Spartacus (2010–2013): Season 1, Episode 2 - Sacramentum Gladiatorum - full transcript

Now the property of Quintus Batiatus, Spartacus finds himself at Batiatus' gladiatorial combat school. He is anything but cooperative and refuses to do as he is told leading to frequent conflict with his trainer and other gladiators, particularly Crixus. Claudius Glaber would still like to see him dead and takes delight in telling him that his wife is still alive and that his men raped her after they were taken into bondage. Batiatus, who is having severe financial problems and is in debt to money lenders at usurious rates of interest, is hoping to gain favor with Glaber. A evening of food and entertainment doesn't go as planned when Glaber and his wife, looking down on their provincial hosts, leave as quickly as they arrive. Glaber's visit does provide the carrot Batiatus needs to reign in Spartacus: cooperation in return for the promise of finding Sura.


When the romans came...

I thought I'd never see you.


I will always be with you.

The gods themselves could
not keep me from your side.

I would kill them all for trying.

Have him taken to the baths.

But first attend to
all that fucking hair.


Uh! Ahh!


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 our pool for a month.

You paid beyond the asking.

I paid his worth, Lucretia.

Spartacus is a corpse yet walking.

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 toward 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 inflated price.

If Spartacus survives to swear the oath,

Then his passing becomes an
early delight for the Legatus.

Um. Desires well nudged.

Huh. There's yet more stroking needed.

A simple gesture of gratitude
from the Legatus falls short.

Patronage is the reward we seek.

Nothing less.

The Legatus as patron...

His coins will fill our
pool to overflowing.

We'll 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...

Well lick my hole.
The pig-fucker's still alive.

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.

What is this place?

The afterlife, friend.

Or least outside its rusted gates.

You're now an honored guest of Batiatus,

master of the greatest ludus in Capua.


A school of training.

Where men are forged into gods,

blood their ambrosia,
the arena, their mountaintop.


The truest of brotherhoods!

Live the next few days,

you and the other recruits
will count yourself among us.

And bare our mark.

In the mean, can we fetch you something?

Food? Water?

Maybe some scented oils for your feet?


Oh, he's slow this one, isn't he?

What do you
expect from a thracian?

Smells like fresh shit.

Oh, they all do.

Except for their women.

They smell like 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.


Pile of shit. Not a cock among them.

Well then you should join them,
you little cunt.

What is beneath your feet?


What is beneath your feet?



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!

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!

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!

Batiatus. Batiatus. Batiatus.

A gladiator does not fear death.

He embraces it. Caresses it. Fucks it.

Each time he enters the arena,

he slips his cock into
the mouth of the beast.

And prays to thrust home
before the jaws snap 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!

Again and
again and again!



He defied death! Fate!
The gods themselves!



Argh! Argh!

Yaaaaa! Uh!

Spartacus.... Spartacus...Spartacus...

Gaze at this man!

Study him. And realize...

He is nothing.

A coward.
A deserter from the auxiliary.

His victory in the arena,
as hollow as his courage.

He fought against the il
l-trained men of Solonius,

your master's rival.

Had Spartacus entered the
arena with any gladiator here...

His head would have left
well in advance of his body!

The thracian disagrees.

A demonstration, perhaps?


Practice swords.

Prove us wrong, Spartacus.

Pick it up.


That is not my name.


Your name, your life, is what we decide.

Perhaps the coward requires advantage
to still his trembling knees.


Pick it up.

I can do nothing with this one.

Send him to the mines.


Feeling rested, are we?

An attack must be grounded
in proper footing.

He attempts to press
before regaining balance.





Allow advantage to your back...

And you are dead.


Become entangled with a
more powerful opponent...

..And you are dead.



Hurl your sword in the arena...

And you are dead again.

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!



Continue training.

He tries to kill your best man,
and yet you let him live?

Glaber visits tomorrow.

His intention towards 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!


Eat it!

Shit-fucking 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.

You are of a difference, thracian.

Above this unfortunate collection.

And you?


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,
my winnings will keep them fed.


Fight well, and you're
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 the 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 into brick,
or crumble them to the mines.

