Sextus' Sacrifice: Arena Series I

by Chris Vaughn

  The private office was as regal, and represented powerful position the Consol held. The Consul oversaw only a portion of the Empire. The Empire itself consisted of different territories.

  There were four territories that made up the whole of the Republic, although the Central Territory called itself, just ‘The Republic.’ The Central Republic was bordered by the Northern, Eastern, and Southern Republics. There would have been a Western Republic, but had disappeared long ago into the oceans.

  Each territory was ran by a different Consul, with each territory of the Republic was divided into districts governed by a Magistrate. While each territory wasn't an island alone within The Republic, just as The Republic wasn’t alone in the Empire itself, each Republic had become its own political entity. Each worked for its own purpose, and that not for the greater good of the other Republics.

  The power of a Consul was great and far-reaching. They had the authority, based upon their whims to elevate a man to power, or destroy their careers. Unlimited power bent the hearts of the best of men who had ever sat in the chair of a Consul. That bent was usually a selfish one. Their power became an evil seductress that lied and connived so justifications were given for actions taken to be acceptable. “For the good of the Republic,” was the standard answer given for their plans.

  “You will only call him Sextus from this moment! I thought I heard someone say his name at the beginning of our quorum.”

  “You did Consul, but, with… Sextus missing, the charges brought after his missed meeting. Magistrates were asking questions.” Secretary of State spoke up to cover the fact he had mentioned his name.

  The Secretary of State was not a man who liked confrontations. He had the record of a good official, having quickly executed the orders of his superiors. He was a good bureaucrat. The tone in his voice proved he was ill at ease in this setting, as he had not long sat in the office of Secretary of State. He was thrust into this position upon the private resignation and secret arrest of his predecessor, M. E. Windsor.

  “I agree Consul, we must proceed with all haste to put the plan in place.” The Secretary of Games was quick to agree.

  “State and Games, you will coordinate together to make sure we can achieve our goal of absorption. In the next few days, we will set in motion the takeover of The East Republic, we must. We are sinking under the weight of our losses and debt. The needs of The Republic are too big for our failure. This is the natural order of advancement.”

  “Yes. Unemployment…. taxes…” State’s voice trailed off. State wanted to make a better presentation of his abilities so he started back into his comments, “Disease is rising due to overcrowding. Our people need space. But absorption, Consul, isn’t this the word you ordered us to use?”

  “That is correct,” The Consul said quickly. "It speaks of a better intent."

  State stepped back. “To absorb a sister Republic--it hasn’t been done. Not in any knowledge I know of, since the Empire’s earliest days.”

  “It hasn’t ever needed to be done. These times work against us. We’ve done all we can do, and are out of options. You and I, Secretary of State, both know that the Eastward Republic has greater reserves and extended lands. Yes. Yes. This will be the best decision for both territories. Secretary of Games.”

  “Yes, Consul.”

  “Secretary of Games, a moment. Don’t leave.”

  The Consul used the names of their elevated positions when speaking to them, rather than their given names. It was easier to remember the names of departments instead of the names of people. People were easy to change. Departments were a matter of government, and that was never easy to change. He walked over to the terrace overlooking the Capital Square, and gazed across at the Coliseum. The Secretary of Games followed his lead and walked with him.

  “Secretary of Games, our calendar of action was forty days. By my calendar we are just past our second week into that. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Consul, and all our gladiators are equipped and trained, preparing continuously. Also I've ordered our armies to train with the gladiators, in the spirit of the upcoming games.” He laughed at the ruse. “This ensures they will be ready for combat against the Eastern Republic if necessary. Prostitutes, exhibitionists, performers, shows and productions have been brought in, extra food and provisions were bought from the Northern and Southern Republics to shore up any deficiencies. Just like any normal games. The people will believe this is a celebration of The Republic. With the largess of the games, I see no issue with this many of our armies in the Capital. No one should”

  “Good. Now to Sextus.”

