(theme music playing)
(gasps)
Sura.
When the Romans came
- I thought I'd never see you... - Shh!
I will always be with you.
The gods themselves cannot keep me from your side.
I would kill them all for trying.
(moaning)
(screaming)
Have him taken to the baths,
but first attend to all that fucking hair.
(grunts)
(Spartacus yelling)
(men grunting, yelling)
Dominus.
(Lucretia sighs)
- The pool's dry. - Yes, we need rain.
Money would also see it filled.
We need that too.
How fares your new pet?
- He breathes. - His cost was enough
for us to fill the pool for a month.
- You paid beyond the asking. - I paid his worth, Lucretia.
- Spartacus is a corpse yet walking. - (sighs)
How long before he takes his place in the grave,
- dragging your investment with him? - Not before he serves his purpose.
From the legatus Claudius Glaber.
- His intentions? - Nudging towards my desires.
He comes here.
Two days hence.
Well, the reason for his visit is absent.
In words, but the meaning shines.
- He comes to thank me. - For what?
For paying too much for the Thracian?
Spartacus defied Glaber's attempt at assassination in the arena.
The people demanded freedom...
an embarrassment for the legatus.
I offered an alternative by purchasing him.
At an inflated price.
If Spartacus survives to swear the oath,
the arena will be his tomb as first intended. If not...
Then his passing becomes an early delight for the legatus.
(laughs)
- Desires well nudged. - Mmm.
Ah.
There's yet more stroking needed.
A simple gesture of gratitude from the legatus falls short.
Patronage is the reward we seek...
(grunts) Nothing less.
The legatus as patron...
His coins will fill our pool to overflowing.
We need to prepare a feast...
A small one.
...with wine
and water... lots of water.
Just enough to wet the tongue.
I'll sacrifice a bull to appease the gods in our venture.
Well, perhaps something smaller.
- A ram then. - To the gods.
May they bless us with good fortune.
(both moaning)
- (lock clanks) - (door opens)
(guards laugh)
(lock clanks)
Crixus: Well, lick my hole,
the pigfucker's still alive.
Barca: This is the one,
the Spartacus everyone's been pissing about.
Spartacus? My name is...
No one gives shit to who you were, Thracian.
I give no shit to who he is.
- (gladiators laugh) - What is this place?
The afterlife, friend,
or at least outside its rusted gates.
You are now an honored guest of Batiatus,
master of the greatest ludus in Capua!
(men shout)
Ludus?
A school of training,
where men are forged into gods,
blood their ambrosia,
the arena their mountaintop.
Gladiators.
The truest of brotherhoods!
(men shout)
Barca: Live the next few days,
you and the other recruits
will count yourself among us
and bear our mark.
- (gladiators laugh) - In the mean,
can we fetch you something?
Food? Water?
Maybe some scented oils for your feet?
Water.
(gladiators laughing)
Oh, he's slow this one, isn't he?
Barca: What do you expect from a Thracian?
Smells like fresh shit.
Oh, they all do, except for their women.
They smell like...
(sniffs) Piss and shit.
What are you then?
I'm a Gaul, little man.
The greatest of my kind...
Crixus the Undefeated!
A Gaul?
That explains why you
smell like a woman.
Oh, you tend to your wounds.
Eat. Rest.
When you gain your strength,
we'll revisit that remark.
(men shouting)
Weak. Weak!
A pile of shit. Not a cock among them.
Well, then you should join them, you little cunt.
What is beneath your feet?
Answer!
What is beneath your feet?
Sand.
(gladiators laughing)
Crixus, what is beneath your feet?
Sacred ground, Doctore,
watered with the tears of blood.
Doctore: Your tears, your blood,
your pathetic lives forged into something of worth.
Listen, learn
and perhaps live
as gladiators.
Now attend your master.
Batiatus: You have been blessed,
each and every one of you,
to find yourselves here
at the ludus of Quintus Lentulus Batiatus,
purveyor of the finest gladiators in all of the republic!
(men shout)
Batiatus: Prove yourselves in the hard days to follow.
Prove yourselves more than a common slave,
more than a man.
Fail and die,
either here where you stand
or sold off to the mines;
Succeed and stand proud among my titans!
Men: Batiatus! Batiatus! Batiatus!
A gladiator does not fear death.
He embraces it, caresses it,
- fucks it. - (chuckles)
(coughs)
Each time he enters the arena,
he slips his cock into the mouth of the beast
and prays to thrust home
before the jaw snaps shut.
None of you stray dogs
would last a fleeting moment...
except one.
This sad, battered Thracian
stood against four in the arena,
condemned to die,
given nothing but a sword to wager his life upon.
They came at him...
- (crowd roaring) ...again and again and again.
(grunting)
He defied death, fate,
the gods themselves.
