All language subtitles for Spartacus.House.of.Ashur.S01E08

You stand not yourself.

Argh!

It lifts spirits to
see you rise again.

Tarchon assumes mantle

until such time you
are able to reclaim it.

I would take up fucking spear.

What fucking hand
laid marks upon you?

The fat one.

Petition for seat towards
very front next I fight.

And I will give him spectacle
not soon forgotten.

I would have my
name upon your lips.

Ashur!

And know that my heart is yours.

You tainted fucking wine?

Opiter's holdings fall
to the house of Proculus.

The fate Opiter feared.

He feared Cilician assault?

- No.
- Whose, then?

One I would enlist aid in
holding to deserved account.

- Why reveal the Syrian's plan?
- A loathsome creature,

eyes slithering
across my daughter.

I would see him to quick
and unfortunate end.

But how best to rid ourselves
of such annoyance?

I will send counterfeit message,

confirming meeting in place
far removed from view.

I shall see the matter
properly attended.

It shall not be
the cries of Ashur

that fill the air this night.

Fucking cunt!

Argh!

Argh!

Carry a message to your master.

I would not have let him live.

I would reclaim title.

Doctore.

Summon your dominus!

Aedile.

You grace us with
unexpected presence.

Let us see
pleasantries abandoned

and come to blunt words.

Proculus asserts grievous
loss at your hands

and seeks appropriate redress.

Demands upon position
must exceed reason,

to find you in such
low fellowship

at early hour, Uvidus.

Do more lanistae convene?

Shall I send for
wine and olives?

I merely request
Opiter's medicus,

purchased with his
holdings at auction.

Such could have
been satisfied

absent need to rouse
esteemed Aedile.

I thought it prudent to make
request among proper company.

Ah.

We stand in agreement, then.

I leave you to your duties,
such as they may require.

- Well, Syrian?
- I shall see the man produced.

Satyrus will secure
him from your ludus.

You would have me
descend there? Alone?

See troubled mind
set to ease, little one.

I shall see you escorted
by trusted doctore.

Where are their bodies?

My brothers stood gladiators

and deserve the honor
of funeral rites!

They shall not have them,

nor you the opportunity
to break farewells.

Why stay hand from
my blood as well?

To deliver message to your
fucking master, as I said.

Claiming life would
have sent the same.

[ominous music)

It is a terrible thing,
is it not?

To have those held to heart
ripped from it.

Suffer, little man.

Until the gods drag
you to the afterlife.

That seeping cunt!

Bringing fucking aediles
and guards to bear.

Perhaps wise precaution,
considering passions aroused.

Tongue wags absent
fucking thought.

Apologies.

Word of this will
reach ear of Gabinius,

weighing scale already
tipped to disfavor

in wake of embarrassment
at auction.

You will find means to balance
them again towards your favor,

as you always have
and always shall.

Does faith ever waver
towards me?

Cause has yet to be given.

I would keep sentiment close,

to brace coming days.

We stand, once again, in need...

of a medicus.

I will send word throughout
Capua in attempt to secure one,

in advance of further injuries.

Strike with spear,
not fucking jaw!

Your little stick
falls short of purpose.

Again!

Hold!

I would see title
of doctore restored.

Well, the gods rejoice...

to see you again of a form,

old friend.

Fall to position,
you sentimental shit.

And see return to glory
upon the sands.

Doctore.

Attend!

Achillia crawls back to us

from the depths
of the underworld.

And your dominus
blesses her once more

with mantle of champion.

The bitch returns.

Celadus,
pair with the champion.

Doctore.

The goddess of death
rises again.

Upon wings of your instruction.

Begin!

Perhaps it would be prudent

to remove ourselves
from the streets.

You fear renewed assault
by the Cilicians?

No.

City guards but conjure thought

towards reason of
increased presence.

The loss of dearest friend.

As you once counselled me

to face the darkness
of this world together,

know that I offer same.

I am undeserving
of such a child.

Apologies. Do I intrude
upon tender moment?

Proculus.

In the flesh, warm with life.

Viridia, return to villa.

I would break words
with Proculus

concerning acquisition of
a few of Opiter's trifles.

Might I be of some small aid?

Well, I would not refuse
such glorious company.

See her to escort.
I will join you presently.

May the gods favor
your dealings.

Such a beautiful, ripe child.

I did not expect to find myself

downwind of you this day, lanista.