  “He’s right now in the training program. I’m not sure, Consul, why you gave him that benefit. I thought the games were a means to rid us of him before he influenced the Magistrates. He challenged you and I, and promised to persuade the other Magistrates to not allow the ‘absorption’.”

  “We’ve been over this before. Only a few know of any of this great plan. He can’t look like a volunteer who is a novice upon entering into the Arena. He is too well known. Plus if we can arrange it...” The Consul turned to look at the Secretary of Games, lowering his voice to make sure the Secretary of State across the room couldn't hear. “I know you, you can arrange the games. You do have the control to influence the games, or fix so to say. Sextus entering an an underdog, and surviving. How much more will the crowds love him? It’ll give further smoke to the mirrors we need in place. It’s a brilliant decision.”

  “You are sure he will enter the Arena.”

  “Quite sure. He loves his wife and son, and loves them more than the image of the Republic he wanted to protect. It’s his weakness.”

  “What makes you so certain he will fight in the Arena?”

  “What choice does he have? I have given him my word that his wife and son will be safe, sent out of this Territory to a safe place upon his death. His wife and son have no knowledge concerning our plans; his arrest was immediate the next morning after our meeting. He proposed this for their safety, or should I say, I helped him propose it. He was the one choice I’ve made wrong in this absorption plan. He isn't a trained fighter but a good thinker, and idealistic as hell. I thought he’d be more pragmatic with this, and less concerned with ideals. Oh well, the new State will do well enough for us."

  The Secretary of Games looked back to make sure State was far enough away to not hear them. "Sextus. I never thought him to be loyal to anything but his Republic. He loves the old stories. Always thought him wiser than this.”

  The Secretary of State walked back to the desk, grabbed his papers, and motioned as he prepared to leave. “Consul, I have meetings that need attention to stay on plan. Since you don't need me I'll take my leave."

  "Stay there, I need you."

  The Consul and Secretary of Games continued their private discussion. The Secretary of Games continued, "Sextus knows the Arena in theory, not execution. I can’t think he has either the stomach or will to survive in an Arena fight. I’ve fought in the Arena-- small matches when I was younger.” He raised his voice’s volume to sound forceful for his past exploits. “Sextus is too afraid to make a fight, I will have to make it work out for him to do as well as we need him to. I will make sure he is where we need him to be and isolated. He knows the consequences of breaking his arrest. He may need reminders of what will happen to his wife and son if he speaks of anything.”

  “Very well. Stay on track, and keep me updated. I meet today with the Consul of the Eastern Republic. That meeting won’t be long. State.”

  The Secretary of State looked around the room, holding his papers, caught off guard by the abruptness of the Consul’s voice. The Consul walked to the door motioning to the Secretary of State to follow him. He left the Secretary of Games in his office.

  The Consul throwing his hand in the air motioned to Secretary, “State, and come with me.”

  The Secretary of State followed behind in step with the Consul. When offered the promotion to be Secreta
ry of State, he didn't ask questions concerning the details of the position. He was a man who walked in step, with his superiors. The Consul led him away into a new arena for him. The arena he'd entered a few days ago, held its own consequences.

  Chapter III

  Sextus Antonius Magnus sat in the cell not knowing what the outcome of his life would be. This had become to him his Gladiator name, and although he liked the ring of it, he liked the shortened format better. S.A.M. Short and sweet. He hoped that his first match would be long and victorious. Knowing that he would enter an arena in the next day, his mind was clear with a resolve to live.

  Sextus, the name given for the arena, knew his future would depend on the outcome of the upcoming match. How had man come to watching people against each other, with an outcome based upon the whims of a crowd, or the death by a fighter. A thumbs up or thumbs down determined if you lived or died. Hoping for a thumbs up wasn't enough for Sextus. He had to be willing to do what was needed to win the crowd to win his life, especially if he wasn't victorious in battle. For as much as mankind had progressed, his primal nature was not neutered, but amplified. The hunger of the crowds was insatiable, always wanting another butchery.

