Arena: Part One

by D. Michael Withrow

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Besides, I can’t hide anything from Janice.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  They went inside and Colston performed his ritual of locking the door then hanging the key on a hook.

  “So it worked then,” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And Janice didn’t ask why I needed you again at the ludus? My note was enough?”

  “Well,” she said. “Nothing is ever enough for that woman, but she didn’t ask why. She just glared at me like she does. You know what I mean, right?”

  “Yeah, I know that look very well. Too well in fact.”

  “So,” she said. “What’s up with your dad?”

  Colston almost smiled at this. He could not decide whether to rejoice with pride for his fighter or pretend he somehow felt sorry for his father.

  “Cole grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Doc says another second and he would have crushed his wind pipe.”

  “Who’s Cole?”

  “He’s my fighter.”

  “So why’d he try to kill your dad?”

  “Because he hit me.”

  “Well then, he deserved it.”

  “So,” Colston said, “what do you want to do today?”

  “I thought maybe I might like to read one of those books.”

  “And what am I supposed to do while you read?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you can watch me.”

  She laughed at this though he failed to find the humor in it. He did enjoy watching her laugh though. She was beautiful when she laughed.

  “I guess I’ll read too then.”

  “There ya go,” she said. “That’s the spirit.”

  13

  Janice was there, sitting at the kitchen table, when Colston and Anna returned from the ludus. The late afternoon sun was showing weakly through the trees and onto the table where she sat with her hands folded in front of her. A pattern of shadows danced around the edge of the table distracting Colston from her stare for a moment.

  “Your father would like to see you Master Colston,” she said.

  He knew what that meant. She had gone to him about him using Anna in the ludus. She had ratted him out because she knew that she could not confront him directly. She had gone to the one person that held power over the boy. He knew nothing good could come from what was about to happen, but he was not going to let Janice know that she had won this round.

  “Thanks Janice,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

  As he headed for the stairs he knew he was abandoning Anna, but there was nothing to be done about it. It was time for both of them to face the music. As he took his first steps up the staircase he heard Janice’s voice ring out.

  “Your time goofing off with that boy is over young lady.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Anna said.

  It made Colston sick to hear Anna forced to act so submissive, especially towards Janice. Colston reached the top of the stairs and saw his father through the open door to his bedroom at the end of the hall. He was lying there staring at the ceiling with a pained expression on his face. When he heard his son walking down the hallway he wiped at his eyes and tried to clear his throat. This made him wince and grab at his throat gingerly.

  “Are you okay,” the boy asked as he walked into the room. His father’s eyes were red and Colston was fairly certain that he had been crying. Colston had only seen his father cry once before and that had been several years ago at his mother’s funeral. It made him think of his mother. And the longing to have her back returned once again.

  “What’s going on with this girl,” his father asked in a thin, scratchy voice.

  “What do you mean?” Colston knew what his father meant. But he was obviously having a hard time speaking and Colston took his payback where he could find it.

  “Janice says that the two of you are just goofing off.”

  “I’m just using her to help clean up some of the more neglected parts of the ludus. Besides, how would Janice have any idea what’s going on in the ludus if she were here doing what you pay her to do?”

  “Don’t get smart with me,” his father croaked. “Just answer my questions and don’t make me ask them twice.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, what’s really going on?”

  Colston decided to come clean. “She’s my age and I enjoy hanging out with her. It gets lonely with no other kids around.”

  He knew this would resonate with his father as he had always felt guilty for not being able to provide a more normal home environment for his son. When Colston’s mother was still alive she would harp on his father almost daily that their son needed friends, not killers, to play with. But his father had never been able to solve that riddle. Other parents were afraid to let their children come to a place that harbored such despicable men as those that fought in the arena. So Colston had been left to live among adults and miss out on many childhood activities.

  “I understand,” his father said. “I’ll speak with Janice. Just try not to rub her nose in it.”

  “Thank you,” the boy said and reached out to touch his father’s hand. His father squeezed it and smiled though Colston could tell it hurt him to do so.

  “How’s your fighter working out?”

  “Good,” Colston said. “We’ve decided to train him as a demachaerus. He has a long way to go, but he shows promise.”

  “We?”

  “Well, me. I got his input on weapon preference and then made the decision.”

  “Don’t get too close to him, son. You know it’s not smart to care for these men the way that you do. None of them can last forever in the arena. The end will always come and, as you saw with Thomas, it’s never pretty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now go do your schoolwork,” his father said. “I know you’ve been at the ludus all day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colston turned and walked towards the door. He could not help but smile. His father had agreed to let Anna continue spending time with him and he felt like running down stairs and telling Janice to go shove it. But he remembered what his father had said about not rubbing her nose in it and decided instead to try to hold in the joy, which made him feel as though he might burst for a moment.

