After visiting the latrine, the men made their way out to the exterior of the arena, where there were numerous logs set into the ground. A slave stood by with a basket of wooden swords. There were also staffs laying on the ground and small round wooden shields. It was full light now and it was quiet around them. There was a layer of mist above the ground, which was wet with dew. In the later mornings, they could hear the crowds of the colosseum across the way. He was glad to be out of the cell and doing something, minus the shackles too. Neither he nor his friends were used to sitting idle and it felt good to walk without the restrains. During their confinement, they discussed their situation. Each were coming to terms with their new life. Greg was having the hardest time, but like a true Marine, he was facing it with grim determination.
During the long hours in the cell, Thad and Marco had started teaching Dean and Greg more Italian. Though Marco wasn’t as proficient, he understood most of what was being said. Because there was nothing else to do, Dean and Greg practiced for hours and they all did calisthenics to keep them from climbing the walls, though it had been challenging with the chains. Now, it was time to get down to business and Thad felt the ever-present dread begin to subside with action and activity.
“Each of you take a sword from the basket. Do any of you know how to use a sword,” Cato asked, his voice bored.
The men took the swords and looked at each other and then Cato. They shook their heads and he grunted.
“Pair off and I shall demonstrate. Once I show you how to use the sword, I want you to practice with each other. When I tell you to switch partners, then you switch,” he said and walked over and picked up a sword. Thad noticed another group of men at the far end of the field. There was a man working with them. They were not gladiators, but like themselves, trainees. Thad scratched at his face and wished he could shave. Like the others down at the end of the training field, he saw that they too had beards. The gladiators he’d seen over the last couple of days were clean shaven or had neat beards.
“You must fight your opponent without killing him…yet. You do not stab with the sword, but slice. You go at your opponent and use your sword to beat him back, giving the spectators the illusion that you are trying to kill the man in front of you. Much money will be wasted if you are killed too soon. But the citizens must believe that you intend harm and death. If you please the citizens, you shall be well rewarded. Once you are evaluated, you shall be considered on the first level, inceptor palus, a beginner.” Cato walked back and forth, his hands behind his back.
“Your training will last as long as it is deemed and you will be matched in a game with someone who is on your level and rank. You will never fight someone who is at a higher level because you have not earned that right, though there are exceptions, but that isn’t the norm. You shall be on relatively equal footing with your opponent. The more the citizens appreciate you, the more glory you shall accrue and coins. You may even find a patron or sponsor.” Cato swung the wooden sword expertly and sliced it through the air.
“That is where the real gold comes from. However, do understand, that should Emperor Domitian become displeased with your performance, no matter how much the populace loves you, he can kill you with a nod. The people are a capricious lot, so don’t pin your hopes on them. When the emperor isn’t presiding over the games, the arbitrator will make the decision of life or death. Thankfully, the emperor rarely comes to the games, because he enjoys blood and death. A coward will not be tolerated. One promising gladiator lost his nerve and, in the end, molten lead was poured down his throat by order of Emperor Domitian. We all will die; it is up to you to choose how you will face your death. Fight well, die well,” he concluded and faced Marco with his wooden sword.
The men watched as Cato went through several coordinated steps, using the sword in slow motion, so the men understood. Thad turned to face Dean and he grinned at his friend.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Dude, we’re gonna rock this. We’re gonna be badass gladiators!” Dean laughed and swung at Thad. Thad parried and knocked the sword from Dean’s hand and Dean stood there looking at him and then down at his sword.
“Go again,” Cato said, his voice once again bored.
Greg moved in and out with his sword. At first, it felt awkward and he felt a little silly with a wooden sword. But he moved as he’d been instructed. He felt the lash and turned, Cato shaking his head. The lash had stung but it hadn’t hurt like it had that first day, when it had cut into his skin. Greg thought that Cato was simply getting his attention. He turned back and he and Marco moved back and forth. After a while, Greg began to get a rhythm going. The wooden handle was rubbing against his palm and he knew he’d be getting blisters soon.
He caught the rising roar from across the street but didn’t look. He dreaded the day he’d have to step back out onto
