"Rest well, brothers," I murmured, bowing my head towards the pyre. "We who still live will carry on your legacy."
As the others dispersed, returning to their celebrations or seeking the solace of sleep, I remained by the pyre. The flames were beginning to die down now, the bodies nothing more than charred remains. Soon, there would be nothing left but ashes to be scattered to the winds.
Such was the transient nature of a gladiator's life. We burned bright and fierce, capturing the imagination of the crowds, but in the end, we were as insubstantial as smoke. How many had I seen fall over the years? How many names and faces had been consigned to the flames and then to forgetfulness?
And yet, we fought on. For glory, for the roar of the crowd, for the slim chance of earning our freedom. I had seen it happen, rarely. A gladiator who pleased the Emperor or a wealthy patron might be granted their freedom, allowed to leave the arena behind and start a new life.
It was a dream I clung to, even after all these years. I allowed myself another moment to imagine it: walking out of the arena for the last time, a free man. I would travel south, back to therolling hills of my homeland. Find a plot of land, build a small house with my own hands. Plant crops, tend animals. Wake each morning to the sound of birdsong instead of clashing swords.
Perhaps I would find a woman willing to share my life, to look past the scars. A woman who would crave my body and my protection, whose touch would chase away the nightmares. Who’s love would quicken my soul once again. We would have children, boys and girls with my eyes and her smile. I would teach them to work the land, to respect the old ways. They would grow up free, never knowing the weight of chains or the sting of the lash.
It was a beautiful dream. I shook my head, banishing the images. My reality was here, in the arena. My family was my fellow gladiators. My future extended only as far as the next fight.
As I made my way back to the gladiators' quarters, I could hear the sounds of ongoing celebration. Some of the men were still awake, their voices carrying through the night air, and with them the sounds of pleasure. I didn't join them. Instead, I headed straight for my small, private room - a privilege earned through years of victories.
Closing the door behind me, I felt the weight of the day settle fully onto my shoulders. I removed my tunic, wincing at the fresh bruises and cuts that marked my body. Another set of scars to add to my collection.
I washed quickly with the water from the jug beside my bed, the cool liquid soothing against my skin. Then, with a groan, I lowered myself onto the narrow cot. The straw mattress crinkled beneath me, a familiar discomfort.
Lying there in the darkness, I found my thoughts drifting once again to the future. Not the dream of freedom this time, but the more immediate concerns of tomorrow and the days to come. We had lost Andus, one of our strongest fighters. The dynamicsof our team would shift, roles would need to be reassigned. And there were always new gladiators coming in, young men and women full of fire and ambition who needed to be moulded into effective fighters.
It was a never-ending cycle. Train, fight, survive. Train the next generation, watch them fight, mourn those who fell. And through it all, maintain the delicate balance between hope and realism, between dreaming of freedom and accepting the chains of our reality.
I closed my eyes, feeling the pull of exhaustion. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. For now, I needed rest.
3
The dining room had reached a level of frenzy not unlike the crowds in the arena earlier that evening. Spirits were always high after a win, and the gladiators celebrated the only way they knew how - food, drink and sex. I wandered through the tables, clearing away empty mugs and plates as the gladiators celebrated, Drusus and his investors among them. Almost as if he had predicted the outcome, Drusus had laid on a celebration feast, and I couldn't help but smile as I watched them celebrate. I may have been forced into this life, but as much as the arenawas my prison, it was also my home, and these people were my family.
The room, devoid of grandeur, exuded an undeniable charm. The worn wooden floors bore witness to countless footsteps, each one leaving an indelible mark of resilience and perseverance. The sturdy tables, polished by the touch of many hands, offered a sense of stability in a world that seemed uncertain and ever-changing. The tantalizing scent of rustic fare wafted through the air, mingling with the warm desert breeze that swept in through the open windows.
My stomach rumbled a little at the sight of the feast Drusus had laid on. Apparently he had come out of the battle rather well, having laid several large bets with the tabularii in the town. He and the investors sat at one table, drinking, and talking loudly, his booming laughter filling the room many times. Three of the investors each had one of the female slaves kneeling between their legs, as did Drusus, whereas another had one of the male slaves, his mouth working furiously as the investor pushed his head down further.
I picked up my tray and made my way towards the kitchens. As I neared the door, I spotted Octavia sitting astride Vaius. Her tunic had been pushed down off her arms, and she was bare from the waist up. Vaius pressed his face into her neck as he caressed her breasts with his hand and she caught my eye with a sly wink, reaching down to pinch a morsel off his abandoned plate. I fought back a grin, and went to deposit my tray in the kitchen.
On my return, I paused by the door, scanning the room for Marcus, but I didn't see him. Withdrawing before anyone could spot me and demand my attention, I moved quietly down the hall to where the gladiators’ rooms were. Marcus's was at the end. There were three trainers and each had their own rooms. Tonight, I was glad of it. It would make this easier. There wasno glow of candlelight spilled out from under the heavy wooden door, and I paused. Nerves were starting to get the better of me, and I needed to be calm now.
Taking a breath, I reached out and tapped on the door.
"Enter," came Marcus's deep voice from inside. I pushed the door open, slipping inside, and pushing it closed again behind me. Light flooded the room as Macus struck a spark on his flint to light the oil lamp by his bed. He was sat on the bed, stripped down to his braecae. The loose fitting trousers hung low on his hips and my eyes travelled over the dark contours of muscle that delved down into a v just above where the fabric ended.
He had clearly cleaned himself after the battle, but the night was warm and his dark skin gleamed in the lamplight, golden highlights showing the relief of his shaved head and the defined muscles of his body.
"Livia," he said, making me jump. "Does Drusus require me?"
He knew my name. I hadn’t realised that. For some reason, my heart gave a little jump at the thought.
"No, I just... wanted to see if you needed anything. I saw you weren't in the dining hall with the others. I brought you some wine." I held out the bowl and he took it from me.
"That was very thoughtful, thank you." He took a drink and then set the bowl on the floor next to the bed.
"Will you not come and join the celebration?" I asked, feeling shy, and not sure how to make things proceed the way I wanted them to.
Marcus shook his head.
"I have celebrated many things in this life. I will not celebrate death that is needless."
"But this wasn't needless death," I said. "It was glorious, and it was your honour that brought it about."
