Spartacus: House of Ashur

- -

Doctore!

Korris yet lives, though grievously fucking injured.

Proculus moves against us?

The villain Fides is known to be his man upon occasion.

What of your task?

I broke words and wine with Opiter

and gained his confidence.

I would see my men in deserved position in the impending games.

Elevating the Syrian at my own expense?

What of dispatches from Rome? Any been received?

No, Dominus.

Viridia.

It swells heart to see you stir from chambers.

The Syrian.

Should the gods favor you towards the arena,

you shall face three-

the Brothers Ferox,

vicious half-men.

Dominus has tainted it by positioning woman

towards the arena.

Seize fate as champion of this fucking house.

[rapid percussive music, vocalizing]

Brothers Ferox may be twisted in form,

yet stand fierce opponent

capable of sending any man...

or woman

into the afterlife.

[steady, pulsating music continues]

Send the cunt to grass and be done with it.

Note distraction.

Pulling attention and blessing Satyrus with open attack.

Good. Good.

Now press advantage.

You assume proper place

for weakened animal.

[Achillia coughs, breathes heavily]

Ah.

Is it intent to lay in repose all morning

or prove worthy of the mark of Brotherhood you now bear

and rise to fucking occasion?

Dominus, a message arrives.

From Crassus.

Aha.

'Prepare for honored arrival.'

That is the sum of it?

It stands all received.

When?

When will Crassus bless us with fucking presence?

We do not know.

Question was not posed expecting fucking reply.

See floor polished to reflection.

Fill pool with water, fresh and clear.

Messia will attend to menial duties.

Go.

We must present finest wines and exotic meats.

Have meal prepared to move the gods themselves to salivation.

- For this day? - Every fucking day

until Crassus materializes or coffer runs fucking dry.

We cannot bear such expense beyond week's end.

You break words towards any beyond fucking calamity?

Apologies.

Sentiment deserved to be broken from my tongue alone.

Fuck Jupiter's face!

We stand ill-timed for Crassus,

absent position in approaching games.

How do labors progress in such regard?

Vexing at fucking best.

Gabinius stands maker of decision,

yet his bitch Cossutia growls and froths

like Cerberus at the gate, denying entry.

What of Opiter?

Korris lays infirm,

unable to ply the man with honey word towards cause.

Even if so swayed,

I fear Cossutia will hold fast in hateful resolution.

A concern well shared.

Yet something fucking must move the woman.

Your man possesses admirable talent

beyond sands of the arena.

His enthusiasm but rises to the occasion of your beauty.

- - More wine?

I would...

pause...

a moment.

Ah!

Gratitude!

- Leave us. -

How I wish aged husband possessed such artful tongue.

- Beyond oration in the Senate. -

- How fares good Gabinius? - Oh, I would hardly know.

His gaze is forever towards Rome

and growing tensions between Pompey and Crassus.

A grievous concern, that of civil war.

Yet Cilician threat

to ports and goods more pressing.

We stand well removed from waters of the Tyrrhenian

and fucking plunderers upon its waves.

And yet bodies have been found in our very streets,

perhaps fallen to Cilician blades.

Bodies?

Six, discovered in wake of storm.

Among them

the brute Fides,

an unpleasant specimen favored by Proculus.

Throat slit as gutted fish.

I did not know the man.

Perhaps he fell to misadventure of his own construction.

It stands deepest mystery

why I yet wear this,

yesterday's fashion extended beyond use or consideration.

Sackcloth is elevated to silk upon frames such as yours.

Sackcloth shall be a blessing before long.

It stands impossible challenge to obtain new fabric

with those Cilician shits preying upon our merchant ships.

Word upon breeze has caressed ear

of the finest Egyptian linens

arriving tomorrow at gates' close,

to be received by the trader, Spurius.

Egyptian?

- Are you certain? - As sun breaking dawn each day.

Gratitude for timely consideration.

Are we not friends?

One I would see mountains reformed

towards shared interests.

I would not ask such Herculean effort.

Mmm.

Yet...there is one favor I would humbly entreat.

Oh, give it voice and see it well received.

Thoughts turn towards games of Ludi Apollinares

noble husband presents.

Place mind at ease.

Your men shall hold position in them.

Honored, as always.

Yet I broach subject not for myself but...

for the House of Ashur.

You petition for the fucking Syrian?

By tenuous association only.

I speak toward worthy figure of his Doctore, Korris,

deserving of the presentation of his labors.

What stand you to gain from...

unsavory request?

A man indebted by gracious act

pays future dividends when called upon.

You have always possessed

delicate sensibilities of foresight.

Yet I fear

this may have been...

rare miscalculation.

In what regard?

Rumor vibrates that the Syrian's man

has suffered grievous injury.

- Injury? - Mm.

Does he yet live?

Fuck the gods!

Ah.

We at last come to common ground upon subject.

How does he fare?

Do you not see me fucking rise before you?

With spirits inflamed, although weak of flesh.

I yet draw breath.

And the rest shall follow shortly.

News to harden cock.

As what I break shall in return.

Crassus sends word of impending arrival.

Crassus?

- Upon what hour? - Enigma yet to be revealed.

It weighs thought,

where he will stand towards house conspiring

to present a woman in the arena.

As long as it heralds adulation from the crowd

and coin in fucking palm, Crassus shall stand delighted.

We will then turn favorable humor towards advantage

and press the man to commit effort into rebuilding the arena

destroyed by Spartacus and his mongrels.

Assuming we gain position in the arena.

When we gain position.

You fucking goat.

Come. You stand in need of food and wine...

and cleansing waters

to remove stench of narrowly averted death.

I have stationed men upon ridge to give signal

when procession comes to view.

When sounded, I would have you fall to my side-

Dominus.

We have received unannounced guest.