Original subtitles

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.