by H. B. Ashman
The audience roared. Slaves rushed onto the racetrack to remove the bodies and splintered wood so the race could continue. But Flamma, who had already raced his chariot around another lap, was approaching the curve fast. The servants grabbed what they could and ran for their lives. Much to Flamma’s excitement, they didn’t have the chance to remove the Amazon who had rolled under the chariot. As the woman slowly came to her feet, Flamma lifted his blood-covered mace.
A wave of hollers swept over the stadium as her decapitated head stuck to Flamma’s mace like glue. Flamma pulled his mace close to his face as if he was to give the severed head a kiss. The crowd screamed their approval. He then used his foot to kick it free. The head bounced over the dusty tracks.
With a clenched jaw, Arminius handed Amalia his sword and urged Aithon to pick up speed. Amalia grasped the grip, its weight uncomfortable and unfamiliar. Amazingly, Aithon and the white stallion closed the gap between them and Flamma in seconds. But Flamma saw them coming and maneuvered his wagon right in front of Aithon. He then wrapped his reins around his wrist and adjusted the spear in his hand so that he could swing it backward—at Aithon.
“Hold on!” Arminius shouted as he turned the chariot left and right, but Flamma matched his movements, holding his position in front of them. He lifted his mace again as Aithon drew closer.
“No!” Amalia screamed as Aithon came within reach of Flamma’s weapon. But before Flamma could strike, Aithon launched forward and bit Flamma’s naked chest, tearing away a chunk of bloody flesh.
Flamma let out a cry as he jerked his chariot to the right to let Aithon pass. The crowd clapped with joy.
One of the Amazons in the chariot behind them jabbed her spear at Flamma, but the giant man dodged the spear and somehow managed to grab it out of the air. He twisted it from her hands and threw it on the tracks. With frightening speed and agility, he swung his mace onto the Amazons’ horses. It smacked against the beast’s head, splattering its beautiful white coat with flecks of blood. The horse dropped onto the track. The Amazons’ chariot launched over the dead horse and crashed back down on its side. The Amazons screamed as their chariot rolled, crushing them into a mass of flesh and wood.
“We have to get him off the chariot!” Amalia shouted to Arminius. “It’s our only chance!” Arminius slowed down to maneuver their chariot next to the only other remaining green chariot in the race. He shouted something to the women in a language Amalia didn’t understand.
Both of the women nodded and slowed their horses to match Aithon.
“How will we get him off?” Arminius asked, turning back to Amalia.
Let him fly when it’s time! Primus’s voice came to Amalia again. And there was only one way to let Aithon fly.
Clenching her fists on the front guard of the chariot, Amalia swung her right leg over, placing the chariot between her legs. It bumped over a piece of wreckage, tilting violently. She almost lost her balance, but her strong judo-trained legs kept her in place.
“What are you doing?” Arminius shouted.
“Hold it steady!” Amalia shouted back. She dragged her other leg over the chariot and positioned herself on the wooden axis between the chariot to the horses. Aithon was pushing on, steady as a train engine, his white partner doing his best to keep up. Amalia let go of the chariot and launched forward onto Aithon’s side, grabbing his harness and mane in the process. The crowd hollered at this stunt and cheered in excitement when she pulled herself up onto the platform of black muscle and sweat. It was more terrifying than the chariot.
Arminius jumped over the chariot’s front as well, and in a much faster and more elegant motion, mounted the other horse. Quickly, Arminius cut Aithon’s reins lose and then his horse’s. Amalia turned and watch the chariot slow down. Freed of the weight, both horses charged forward faster than ever. The two remaining Amazons copied Amalia and Arminius, mounting their own horses and then joining them to form a little cavalry of riders. Aithon was leading the group of stallions, their hooves thundering over the tracks like an earthquake.
