by T. C. Edge
Before too long, they were grinding past the river, and entering the affluent world of Eastside. The streets here weren’t anywhere nearly as filthy, and any trash that had accumulated overnight was already being swept away by an army of early morning cleaners. Mostly, they were working in the squares, all playing host to wonderful parties, and the closer to the city centre they got, the more lavish and splendid those parties will have been.
Yet here, where the aristocrats dwelled, restraint would have been shown. They would have enjoyed themselves in ordered fashion, enjoying fine wine and fine conversation, watching dancers and performers and listening to beautiful music. It would have been very refined, and fitting of such lords and ladies, no one wishing to wake on this most important of days with too heavy an ache in the head.
All will soon be gathering in the arena, taking their positions in the grand balconies and watching from the best vantages that money and influence can buy. Such fine people, so wealthy and wise, will sit and chat casually, discussing business and current events, snacking on delicious foods and sipping on sumptuous wines.
It will be a wonderful day out for them, the first of many over the next month. And as they eat and drink and chat about whatever so comes to mind, it will all be the backdrop of blood and death.
Merk knew it all. He’d seen it all. Not from such positions, of course, but from the lowly seats up high he’d occasionally been to the arena. And, as the wagon rolled along the cobblestone streets, and the Colosseum came into view, he wondered for the first time in days whether Master Domitian had kept his promise.
Perhaps, right now, a ticket was sitting in his grubby little apartment. A good ticket, maybe, not in the balconies but certainly with a great view of the action. He’d never know now, of course, and how ironic that was.
Because Merk was quickly coming to the realisation that, along with the others, he’d be getting a very good view of the action indeed.
Alas, he’d get the best view of all.
31
The chambers beneath the Colosseum were surprisingly well lit. In fact, the dungeons Kira had been kept in had been getting progressively brighter.
First, there was the pitch black of the boat. Then, the cell in the ludus, gifted with a generous helping of natural sunlight in the day, and moonlight at night. Here, however, in the belly of the great amphitheatre, the stone and rock walls were fitted with artificial lighting. There was no need for darkness anymore.
Kira sat on a rock bench in the main chamber, split into a number of different spaces all separated by grates and bars. They were cells, really, and through the bars she could see a host of other gladiators, marching around in their own private spaces, pumping their chests, giving themselves pep talks.
She could see it all, hear it all, smell it all. Their heartbeats were clear to her ears, so many of them highly elevated. The whispering of their lips were clear enough too, some saying prayers like Gecko the previous night, others geeing themselves up with less savoury self-talk.
Kira could smell the sweat, no surprise given the heat, and feel the heightened and abbreviated breathing patterns. Above all, the picture that built in her mind was clear – this entire place was full of fear.
Her teammates were part of that collective. They were pacing too, both of them in the same cell as her, glancing occasionally though the bars to get a feel for whom they might be facing. They’d been there for nearly an hour now, and Kira had done her best to keep them calm. Perversely, the more nervous they became, the more relaxed she was.
She fed off the brewing fear. It gave her a great deal of confidence knowing they were struggling more than she was.
The previous night, they’d sat for some time discussing their plans. It turned out that Gecko and Gwyn had both heard talk of the cull themselves during the celebration, and both had a few snippets of information they could use. They were aware of the layout of the Colosseum above, and had discovered that there would be about thirty gladiators fighting, along with a host of criminals.
The cull, it seemed, had a double meaning. On the one side, it was intended to eliminate the weaker contenders, but on the other, it was also used to rid the city of heretics, traitors, and other questionable folk.
It was a mixture, then, of sacrifice and proper gladiatorial contest. While the criminals would be armed, they were just normal men and women, and weren’t expected to stand a chance. Just an opportunity, really, for Empress Vesper to see to the group punishment of those who’d spoken out against her.
It was Gwyn who supplied the information, and Kira didn’t much like it. By all accounts, merely speaking out against the empress was punishable by death, the sort of insane form of justice that only despots and unhinged rulers employed.
As they convened the previous night, therefore, they decided that their focus would be on the gladiators, and not the traitors.
“We’ll pick out one at a time,” Kira had said. “Divide and conquer. Get each alone, take them out, and then move onto the next. Cover each other’s backs, watch for projectiles, work together as a team and win together as a team.”
Naturally, Gecko had asked the obvious question.
“What if other groups work together? Like Lucius’ gladiators?”
Kira was sure they would. Lucius wasn’t exactly going to slip that advice to her and not his own men.
“They will,” she’d said. “We’ll try to stay away from them at first. Gwyn, you’ve got great eyesight like me. We’ll both keep one eye on them, watch for weaknesses. If we see an opportunity, we’ll strike.”
The plans they’d come to, in the end, had been both speculative and rather basic. For Kira, it was more about giving them something to hope for, inspiring them. It would help her a great deal if they had their wits about them, and so she was only too happy to step up into a position of leadership to make that happen.
Now, the clock was ticking, and they’d spent their time mostly in silent contemplation. As Kira sat on the bench, the others marched about, and above them the noise of the stadium began to build.