Your will. My hands.

Ovidius! Apologies for the delay!

Accepted, if made with coin.

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 till then...

The principle, plus thirty percent.


Or settle the debt as it stands.

Huh, principle plus thirty.
After the Vulcanalia.

The day after.


I could have taken him.

Crixus? Pff, the 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
have bested any of us, Kerza.

Speaking otherwise is bloated air.

I pray not to face
Crixus in the final test.

Nothing to worry. You'll
never make it that far, cock hole.

All can make it to the test. And beyond.


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 going to die.

Up! You will sleep when
you prove yourselves men.


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.

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.

Come to bed.

And bring that awful wine.

I beg you.

Do not fuck me.


The day's training will begin shortly.


Eh! Jupiter's cock.

Now we train all day?

Still believe every man
will live to see the test?


Yet the fool, then.

Batiatus paid for these men?

Very little, by the look of them.

The roman way. Lives for coins.

Some deserving more than others.

I've heard a certain
thracian was quite the price.

I would see the
cost rise higher still.


I recall the
hardship of the march,

when I was a recruit.

You must be mad with hunger.

Fill your bellies!


Wake me when it's time to die again.

Apologies for the porridge.

Barca finds the jest amusing.

Least he didn't piss in it this time.

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.

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?

Twelve 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.


Do not think me friend.

The thought is well removed.

How did you manage this?

By playing the odds.

I fear they're about to worsen.


You will address me by title of Legatus.

Yet the animal. The mark of your kind.

Where is she?


That little wife of yours?


Wherever I please!

She served you no grievance.


None. But you...

You have grieved me.

By stirring the auxiliary to 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.

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 will yet die under it. Sliver
by sliver, to the roar of the crowd.


A parting kindness, to bind us.

I took it from her thigh
to preserve the scent.

Before my men stained it with their own.

Raaa! 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.

No none whatsoever! We've
prepared a feast in your honor!

I leave for Rome.

Rome? Now?

Errr, 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?


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 everyday.

So you're the cause, Ilithyia.

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.


Have you ever been inside a ludus?

No. I've always wanted to.
But father would never allow it.

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?

I mean, 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.

What about your children?
Do you let them play with them?

Um, I'm without children.

Oh. Apologies. I just thought
a woman of your age...


Come. We leave for Rome.

So soon?

Well, can't we stay awhile?
I want to watch the gladiators.

Another time. Come.


Pair with Spartacus.

Yes, Doctore.

Recruits! Attend!

Show the thracian what we've
learned in his absence.

Form one. Attack!



Form two. Attack!







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 in his mouth!

If word gets out that Batiatus
can't control his own men...

I warned you of their quality.

You warn me nothing! You counsel,
and make promises to the air!

"My hands, your will."

The Legatus, barely
beyond my fucking gates!

The thracian is unpredictable.

Then school him to our standards.

Rod and lash fall unnoticed. He's an
animal, best unleashed in the mines.

No. The rest to the gods,
they were all of little cost.

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.

Bring him to my chamber.
I'll 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,

tensing of the jaw.

What might be the name
of this delicate flower?


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 another.

But you, you are the most
dangerous of animals.

The 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? A hundred? A thousand?

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.


Varro has stood to a draw!
The test is passed!

Barca! Marcus! Positions!

Barca! Barca!



That's disappointing.

Not every venture ends in climax.

A fact known well to every woman.


Spartacus! Positions!

Crixus! Crixus!

One final lesson, before I
send you to the afterlife.



Expensive and worthless,
all in a measure.

Fight! You thracian bitch!


The rabbit is fixed to piss himself!

Skin the rabbit!

Ah! Oh!

Ahh! Ahhh!

Finish him!



The lesson is well learned.



You have passed the test.


Your life now promises
meaning. Swear it to me.

Recite the Sacramentum

I commit my flesh. My mind.
My will.

To the glory of this ludus, and the
commands of my master, Batiatus.

"I swear to be burned, chained,

or die by the sword.

In pursuit of honor in the arena.

Welcome to the brotherhood.