The crowd rose to their feet as the green team charged after Flamma, who was frantically hitting his horses with a whip to make them run faster. But he didn’t stand a chance. Aithon was positioning himself in front of Flamma’s left horse with ease, slowing it down, while Arminius and the other Amazons surrounded Flamma from all sides. Mercilessly, they started hacking away at Flamma’s wheels. Arminius swung his sword at Flamma himself. Flamma used his mace and shield to block Arminius’s strikes and attack the Amazons at the same time, landing a glancing blow with his mace on one of the Amazon’s shoulders.
Amalia looked ahead and saw the next curve approaching.
“Cut his horses loose!” Amalia shouted to Arminius and maneuvered Aithon next to Flamma’s horse so she could grab its reins. Arminius followed suit. Flamma tried to pull them back, but it was too late. Arminius’s sword was fast and perfectly aimed, cutting swiftly through the reins like they were strings.
The magnificent white stallions launched off—free and without restraint. Unable to turn his chariot around the corner, Flamma’s went straight into the wall.
Amalia and the others slowed their horses to watch Flamma crash. But right before the chariot’s impact, Flamma jumped off, rolling on the ground. His chariot crunched hard against the stone wall. His helmet with the lion head flew off, revealing a dark-haired middle-aged man out of nightmare. He was incredibly ugly, scarred on every inch of his forehead and cheeks. His dark eyes were big and catlike, but his angry roar was that of a lion. He stood to his full height, watching Amalia approach.
Amalia and Arminius brought their horses to a halt not far from the curve, but the other two Amazon charged straight past them.
“No wait!” Amalia shouted after them, but they both ululated loudly, swinging their swords high above their heads, ready to strike the man who had killed so many of their own. But Flamma was not impressed in the least. He found one of the dead Amazon’s spears on the ground and threw it at the riders. It sailed through the air and found its target, piercing one of the approaching Amazon warriors square in the chest. The force of the impact propelled her off the horse. She hit the ground in a lifeless thud, a cloud of dust and dirt haloing her motionless body. But the second Amazon was already within reach of Flamma, swinging her sword at his head. Flamma bent his torso backward to dodge the blow. He grabbed the woman’s lower leg and pulled her off the horse. As soon as she fell, Flamma was on top of her, picking up a wooden spike from the ground and ramming it into her stomach. She gurgled a wet groan before her life left her. The crowd was on cloud nine—clapping, cheering, shouting his name.
Arminius lifted his sword and turned his horse toward Flamma.
“Don’t!” Amalia shouted and quickly dismounted Aithon. She didn’t want anyone else dying for her. She’d seen men like Flamma plenty of times in tournaments. He was fast, but in one-on-one combat, she was faster. And when it came to judo, size didn’t matter.
Arminius ignored her. “Wait here,” he said as he sank his heels into his horse.
“Arminius! No!” Amalia yelled, but it was too late. She watched in horror as he charged toward Flamma, leaving behind a trail of dust. Arminius leaned sideways on the white stallion as Flamma grabbed a long wooden spike from the ground. Arminius swung his sword at him, and Flamma stabbed the spike at Arminius. But both men dodged in time.
Arminius turned his horse, charging at Flamma again. Once more, Flamma jumped out of the way as Arminius jerked sideways to duck Flamma’s jab. But this time, Arminius’s hissing blade slid across Flamma’s exposed upper arm. Flamma let out a growl as the crowd roared in excitement. Arminius did not waste time. He slowed his horse and turned to attack again, but this time Flamma lifted his spike over his shoulder like a spear. Arminius leaned forward, pressing his chest onto his horse, becoming harder to hit. Flamma drew back the spike, aimed, and catapulted the spear forward with a loud groan.
The spear sank deep into the ch
est of Arminius’s horse, red blood splashing onto its white coat. With a loud, agonizing scream, the horse plummeted forward. Amalia watched in horror as Arminius was buried underneath it.
“Arminius!” Amalia screamed and dashed toward him. The cloud of dust gave way as she threw herself into the dirt next to him. His face was pinched in pain. Arminius grabbed his right leg at the thigh, the rest of which was buried under the horse.
“Arminius!” Amalia said.
Arminius let go of his leg, his eyes scanning the arena behind her. “Flamma,” he said weakly.
