Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) by Elle Strauss, Lee Strauss

towns grouping together in the stands—a primal
instinct drawing them, sensing that blood was about to be shed. They began to
chant, fight-fight-fight!
    Lucius moved his feet circling Felix in an awkward dance. He’d
never killed a man. He remembered the beast he’d stabbed the day before, how it
felt to thrust his spear into its flesh— the sickly gurgle as air oozed from
its lungs, its final shudder.
    Could he do that to this man?
    Even if he did, he wouldn’t be safe. He’d just be called to
fight again. To kill again. And again. Someone’s death in exchange for his
life.
    A blistering pain seared his shoulders—he arched back, crying
out in pain.
    “Fight you imbecile!” Cedric shouted, his face red with fury.
His arm held the whip that was raised as a threat. “Or I will beat you to a
pulp and you’ll wish to the gods you had.”
    The crowds roared with approval. Young blood with the benefit
of agility and vitality versus the strength and experience of an old work
horse.
    Felix raised his sword. Lucius countered, the clash of the
steel blades rang in his ears.
    “Kill him, Felix!” Titus shouted, even as he struggled to free
himself from the guards. “Kill him!”
    Another strike. The energy of the blow vibrated through
Lucius’s whole body. The sun baked down mercilessly; Lucius used his free arm
to wipe his brow.
    Perhaps he should let this old man kill him. Should he give
himself over to the underworld now, and let the man live?
    Until Felix was called on to fight another man, someone more
ruthless than he.
    Death was every man’s destiny.
    The tip of the old man’s sword was at his throat so fast. How
did that happen? The sharpened tip poked the skin of his neck. He felt the
prick of pain and the flow of blood trickling down. So this was it; this was
his day to die.
    Felix leaned his head in and whispered fiercely, “Fight me!”
    “Why? We are all bound to die.”
    “But not all of us today. I am old, I’ve lived my days. I’m
begging you, Lucius. It’s my turn.”
    He stepped back, leaving Lucius gasping. The crowd booed. The
chant switched from fight, fight, fight to kill him, kill him, kill him!
    Cedric whipped the ground, sending up a dust cloud of sand.
“The crowd is waiting! Entertain them!”
    And as if to provide incentive, he added, “The winner will
accompany my team to Carthage to participate in the games given by the emperor
in honor of his son’s birthday!”
    The cheer of the crowd was deafening, but Lucius only heard one
word. Carthage. An opportunity to see his home one last time before he died
serving the emperor. And if the gods would show him a small mercy, a final
chance to see Helena before passing to the underworld.
    “Felix!” he called out. “I’ll do as you wish.”
    The old man nodded and raised his sword. Though they knew how
it would end, they would give these people a show.

 
     
    Chapter Twenty-Three
    HELENA
     
    Helena and Felicity moved surreptitiously through the throng in
the Forum, pausing to examine the wares in the market. Their objective was to
reach the back door of the produce vendor’s home undetected. Antonius was wrapped
to Helena’s chest, and she was grateful that the motion of walking had lulled
him to sleep.
    Everywhere they heard the people talking: The Emperor is coming
to Carthage! The Emperor is coming to Carthage! The news filtered down through
the ranks; from General Hilarianus to his highest-ranking officials to the
Senate, to the business community to the plebeians, rich and poor.
    There was new work for everyone—the arena was to be cleaned and
prepared, animals were to be brought in from the far reaches of the kingdom,
vendors preparing enough clothing and pots and sculptured images of the deities
to sell to thousands, and food was being imported, prepared and sold to hungry
participants and observers of the games.
    Posters and paintings were created to announce the holy Emperor’s
arrival, and not just Severus but his wife