All language subtitles for YQ09s8OKspartacus

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Sundered hand must be removed
before infection sets.

You would see
my champion crippled.

Tarchon shall stand as champion

until such day Achillia
returns to form.

Let us witness
evidence of the divine.

Offering falls short.

She was in error.

Your boasts proved true,
in all regards.

Cornelia, she conspires

to see my only child
bonded to Quintus Thermus.

I would plea... against it.

Are we not friends?

Ah! Gratitude!

Turn from cold,
uncaring arms

in favor... of loving embrace.

My villa and ludus

and all men contained within

in exchange for but one
of yours.

The man takes flight,

his holdings falling
to deserving... hands.

Opiter?

Aargh!

No, no, no!

No!

Cilicians.

We must go, quickly.

Let's go!

Aargh!

He has barely taken
food in seven days.

Yet appetite for drink threatens
to drain pantry of wine.

Loss of heart's desire
inflicts deepest wound.

Is there nothing
to be done for him?

Time...

stands only remedy.

Then may it swiftly pass.

See wine tempered with water

in hope of dousing
inflamed passions.

And deny entry to villa, lest
he cause unwanted disturbance.

I will see it so.

There is one more thing
I would ask of you.

Opiter's holdings
are to fall to auction.

Do they not spill to you,
as promised?

Agreement was not enshrined
in wax nor parchment

prior to Opiter's passing.

Come.

I would have you gauge coin
towards purchase.

Cilician shits!

A fucking blight

upon republic!

Heart shatters at thought
of final moments.

Opiter did not
deserve such fate.

You were right.

- Towards?
- This world

holding nothing

but shadow.

For there to be shadow,
there must also be light.

Realization formed
by words of loving mother.

He was my friend.

Oh, you must compose yourself.

You wail and gnash teeth

as if the man were cut
from your own flesh.

Would that they had taken arm

or fucking leg!

Gladly given

to have him yet among us.

I know the worth
he held towards you

and services provided.

Apologies.

I do not glean...

meaning.

Let it pass from thought,

carrying with it
weight of such grief.

It would hasten climb

from depths of sorrow

to see Opiter
deservedly honored.

In what manner?

Funeral games

presented by this house.

Warmest gesture.

To hold remembrance of him
in the arena

where he once presented
spectacle to all of Capua.

We must fix intent upon
mounting Cilician threat

in advance of
additional lives claimed.

- Father--
- He stood a lanista.

A senator cannot be seen

publicly honoring a man
of such low station.

Your own image

is all that consumes you.

One of us must make attempt.

Is there nothing you can do,

striking balance between
limits of title

and compassion towards
wife and mother?

Games are removed from question.

Yet Opiter's holdings

fall to auction,

in absence of family
to claim them.

I could preside over event,

breaking measured words of
praise towards his memory.

Gratitude.

It would lend much comfort.

It lifts spirits
to see you rise again.

- I'm too stubborn to die.
- Mm.

On that we are in agreement.

The name Achillia falls
from every tongue

in Capua,

clamoring for your
return to the arena.

May the gods marshal patience,
for the wait fucking continues.

But increases anticipation.

Thoughts have
turned towards you,

in days confined to recovery.

I admit, thoughts of you
lend distraction.

A feast for the senses.

I have been called
many things, yet never that.

No, your words broken
towards the arena.

It stood just as
you had described.

There are few things
more intoxicating.

And I would drink my fill.

Yet the champion,

would begin day's training.

Rest.

Attend your recovery.

Tarchon assumes mantle

until such time you
are able to reclaim it.

You stand his better
in every regard.

Why was title not bestowed
upon more worthy name?

Because I no longer
stand a gladiator.

- Dominus strips you of honor?
- Oh, no. He but elevate it...

to position of doctore.

Doctore?

What of Korris?

Departed from this house,

only to return haunted
by phantom of slain lover,

grief twisting
thought and purpose

beyond concerns of ludus.

Much has changed
in brief absence.

Some things have
remained constant.

I have been too long upon back.