I am yet of this world.

Yet, deep wound

has been inflicted
upon poor Satyrus...

in form of beloved brothers
put to grass,

in addition to
several valued men.

How unfortunate.

More so for those
who move against me,

absent thought of retribution.

You forget who stands
my fucking husband.

Memory holds of the man
towering over Capua

lo these many, many years.

I pray he clings to
the ones left to him,

for fear of what may befall wife

and cherished daughter
upon his passing.

You attempt to cower
with veiled threat?

I attempt nothing,
save idle conversation.

Know this, lanista -
the woman before you

does not shrink at thought of
blood upon her fucking hands.

Perhaps you shall...

when it is your own.

Husband.

I would break words towards
decision made in error.

Whatever the infraction,
consider it forgiven,

in favor of more
vital concerns.

It- it is not a matter
of forgiveness.

I do not stand of fucking mind
to hear it upon the moment!

What so consumes you to bare
teeth towards loving wife?

Apologies.

Response arrives at
last from Pompey,

towards Cilician incursion.

"I am otherwise engaged...

"with Caesar."

- What other words did he break?
- That is the sum of them.

Crassus dispatches his vagrant
sword to cleave alliance,

whilst his army marshals
at the gates of Rome.

The man stands tyrant
in the forming,

with Caesar stitched of
equal thread of ambition.

If you feel such, why did you
concede to Caesar's demands,

while he was yet within Capua?

Crassus, Pompey and Caesar
each maneuver towards power

currently beyond reach.

We must tread every
path presented

towards peaceful resolution

or see beloved republic
devoured by ravenous appetites.

Knot of Pompey's bond
loosens by day and hour.

Should he unravel towards
cause of Crassus and Caesar,

confederation formed
would be crushing blow.

Well, you state but
the fucking obvious.

And draw towards
obvious conclusion.

Pompey's allegiance
must be moved toward advantage

and desire.

I have attempted all

to tether the man towards
greater fucking purpose.

Not all.

How turn your thoughts, woman?

Marriage would seal
him towards your cause.

You propose union

with our daughter?

Have you swam in fucking wine
in advance of entry,

sinking towards murky bottom?

I but seek elegant solution

to myriad difficulties
presenting themselves.

And to ensure Viridia
is secure in her future

when unthinkable day arrives

and you stand
no longer among us.

Oh. Am I so grim of countenance,
to incite such worry?

No.

Yet...

If the gods snatched her
husband from her upon whim,

as they did Opiter.

From warm embrace, we cannot
know what future holds,

only guard against possibility.

Well, if I were to
shed mortal coil

at setting of fucking sun,

you would fall beneath
wing of my brother.

And is that a fate
you would wish upon us?

There must lie another way.

You have said yourself
there is not.

Something must be done,
and swiftly.

I shall give thought
upon suggestion.

Messia.

I would have a moment.

I have none to give.
Domina requires attention.

We seldom have occasion to speak
since her arrival.

You have said all
I need to hear.

You were mistaken
regarding Dominus.

- His heart is mine.
- You believe so?

He has professed as much.

Hilara?

Your master calls.

Gabinius has summoned me
to his villa.

He seeks to mend relationship?

Or to rend meat yet
clinging to bone.

Has search for new
medicus born fruit?

It has not.
I- I shall redouble effort.

See that this one breaks word
in common fucking tongue.

Fall to my side.

And do not break from it
until I stand embraced

within senator's villa.

Apologies.

Your father had summoned me.

He should return upon a moment.

Do you play?

Such has been known to occur.

Although deeper strategy eludes.

Well, let instruction
see mystery dispelled.

Pieces do not move
of own accord.

They rise and fall in response
to hand upon them.

Firm, at times...

to insert where
movement is desired;

soft at others...

when seduction
of opponent is aim.

I have been eager to break
words with you again.

Towards what subject?

All of them.

There - I have
broached first move.

How will you counter?

Cautiously, and with
great trepidation.

Ah.

I fall to rapid disadvantage.

To triumph, you must not be
consumed by present loss.

Gaze instead towards horizon...

and victory it may yet hold.

Ah, um...

Are you certain this is
the move you wish to make?

Father.

I was just schooling
your guest towards game.

So I see.

I will leave you to private
words, as men often desire.

Gratitude for instruction.

Perhaps continued
upon another day.

She favors your company.

I yet stand unworthy of hers.

