Our scene opens at a rainy seaport—Neapolis. A man in a hood convinces a scraggly-toothed slave trader to show him his wares a few hours before the actual auction begins.
The slave trader, eager for coin, agrees. The man in the hood is Lucius; the men with him are part of Spartacus’ army; and the foolish slave trader is about to learn a very important lesson: never, ever trust a man in a cape—unless, of course, it matches his belt and his shoes. Then he’s both fabulous and completely trustworthy.
Spartacus, Agron, and the others free a ship full of fighting men and women—all, coincidentally, who happen to hail from Agron’s home territory. Now, as I recall, Agron is from Germania, but since we were never told which Germanic people he descends from (Goths, Visigoths, Vandals, Eurotrash,) let us just, for the sake of simplicity, call these people the Germaniacs.
The Germaniacs are happy to be freed, and the biggest one among them—named Sedullus—declares that spilling more Roman blood will cause his decidedly soiled underwear to grow even smaller than usual, if you know what I mean. Well, hey, whatever floats a guy’s boat. I mean, everyone has some weird fetish, right? Some people like feet; some guys like chocolate sauce and whipped cream; this guy likes spilling Roman blood as foreplay. Who am I to judge? You should see how stimulated I get when the hubby lets me re-organize the Christmas decorations in a new set of packing crates. OCD is hot.
In town, Gannicus is busy trying to squeeze coin out of the Magistrate. The Magistrate tells Gannicus that since he did not fulfill the terms of the contract (by killing Crixus and the others), he does not get paid. You know, I’ve seen enough episodes of Judge Judy to know that the Magistrate is right—in other words, Gannicus, don’t pee on my toga and tell me it’s raining.
Gaius Hottius Glaber, growing steadily more cuckoobananapants every week, addresses the crowd, telling the assembled masses that Seppius was killed by his slaves (yeah, right) and that any slaves who even whisper the name of Spartacus will pay for it with their lives.
Then he proceeds to demonstrate just that in full, living Technicolor, in a scene that likely got Mel Gibson all hot and bothered but only left me bothered. Yikes! I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to enjoy another production of Jesus Christ Superstar quite the same way again—well, unless the actor playing Jesus is totally hot (ooh, three paragraphs in and I’m already committing sacrilege!)
Back at Camp Runaway Slave, Crixus is busy training Naevia how to work a sword—or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Crixus is letting his hair grow out and I’m starting to like it. I’m not sure how he manages to sneak Pantene past the Romans and into the camp, but it’s a good look for him.
Oenomaus is feeling better—he’s ambulatory and smiling, two actions I am pretty sure he never did simultaneously in Season 1—and everyone seems to be in a good mood. Suddenly in come the victorious gladiators, bringing with them a new horde of Germaniacs. The Gauls are not so amused—but then, really, are they ever, except by the wacky comedy stylings of Jerry Lewis?
Upon his return, Agron smooches Nasir again—and that is all the gay lovin’ we get this week.
Okay, seriously, these two guys have been courting long enough. It’s been a few weeks at least—can’t they at least enjoy some Gallic kissing? (That’s French kissing for those who don’t get it…) Is Nasir telling Agron he needs to “put a ring on it” or something? Why are we waiting so long for them to get together? Amish people go further on a first date than these two, for crying out loud! (By the way, can you even imagine an Amish gay guy? I mean the amount the poor guy would have to spend on beard conditioner alone would probably break the bank!)
Listen, Spartacus: Vengeance: I get that you’re an all-inclusive offender, but I think us gays have been patient long enough. Next week I want to see what passes for “actual” gay intercourse on shows like this: .5 seconds of Person A thrusting somewhere in the vicinity of Person B in a quick cutaway shot before we see said same people holding on to each other enjoying afterglow. I’m serious. If I don’t get that, I might slip next week and start calling Spartacus “Spitacus” or something like that.