The Forgotten Legion

Brennus had not finished speaking when an arrow flashed through the air. With a soft thump, it buried itself in the unsuspecting venator's back. He staggered, screaming with surprise and pain. As he struggled to reach the metal-tipped shaft, two more struck him in the chest and neck.

Roars of laughter rang out.

'You bastards!' Romulus cried.

'Keep quiet,' whispered Brennus, 'unless you want to be executed as well.'

Romulus fell silent, grinding his teeth with rage at the injustice. What glory was there in being a gladiator if one could be killed like this?

The venator had fallen to his knees, clawing at the arrows and coughing up blood with each attempt. At last he toppled to the sand, twitched a few times and was still. He was only a few steps from the dead lion.

No living creature, animal or human, remained in the arena.

Tears filled Romulus' eyes. 'No man should die like that.'

'Upset the rich and it might happen to you.' Brennus' tone was dull with resignation. 'We are always at their mercy.'

'His life meant nothing to those scum.'

'And yours is no different. We 're slaves, remember!'

Romulus stared at the venator's body, anger pulsing through every vein. Their own situation had been brought home as never before by the utter powerlessness of the brave fighter. He had beaten all the odds, yet still he had not survived. In a short while, Romulus would be risking his own life in the same arena, when the crowd's bloodlust would have to be satisfied once again. Savage injuries and the deaths of dozens of men counted for nothing. Everyone in the cell would be subject to the same caprice, the same brand of harsh justice.

Up till now, Romulus had chosen to see only the glory and fame of gladiatorial life. The veil had lifted momentarily when he'd had to kill Flavus and Lentulus, but seeing a valiant man executed on a whim had ripped it asunder.

Gladiators' lives were simply about fighting and dying for the amusement of the Roman mob. They were paid killers, nothing more.

The realisation was brutal — and total. Stunned, he sank into a deep gloom, slumping to the hard-packed dirt of the cell floor. Brennus tried to cheer him up, but his jokes fell on deaf ears. After a while the Gaul gave up and started sharpening his longsword with a small whetstone. It was his usual way of passing the time.

The slaughter in the arena went on and on, but Romulus did not have the stomach to watch. Bulls and bears that had been chained together tore each other to shreds; hunting dogs were released to prey upon terrified gazelle. Packs of starving wolves were set upon criminals tied to wooden posts. Shrieks and cries of pain from every species filled the air for hours, to roars of approval from the audience. The once golden sand was turned into a thick red morass that stuck underfoot.

Deep in his daze, Romulus thought of his mother and Fabiola. Even if he survived the impending fight, he would probably never see them again anyway. Life would be a succession of rest periods and combat, with only one possible outcome.

Death.

They were slaves to the bloody desires of the Roman public. Waves of anger and sadness washed over him and Romulus' spirits fell further. Never before had he felt like this.

'Time to go soon.' Brennus was looking concerned. 'What is it?'

'We 're all going to die out there.'

'Some aren't!' The Gaul flexed huge biceps. 'Stick with me and you'll be fine.'

'What's the point? Why bleed and die for complete strangers?' Romulus' shoulders sagged. 'I'm stuck here and my mother belongs to a sadistic bastard who sold Fabiola to a whorehouse. Life means nothing. I might as well let Figulus kill me.'

Brennus grabbed Romulus' arm. 'You're not the only one with a sad story! Think of that venator,' he hissed. 'And every man in this cell has suffered under the Roman yoke. Even bastards like Figulus and Gallus.'

Romulus shook off the Gaul's hand. 'What do I care?' he replied angrily.

There was a long silence before Brennus began to speak again.

'I watched while Roman soldiers burned the village with my wife and baby son inside,' he began. 'Then the cousin I had sworn to protect was killed right in front of me.'

Romulus looked at his friend, his heart filling with sympathy.

'And the memories crowd my head every day.'

'I. ' Romulus began guiltily, but the Gaul kept talking.

'I spent five years looking for death. But the gods did not allow it. Been saving me for something else. Don't know what it is yet, but first Astoria came along. Then you.' He ruffled Romulus' hair affectionately. His protege's similarities with Brac were startling.

'What are you saying?'

'Even in the midst of all this,' said Brennus, gesturing at the bloodstained sand, 'life is worth living. Die today if you want, Romulus. But think about when you arrived in the ludus. What made Memor buy you? Or Cotta choose a boy of thirteen to train?' He loosened his sword in its scabbard. 'The gods favour courageous men. Remember that.' He gave Romulus a hard stare, then fell silent.

The young fighter pondered what Brennus had said for some time. Perhaps there was more to it than sheer luck. Perhaps Jupiter did have a purpose for him after all. Feeling slightly better, he looked up and caught Gallus' gaze on him. The stocky retiarius nudged Figulus, leering as he drew a finger across his throat. Romulus got to his feet. Brennus' words had struck a chord and Gallus' threat had acted as the final impetus. What use was there in dying so easily?

Thoughts of Spartacus came to Romulus, lighting a spark of hope. The gladiator who had shaken Rome to its core. He smiled. Even on the bloody sand of the arena, it was possible to choose one 's destiny. There were reasons to live.

Romulus began to roll both shoulders as Cotta had taught, pretending he was warming up for a training session.

'That's the attitude!' said Brennus delightedly.

'The bastards won't kill me without a fight.'

'I'm glad to hear it.'

Together the two friends stretched their muscles, readying themselves for the slaughter.

Chapter XVI: Victory

Early afternoon had passed and the bloody sand had been raked, a clean layer scattered on top. After the distraction of beast hunts, there was an interval before the main attraction. Mobile vendors selling wine, meat and bread clambered between rows of seats, doing a brisk trade with the hungry citizens. Much of the audience had been replaced with those drawn by the prospect of a large group combat. Only the most bloodthirsty remained to watch the entire day's entertainment.

Underneath the stands, the cells opposite the Magnus fighters still lay empty.

'Where are they?' growled a murmillo.

Hours had passed. It could not be long until the fight began.

'Scare tactics. The Dacicus lanista will send his boys directly into the arena,' said another.

'So there 's no chance to size them up beforehand,' added a retiarius.

Whispers of unease rippled through the gladiators.

'Who gives a shit?' Brennus said loudly. He stepped forward before the unrest turned to fear.

The fighters looked up, curious. None was used to having a leader.