  “Be sure to keep her away from the men,” his father said as he was walking away. “A ludus is no place for a girl.”

  That night Colston lay in bed trying to fall asleep, but his mind would not stop going round with thoughts of Cole and Anna. He stiffened when he heard the door begin to open. When he saw Anna’s face appear through the opening he relaxed. Once she saw that he was awake she opened the door the rest of the way and came in, shutting the door quietly behind her. She came over to Colston’s bed and immediately pulled back the covers and climbed in with him.

  “Um, what are you doing here,” he asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come hang out with you.

  “That’s cool. Just make sure you stay on your side of the bed.”

  “Oh, I have a side?”

  “You do now.”

  “So, I guess we’re not going to be able to spend any time together anymore?”

  “Just the opposite,” Colston said. “My father has agreed that we can hang out. He will speak to Janice if he hasn’t already.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I kind of guilted him into it.”

  “That’s great,” she said.

  “So I was thinking every afternoon once I’m finished training Cole.”

  “What’s so important about him that you have to train him yourself? Don’t you have someone that trains the fighters for you?”

  “Yes, we have Jacob. But Cole is my fighter and my father said it was my responsibility to train him.”

  “Your fighter. What does that mean? That you own him?”

  “Well,” he said. “Yeah.”

  “The thought of people owning people mak
es me sick. Do you own me too?”

  “No Anna.”

  “But your father does.”

  “I didn’t make the laws.”

  “No, I know you didn’t. But you and your father certainly are taking advantage of them.”

  “Where is this coming from,” he asked. “What would you have me do?”

  She was quiet for a moment. He felt that some great gorge had opened up between them. No words came to either of them until finally she broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…”

  She turned onto her side and looked over at him. “I don’t know that you can see this from where you sit, but owning people is not right. It has been outlawed in the past for this very reason. Look, I was wrong to come down on you. I understand you were born into this lifestyle. But I don’t want you growing up thinking that it’s okay to own people. Can you at least try to understand where I’m coming from?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I can do that.”

  She smiled at this. “You’re pretty awesome.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  She leaned in and kissed him and the sensation of her warm, soft mouth on his made him forget about any disagreement between them. She laid her head back down on her pillow and closed her eyes. Colston watched her as she lay there beside him.

  “Good night,” she said at last.

  “Good night.”

  Colston laid back down and listened to her breathing. After some time it became slower and softer until he was sure she was asleep. He lay there for some time listening to her breathe until at last he fell asleep himself.

  14

  Cole had just finished eating by the time Colston found him in the mess hall. He had missed their run completely and almost missed breakfast. The boy made himself a plate and sat down across from Cole to eat. The damp air blew across the sand of the pit, stirring it up and pelting it against the windows of the mess hall. Colston was glad his father had had the wall built, closing off the mess hall from the open air. He did not miss having sand in his food or shivering on cold, winter mornings. It was bad enough running in it.

  They were quiet for a time as Colston ate. The sand continued to pelt the windows in gusts. It was going to be a miserable day to train in the pit if the weather did not clear in the next few hours. If the sand continued to gust then training might be canceled altogether. The other fighters, fresh back from their run, began filtering into the mess hall. They came in and went through the mess line making themselves plates. Their appetites were large as they were used to burning large numbers of calories throughout the day. If they failed to eat enough they would most surely pay for it later in the pit.

  Marcus was there with his band of groupies talking and laughing loudly. He looked over at the two of them and said something to the others that made them all howl with laughter. A moment later he got up and walked over to them with a smirk on his face. Colston knew that he was up to no good and signaled for a protector to be at the ready.

  “What’s the matter little one,” Marcus asked. “You afraid of big bad Marcus?”

  Cole stood up and faced the man. He towered over him by more than a foot. He was so much wider than Marcus that he made the otherwise large man look like a child.

  “It would seem,” Cole said. “That you are the little one. Now fuck off before I plant your face in this table here.”

  “Ooh…” Marcus said. “The big man is angry.”

  Cole stepped closer to him.

  “Look here big man, I’m not Riley. You won’t be able to push me around the arena the way you did him.”

  “Who said anything about the arena,” Cole said.

  “You talk tough for someone who’s only been here a week.”

