Spartacus Page #2

Enough! Go! Bring her.

Come.

Come here.

Very good.

Better.

Come.

Let me smell your hair.

You know...

I can be a very good master.

Oh, yes. Now, now...

- now kiss me.

- No! No!

Hold her!

Hey, Spartacus.

- How's your nose?

- You got lucky.

Do I have to break it again?

- So where did you fight Romans?

- Thrace.

- You?

- Gaul, where I was caught.

And then later in Sicily

where slaves rebelled.

- You rebelled?

- Two times.

The Romans were terrified of us.

They still are.

Now they kill a man just

for talking about it.

Why did it fail?

Fighting Romans is like

fighting a grist mill.

The stone keeps on turning.

No matter how many times

you attack it in the end...

it grinds you down to dust.

Faster!

Put your backs into it,

you sons of whores!

Why do Africans use

the spear and the net?

I amuses the Romans to turn us

into fishermen.

I was a farmer. I never saw a net

until I came here.

Nordo, this man is trouble.

Leave him be.

In the ring, Draba, they ever pit

the knife against the spear?

The spear always wins.

Enough talking! Back to work.

Well, move, you scum!

Put your body behind the blow!

Good, Draba! Push him back.

Faster!

Harder! Are you men

or are you women?

Tomorrow some of you

have the honor...

of fighting in the arena

in Capua.

Nothing matters but that you

fight well and with courage.

Do this and even the defeated

may receive mercy.

However if that

is not your fate...

then the crowd will expect you

to meet your death honorably...

in the Roman manner,

like this.

Spartacus, kneel.

A defeated gladiator may

beg for mercy...

by raising his hand thus.

The death blow is delivered in a

single thrust to the neck...

here.

That is how a gladiator from the

house of Batiatus dies.

What's the matter, Thracian?

Lost your appetite? Eat. Drink.

- Tomorrow we die.

- I'm not dying tomorrow.

The gods decide when we die.

- I don't believe in the gods.

- You don't believe in the gods?

When I look at the heavens

I see only stars.

Blasphemer! You could be

struck down for that.

No bolt of lightning.

- So what do you believe in?

- Us.

Our will.

We decide when

we die and how.

Well, eat anyway. You'll need

your strength for tonight.

- What happens tonight?

- War, little Thracian.

Sweet war!

Quiet! Sit down!

A little wisdom.

A man is no good in the

arena if his parts shrivel up.

A gladiator is not

a litter slave.

- He is a man.

- Yeah!

And a man needs a woman.

Quiet, quiet.

For those of you

who fight tomorrow...

I graciously lend you

these lovelies.

Use them well.

And in the morning...

show me what men

you are. Cinna!

This is yours.

Idiot!

David doesn't fight tomorrow.

Crixus.

You like to play rough,

Thracian. Here.

Batiatus asks that she be

made more pliant.

See to it.

I'm Spartacus.

What are you called?

You look cold. Here.

The stones are cold at night.

You sleep there.

I won't bother you.

Wake up, you sons of whores!

Move already!

My name is Varinia.

Varinia.

Come out, now.

Today you are expected

to bring honor...

to the house of Batiatus.

Fail to do so and you will curse

the day you were born.

- Where are they going?

- Capua.

They fight today.

The Thracian, the one they call

Spartacus. Is he any good?

Couldn't say.

He's different, though.

How?

All the gladiators here are

strong men. Brave.

But they are still slaves.

They accept it. Not him.

He will not last long.

You were with him last night?

- Yes and no.

- You, girl!

Come here.

You will attend me

at the games.

But if you give me

any trouble...

I promise that our previous meeting

will feel like a mother's caress.

Now, go and get yourself

cleaned up.

Line up!

I appreciate your contribution

to my games, Batiatus.

Few people understand the financial

burden I'm expected to shoulder...

while on duty in these

dreary provinces.

Thank you. And I appreciate

the loan of your troops.

Security at an establishment

like mine...

does not come cheaply either.

- One hand washes the other.

- Of course. More wine!

A perfectly ripened pear.

- Although somewhat bruised.

- A problem with discipline.

But we're working on it.

Aren't we?

Yes, my Lord.

- On the crosses. Who are they?

- Arsonists.

They wear the tunica molesta,

soaked in pitch.

Change your mind

about the gods?

If there are gods

in this world...

they're not here.

Burn! Burn!

Crixus verses Gaius.

Gannicus verses Antonius.

Spartacus verses Commodus.

This new gladiator, Spartacus,

is he really a Thracian...

or are you still

passing off Greeks?

He's the real thing,

through and through.

Any good?

Cinna thinks the world of him.

Don't you, Cinna?

Very well. A thousand

on Spartacus.

Kill! Kill!

Kill! Kill!

Are you hurt?

I thought in the mines I'd seen

man at his worst.

I was wrong.

- A slave has no choice.

- Not me.

The ones who watched, took their

pleasure in blood and death.

Good move, Thrace!

Harder! Faster!

Put your back to it!

Can't you lay with me,

Spartacus?

- Is it because Cinna ordered it?

- Because Cinna ordered it.

And Thracian men and women

are to remain chaste...

until they're married.

- Slaves don't marry.

- I would marry you.

Marriage requires a holy man.

I thought you didn't believe

in the gods.

I believe in what I can see,

hear and touch.

My tribe believes that man

was created by the gods.

- That they live in us.

- We're flesh and blood, that's all.

That is what an animal is. The

Romans say that we're animals.

That we are without souls.

But you are afraid to say

that you agree with the Romans.

I believe that I never met anyone

like you, Varinia of Gaul...

and that I love you.

Will you marry me?

- On what would you make a vow?

- On the blood that flows...

through my veins

and the breath I take...

I will be yours until

the day I die...

and in my life there'll be no other

but you, I swear.

On the blood that flows

in my veins...

and the breath I take...

- I will be yours...

- Until the day...

Until the day I die.

And in the life beyond.

- Can you tell there's life after?

- I have faith.

There will be no other man

but you.

I swear.

Kill! Kill!

Kill! Kill!

Spartacus!

Master, we have visitors,

Master, from Rome.

Cornelius Lucius and his wife,

Helena. And Marcus Crassus.

Marcus Crassus is here...

and you left him

waiting outside?

Noble Crassus. You do me

a great honor, sir.

I am Lentulus Batiatus.

Please, sit.

I and my establishment are here

to serve you.

Some wine to wash away

the dust...

and some honeyed ice,

perhaps.

Yes?

- How may I serve you?

- My friends and I'd appreciate...

a private showing

of a pair of Thracians.

Excellent choice. Your Honor

is obviously a connoisseur.

- To the death.

- To the death?

That's an unusual request

for a private showing.

I see that you're joking.

That's very good.

- Very amusing.

- I am not laughing.

Of course you're not.

Well, you've asked for Thracians.

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