by Chris Vaughn
Contents
Sextus’ Sacrifice
Copyright © 2014
Dedication
Salutant vos,
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
A note from Chris...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Chris Vaughn...
Sextus’ Sacrifice
Arena Series I
By
Chris Vaughn
Copyright © 2014
Copyright © 2014
Sextus’ Sacrifice
Arena Series I
By
Chris Vaughn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the author, Chris Vaughn, or the Publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chris Vaughn (2014-03-15)
Sextus’ Sacrifice (Arena Series I)
Kindle Edition
Dedication
To my wife Lisa Renee, who has always encouraged me
to chase my dreams, and to write those dreams down.
To SB, MA, and LC for giving life longevity and meaning.
To my Daddy and Mama. One gave me the strength of convictions, thanks Daddy;
one gifted me with the ability to tell a story, thanks Mama.
Salutant vos,
qui circa nos mori
Chapter I
The sword crashed against his chest. Even though this was a training time the force of it made him wince, and he lost his breath. He parried as best as he could, wanting to learn the lessons to avoid death. Death comes in many fashions and ways, and to everyone in the world eventually. Sextus was fighting to keep it away from what he holds dear. Those things he thought were dear had already passed.
"Thank God it's a wooden sword. Remember this may not be life and death here, but it will be!" he said to himself in anger.
The two men stepped back, and each took a stance, facing off again as it for the first time. Both eyed each other, stepping and moving in a clockwise circle. Too far to jump, and nowhere to run.
He could see the sword rising and with instinct raised his shield. The shield caught the brunt of the force, but he was so focused on the sword he never felt the punch to the stomach. He slashed with his left hand holding the shield. His attacker was stunned by the shield hitting his head.
Growing up, one learns to handle themself in the school yard, or in a back alley. The stakes on those fights were for pride. The stakes in future fights was life.
They stepped back from each other. This time circling counter clockwise. After a moment, he decided to attack. He had been playing a defensive fight so far, and though unsure, he hoped his attack might be unexpected.
Jumping forward Sextus thrusts his shield at the face of the gladiator. His shield, is easily parried. When high doesn’t work, lest try something different. Sextus thrusts the shield low now, pushing at the chest of his opponent. Tightening his right hand on the sword and he makes a thrust at his opponents stomach.
Focusing too much on the eyes of his opponent and his attack, he never thought of his legs. Leaning back the teacher swept the his legs out from under him. Both feet swept away and forward, causing him to land fully on his back. His attacker wasn't expecting such a quick fall. It had been too easy, and the teacher lost his own balance and stumbled on top of him.
Lying on his back he had his sword still aiming low, and having no time to think, he had left it in same place. Had this been a real fight, the attacker could have died. Not from an active attack, but from the luck of a sword being in the wrong place at the best time.
Laughing, the older gladiator said, "You’re lucky, man. You'd have killed me! Both of us are glad this isn't real."
"I'll take it how I can! How do you know I didn't plan that?"
"Because out of our last five practice bouts you've only bested me once. That is this one."
The older gladiator stood up, stretched out his hand, and helped his student stand. They both dusted off, walking back to the stand of weapons and tables of water and food. Strange how camaraderie is built between men. The teacher to student relationship was an old one, but knew to Sextus in this context.
Sweat rolled off of them, making the sand on their backs impossible to rub off. It irritated the student's skin; he wasn't used to walking and working in this atmosphere.
"Should we train with other weapons?"
"You don't have time to. You need to get proficient with one, and learn it well. You will be all right facing an equal opponent, but if you try to get cute with other weapons your mind will get in your way. You're smart. Smarter than anyone I've trained in a long time, and why you are here is a mystery to me. Hell, a mystery to everyone. In here though, when it's real, you need to let your instincts take over."
They walk over for water. They both pour the first cup over their head, followed by another. The third was drank in gulps, both men breathing through their noses so they wouldn’t have to stop drinking.
"You are too focused. Thinking too much--trying to analyze. You've got to become aware of everything around you, like my going low. If you'd sensed my move, you'd have jumped and attacked. You may have gotten me there. Think I have a splinter in my side from my stumble. Follow me."
The teacher grabbed a real gladius sword. He thrust and moved with great dexterity. "This is the real version of what you will fight with. Take it." He flipped the sword, making the handle flip in the air, and grabbed the blade. "Don't worry, it's not sharpened. In a real fight it is. It better be. Your accidental strike could do someone in. You want every edge you can get."
He took the sword from the teacher. Thrust and moved without the dexterity the teacher had. "It's heavier, but not by much."
