They had all found out that it wasn’t a thumbs up or down. It was a palm up and when the fingers of the open palm curled up toward the sky, you lived. When the thumb from the other hand was pushed into the open palm and ground down, it was death. They all knew that Claudius would live, but if they were across the street, it would be a different matter. Felix had been a font of information, warning them all that Emperor Domitian enjoyed giving the thumb in the palm.
“The senate hates Domitian,” Felix informed them all one afternoon. Marco noted that Felix kept his voice very low and constantly looked over his shoulder for Claudius.
“How do you know all this shit?” Marco asked the redhead.
“My parents tell me what is going on in Rome,” Felix said and shrugged.
“You get to talk to your folks?” Greg asked, shocked.
“Sure, my family lives here. They bribe Glaucis and I get to see them for a few minutes,” Felix said.
“Then why in the hell are you here? Why aren’t you with your family?” Marco asked, shocked. He couldn’t understand anyone wanting to actually be here.
“I’m the youngest of four sons. All my brothers are older and are merchants and they run our family business. I didn’t want to do that, it’s boring. Here, there is much glory to be had,” Felix had said and Marco and his friends just looked at the man as though he’d lost his mind. Later, Marco found out that there were a few men who had joined the Ludus Magnus because of debt or adventure. It was unfathomable to them all. But hadn’t they joined the Marines, knowing that they could die? That was different, they had joined the Marines to defend their country.
Marco brought his attention back to the games and looked over to Scauras, who lifted the fingers on his flattened palm and a cheer went through the crowd. Greg got up and stood back as Claudius clambered up. Both men bowed and made their exit. They had also found out that the gladiators didn’t say, ‘we who are about to die salute you’. They did say, ‘we fight for the glory of Rome’. The night before, they were given a last meal, because, though they were not intended to die, shit happened. Their meal consisted of essentially the same thing they ate every evening, but each of the impending combatants were given meat and a kind of confection. It had been delicious.
Marco was up next and he had been slotted to fight with Philo. He wanted to laugh because Philo was angry. To date, Marco had beaten the man at each session. Today, with sharp blades, he was sure he’d nick the shit-heel with his sword. He had to admit, he looked forward to it. Even after beating the hell out of the man, Philo couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes Septimus glared at Philo. Marco laughed silently to himself. It was sometimes advantageous when a big, ass-kicking dude had a man-crush on you. He was sure his younger brother, Luis, would appreciate it. His heart squeezed, thinking of his little brother. He sighed and pushed the thought away. He needed to be clearheaded for this fight.
Cato handed Marco his plumed helmet and sword and then turned to Philo and handed the man his equipment.
“I’m going to shove my sword up your arse, dog penis,” Philo said as he passed Marco.
“You can try, shit for brains,” Marco said and laughed as he stepped out onto the sand. Both men went to the center and faced Scauras.
“We fight for the glory of Rome,” both men said in unison and Marco whirled around and brought his sword down on Philo, who had just barely got his shield up in time to block the blow. The blow sent Philo staggering back and Marco laughed when he heard Philo grunt.
“Fucker,” Philo hissed and came back at Marco swinging his blade. Their swords connected and Marco felt the jolt of that connection down his arm. It vibrated through the bone to his brain. The sound of it rang in his ears. It was difficult to see through the visor, but he kept hammering away. Philo was taking a more defensive position now as Marco’s arm hammered away. Philo used his shield and shoved Marco farther back, to give himself breathing room.
Around them, the crowd was cheering and chanting Atrox, Atrox, Atrox. Marco would have preferred his own name, but he did like Atrox. He knew it was making Philo angrier as the crowd chanted his name. He grinned behind the face shield. He was panting now, the helmets were for protection, but they were also to hinder. The fights could not always be one sided. Sometimes he got the helmet that had the larger eyeholes, sometimes he got the one where there was very little visual capability. It didn’t matter, he still kicked Philo’s ass.
Marco knew he had to make the fight last and so he went back to maneuvering and slashing at Philo, hammering away at the man. It wasn’t that Philo was a bad fighter, it was that Philo got angry easily and lost his temper. Thad and he had discussed it and the best way to beat Philo was to piss him off and make him lose his shit. When Marco thought that they had fought long enough, he got in close to grapple with Philo.
“I heard they are going to bring out the elephants in the next round,” Marco said,