(yelling)
Spartacus! Spartacus!
Gaze at this man, study him
and realize...
- he is nothing... - (gladiators laughing)
- A coward, a deserter from the auxiliary,
his victory in the arena as hollow as his courage.
He fought against the ill-trained men
of Solonius, your master's rival.
Had Spartacus entered the arena with any gladiator here,
his head would've left well in advance of his body.
Doctore: The Thracian disagrees.
A demonstration perhaps?
Crixus! Practice swords.
Prove us wrong, Spartacus.
Pick it up.
Spartacus!
- That is not my name. - (growls)
Your name, your life
is what we decide.
Perhaps the coward requires advantage
to still his trembling knees.
Gladius.
Pick it up!
I can do nothing with this one.
Send him to the mines.
Feeling rested are we?
(Spartacus sighs)
(gladiators laughing)
An attack must be grounded in proper footing.
He attempts to press before regaining balance.
- Crixus! - Crixus!
Allow advantage to your back and you are dead.
(gladiators laugh)
(Spartacus yells, grunting)
(gladiators shouting)
(grunts)
Become entangled with a more powerful opponent,
and you are dead.
(yells)
- (body thuds) - (gladiators laughing)
Doctore: Hurl your sword in the arena
and you are dead again.
(grunts)
Your foolishness has cost a life,
but yours may yet be redeemed.
Two fingers, a sign of surrender.
A plea of mercy to the editor of the games.
Beg for your life, little rabbit.
Bash his skull in.
- Batiatus: Crixus! - (wheezing)
- Dominus. - Continue training.
He tries to kill your best man and yet you let him live.
Glaber visits tomorrow.
His intention toward the Thracian may include blood.
Until his patronage is secured, I intend to keep it warm and flowing.
God, the heat...
enough to boil the tongue from the head.
(men grunting)
(grunting)
(men grunting)
(sniffs)
Eat it.
Shitfucking slaves and criminals, the lot of them.
Are we the better?
You survived your own execution,
twice if you mark the Gaul over there not introducing your brains to the sand.
(laughs)
You are of a difference, Thracian,
above this unfortunate collection.
And you?
Varro.
The worst of the lot...
a free man consigned by his own hand.
Why would a man willingly condemn himself to this?
A small matter of debt grown large.
The repaying of it proves difficult.
If the concern was only to me...
A family?
Wife and child...
a boy.
Two years in the arena and my winnings will keep them fed.
Winnings?
Fight well and you are rewarded with coin,
enough even to balance what I owe, the gods be fortunate.
The gods?
You are a fool.
And in good company, by the judging.
They're the best I could do at the moment.
One or two show promise, but the rest?
My own mother would have them in the arena.
You have no mother. You were belched from the cunt of the underworld.
- That's why I favor you. - Were there no better offerings?
Better? Yes. Within reach of my purse? No.
You stand questioning and complaining instead of setting yourself to the task.
I press to honor you, Batiatus, and this ludus.
Legatus Glaber visits tomorrow,
with him hope of renewed fortunes.
Till then, these men are all the straw afforded.
Bake them to brick or crumble them to the mines.
Your will, my hands.
Ovidius, apologies for the delay.
Accepted if made with coin.
- Huh. - Three months of grain,
the payment standing past due.
- Three is it? - To the day.
The games of the vulcanalia approach. If I could carry the debt until them...
Principal plus 30%.
- 30? - Or settle the debt
- as it stands. - Batiatus: Huh.
Principal plus 30 after the vulcanalia.
The day after.
(grunts)
I could've taken him.
Crixus? Pfft!
Shit would be running down your leg.
I wouldn't have ended up in the dirt, fucked like a dog.
Without training, the Gaul would've bested any of us, Kerza.
Speaking otherwise is bloated air.
Man: I pray not to face Crixus in the final test.
Nothing to worry. You'll never make it that far, cockhole.
All can make it to the test...
and beyond.
- Freedom. - Varro: One day, if you fight well.
Freedom. It's piss without the money to keep it, Varro.
Win the hearts of the crowd in the arena
and you'll be blessed with both.
You fought the gladiators there.
What do you think of our chances?
- You're all gonna die. - (keys jingling)
(lock clacks)
Up!
You will sleep when you prove yourselves men.
- Ah! - Doctore: Keep pace!
It's late.
It is.
Return to your dreams.
In a minute.
- We need better wine. - We need many things.
We'll have them again.
The arrangements are set?
I've taken care of everything.
I cannot fall short tomorrow.
- If I can secure Glaber's patronage... - You will.
How are you certain?
We've done everything we can. It's in the hands of the gods now.
Huh.
Come to bed.
And bring that awful wine.
I beg you...
do not fuck me.
(men panting, grunting)
Halt!