Let us to training
for the moment,

in promise of future glories.

Doctore.

Achillia!

Achillia!

Dacus!

Swords.

Hen returns,
and with broken wing.

She shall find cock
crowing in her place.

May the gods bless your return.

And stay from fucking path
if they do not.

Achillia.

Pair with Salvius.

I would train with
exalted champion, doctore.

A thing equally desired.

Then fall to fucking position.

Begin!

The Nubian,

has learned much within
her short time at this house.

Lessons I stand eager to impart.

Perhaps former champion
requires a moment

to gather herself, doctore.

Yah!

You tend to your hand,

and return to training
when you are able.

As you command,

Doctore.

Father, I would break
much-needed words.

And use
of fucking hand?

But it proves a concern.

Perhaps more days
tended by medicus.

The city clamors to lay eyes
upon the Goddess of Death,

yet their interests shift
as fucking wind!

Days must become hours if we
are to harvest victory's fruit

in advance of fucking rival

presenting imitations
upon the sands.

How fares Korris?

His wisdom towards returning
Achillia to the arena

would be of great benefit.

His thoughts are his own
until shared.

You remain doctore.

Return to your duties and
see Achillia rise once more

to exalted position.

Or all within this house shall
tumble with her towards abyss.

Apologies, Dominus. I would...
I would petition towards favor.

And what does newborn
doctore seek to wrest

from generous fucking master?

For myself, nothing.

Yet son stands champion
in Achillia's absence

and beseeches request
reflective of title.

Break words

and see considerations met.

If coin

presents no...

burden.

How do accounts stand?

Towards villa and ludus, adequate.

And towards purchase
of Opiter's holdings?

- Purse falls short of ambition.
- By what degree?

If we reduce the men
to half rations

- and cease purchasing of wine,
- Mm-hm.

we are able to offer
5000 denarii.

Barely.

Even a house as lowly
as Opiter's

will command many times such
amount for the land alone.

Then I fear holdings
remain beyond grasp,

absent intervention
from the gods themselves.

Perhaps there is one less
close to the heavens

who may be of assistance.

Gratitude.

Domina.

Cornelia.

I would break words.

In private.

- Leave us.
- Domina.

You seem of a fucking mood.

Apologies.

Recent events weigh heavy
upon thoughts.

See worries lifted by
daughters of the field.

The finest opium from Cyprus.

Provided as tribute by Pompey

upon meeting loving husband
in Sinuessa en Valle.

I do not partake.

It addles the senses,

clouding vision with
apparitions of the mind.

More for those of an
appreciative nature, then.

Opiter's holding
to fall to auction

in wake of untimely demise.

Who?

The lanista who shared
the pulvinus with us

at the games of
the Ludi Apollinares.

Oh, yes. A pity.

Yet not unexpected for
a man of his profession.

His passing was severest
blow to my doctore,

who held feelings
towards the man.

And this concerns me how?

Opiter was to leave Capua
for warmer climes of Sicilia

and wished to see Korris
fall by his side.

I agreed to release him
from his duties as doctore

in exchange for Opiter's
holdings within the city.

Unfortunately,
deal was not concluded

in advance of Opiter's death
at the hands of the Cilicians.

Perhaps the same one who
descended upon Cossutia

and noble daughter
in advance of your arrival.

Speak plainly, so we may come
to fucking understanding.

Plainly, then.

Your noble husband orchestrated
attack on Viridia and Cossutia,

disguising his men
as Cilician cutthroats.

And now good Opiter succumbs

to similar fate.

You suspect his hand in this.

Or one more delicate,
in Caesar's absence.

Loss of Opiter is a thing
of no matter.

Yet that of his holding afflicts
more grievous injury.

I will see coffers balanced
towards purchase

of what should have
freely been given.

You seek redress upon
erroneous assumption.

You claim no knowledge
of the deed?

I but bestow veracity
upon the ignorant.

Ha!

Your machinations
hold little interest

within sphere of your betters.

Perhaps look towards
one of lower breeding

as cause of current distress.