The teacher grabbed a leather breast shield. "Put this on. You need to work like it's real. This will protect you if you don't block. I'll try not to hurt you." He chuckled, and walked behind the student to lace up the thick breast plate. Leather chest protection so thick only a sharpened sword would penetrate, and even then not much.
"This is what Centurions wear in battle. It's tight, and it will restrict you, but it will protect you while we train. And although you can wear it in the arena, I never would. Too restrictive. But train with it, and in the arena, you may be faster."
"I'll do my best."
"You better. Each trip to the arena only gives you one chance. I believe you'll do good. You aren't in bad shape. Just need to keep working on it." Trainers and teachers always said positive words to their students to build up their morale. "I'm not just saying this. You could do well, should have trained years ago."
Tying the last lace, he patted him on the back and turned him around. "Put this on too." He grabbed a helmet with a full face shield. "You are too pretty for us to hurt that face training."
They both walked to the arena and took a stance. Helmets were fixed and strapped into place. Shields adjusted, and their straps tightened. Their faithful gladius swords picked up, tapping against the shield. They are re
ady again for battle.
"I've got a breastplate and helmet, you aren't going to wear any?"
Chuckling again, "No, I think I'll be okay. I'll get one when I need it."
"Let's hope it's soon."
"Let's go. You only have a little time left to prepare. Now do something different, attack first, Sextus. Try to be unpredictable."
Sextus didn’t run, not walked but something in between towards his teacher, raising his shield and then thrusting his sword into the midsection of the teacher. The thrust was parried, and the shock of steel against steel was striking to his mind. The next hit to his side was crushing. Even with leather protecting him, his teacher's fist was powerful.
Sextus was one step closer to the arena in his training. Let's go. Quit being afraid, accept the arena. Besides you chose to be here.
"I did, so teach me well. They say you are the best."
"No, I was the best. That's why I'm still breathing and training. Plus I want you to win. Don't want a student of mine to die in their first arena." He thrust quickly at Sextus, who parried it well.
"Nice parry. You may live yet, Sextus."
“Thanks It is my desire.”
“Keep that desire, its your best weapon. Sometimes its not skill that leads to a win, but desire. One more thing, call me Phillip.”
Chapter II
The Magistrates of The Republic sat in a cold chamber. Sitting in their seats as stoic as the marble and concrete building that surrounds them. The discussions taking place of business and politics, the mundane details to keep life moving and people happy. These men knew more than anyone that the whims and notions were mob like. Magistrates had the responsibility to keep the whims of the people fed. They oversaw the daily affairs, and handled the occasional crisis; if necessary they could create a crisis. Although this was a special called meeting, it was still filled with so many routine topics to shield the agenda of importance. Routine discussions and padding the mundane, political strategies that always worked to hide the significant votes.
These leaders were accustomed to the heat of an argument. Debate is always the weapon of choice in the arena of politics. Those debates turned heated only seldom. The Republic had become like a clock of fine creation. It needed winding, oiling, and the constant care of keepers. The men in the chamber operated as the keepers of the clock. Watching and listening to the ticks of forces that would affect the lives of everyone within the dominion of The Republic. Magistrates discussing the adjustments, Consuls willing to make adjustments when required.
Someone continued the ramble on about taxes, “Let us discuss taxes once more.”
“No! We can’t raise taxes any higher than currently stand. In fact we need to lower them. Unless you want unrest, or worse yet, revolt.”
Another voice echoed across the chamber, “I agree. Taxes can’t be increased.”
All across the chamber, small arguments and comments echoed out at random. Order had been temporarily lost, which in this room was never the outcome desired. Order had to be maintained, and the order of The Republic was based upon the order of the Magistrates in the room. Republic politics had a motto, ‘Magistrates Mirror The Mob’. Every Magistrate with their grumbles was a mirror of the unrest of their people.
The Consul, leader of the chamber, coughed, and when his cough didn’t stop the mumbling, he stood. Not covering his mouth to be noticed quicker, he coughed again. Magistrates sitting with their backs to the Consul continued caught up in their arguments.
“Order, Order in the chamber.” He required their silence and motioned this with his hand raised. Speaking to himself and those closest to him, he said, “Sometimes… These men will chase ghosts with dreams of rhetoric."
The Republic stood at a precarious balance. Taxes were already a burden and with no potential for foreign conquests for some time. The opportunity of future growth was limited. Without growth, political fortunes weren't safe and heads could roll. The Republic was a hungry beast, as hungry as the crowds of the Arenas all over the The Empire. Working to keep a balance together and in harmony was not just a numbers issue, but one of art and perception, like a medium performing the ploy of reading the tea leaves. The Magistrates were the managers of the Republic, the Consul the leader of the Magistrates. The people just the tea to be read, and drank.
