breathing evened out in slumber.
She was his savior.
*** *** *** ***
Sometime before 200 B.C. Outskirts of Rome.
Valerius yanked with all his might on the chains that secured him against the prison wall.
Though his entire body was one large, gaping wound from the rigors of battle a few hours before, he willed his strength not to leave him, not until he got free and slit the throats of the fuckers who did this to him.
Only a few hours ago, his father was still among the living, badly injured but breathing. He’d half dragged, half carried the aged gladiator from the bloody arena down to the pits below, the crowds’ cheers still ringing loudly above ground. Valerius could have cared less about his victory. All he wanted was to get his father to the healers. With every step, every trickle of blood, he felt his father’s life bleed slowly away.
But when he returned to the pits he was waylaid by their master, a bald, ruddy man with beady eyes and double chins.
“You ingrate!” the odious little man erupted, striking Valerius with his brass-knuckled fist.
Taken aback by the unprovoked assault, Valerius staggered off balance and almost dropped his father hard onto the dirt ground.
“Take him!” the master ordered, pointing to Valerius’ burden. Four armed soldiers came forth and pried the fallen gladiator from Valerius’ grasp, knocking him back with the blunt hilt of their swords.
“He needs a healer, my lord,” Valerius urged, thinking that perhaps their master’s displeasure, though he had no clue as to its cause, extended only to him, that his father would be spared.
“He needs to fulfill his bargain,” the enraged slave owner hissed, then gestured to the two soldiers holding the unconscious gladiator.
Before Valerius could comprehend what was happening, one of the soldiers held his father upright while the other bared his blade and slit it in one clean strike across the gladiator’s throat.
“Nooo!” Valerius rammed forward with enough force to escape the clutches of the two guards restraining him, but the soldier with the unsheathed blade turned quickly and swiped it in a horizontal arc to block Valerius’ momentum.
The blade cut a long gash across the boy’s stomach and he lost his footing, giving the two guards behind him the opportunity to catch him around the shoulders and twist his arms behind his back, restraining him once again.
Valerius watched horrified as the soldier holding his father dragged him by the feet deeper into the pits, presumably to be dumped in the bin with all the other dead bodies.
“Why?” he cried, staring after his sire and falling to his knees.
“Why?” the nasty little man echoed. “Why! Because he is supposed to be dead! Because we made a deal! It was supposed to be his final battle, a glorious battle like no other, and he was supposed to die a glorious death!”
The master rounded on Valerius and grabbed his chin, forcing the boy to face him.
“But you, you little maggot, you ruined all my welllaid plans with that heroic rescue of yours. Do you know how much gold I lost because of you? I’d bet the entire enterprise on this battle!”
“But the crowd cheered,” Valerius whispered, tears of bewilderment and frustration and anguish filling his eyes, “they approved.”
“To what end!” the master thundered. “It is all a game! And. You. Sabotaged. My. Hand!” The master punctuated each screech with a swinging fist against Valerius’ head.
Then he bent down to the slave boy’s level until his bloated visage was not one inch from Valerius’ face.
“You stupid, stupid little shit,” the master spat, practically foaming at the mouth like a mad dog. “If you let your pater die like we planned, the profits would have been enough to free you both, and your pathetic womenfolk. But now, oh no, now you’re going to PAY!” the master shouted with quivering vengeance.
“I’m going to sell your ass to the highest bidder, and I don’t care if they use you for a potty
She was his savior.
*** *** *** ***
Sometime before 200 B.C. Outskirts of Rome.
Valerius yanked with all his might on the chains that secured him against the prison wall.
Though his entire body was one large, gaping wound from the rigors of battle a few hours before, he willed his strength not to leave him, not until he got free and slit the throats of the fuckers who did this to him.
Only a few hours ago, his father was still among the living, badly injured but breathing. He’d half dragged, half carried the aged gladiator from the bloody arena down to the pits below, the crowds’ cheers still ringing loudly above ground. Valerius could have cared less about his victory. All he wanted was to get his father to the healers. With every step, every trickle of blood, he felt his father’s life bleed slowly away.
But when he returned to the pits he was waylaid by their master, a bald, ruddy man with beady eyes and double chins.
“You ingrate!” the odious little man erupted, striking Valerius with his brass-knuckled fist.
Taken aback by the unprovoked assault, Valerius staggered off balance and almost dropped his father hard onto the dirt ground.
“Take him!” the master ordered, pointing to Valerius’ burden. Four armed soldiers came forth and pried the fallen gladiator from Valerius’ grasp, knocking him back with the blunt hilt of their swords.
“He needs a healer, my lord,” Valerius urged, thinking that perhaps their master’s displeasure, though he had no clue as to its cause, extended only to him, that his father would be spared.
“He needs to fulfill his bargain,” the enraged slave owner hissed, then gestured to the two soldiers holding the unconscious gladiator.
Before Valerius could comprehend what was happening, one of the soldiers held his father upright while the other bared his blade and slit it in one clean strike across the gladiator’s throat.
“Nooo!” Valerius rammed forward with enough force to escape the clutches of the two guards restraining him, but the soldier with the unsheathed blade turned quickly and swiped it in a horizontal arc to block Valerius’ momentum.
The blade cut a long gash across the boy’s stomach and he lost his footing, giving the two guards behind him the opportunity to catch him around the shoulders and twist his arms behind his back, restraining him once again.
Valerius watched horrified as the soldier holding his father dragged him by the feet deeper into the pits, presumably to be dumped in the bin with all the other dead bodies.
“Why?” he cried, staring after his sire and falling to his knees.
“Why?” the nasty little man echoed. “Why! Because he is supposed to be dead! Because we made a deal! It was supposed to be his final battle, a glorious battle like no other, and he was supposed to die a glorious death!”
The master rounded on Valerius and grabbed his chin, forcing the boy to face him.
“But you, you little maggot, you ruined all my welllaid plans with that heroic rescue of yours. Do you know how much gold I lost because of you? I’d bet the entire enterprise on this battle!”
“But the crowd cheered,” Valerius whispered, tears of bewilderment and frustration and anguish filling his eyes, “they approved.”
“To what end!” the master thundered. “It is all a game! And. You. Sabotaged. My. Hand!” The master punctuated each screech with a swinging fist against Valerius’ head.
Then he bent down to the slave boy’s level until his bloated visage was not one inch from Valerius’ face.
“You stupid, stupid little shit,” the master spat, practically foaming at the mouth like a mad dog. “If you let your pater die like we planned, the profits would have been enough to free you both, and your pathetic womenfolk. But now, oh no, now you’re going to PAY!” the master shouted with quivering vengeance.
“I’m going to sell your ass to the highest bidder, and I don’t care if they use you for a potty
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