No one knew of my agreement
with Opiter beyond Korris

and the man himself.

Tongue seizes within mouth.

Thing to be nurtured.

I have broached
accusation absent...

proper consideration.

- Apologies.
- None required.

I so enjoy our little talks.

You resumed training absent
consideration of counsel.

Did you instruct son
towards victory against me?

He did not require such
to see you so easily dispatched.

You hold such
little faith in me?

I hold more faith in you
than in Jupiter himself.

This.

This is but obstacle

on your path.

You - you will regain position
one fight upon another.

How is obstacle to be surmounted

if I cannot cling
to fucking sword?

Dimachaerus is but
one style among many.

We shall find you a new one,

offering opportunity
in place of disadvantage.

I would know your thoughts
upon my form, Doctore.

Hoplomachus favors
one hand towards weapon,

with small shield
strapped to the other,

absent need for heavy grip.

- The spear?
- Yes.

I would consider
retiarius instead.

Trident and net

require fast grip of both hands.

- Thraex, then.
- Sword and medium shield.

Once again, two hands
with the firmest grip.

Hoplomachus stands only path
to overcome present injury.

- I will not take up spear.
- And what is the reason?

My fucking own.

As is cause why you will never
again grace sands of the arena.

Well fought, brother.

Return to training,
you fucking cunts!

Hmm.

Your father's position
as doctore appears secure.

Give way!

I would break words
with honored fucking guest.

You are denied entry.

- By whose command?
- Dominus himself.

So be it.

Open the fucking gate!

Fuck off!

Bastard!

- Open the gate, you bastards!
- Korris!

- Come to fucking sense!
- Get off me, you-

Get off me, you bastards!

Fucking cunt!

You deny entry to fucking villa?

A decision well-founded.

You stand not yourself.

You...

do not know me, Syrian.

Once more, you treat me
like your fucking slaves!

A temporary measure taken in
consideration for well-being.

I need no such consideration.

It is not yours
that lends pause.

Why did you seek
entry to the villa?

To break words
with Caesar's bitch.

Words alone?

Caesar threatened Opiter,

and now the man lies...

dead,

breath stilled by
the same Cilician phantoms

that assaulted Cossutia
and her fucking daughter

that you hold such
obvious affection towards.

Years etched upon visage

outweighs briefest moment
in Opiter's embrace.

I will not see you
fall from this world

seized by fit

of passion.

What care you if I live or die?

We do not stand as friends.

No,

we do not.

Yet I have come to know the
value of your presence and...

would have you tarry
among the living.

You season words with flattery.

In hope it might aid
digesting truth.

Well received.

Yet I would take leave
of this place.

- Where would you go?
- Sinuessa en Valle.

If I'm denied words
with Cornelia,

I'd have some
with that bastard, Caesar.

Caesar's hand in this
has proven...

uncertain.

What leads to such revelation?

My own reflection towards event.

I am but captive audience.

I was moved towards
boastful humors

upon meeting Proculus
in the street

and let slip

Opiter was to release
his holdings

to the house of Ashur.

You fucking--

It was not intent to see
harm befall him.

Do not feign sympathy

for a man that you slighted

at every turn!

You did not

fucking care for him!

In your welfare
I hold the utmost.

Unchain me. Hmm?

Hmm?

Opiter's holdings
are put to auction.

I would have you fall by my side

and together let us unearth
truth about his untimely fate

and only then,

be spurred towards
mutual purpose.

Your will,

my hands.

Have eyes ever beheld
such enticing wonder?

No, Domina.

You are familiar with the
ecstasy that lies within?

I have never been
afforded opportunity

to embrace such pleasures.

Not unsurprising within
the house of the Syrian.

The man does not seek
elevated pleasures,

content as those of his station

to wallow in common pursuits
of wine and fucking.

You are very perceptive, Domina.

Do you believe I require a slave

to impart such wisdom
of observation?

- No, Domina, I only meant-
- Do not look so stricken.

Your presence brightens
otherwise grim surroundings.

I value it.

And the lay of your thoughts-

when so requested.