She turned around to find Flamma already making his way toward them, his walk confident and slow—a hunter with his prey caught in his trap. Amalia rose as Flamma stopped to grab the sword of one of the dead Amazons.
Amalia was shaking in fear. His eyes finally met hers. His were empty. Whatever it was that made a person human, it was gone from them. She’d never been so scared in her life. She reached around and opened the leather straps of her chest armor, letting it drop to the ground. Then she took off her helmet and cast it aside as well. She could hear the confused mumbles buzzing through the crowd.
With every step Flamma took, Amalia did her best to calm her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. This would be it. All or nothing.
He was only a few feet away when the whole circus, hundreds of thousands of people, started chanting: “Flamma! Flamma! Flamma!”
Flamma was now feet away, nearly within striking distance. Amalia’s heart was thrashing in her ears.
“Amalia,” Arminius said from the ground.
“Flamma! Flamma! Flamma!”
The giant man lifted his sword fast and high, the sun shimmering down on the metal in his hand as if he were the god of death himself.
“Flamma! Flamma! Flamma!”
Amalia drew a sharp, deep breath as her training took over. With all of her desperation, strength, and rage, she launched herself against his chest. At the same time, her hands shot forward like bullets, gripping Flamma by the leather straps on his upper arms. As fast as she could, Amalia twisted her body around and dropped to her knees hard while pulling Flamma over her head and shoulders from behind. She felt little rocks ram into the skin of her knees as Flamma was launched over her head. It was one of the moves her father had taught her outside of her judo classes. It was dangerous. Life threatening. He struck the ground hard on his neck.
Crack!
Amalia heard his neck snap. It sent icy shivers through her body. Still on her knees, she focused on the motionless giant in front of her, waiting for Flamma to get back up and kill her. But Flamma remained still, not even twitching. It almost looked as if he were sleeping—except for his head, which was turned at an unnatural angle.
The whole arena was dead silent. No chants, no claps, no cheers, no shouts. Instead, the shocked quiet of hundreds of thousands of souls surrounded her as she let herself fall forward onto her elbows. She sighed deeply and buried her head between her hands as she relaxed. It almost looked like she was praying. And for the first time since her arrest, she felt as a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. She could breathe again.
“Whoever is out there . . . thank you,” she whispered into the dirt. “Thank you, thank you, thank you . . .”
You could hear a pin drop in an arena known around the world for its thundering action. With a last strenuous pull, Arminius finally freed himself from underneath the dead horse. As painful as it was, amazingly, he didn’t think his leg was broken. He made it to his feet and slowly limped to Amalia. She was bent over in the dirt, but otherwise she looked intact.
“Amalia,” he called her name in a soft voice.
Hesitantly, Amalia looked up, pushing herself back onto her knees. Her mouth opened robotically, then closed as her eyes found Arminius. She was alive, Arminius thought. She was safe. He looked over at Flamma’s dead body. “Took you long enough,” he said, smiling.
The corners of Amalia’s mouth turned in what might have been the beginnings of a smile when the first shout broke the deafening silence.
“Germanica!” a young man’s voice echoed from somewhere in the sea of shocked faces.
“Germanica!” another called after him. Others started clapping and taking up the cheer. “Germanica!” they yelled, stomping together. First a few dozen, then hundreds, until a wave of thousands of stomps and shouts took over the arena like a thunderstorm.
“Germanica! Germanica! Germanica!”
The shimmer of a coin flickered in the sun and onto the racetrack. Then another, and another. Under the shaking sounds of out-of-control shouts, claps, and stomps, a shower of coins descended on Amalia and Arminius, the gold lighting up the arena like a night sky filled with fireflies.
Arminius grabbed a banged-up shield from the ground and held it over her head to the sound of coins cracking against its surface.
“What are they doing?” Amalia asked, amazed.
“They are making offerings . . . the people of Rome are paying for your freedom.”
Tiberius looked up to the heavens as if Marius were looking down on him. She has done it, my friend. Your Germanica.