  Some of the others that would enter the Digitus Coliseum had the benefit of experience. Sextus Antonius Magnus didn't have experience on the floor of an arena, and definitely not in a Coliseum. He hoped that a life of survival had prepared him for a fight of death. His opponent could be more inexperienced than him, and with that it could exaggerate what little edge he held.

  A stoic guard who had spent his life watching men and women, approached the cell, and walked over to the door. Better to not get attached to those in these cells. "Do you need anything?" The guard asked with no note of compassion.

  Sextus ignored him, he was enjoying the serenity of his thoughts and memories. He wanted to use the time to prepare himself for the future, and the thoughts of the reward that was promised to him.

  Guards were never friendly with gladiators in their early careers. Their demeanor stoic and guarded, they weren't compassionate or even friendly. Often one of the gladiators would become famous. When that happened, and they won their freedom, they had the ability to hire their own stewards, as it were. Most guards hoped for that. Guards were placed in the position of helping new fighters. Learn the ropes. Systems of the arena. After interaction, they all found it difficult to watch them die a cruel death at the hands of another gladiator. If their hearts were soft, there was no way to not feel pain when both were fighters you liked. To watch a fighter die at the whim of the crowd was even more painful.

  This wait had just begun for Sextus. He wondered what time it was but figured it had been an hour maybe since he had seen his wife and son. He made the moments count, and if this was his last night of life and sleep, he would at least cherish those memories. He knew the sacrifice he was paying for them, praying it would be remembered. Hoping his sacrificial act would secure for them liberty. A liberty he hoped he could enjoy with them.

  Such was life in this, The Republic. The Republic had given the impression that all men were free citizens. Each man possessing the ability to pursue life and the chasing of their passions. Those thoughts couldn't be further from the truth, he realized. The Republic created a system of perceived liberty. Every man assumes that life has opportunities, reaching for a better life. If you reached too far, The Republic would push you back. Pushing you not back to the position you thought you had, but to a much lower station of life.

  Chapter IV

  He was thankful that a serenity had come over him since this decision to go into the arena. A meal an hour ago filled with laughter and smiles. Sad thoughts raced through his mind of his wife raising his son without him. He was grateful his son was young enough that the severity of the next few hours escaped him.

  His greatest gift had been the gift of thought and intellect. Being able to see possibilities where others saw doom and failure. To some his decision to volunteer to enter the arena was nothing but a sentence of death to him. Sextus knew better, and in his heart he knew that the odds were not in his favor to survive, but in their favor to live.

  That was the bargain he had made for his entry into the arena. The securing of true libertus (liberty) for his wife and son. If the Gods favored him tomorrow, then he and his family would extol the full benefit of his actions. Either scenario achieved the ultimate aim, liberty for those he loved the most. His every breath given to provide for them a life, and if need be he was glad to give his last breath for their full freedom.

  "How many hours till the door opened, and I face my future?" he said to the empty cell.

  He didn't care. Knowing his agreement ensured his family's liberty tomorrow made his mind have peace for the first time in years.

  In the quietness of the holding cell in the late hours, he could see a few stars through the barred windows. The stars of the Gods twinkling down upon man. In the background, Sextus heard snoring of some. They must be confident in their abilities to fight, or secure in their appointment with death. Over the occasional snores of some, was the whimper of those who feared death. He hoped he drew one of the whimperers to fight. To win. He wouldn't want to die by the hand of a whimperer, only a full gladiator.

  Sextus was fit, although he was a few years older than most gladiators--ages older than most novice gladiators entering the arena for the first time. While he did not have the training of a gladiator from birth, he had decided he would meet his fate with the honor of a gladiator. Winning his life from the acclaim of the crowd and the respect of his opponent.