To one side of the cell, an arrangement of bladed weapons was set out. There were swords, axes, long daggers, and knives, scimitars, spears, javelins and maces. Kira looked upon them all, many of which she’d practiced with and many of which she hadn’t, and decided that lightweight blades would be best for her.
They’d been informed that they could use whatever the wanted, and could take as many into battle as they wished. Kira had considered it closely, and knew it best to avoid the temptation to take a wide assortment.
Instead, she’d choose a pair of scimitar daggers - lightweight, curved blades, shining silver and fitted with sheaths that she could attach to her belt. Those and a host of throwing knives would do the trick. If she had to, she could always pick up more blades along the way.
As the rumble from above grew louder, Kira’s anticipation built too. She couldn’t deny the nerves. They were natural, and helpful, a product of the fears that resided deep inside her. She sat, silent and still, and shut her eyes, her palms set to the stone bench on either side. And in her mind she saw the Colosseum take shape above, filling now with thousands, tens of thousands, of people.
It was a larger grouping than she’d ever felt. The sense of excitement was palpable, the energy bristling and humming through the depths of the grand structure. The endless chattering of voices filled the air, and a strange, unexpected smile lifted up the corners of Kira’s mouth.
Soon, she’d be out there in front of them all, fighting in front of them all. She’d show them what she could do. She’d give them something to chatter about…
Suddenly, a commotion lifted in the depths of the arena, and Kira’s eyes ripped open. Gwyn and Gecko stepped towards the bars to the cell, and outside, along a corridor, a host of armoured guards marched. They all came, two by two, each pair stopping outside one of the cells, and standing guard at the gate.
Kira heard a voice.
“Gather
up your weapons,” shouted a man out of sight. “You will be led onto the sand in five minutes. Gather up your weapons. It’s time to fight. It’s time to die…”
He went on, marching up and down, and the underground chamber filled with an echoing din of hurrying feet and frenzied movement. In each cell, the gladiators rushed to their weapons stations, picking out their favoured tools of death, fixing them to belts and straps or merely gripping them tight in their hands.
Kira did the same, attaching the scimitar blades to her flanks, fixing as many throwing knives as she could manage to her belt. The others chose their weapons too, Gwyn going for lightweight blades like Kira, Gecko grabbing two throwing axes, a sword, and a spear to fix to his back.
They moved back together to the gate, and looked at each other. Kira fixed her eyes resolutely, and tried her best to ease away some of their fear. Her eyes had a clear message – stick with me, stick together, and we might just come out of this alive.
Outside in the corridor, the lead guard was still shouting. And up above, the stadium seemed to rumble even louder.
“OK, open the gates!” he shouted. “It’s time!”
The two guards stationed at each cell stepped in and opened the doors. Kira took the lead ahead of the others, moving to the exit, spreading her eyes both ways down the corridor to check upon her opponents. A collective fear occupied most eyes she saw, and yet some were more like hers: battle-hardened, ready to kill.
Ready to die.
“Follow the guards,” called out the man. “Move to your exits. Fight and die with honour!”
The guards began to lead the gladiators away down different corridors. Beneath the arena, the network of corridors and cells spread to the perimeter, where a set of stairs led up to the ground floor. A long passage stretched all the way around, fitted with a dozen different gates creating a dozen different entrances onto the sand.
Kira, Gwyn and Gecko were led straight to one, marching from their cell to the boundary wall, up the stairs, and onto the circular passage around the base of the Colosseum. With each step, the roar of the crowd grew louder, and as the gate to the sand appeared, Kira saw through the bars for the first time, the stadium’s interior coming into view.
She held her nerve and narrowed her eyes, and through the metal gate saw the sprawling crowd, spreading high up the many tiers and beyond her sight above. Even though her view was limited, she could still see many thousands of people, dressed in various colours, rippling like the endless sea as they stood and chanted and lost themselves to the feverish excitement that spread through the stands like wildfire.
Once more, she stuck a look of total determination to her face and showed it to her companions.
“Watch each other’s backs,” she said. “Don’t be overwhelmed. Listen for my voice over the crowd…it will be hard to hear. Focus. We will survive this. All of us.”
They nodded, their breathing beginning to rush. Kira turned again from them and looked out to the sand, bright yellow under the early afternoon sun. Across the way, she could see several other barred gates built into the arena wall, and behind them the shapes of people waiting in the shadows.
People she’d have to kill.
Then, suddenly, the crowd began to hush. She could see them all stopping and going deathly silent, staring towards one particular balcony high above her to the left. She squinted through the bright sun, but her view of the top of the balcony was blocked.
A few long moments of silence passed. The entire world seemed to stop.
Then, a voice came.
“Good afternoon to you all,” it said, spreading loudly across the arena. Kira recognised it immediately. It belonged to Empress Vesper. “I welcome you, the wonderful people of Neorome, to witness this inaugural bout of the Imperial Games. Each year, we begin with the cull, and this year it’s bigger and better than ever. Please, put your hands together, first of all, and welcome the gladiators of the cull!”