  Cole reached up and grabbed Marcus by hair then slammed his head into the metal table just inches in front of Colston’s plate. His plate flew up and off the table and his eggs fell across the table and Marcus’ face. Colston signaled for the protectors to stand down as he did not want to see Cole stunned again. Cole held Marcus’ head down against the table so that he was facing the boy. “Now tell the young man that you’re sorry for being so offensive,” Cole said.

  “Fuck you,” Marcus grunted as he struggled to get free from the big man’s grasp. Cole lifted his head and smashed it against the table again. This time it was much harder and Colston was afraid that he might split the man’s skull. Spittle and blood came out of Marcus’ mouth as he breathed heavily through it. “Tell him,” Cole said. Nothing but labored breathing came from Marcus’ mouth. Once more Cole lifted his head and was about to slam it into the table again when Marcus gave in. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Cole flung him backwards onto the floor like he was nothing more than a doll. The other fighters that had been laughing a few minutes before stared at Cole in amazement. He had just handled the champion of house Carlson as if he were nothing more than a child.

  “Let’s go,” Colston said. “We have work to do.”

  And with that they walked out of the mess hall and into the gusting wind and sand.

  “He’s going to come after you in the pit,” Colston said. “He will try to hurt you.”

  The boy watched Cole as he demonstrated proper technique for overhead dumbbell triceps extensions. Cole was using a weight that Colston could not even lift. “He will try,” Cole said.

  “Look, I understand that you are bigger than him. And stronger than him. And you could probably beat him to death in a fist fight. But you are unskilled with a sword.”

  Cole continued to lift the dumbbell, blowing out as he did.

  “He however,” Colston said. “Is my father’s champion. And he is quite skilled with a sword.”

  Cole let the weight fall to the padded floor behind him when he was finished. Colston could feel the thud of the impact through his entire body. “Then I suppose,” Cole said. “You should train me pretty quickly.”

  “I…” Colston started. “There is only one speed with which to train someone how to properly use a weapon. The only way to do it quickly, as you suggest, is to spend more time training.”

  “Then that is what we’ll do. Now it’s your turn to do the exercise. Choose a weight that you feel you can easily lift over your head with both hands.”

  Colston walked over to the weight rack and selected a dumbbell that matched Cole’s description then brought it back to the bench and sat down. “I don’t know how much extra time I can spend with you. I do have other things to do you know.”

  “Ah yes,” Cole said. “The young lady.”

  “Let’s not forget my education. I may want to be something other than this when I grow up.”

  “You should.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You are a smart young man,” Cole said. “You could be anything you wanted to be.”

  “But you said it as if there were something wrong with this.”

  “Owning people and forcing them to fight in the arena is no way to make a living.”

  “My father has made quite a good living at it actually.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “No,” Colston said. “I don’t. Maybe I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

  “What I mean to say is that you’re better than your father. That owning other people and forcing them to fight for their lives for others’ amusement is not something in which you should aspire to. I’ve said it before; you have a good heart. You can do something honorable. Something noble.”

  “What did you do?” the boy said. “Before I mean.”

  “I was a science teacher.”

  “Really? I can’t see you as a teacher.”

  “What do you see me as then?”

  “I don’t know,” Colston said. “I just don’t see you as a teacher.”

  “Start doing your triceps lifts or we’re going to be here all day.”

  Lifting the dumbbell proved harder than Colsto
n had imagined and he was forced to go back to the weight rack and choose a lighter weight. As he performed the exercise Cole would correct his technique when necessary. It felt good to use his muscles despite how sore it made him for days afterward. Cole had told him that eventually that soreness would not be so intense. But despite the soreness he enjoyed it. He did not feel stronger yet, but they had just begun. It would take time. He was smart enough to realize that. It was no different than when he was learning to use the weapons of the gladiators. It had taken him years and he still did not consider himself half as good as Jacob. Someday, he thought. With work and time. Someday.

  “So what will it be,” Cole asked when Colston had finished his first set with the dumbbell. “Are you going to make more time for me or let Marcus beat up on me in the pit?” He smiled as he said this.

  “Well, I suppose I can spend some time with you after dinner. As long as my father doesn’t give me any grief.”

  “He do that a lot?”

  “What’s that,” Colston said.

  “Give you grief.”

  The answer did not come right away. In fact, Colston was unsure of exactly what to say. It was a hard thing to admit to. “Only when he’s really drunk,” he said at last.

  “And how often is that?”

  “Well,” Colston said. “Pretty much every night.”

  There was anger in the big man’s eyes along with something else. Perhaps it was a feeling of helplessness. Knowing what Colston’s father was doing to him and being powerless to stop it.

  “Maybe we can spend some of that extra time together teaching you how to defend yourself.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.”