We find ourselves
in agreement, then.

Gratitude for invitation,

coupled with deepest apologies.

Towards?

Outburst of my
doctore at auction.

A regrettable fit of passion.

Forgotten as it happened.

Does Achillia stand ready
to grace the arena once more?

Injury has required
shift in style

towards that of hoplomachus.

Does she stand ready?

- She does.
- Good.

I have intentions towards
unannounced games,

to lift spirit...

and distract from
recent Cilician assaults.

A most excellent notion.

And who shall my champion face?

Proculus crows to aedile that
he has acquired a Scythian

of most frightful prowess.

I have not laid eyes on the man,

but we shall put boast
to test in the Primus, yes?

I shall see Achillia prepared
for most welcomed spectacle.

Linger...

a moment.

What know you
of Caesar's intent

towards meeting with Pompey
in Sinuessa en Valle?

It remains enigma.

Yet Caesar's machination forever
move towards his own elevation.

If he can sway
Pompey towards such,

he'll spare nothing
to see it so,

to the detriment of us all.

Yes. Course of action avails
itself that may see Pompey

again aligned towards this
house, and greater cause.

Yet cost of it carves
grievous wound.

The sting of
yesterday's sacrifice,

in service of greater
glory of tomorrow.

You turn my own
words against me, Syrian?

I but echo wisdom dispensed.

Wise words often elude ear
of the man who speaks them.

Gratitude for breaking them,
when most needed.

I but serve more eminent cause.

See Achillia and a clutch
of other offerings

readied for the games -

a distraction I find myself
unexpectedly in need of as well.

Celadus, press advantage.

Achillia,
seek opening in retreat.

- Your form returns.
- Yours never faltered.

Attend!

Senator Gabinius presents games

to quell nerve from
Cilician attacks.

Those to stand in blood and
glory for the House of Ashur

shall be soon posted.

Yet know that the
goddess of death again

honors this house
in fucking Primus!

Try not to lose the other hand.

Helios enters arena!

Oh! Pray you don't leave
it upon fucking back!

We both gain position.

Yet are to stand alone.

I give no shit to position
if it is not as champion.

- A title Achillia has earned.
- And I have not?

All I have ever known is
the way of the brotherhood.

From first breath,
ludus has been my mother...

blood my fucking milk.

She bested Ammonius
in the arena.

It's a feat yet
beyond your skill.

You defend her at every turn.

I but defend the champion
of this fucking house.

She stands more than that.

I see how her eyes
fall upon you.

And yours upon her.

I- I am your father, Tarchon.

Yet I also stand a man.

And you would deny me
the same comfort

that you seek with your whore?

Then cast off
bonds of father...

standing only as a man.

And call me son no more.

The man not only
extended olive branch,

he bestowed entire fucking tree.

My men to crowd arena,

and Achillia to resume ascent
towards fucking heavens!

Mwah!

Once more, my faith in you
proves true, Ashur.

Ashur?

You overreach familiarity.

When last we laid together,

it was your bidding
that I call you by name.

Words truly broken.

Yet tongue and mind
were tainted with opium

from that bitch Cornelia,
absent consent.

Words held no meaning, then?

Know that I hold you of
importance above all others...

within this house.

Yet beyond it,

another lays claim to heart.

Apologies.

For misunderstanding.

- Uh...
- Fetch wine.

And we shall think
no more upon it.

Yes... Dominus.

It is I who was mistaken.

Professions of love
were conjured in error.

How do you come by
such revelation?

From Dominus himself.

He holds affection
towards another.

The daughter of Gabinius.

I am a fool.

Bitter taste of
rejection dilutes

with passing of days.

Apologies...

for wounding loving
heart so carelessly.

Domina requires wine.

Is this not what you desired?

With all my being.

Yet you shall never
be free of him.

Nor I, you.

Once again, you wander astray.

Course was carefully chosen.

Mmm.

You wish to be alone?

Attention pulls towards
troubling words

broken with errant son.

Are there any others
that spill from his mouth?

You were born free.

As was I.

Tarchon was conceived
in bondage.

I forged the boy towards
singular purpose.

Desire hammered and
heated in his blood

from first fucking step -

rise as champion.

In ludus and arena and beyond.

You have trained him well.

There's no other
gladiator in this house

that could stand against me.

Save present company.

I have but made him blind
to all else in life.

And now he now counts father
as enemy obstructing ambition.