“Incredible!” Augustus shouted next to him, looking around at the gathered senators.
Tiberius looked down from the sky to catch Livia’s frown turning into a smile. “Truly so,” she said.
While they had stopped throwing coins, the arena was still out of control, chanting and stomping.
“Lucius!” Tiberius shouted, grinning at Lucius’s scowling face. “Quite the show, wouldn’t you say?”
Lucius growled in response, his eyes narrowed, his face as red as blood. Marcus, who was standing beside Tiberius, took one look at the expression on Lucius’s face and burst into laughter.
Like a pouting child, Lucius turned and left, followed by his family and Varus.
Livia joined in Marcus’s laughter. Tiberius narrowed his eyes at her. What was she playing at? She wanted Amalia dead the same as Lucius.
“You have done well, Tiberius,” Livia said. “And all of Rome will remember it.” She glanced at Augustus.
Tiberius understood. Rome had witnessed a wonder from the gods, and Rome would remember that it was Tiberius who had made it possible. Even Augustus had to acknowledge this.
“What are you going to do with her now?” Livia asked Augustus.
“Is it not obvious?” Augustus waved his hand at the people. “I will free her and accept the offering the people have made for her. For the military finances, that is,” he added quickly, before the first senators could protest.
Tiberius nodded, relieved.
“Tiberius, you should take her to Germania with you,” Augustus said.
Tiberius froze. “My Augustus?”
“The gods have sent us a message, and we shall not dare to defy them. She will help you claim the north of the Rhine and move farther than Rome has ever gone. As a barbarian herself, some of the tribes might follow her and join us against those still defiant in the north.”
Tiberius opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Augustus turned to him as his hands, which had been clapping, fell to his sides. “Do you agree?”
This was the first time Augustus had asked his opinion in years. He had also officially just confirmed his position in Germania. All eyes were on Tiberius as Livia nodded at him, urging him to acquiesce.
Tiberius had no choice.
“Of course. I shall take her to Germania with me, as you wish it,” he said.
“Excellent. This is an exciting time,” Augustus said. “Germanica in Germania.” He smiled.
Amalia lowered herself onto the dirty wooden bench of the changing rooms under the arena seats. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. Arminius was sitting next to her, leaning his head against the wall. Amalia looked at his leg. It was red and swollen, but it didn’t seem broken.
“Does it hurt a lot?” she asked.
“I’ve had worse.” Arminius said, maintaining his tough Roman-soldier façade. She leaned
her own head against the wall.
She’d killed Flamma and freed herself, just like she was told to. Did that mean the goddess, whoever that was, would be pleased? That she’d fulfilled her duty? Amalia had seen the white owl before entering the arena. The seer must have been watching. But where was she? Where was Marius and her son? And what was she supposed to do now? Would more be asked of her? Something told Amalia that this was only the beginning of her journey. That she had barely scratched the surface of what Rome had in store for her. But it didn’t matter in the end. She would do anything that was asked and more—whatever brought her closer to Marius and her son.
Arminius was shaking his head beside her. “That was quite exciting.”
Amalia smiled. “You really know how to leave an impression on a woman,” she said. Then her smile faded. “What will happen next?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I am not certain, but . . .”
“But?” She turned to face him.
“But I have a feeling you’re not as free as you think,” he said.
“But I defeated Flamma,” she protested.
“Not just defeated. You killed him with a single throw. It was magnificent. Maybe too much so. I’m afraid you have made some powerful enemies and even more admirers.”
Amalia bit her lip. If she wasn’t free, did that mean she hadn’t completed the seer’s request? Amalia needed to find her and get some answers. She was on the right path, she could feel it, and yet, at the same time, she was more lost than ever.
Arminius placed a hand on hers.
“Don’t worry, Germanica. The gods favor you. Your path is already written.”
Amalia looked down at his hand on hers. It was warm and comforting. She smiled and was about to thank him for riding with her today when the voice of a man echoed through the dark hallway of the circus.
