus mons is the civic realm, where the vast majority of mediterranean citizens live their lives. while ascension to the civic realm is a requirement for citizenship in every city-state, it is not a particularly difficult bar to clear - provided you are a free man, and not a slave. ascending past that, however, is a different story.
“i am not carrying a sword,” i pointed out. however, instead of procuring another one as i’d expected, he only smiled brightly.
“that is fortunate. i was hoping to practice against an unarmed opponent.”
aktis and sinon stared at him, aghast, and they weren’t alone. the palaestra naturally drew spectators within the gymnasium, especially when i was in the octagon. dozens of initiates had already been watching my impromptu instruction of my juniors. now they were waving over others in the plaza, hurriedly spreading the word.
“excuse me?” i said quietly.
“it’s common knowledge that the young aristocrat reigns supreme in the octagon,” castor said deferentially. “and in your own words, pankration is the pinnacle of martial combat. is that not so?”
“it is.”
“then there should be no danger for you to humor this junior initiate in his attempts to broaden his understanding of the sword. is that not so?” castor looked to the gymnasiarch, who up until this point had pointedly not said a word. the old philosopher leaned against the side of the marble octagon, considering us both for a moment.
“if the young aristocrat deigns to accept, i will moderate,” he eventually said.
ah, now i understood. i was being called out.
i hated politics.
through the press of the growing crowd of spectators, i spotted a flash of white cloth. a clothed figure in a sea of naked bodies. sol remained in the same place i had found him upon entering, but he was no longer staring dully at the far columns of the gymnasium. his head was turned, looking to the crowd.
looking at me.
“come then,” i said. aktis and sinon scrambled off the octagon while castor ascended, an eager smile on his face.
“i thank you, senior brother.”
i scoffed. “take notes.”
castor’s pneuma roared like a flame, and in an instant he was beside me. his sword lashed for my throat.
i rolled my shoulders, waving off hollers and cheers as i crossed the plaza and grabbed myself a towel. it was poor form to enter the baths while covered in blood.
“you’ll want to head over there once the crowd has thinned,” i informed the slave. “i made a mess.”
sol hummed thoughtfully. “he wasn’t very good.”
“few are,” i agreed, scrubbing the oil and sweat from my hair.
“i’d have beaten him in chains.”
a laugh burst from my lips against my will. i raised my hands to heaven, stretching and relishing in my victory, and only laughed harder when i saw castor staggering out of the gymnasium with the assistance of two other mystikos.
“ah, that felt good,” i said, feeling light with mirth. “i’m ready for a bath. care to join me?”
“no.”
unfortunate, then, that he was standing where he was.
i kicked him into the pools and dove in after.