Laughing Wolf by Nicholas Maes

mob kept yelling, and Pompey grinned at this title of acclaim. Imperator , conqueror, the title pleased him greatly. But even as he stood there, vigorous and full of life, Felix couldn’t help but shudder. In contrast to this triumph, the hero would die a lonely death years later, stabbed in the back and swiftly beheaded.…
    â€œIf they’re happy now,” he commented, “just wait until the show begins.”
    â€œI’m sure it will be impressive,” Felix said, suppressing his knowledge of the general’s fate. “But can I remind you of your promise at dinner last night?”
    The general laughed. “That depends on what I promised.”
    â€œYou said you would reward me.”
    â€œI remember,” he nodded, with a serious expression. “What would you like?”
    â€œWe would like to join you when you march south with your troops.”
    â€œYou could ask for gold,” Pompey said. “but prefer to visit a war zone?” He laughed again.
    â€œI have my reasons. Anyway, that is what I wish.”
    Saying he would mull it over, the general chatted with Crassus, who was sitting one seat over. Felix told Carolyn that he had asked Pompey his favour.
    â€œGood. This place is maddening,” she growled. “No one has undergone ERR and the crowd seems unstable and capable of anything.”
    â€œYou’re not used to humans in their natural state.”
    â€œâ€¦ And then there are the temples you keep pointing out, not to mention statues of their so-called gods. These people rule the world and should have faith in their reason; instead they’re hysterical and superstitious.” She shuddered with contempt.
    â€œThat’s because life is uncertain — they could die of disease or war or famine. Their faith in gods allows them to think the world is stable and their lives are worth living.”
    â€œBut it’s so … ridiculous. I’ll bet these people rob for their gods, kill for them, and take slaves for them. I haven’t studied history like you, but I know about the wars in the twenty-first century, and how they erupted because of religion.…”
    â€œReligion has been toxic,” Felix agreed. “But at the same time it’s been a crucial stage in our development, introducing us to justice and the sanctity of life. My father often argued that without religion, our species would never have survived its childhood.”
    This mention of his father was like picking at a scab. He might have started brooding on his loss had a trumpet blast not sounded and roused the crowd to their feet. A band of men were entering the circus. They were armed but could not be confused with soldiers. Instead, Felix recognized the stock gladiator types. There was the retiarius , who was armed with a net and a vicious-looking trident; the murmillo , with his crested helmet and a long, straight blade; the hoplomachus , with his shield and massive spear; and the thraex , who carried a sword that was lethally curved at its tip.
    â€œWhat’s all this?” Carolyn asked.
    â€œYou won’t want to watch,” Felix warned her.
    â€œWhy? The crowd seems very excited.”
    At the sound of yet another trumpet call, the gladiators marched to one side, leaving two men behind to fight each other, a murmillo and a hoplomachus . The latter looked young, maybe twenty years old, and was lean and wiry; his opponent was older — his hair was grey — yet was muscular and vastly experienced (or so his many scars suggested). The pair faced Pompey, their arms upraised in a salute. Together they chanted, “Ave Imperator, morituri te salutamus” (“Hail general, we about to die salute you”). Pompey nodded and signalled them to begin.
    The pair drew apart, crouched low and circled each other, like two dogs warring over a cut of meat. The hoplomachus feinted with his spear, then lunged at his opponent, who blocked him