The day's training will begin shortly.
Eat.
(men grunt)
Oh, Jupiter's cock!
And now we train all day?
Still believe every man will live to see the test?
Mostly.
Yet the fool then.
Batiatus paid for these men?
Varro: Very little by the look of them.
Spartacus: The Roman way... lives for coins.
Varro: Some deserving more than others.
I've heard a certain Thracian was quite the price.
Spartacus: I would see the cost rise higher still.
Barca: I recall the hardship of the march when I was a recruit.
You must be mad with hunger.
Fill your bellies.
(gladiators laughing, shout)
Varro: Shit.
Wake me when it's time to die again.
Apologies for the porridge.
Barca finds the jest amusing.
At least he didn't piss in it this time.
It adds an unpleasant bite.
The days will be hard.
Without food...
- more so. - You would give me your bread?
Mine? No.
I move things from here to there,
this hand to that, even from outside these walls.
Whatever your needs, Ashur provides.
I owe no man.
Ah.
I ask nothing in return.
My only concern is your strength and well being in the coming day.
Come to plain words.
Simply stated then.
In addition to other services, I offer odds.
Will this man live? That one die?
How fast? How slow? On what day or hour?
Games to pass the time and the coin.
And how am I fixed?
12 to the one favoring the mines;
higher towards your death.
Crixus stands to lose a sum if you defy the numbering.
I would see it so.
Ah.
Do not think me friend.
(chuckles) The thought is well removed.
(grunts)
How did you manage this?
- By playing the odds. - (door opens)
I fear they're about to worsen.
(grunts)
(lock clanks)
- Glaber. - You'll address me by title of Legatus.
(grunts)
Yet the animal,
the mark of your kind.
- Where is she? - Who?
Oh, that little wife of yours.
- Where?! - Wherever I please!
She has served you no grievance.
No.
None.
But you...
you have grieved me
by stirring the auxiliary into desertion, calling my command into question,
imperiling my standing with the Senate!
And then in the arena
you grieve me again by not knowing when to die!
My life then,
in exchange for hers.
But your life is no longer yours to bargain.
If I wish it ceased, I have but to whisper
and good Batiatus will command it.
Then tongue the words in his ear.
You mistake me, Thracian.
True, I once sought death in repayment for your slights.
But I see the error of that now,
wishing for an end... too quick.
No, my desires have turned to blood,
spilled by the drop over time
until you are drained.
I told you Rome's shadow was vast
and you would yet die under it, sliver by sliver,
to the roar of the crowd.
Oh.
A parting kindness
to bind us.
I took it from her thigh
to preserve the scent...
(sniffs)
Before my men stained it with their own.
(yells) No!
She was a savage amusement.
And when the fight finally left her eyes,
I sold her to an unpleasant Syrian for half a coin.
You see? The Thracian finally learns his place before me...
on his knees.
Your visit with the Thracian was satisfying then?
The man is of no more concern to me.
Ah, none whatsoever. We have prepared a feast in your honor.
- I leave for Rome. - Rome? Now?
Something for your trip then?
You really shouldn't have gone to the trouble, Lucretia.
These common dishes leave my stomach unsettled.
Some wine perhaps while we wait for your husband?
- Sestian? - No, but something of equal taste.
Water then.
The heat and the dust...
will it ever rain again?
We can only pray.
Can't place foot on street in Capua
without hearing someone pleading to the heavens for a sprinkle.
And the gods yet ignore us.
Perhaps we've done something to offend them.
I try to do a little something every day.
So you're the cause, llithyia.
I'd stand a bit away.
Jupiter could hurl a bolt at any moment.
He'd have to choose between targets.
And I thought I was in the presence of a proper Roman woman.
Proper is a word forged by men
who would seek to enslave us with it.
Doctore: Kerza, ground yourself!
- (whip snaps) - (men grunting)
(practice swords clacking)
Have you ever been inside a ludus?
No. I've always wanted to,
but father would never allow it.
- And you obey his commands? - Not all of them.
Or my husband's.
How do you live with the noise and the smell,
surrounded by these... animals?
Yes, they are wild and savage, aren't they?
Something out of a fever dream. Isn't it a worry?
What if they went insane all at once, clamoring for blood?
This ludus has been in my husband's family for generations,
and yet it stands.
And what about your children?
Do you let them play with them?
Mmm. I'm without children.
Oh. Apologies.
- I just thought a woman of your age... - Mmm.
Come. We leave for Rome.
- So soon? - Well, can't we stay awhile?
I want to watch the gladiators.
Another time. Come.
Huh.
(sighs)
Kurza.
Pair with Spartacus.
Yes, Doctore.
Doctore: Recruits, attend!
Show the Thracian what we've learned in his absence.
Form one. Attack!