The Consul, rapped the gavel on the podium, over and over. The raps started low and quiet and then got harder and louder. Even though it only took seconds for the men to quiet, he none the less kept his pace and rhythm of the raps. Every Magistrate in the chamber had become entranced, listening to the rhythmic hits. The rapping continued to the point of repetitious boredom. Upon seeing that everyone had quit speaking and focused on him, The Consul bellowed out, “I said ‘Let there be Order’, and I will have order now in this room, I will have order in This Republic…”
Not one magistrate said a word.
“We all know there’s a fine balance of power between the weight of taxation and the people’s happiness. Furthermore, conditions require our every effort and attention to ensure taxes stay up. The Republic’s people are hungry. Their appetites are ravenous. They live hungry lives for new developments and new incentives, which keeps us in a precarious situation. You all know this is a closed session, all matters discussed are confidential. The Republic is in a precarious state. We will turn this corner, as we have in the past. The Republic and its people need new distractions!”
The Consul leaned over to Secretary of Games and whispered, "How ever did some of them become Magistrates?"
"You appointed them Consul; they are your obedient servants." The Secretary of Games eased back into his chair.
"Our need is not taxation, or the balance of keeping the people in a place of rest, ours now is the need for conflict and distraction. In every chaotic moment in life there is opportunity, and we are at a moment of opportunity. In these times we need clear heads and strong stomachs to stand up and forge ahead, to create a greater Republic.”
The Magistrates, clapped, and grunted in agreement. “One of our former colleagues, now called Sextus Antonius Magnus, has committed high treason against The Republic… and is,” he paused searching for the right words. The twenty-three Magistrates in the room, all rapped their hands on their desks. The mention of the name Sextus brought sneers and murmurs from the Magistrates.
The Consul continued his presentation, confident the men were back in the fold of his leadership. Some men master a fighting arena, some the arts, but the Consul’s Arena was that of manipulation. “Please. Please. We must do all that is possible to protect The Republic. That is our duty, and the beat of my heart, the pursuit of my life.”
“Order,” This time he got order with a normal tone of voice. He did not rap the gavel a second time. “Our former Magistrate, Sextus, as he is now called, is scheduled for the Arena! This series of games in the Arena provides us maximum distraction, and gives us time to fix the evils that are attacking The Republic. While the crowds rejoice, we keep their attention off inflation, unemployment, taxes, and the lack of food.”
The same issues faced every great empire. Various people came together needing food and shelter. Leaders were chosen; laws were passed. Order came out of chaos, and that order had requirements. Requirements had a cost, requiring taxes to pay for those needs. Armed forces were raised, territory lines drawn, other lands conquered, all with the goal of providing for the people. Over population, greater needs of health, business, and commerce came into play. Growth and success beset new problems. As with all nations, corruption crept in and begins the internal rot. The need for control and personal empires take priority over the service of the people. Leaders began to act not for people or their betterment, but the pursuit of personal glory.
Time doesn’t change the needs of people or the pride of leaders. No matter what time or generation on earth, these facts were the same. This state of the current chamber had been repeated countless time in the history of Earth. You could prophesy with ce
rtainty, it would be seen again over and over, until the Earth’s end.
The masses needed distractions. Distractions that allowed their defenses lowered, their anger to subside, and their hunger to be fed. Like a lion in the arena having to fight three gladiators, if one would work to distract the lion, the others could finish him. The tiger should never fear concerning survival, but given distractions, the indecision of the moment would cause him to falter.
Distractions have taken place in every situation, in every day. A child with a shiny rattle to occupy his mind could be distracted from his hunger. A husband gave his wife a fur coat to cover his cheating. Give the masses games to feed their hunger; they would be distracted. Their lives were on the brink of ill health and starvation, but distracted enough not to want to care, not to want to revolt. Keeping the masses distracted and entertained was often the work of the Magistrates.
“With Sextus we have been given a great opportunity for the coming month. We must use this time wisely, to make our economic moves, and continue to secure the liberty of The Republic.” The Consul patted the gavel on the podium. This sign that he was through speaking; the understood sign there was no further discussion. The Magistrates knew the routine.
“We are adjourned Magistrates, until our next meeting. Keep your provinces in order, in control, and be sure to bring your quotas next week.”
“Secretary of State, and Secretary of Games. You two, in my private office now.” The Consul walked out quickly and spent no pleasantries with the Magistrates as was his usual custom.
The Secretary of State was in charge of political relationships with the other Republics in the Empire. The Secretary of Games, oversaw the games of the arenas, the systems in place for those games, and in a greater manner, the armies the Gladiators created. His games were the training ground for armies.