Gratitude, Domina.

Tell me, how long have you
toiled beneath the Syrian?

Since Crassus granted
him freedom,

blessing him with
villa and ludus.

I fear the richest man
in the republic

overestimates
the worth of his pet.

Sentiment deeply shared.

You do not care for the Syrian?

I serve as commanded.

That is not the question
put to you, is it?

He is a serpent,

venomous of fang
and not to be trusted.

You would speak of your
dominus in such manner?

He stands unworthy of title,

and affections misplaced
by those who serve him.

And what of your domina?

How gauge you her worth?

Beyond measure of words
to describe.

You are a treasure, are you not?

A precious jewel,

exhumed from muck and mire
of unfortunate environ,

to be polished
until made dazzling

to all who gaze
upon such rarity.

It shall be saddest
of days, Domina,

when you depart from Capua.

Perhaps we shall find place
among my possessions

for nearest acquisition.

Apologies.

A word eternally upon lips.

In this moment
one sharply required.

Forever intruded upon.

Prepare bath,

and let us continue conversation
within soothing waters.

Yes, Domina.

Make whatever bleatings
brief in nature,

if such a thing is within
your limited powers.

I approach but to confess

previous accusation
towards Opiter

was perhaps built upon...

unsteady grounds.

- Perhaps?
- A thing I would move beyond,

in consideration of
more pressing concerns.

You vibrate from
one calamity to another.

It stands a wonder
you yet remain whole.

You light upon reason
of my interruption.

Opiter's holding,
which slipped from grasp.

To be put to auction, yes.

You trod well-worn ground
of conversation.

Entertain but few more steps.

Opportunity presents itself
to secure what was lost.

Yet I...

regrettably stand shy
of coin required.

You seek warm embrace
from the house of Caesar?

The rise of my own
would benefit Crassus.

A man we all admire, I suppose.

Yet what benefit would
such expenditure grant Caesar

and deserving wife?

Continued effort towards
desire of matrimony

between Viridia and
your husband's man,

Quintus Thermus.

You judge goal within grasp?

Gabinius appeared...

moved by my counsel

towards the matter.

Surely Caesar will incline
towards generosity,

given such favorable news.

What gauge you worth
of Opiter's holdings?

25,000 denarii-
a balance that may ebb or rise

with egos of challengers
towards goal.

That stands all?

A sum hardly to be noticed.

Ah.

Let us take wine in celebration
of common purpose.

Gratitude.

Although I fear word falls
short of adequate expression.

Yet gratefully accepted.

To future promising mutual gain.

Mood takes hold.

Its grip to strengthen
in coming moments.

You tainted fucking wine?

The Syrian accepts one gift,
yet refuses another?

Ohh...

Dominus?

A vision,

descended from
unworthy heaven.

Come.

You honor me.

I am the one who stands so,

in such glorious,

unexpected presence.

- Dominus.
- No.

I would have my name

upon your lips.

Speak it.

Ashur.

Again.

Ashur.

Shall we fall to bedchambers?

So long a wait an eternity.

I must have you now,

upon this moment.

I would have you look at me
and know that my heart is yours.

Citizens of Capua,

we gather this day
upon solemn occasion.

The Cilician scourge that has
so plagued beloved republic

has yet again cleaved
close to the bone.

Good Opiter,

cherished by many among you
for his offerings in the arena,

has fallen from this life
by their barbaric hands.

Yet we must marshal fortitude
towards coming days.

Absent family to lay claim
to property and holdings,

all that Opiter possessed within
Capua is presented for auction.

Tradition dictates coin
from such

be administered by aedile
as he would see fit.

However, in these

extraordinary days,

extraordinary measures
must be appropriated.

Beyond a...

cursory fee,

all coin shall be reallocated

to strengthen defense

against mounting threat
of Cilician incursion.

Gratitude!

You fall to drink as well?

Would that only wine
had parted lips.

Twenty three gladiators,

one doctore,

one medicus of foreign tongue,

fourteen house slaves,

one villa, one ludus,
and all contained within,

inclusive of furnishings,
statuary of minor origin,

jewelry and adornments
befitting a citizen...