It is the goddess of death...

he holds guilty of
imagined offence.

You but stand accomplice.

I will speak to him

and attempt to mend bridge.

- You would do such a thing?
- I guarantee no result.

He is thick of head...

as is his father.

Gratitude.

And how shall you show it?

In all forms and manner...

my goddess.

- Pompey?
- He stands a consul of Rome,

equaled in position
only by Crassus.

The gods themselves could
not produce better match.

But a handful of days past,

you believed Quintus Thermus
to stand in such regard.

Thermus points towards cause

for union with Pompey
to be considered.

You would trade my life

for more favored political
winds, absent my consent?

What have I done to
see value so diminished?

You stand... a woman.

Consent is what
paterfamilias deems.

And you deem it so?

Honored mother
stands correct in word,

though misguided
in father's intent.

It is not valuation of you
that moves me.

It is fear.

And desperation.

Caesar maneuvers Pompey

towards alignment with
himself and Crassus.

If they form triumvirate,

republic and all within -
including beloved daughter -

will fall to severest concern.

Is there no other path?

I have failed to divine one.

As paterfamilias,
it is within my right

to command you to
accept this union.

Yet you have suffered much.

And I would not add to it
by proclamations and demands.

You turn from fucking union?

Hold tongue.

I but place decision in hands
that must carry burden.

It is a weighty decision -

impact of which shall resound

beyond our reckoning and years.

Measure it with care.

Tarchon.

I would share words.

Break them with someone
not fucking before you.

I would see us
no longer at odds.

Then relinquish
title undeserved.

How do you perceive it so?

Did I not fight to gain it,
as everyone within this house?

You did not gain
it through skill,

but by novelty of cunt
standing gladiator.

Ammonius did not give shit
towards what lay between my legs

when I took his fucking life.

Nor will I, when
I take yours upon a day.

Let us come to common ground.

- Your father does not wish--
- I have no father.

Nor desire towards
further words with his whore.

Do not turn from me.

Argh!

Have you lost fucking sense?

- Apologies, Dominus-
- Fuck your apologies!

Can she fight?

If we yet retain medicus,
perhaps - by end of month.

Argh!

Dominus.

I shall assume position
and fight as champion.

You shall never
stand champion, boy!

If matches were not already
posted to the aedile,

I would see you over
the fucking cliff!

- Dominus!
- Do not fucking speak!

We must present alternative
champion to Gabinius

and pray offering does not
tip scale back to disfavor.

Who stands above all
others beyond Achillia

and this fucking pup?!

There is but one.

Argh!

You promise fucking moon

and conspire to present
shadowed reflection.

Apologies. Achillia suffered--

These games were built
upon name of your champion,

and now you shit
upon fucking effort.

Pray the crowd does not
demand Syrian blood

in reply to such offense.

Is there any endeavor that
does not find you failure?

I hold no
humor to spar with you.

Why does Proculus yet live?

The fault lies with you.

The man was not produced at
appointed time, as promised.

Fault is indeed mine,

for ever laying trust
in one so beneath me.

Argh!

Your man stands victorious.

- Mm.
- Yet you do not rejoice?

Your father is of a mood.

Mm.

You must forgive it.

Matters of gravest import
weigh upon him.

Let us announce next
fucking contest.

Proculus, who do you present?

- Satyrus, thraex.
- Ah.

Last survivor of the
deadly Brothers Ferox.

Last? What befell his
horrible little siblings?

Tumbled to misfortune.

As many in Capua are wont
in these troubled times.

- Syrian?
- Helios. Hoplomachus.

I fear Satyrus will soon be
reunited with his brothers.

From the House of the Syrian,
Helios - hoplomachus!

Argh!

Your dominus must be
truly displeased -

to send a third of a man to
meet his doom upon the sands.

I shall honor my brothers!

And see all who hold me in doubt

fucked to the afterlife!

Argh!

Satyrus - thraex.

Argh!

Argh!

Argh!

The gods have sent
me fucking child!

And I shall swiftly
return him to their hands!

Begin!

Argh!

Send more of your men for
me to kill, you fucking oaf!

Most unexpected result.

Yes. Perhaps the little
man yet holds worth.

The gods conspire
against your man,

to see such unfortunate turn.

It is but a day,
in an endless string of them.

How does fire eternally burn,

in face of grim reality?