The crowd broke once more into a deafening tumult. Tens of thousands of hands began to clap, and tens of thousands of voices began to roar. One of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the gate. It opened without a creak, the squeak of rusted metal hidden by the din, and the guards nodded for them to pass through.
Kira looked to her new allies, and dropped her chin into an assertive nod.
It was time.
32
Dom rarely got nervous. A man of his position and power hardly ever had cause for such an emotional reaction no matter what the cause. And, while he might feel tense towards the end of the games, when his true contenders came face to face, the first day had never once caused any form of apprehension or anxiety to rise within him
Until today.
He sat in the royal balcony, hands sweating as they lay on his legs, lightly kneading the fabric of his fine red robes. He was sitting to the left of his mother, herself upon a grand throne, tables of food and wine and a host of slaves around them at their beck and call.
On his mother’s right side, Lord Pontius sat, his patronage of the games affording him this great position at the front of the stage for the inaugural bout. And behind, other luminaries had been invited, lords and ladies of high birth and rank in the city. And Lucius. Of course, he was there too.
The stadium had been filling for the last two hours. Some people were just so keen to arrive and enjoy the moment that they’d come as soon as the gates were opened, taking their seats and soaking up the atmosphere as it built and built through the day.
Now, all had come, and the stands were full to bursting; a hundred thousand men, women, and children packed into a single space. It never failed to give Dom a feeling of total awe, and he could only imagine how daunting it must be for some of the more frightened gladiators down below, waiting to be led into this pit of pain and death.
Of course, today it wouldn’t just be gladiators who would die. There were to be upwards of seventy or so criminals too, though Dom knew that they weren’t really criminals at all. They weren’t murderers and rapists. They hadn’t conspired to kill the empress or cause any major public disorder.
No, they were merely ‘traitors’ by his mother’s standards. And those standards were slipping dramatically. Dom didn’t know the details, of course, but he felt quite sure that many of those who’d be put to death today will have done little more than utter the odd negative comment about their ruler. And, truth be told, their comments will have been quite fair.
The sacrifice of these people, set to die in the most frightening and horrific way, served a double purpose. It would, obviously, increase the numbers of the dead, and give the crowd more of the blood they craved. That was a bonus by anyone’s book, and Dom was sure they’d be only too excited to see how swiftly such men and women would be cut down.
The other purpose of killing them here today, however, was more important. It was a show. A display of Vesper’s total power and intolerance of heresy to her rule and mental state. It seemed that seeing heads littering spikes around the city, and bodies hanging from arches wasn’t enough. This forum of a hundred thousand watching eyes would be a far better place to exhibit the ruthless measures she was willing to take.
Soon, Dom knew, no one would dare even think bad thoughts about his mother. Yet the great irony of it all was that by killing so many who questioned her rule, she was actually proving their point – that she was, after all, out of her mind. And that she really wasn’t fit to be empress anymore.
Dom sipped his wine. He banished the thought. Instead, he turned his mind back to his contenders, waiting down below, and a fresh pang of nerves rippled through him…
A hand landed on his shoulder, taking him off guard. He almost spat up his drink.
“Jeez, Dom…sorry if I frightened you.”
Dom shifted his position and looked into the face of Lucius, standing behind him.
“You look nervous, old friend. I’ve never seen you like this on the opening day.”
Dom smiled. He needed to ke
ep up appearances here.
“Well, perhaps I’m changing as I, ahem, mature,” he said. “I just wish you’d do the same.”
Lucius’ eyes lit at the jibe. He enjoyed the back and forward more than Dom did. There was rarely any winning with him.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it.” He took a moment to himself, then spoke again. “Or…perhaps it’s got something to do with your red-head,” he smirked. “I can’t blame you. She’s got fire, that one. We had a splendid chat last night. I assured her that if she got through today, we’d get to spend some private time together…”
“You will not,” growled Dom.
Lucius’ smile widened. He glanced to Vesper, who was taking no interest, chatting instead with Ares who was informing her of the likely favourites for the bout.
He seemed disappointed that she hadn’t heard.
“Well,” Lucius went on, “we’ll just see what happens, shall we? Good luck today, Prince Domitian. I’m sure your trio will do just fine.”
He sauntered off, scooping up a golden goblet of wine on his way back to his seat, positioned behind his father. Dom felt the rage in the tips of his fingers. Lucius was getting ever so good at creeping under his skin.
He dismissed Lucius from his mind, and as Vesper prepared to stand and open the games, he turned back to the undulating crowd. Looking upon them, his gaze turned to a specific point not too far away, right in the centre of the middle tier of the west stand. He looked closely, but could hardly make out any specific faces from here. Just a collage of colour and little more.
Until that point, he’d half forgotten about his old caretaker from the boat. He wondered, as he scanned the sea of people, if Merk had got the ticket he’d sent over. He knew it was in that section somewhere, a top of the range view of the action that’s for sure.