The jackal appears.

Remove hand from fucking sword!

This stands neither time nor
place for bloodied conflict.

Nor can we move against him,
absent proof of deed.

Ten stallions

of moderate and
pleasing countenance,

as well as four ponies believed
to be of Galician origin.

Ashur.

Ah.

You have been in my thoughts.

As you have in mine.

How fares Achillia?

She clawed way from darkness

and makes progress
towards return to arena.

Oh, heart soars at such news.

Secured by the power
of your prayers.

My own accompanying them.

- You made offering to the gods?
- Upon your urging.

And they have heard you.

- You wander astray.
- Apologies.

I would have you
close by my side,

lest you fall to less savory
elements within crowd.

Turn thoughts towards
possession more attainable.

He has been torn
from breast far too soon.

It's unseemly to associate
with a man in public,

especially one with
such meager esteem.

I merely broached subject
of his champion.

A woman in the arena-
an affront to the gods.

I find her
a welcome provocation.

Bidding commences
at 10,000 denarii.

Who would light intent
of first offering?

10,000 denarii.

Good Proculus ignites the flame.

Eleven.

11,000 from the Syrian!

Glorious mother
and radiant daughter

of the house of Gabinius.

12,000!

I did not expect to find
such delightful company

in midst of base proceedings.

15,000 denarii.

Sixteen.

Opiter was much loved
by the city

and held

personally as trusted friend.

Deepest sympathies.

I but knew him for an instant,

yet he left
indelible impression.

Apologies.

I would break privileged words
with loving mother.

See her to her father.

Who shall offer counter?

19,000.

20.

21,000.

Men battle for dominance
beyond arena.

They clash over
insignificant meal.

Let us see bellies sated
towards hunt for larger prey.

Word reaches ear your
husband favors union

towards Quintus Thermus
and beloved daughter.

I fear such has been
received in error.

Thoughts towards matter
soured considerably

in wake of the Syrian's visit.

Really?

How unfortunate.

21,500.

Twenty two.

23,000 denarii.

27,000 denarii.

27,000 denarii

from the Syrian!

How counters
the house of Proculus?

Cost floats beyond reason.

To the victor the spoils.

Opiter's holdings
fall to the Syrian.

Glory to the house of Ashur!

Let us arrange payment.

The house of Caesar shall
stand for me in such regard.

I fear you are mistaken.

The house of Caesar
does not involve itself

in the affairs of lesser men.

Are you able to produce
sum required, Syrian?

Apologies, Senator.

It appears I am not.

Fucking shit!

Promises unkept,

prove vexing,

do they not?

If there stand no other bids,

Opiter's holdings fall
to the house of Proculus.

Gods grant favor to those
deemed fucking worthy!

Satyrus!

What seizes fucking mind?

He wears Opiter's pendant
on his fucking belt.

We cannot move upon him now,
you simple fuck.

Let us give pause
and consider path.

The house of the Syrian succumbs
to public disagreement.

A blessing dearest friend
Opiter's holdings

did not forth to such
ill-mannered hands.

A blessing, indeed.

The Syrian shits on his memory!

Counsel holding
cock in fucking hand?

I but suggest a moment of
reflection towards course

that sees our enemies
to fucking grass,

with us not among them!

Gather husband and daughter.

I would return to villa

in advance of further
unpleasantness.

I would have words, Cossutia.

Break them with noble husband.

Perhaps they will bend him
towards your will,

as they did in denial of
suitable match for my daughter.

He appears unreceptive
towards my presence.

Spurred by overreach
of your purse

and your man's unbalanced
display, one would imagine.

Korris was but moved
by passions shared,

towards untimely passing
of Opiter.

I did not know there stood
a bond between them.

One that promised to lead
them far from Capua and fate...

Opiter feared.

He feared Cilician assault.

No.

Nor do I believe
he fell by their hands.

Whose, then?

One I would enlist aid
in holding

to deserved account.

Aargh!