  Straining to look at the few stars through the windows, he hoped he drew an opponent sentenced to the arena for a crime. A petty criminal who had defrauded someone. Sextus knew he would have the stamina to go a full fight with someone of even shape.

  He'd seen games before. Even women gladiators who were not at the tops of the gladiator fighters easily finished off some opponents. The Republic used the arena as a quick and easy capital punishment system against petty criminals. When watching with friends at the Coliseum, Sextus never gave much thought to a gladiator fighting for liberty. He took for granted the liberty he had enjoyed. Life and alliances had proven him wrong. Liberty was not the sure promise he had grown up believing in.

  Thinking over all the fights he had seen, he pressed his mind to call from memory the fights that had made an impression. He wanted to analyze them, so he could learn the best responses for another's attacks. He knew he was improving, but how much can a man improve in a few days or weeks. Thoughts of being bold ran through his mind in the though that if paired with a timid fighter, he’d be able to win with a daring attack.

  There were always those in the arena who battled with honor, and many who battled with anything within their reach. One battle had always stayed with him.

  A young gladiator entered the arena. It was evident he was out of his league against the gladiator standing in the arena. A young gladiator against a gladiator trained from his youth. From the middle section of the Coliseum where he and his friends sat, he could sense how the crowd pitied the young man. Whatever the reason the young fighter had been thrust in the arena, his likelihood of living was slim.

  "This will be an easy match." a voice spoke next to Sextus.

  "The young fighter won't last five minutes." another spectator joined in.

  "He may be better than we think."

  "Watch his sword hand. It's trembling." Sextus told those around him. Sextus was speaking louder than he thought. So loud, a middle aged man turned around.

  "I'm pulling for the older guy. Old guys have to pull for each other." He chuckled. "You'll understand that one day."

  "I may, sir, but right now I agree with you. Not pulling for the older fighter out of devotion for age. Just that younger guy. He doesn't have what it takes, I think. Watch the sword tip, it's trembling."

  "Could be an act. Not sure."

  The crowd watched as the veteran threw attacks,
slashes, and cuts at the younger man. The young gladiator jumped, parried, and slashed, trying to live. He ran away a short distance, holding his hand up, wanting a moment to compose himself. He fell, stumbling and struggling to put distance between himself and the experienced fighter. Younger than the veteran, the young man had not an ounce of athletic ability compared to the experienced gladiator. The veteran paused in the middle of the arena and lowered his sword. It was evident he was a warrior and not a slaughterer.

  The young gladiator stopped when he saw the pause the veteran was giving. He leaned forward and fell to his knees, panting for air. Without any vitriol or animosity, the veteran walked with a slow pace to within several meters of the young gladiator. Walking to offer him the option of accepting defeat and allowing the crowd to determine his fate. His experience had taught him the crowd was a fickle lady, but one that could show great compassion, and intense revenge. The older gladiator looked are, trying to get the pulse of the crowd. There mood would determine if his act of mercy would be rewarded. The crowd was more fickle than a woman, with boundless fury and rage.

  "What a man! Knowing he has the fight won, to offer surrender."

  "I'll never be in an arena, but that is the kind of guy I want to fight. Hell I want to be." The guy in front said turning to Sextus with the air of someone who is his friend.

  "I'd rather not be in an arena. I'm free, and have no plans for mischief, but I know what you are saying."

  Sextus, startled, quit talking to his friends. The crowd cried at the sight of the young fighter throwing sand in the eyes of the veteran and then lunging at him with his sword. The veteran, for all his experience, had let his guard down too far, and the gladius sword pierced the veteran's left side. Blood gushed immediately, but the veteran never stumbled, although his sight did fail him. With desperation, he worked to remove the sand from his eyes, seeing the childish whacks of the young fighter. The crowd, and Sextus, didn't considered the young fighter a gladiator anymore. He had never given honor to the pursuit of his fight, nor respected his opponent. His opinion of the crowd was wrong today.