(both grunting)
Form two. Attack!
- (yells) - (grunts)
Spartacus!
(chokes)
(grunts, yelling)
(sighs)
Well, the gods haven't pissed on me enough for one day?
Legatus fucking Glaber spurns me like a common slave.
But no, let's add shit to the piss. Let's pour it into his mouth.
If word gets out that Batiatus can't control his own men...
- I warned you of their quality. - You warned me of nothing.
You counsel and make promises to the air.
"My hands, your will."
The legatus barely beyond my fucking gates!
- Doctore: The Thracian is unpredictable. - Then school him to our standards.
Rod and lash fall unnoticed. He is an animal best unleashed in the mines.
No. The rest to the gods... they were of little cost...
but Spartacus is more highly valued,
his worth well exceeding their entire sum.
I will have return...
if not from the legatus, then from the man himself.
Even though he is unpredictable?
He is but passionate, and he stirs the same in others.
A boon to the crowds if we can but divine the instrument of his taming.
He struggled to retain this bit of fabric
even as the guards beat him.
It may bring you some service.
I noted this in the hand of the legatus upon his arrival.
(sniffs)
Bring him to my chamber.
I will press to discovery.
Why are you here? In this place?
Under my hospitality? Do you know why?
Because I trusted in the honor of a Roman.
You are here because of my grandfather.
He built this ludus.
He believed that no man was without worth,
that even the most vile among us could rise to honor and glory.
He instilled these beliefs in my father
who in turn passed them on to me.
I am a lanista, like my forefathers...
a trainer of gladiators.
I see things in men that they themselves have lost...
a small spark, an ember.
I give it breath, tinder,
until it ignites in the arena.
I burn for no cause but my own.
And what might that be? Money?
You've cost me enough on that front.
No, not so base a cause for this one.
Position, then? Power?
Love?
You have a woman, Thracian?
- I have a wife. - And do you love her?
Of course you do. I can see it in the eye,
the tensing of the jaw.
What might be the name of this delicate flower?
- Sura. - Where is she?
He took her when he came for me.
Legatus Glaber? He has her?
He sold her to a Syrian.
Well, then how do you know she still lives?
How do you know the heart beats beneath your chest?
Most days I don't.
I'm just a simple Roman,
trying to make his way against the whim of the gods,
the politicians, the miscreants...
though often you can't tell one from the other.
But you...
you are the most dangerous of animals,
a beast born of the heart.
What would you do to hold your wife again?
To feel the warmth of her skin?
To taste her lips? Would you kill?
Whoever stood between us.
How many men? 100? 1,000?
- I would kill them all. - Then do it in the arena.
Fight for me and the honor of my forefathers.
Prove yourself. Climb to the pinnacle. Gain your freedom
and that of the woman you've lost.
I did not lose her.
She was taken from me.
A man must accept his fate
or be destroyed by it.
Why would I place my fate
in the hands of another Roman?
Because of what they hold.
Your wife's?
Pass the final test tonight with honor and servitude,
call me dominus
and I will help to reunite you.
The choice is yours.
- (both grunting) - (men cheering)
Batiatus: Cease!
Varro has stood to a draw.
The test is passed.
(cheering)
(laughs)
Barca. Marcus.
Positions.
(gladiators chanting) Barca. Barca. Barca.
Barca. Barca.
Barca. Barca. Barca.
Barca. Barca.
Barca. Barca. Barca.
- Doctore: Begin. - (yells)
(gladiators laughing)
That's disappointing.
Not every venture ends in climax.
A fact known well to every woman.
(silence)
Crixus.
Spartacus.
Positions.
(gladiators chanting) Crixus. Crixus. Crixus.
Crixus. Crixus.
Crixus. Crixus. Crixus.
Crixus. Crixus.
Crixus. Crixus. Crixus.
One final lesson before I send you to the afterlife.
- Begin. - (exhales sharply)
Fuck.
Expensive and worthless, all in a measure.
- (sighs) - Fight, you Thracian bitch.
Tears?
- The rabbit is fixed to piss himself. - (gladiators laughing)
(Crixus yells)
Skin the rabbit! (laughs)
(yells)
- (gladiators cheering) - (chokes)
(grunts)
Finish him!
Thracians.
- (yells) - (grunts)
(panting)
The lesson is well learned.
Batiatus: Spartacus!
Cease!
You have passed the test.
Dominus.
Batiatus: Your life now promises meaning.
Swear it to me.
Recite the sacramentum gladiatorum.
Spartacus: I commit my flesh,
my mind, my will
- to the glory of this ludus... - Mmm.
...and the commands of my master, Batiatus.
I swear to be burned, chained,
beaten or die by the sword
in pursuit of honor in the arena.
Welcome to the brotherhood.
(theme music playing)