The Nubian believes herself
deserving of highest mantle,

yet...

cannot best

idle log.

Doctore.

I would take up fucking spear.

Dacus! Spear and small shield,
towards style of hoplomachus.

Yes, Doctore.

Decision wisely made.

We shall see.

Tarchon, take position.

I now stand champion, Nubian.

And you but a fading memory.

Begin!

Yah!

Yah!

Yah!

Perhaps idle log stands
more formidable opponent.

Yah!

Tarchon!

Contest is ended!
You stand victor!

- Was there ever doubt?
- Tarchon.

Well fought.

You fall from training.

See yourself to deserved reward.

Gratitude, Doctore.

One fight.

One fight.

How did sufficient coin grace
palm to see me to the ludus?

With title of champion
comes many rewards.

Champion?

No one is more deserving
of the mantle.

Well, my father may hold
differing opinion.

Hmm.

You are not a boy.

Nor should you be
treated as such.

You stood as a god
upon the sands.

And my Elysium...

is nestled but paces away.

What fucking hand
laid marks upon you?

The fat one,

short of humor
and shorter of cock.

Unintended laugh escaped lips
when he unsheathed tiny weapon.

I will have his fucking life.

He's a Roman

and we but slaves, to be used
towards ends not our own.

He favors the games,
does he not?

And I by his side.

Petition for seat towards
very front next I fight.

And I will give him spectacle
not soon forgotten.

What is of your planning?

Let us fall into discussion
after.

Tending to rising...

necessity.

I will gain my freedom

in the arena upon a day

and purchase yours from coin
won in blood and battle.

I must attend
recent acquisition.

What is so pressing words
desired cannot be delayed?

Your life and the forfeit of it.

The Syrian claims proof
it is your hand

that struck Opiter down,
not the Cilicians.

- He moves against you presently.
- Hm.

How did you come by
such absurd notion?

He approached,

in attempt to gain aid in
swaying husband and aedile

towards your hand in the deed.

You and Opiter
stood inseparable.

Even if fanciful
accusation proved true,

why reveal the Syrian's plan?

My love for Opiter,

is eclipsed by hatred
for the Syrian.

A loathsome creature, eyes
slithering across my daughter.

I would see him...

to quick and unfortunate end.

Hmm.

In that we stand in agreement.

But how best to rid ourselves
of such annoyance?

I will send counterfeit message

confirming meeting with
esteemed husband and aedile

in place far removed from view,

under condition he move alone,

due to delicate nature
of the accusation.

- Hm.
- The rest...

falls to your...

discretion.

Gratitude.

I shall see the matter
properly attended.

Gabinius?

Aedile?

Someone has lost his way.

We will help him find it.

Thought he could turn
Cossutia to his cause.

Thought we wouldn't know.

Thought he could fuck us.

You are the one who
stands fucked, Syrian!

Your dominus once swore if
he were to move against me,

it would be his hand
grasping blade.

He attends to Opiter's holdings.

Yet I shall report your screams
in exquisite detail!

Aargh!

It shall not be
the cries of Ashur

that fill the air this night.

That fucking cunt!

Never place trust in
a woman of a certain age.

Come, let us embrace.

Hold!

I alone would repay
debt of blood.

That appears unwise.

Intercede and find us at
cross purpose once more.

I should not stand surprised,
yet here we fucking are.

No one leaves arena.

That does not belong to you.

Come, then, and retrieve it!

Yah!

Yah!

Dominus.

Yah!

Ugh!

Yah!

Musicus!

Aargh!

No!

No!

Aargh!

You stand alone,

little man.

As Opiter did

when you claimed
his fucking life.

I but did as commanded

by my dominus!

Then I would see message
delivered to him.

Yah!

Carry a message to your master.

The house of Ashur
shall see his fall...

...upon the sands of the arena.

Aargh!

I would not have let him live.

- And I am not you.
- And I thank the gods...

for it.

See bodies beneath ground.
Quickly!

Ashur.

I would reclaim title,

and resume my labors.

You honor this house.

Doctore.

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