You yourself counsel not to
be consumed with present loss,

yet look towards horizon
of future victories.

Hmm. Words spoken
absent thought...

void of meaning.

They hold such to me.

I... I would remove myself,
to seek shade and water.

You remember my teachings,
and see yourself to victory.

And perhaps a return
to Dominus' favor.

You are the past.

I forge my own future.

Enter Tarchon - thraex!

And standing for the House of
Proculus, Viction - murmillo!

Begin!

Stands swell to bursting.

With equal number refused
entry beyond gates.

Would that space presented for
all of Capua to witness display.

You strike upon vexing truth.

Syrian.

Where does effort stand

in swaying your
patron towards coin,

in service of seeing old arena
restored to former glory?

I labor unceasingly
towards such a day.

I have not heard
Crassus mention it.

Does he even recall the
Syrian yet draws breath?

Favor holds firm and shall
produce desired results.

You take leave while
your man yet fights?

Excess of wine,
demanding relief.

Our ranks noticeably thin.

Argh!

Argh!

Yes!

Have I offended?

If so, give voice
to transgression,

so I may strangle it
till void of life.

You stand free of burden.

Yet burden exists.

It's never far from presence,

for those who carry the name
of woman in the republic.

Were you born a man...

I fear I would turn
from softer touch.

Would that we were
not who we are.

Yet still within
sphere of each other.

Viridia, I...

I should return to pulvinus
before absence draws question.

What has come between us?

Is it your mother, or--

I have been asked
to consider marriage.

Yes. Yes, to Quintus Thermus.

I have already spoken
to your father against it.

- He agrees that--
- No.

I have been asked to consider
marriage to Pompey.

Pompey?

My father fears what may happen
if Crassus, Caesar and he

were to stand united
against the republic.

And he seeks to firmly
secure the man...

in opposition.

You cannot do this.

Pompey casts wives aside with
shifting of fucking breeze.

He but marries towards
power and position.

What man does not?

The one before you.

Allow me to amend.

What Roman man?

Presence was sorely missed.

I am here now.

And I stand for the republic.

Would that all fathers
were so blessed as I.

You appear abandoned.

Come on!

Yes!

Yes, Tarchon!

Get up!

Argh!

Argh!

Gods!

- Halt contest!
- Guards!

Argh!

Argh!

He strikes down a Roman!

Execute the man!

I will personally see my
gladiator put to death!

Quickly! Move!

Argh!

Reclaim seat.

My man has seen to fucking deed.

A Roman has been struck down,
yet justice has been meted...

by the House of the Syrian!

Yes! Yes!

You! You fucking god!

A victory well earned.

I do not need your praise.
Nor seek it, champion.

You return to Primus after too
long an absence, old friend.

It should be Achillia
upon my place.

Yet it is you the gods
have chosen this day.

Honor them,
with blood and glory.

Primus at last arrives.

And with it the return
of the goddess of death,

to further excite the crowd.

I fear they shall stand
in disappointment.

Achillia does not
take to the sands?

She does not.

Then who is my
champion to face?

A mystery yet to unfold.

Syrian. Present contest.

And let your voice be harbinger
of fucking dissatisfaction.

Achillia, the goddess of death,
stands champion in this arena!

Not by mere name,
but by conquest!

Would you see her
face one of equal skill

towards blood and victory?!

I would see it as well.

Yet who stands worthy
of facing her?

Let this Primus answer question

and see victor

stand against the goddess
of death in future contest!

From the House of Ashur,

I give you a legend
in the arena.

Enter Celadus!

Dimachaerus!

Achillia!

- Give us Achillia!
- Where is Achillia?!

And from the
House of Proculus...

I give you the Unknown Scythian.

Again, dimachaerus.

You present another
fucking woman?

Apologies.

It is what the crowd
now demands.

Begin!

Fucking kill her!

Proculus, how did you
acquire such a specimen?

She stands a marvel.

At great expense to myself,
and those who dare to face her.

Contest has only yet begun.

And my man has
drawn first blood.

Yes.

I instructed her not to
end the match too quickly,

so that the crowd
may stand satisfied.

How absolutely delightful.

- Get up!
- Regain feet old man!

Break defense and answer
fucking assault!

Argh!

Argh!

Argh!

Kill her! Fucking kill her!

Argh!

Achillia's absence falls
to faded remembrance.

A fine showing.

By all involved.

Yes. Mmm.

Look towards horizon.