by Lance Wilson
“These slaves are rotten!” the older man says staring at the slaver intently
“It adds to the flavor!” The slaver says with a smile.
The old man has had enough and rolls his eyes. Taking a deep breath he begins to walk away.
“No, no, wait, wait, wait! We can negotiate.” The slaver says shaking his head.
“I’ll give you 2,000 and another 4 for the beasts. That’s 5,000 for an old friend.” The older man says knowing that this slaver is weak in math and will not notice that it should be six and not five.
The slaver nods and the two of them shake. The older man then pulls a pouch from his side and hands it to the slaver. He then begins to pick his six slaves; this includes the orc and Nagamasa. With the business done the older man gestures to the slaves to follow him. And again they hop into the caravan and make they’re way to this older mans territory to await their fate.
Once at the older mans house they are taken out of the wagon and shown into the main courtyard of a small and poor noble house. The walls are some kind of clay and you can see that this is a man who has worked to become wealthy in this place, but outside of this province he would still be considered common. As the slaves walk though the gates they are dusted with lime for pests and disease, the older man addresses the slaves. As this takes place, a lion is seen in a cage as he is being fed human parts, while vultures tear at the remains of a pile of corpses. Other slaves are exercising their skills as one is seen getting impaled with an arrow.
“I am Proximo. I shall be closer to you for the next few days, which will be the last of your miserable lives, than that bitch of a mother that brought you screaming into this world. I did not pay good money for you for your company, I paid it so that I could profit from your death and as your mother was there at your beginning, so I shall be there at your end. And when you die, and die you shall, your transition shall be to the sound of applauding… Gladiators, I salute you.” The older man says and then barks orders at a huge human wearing a simple tunic.
The large human, Hagen, then takes the slaves into a small arena where he stands in the middle with a wooden sword. As they enter they can see that he did not just purchase these six but many other that day. There are almost twenty in the group. Soon each is put in the middle of the arena and the large human tests them with his sword. After each test Proximo shouts the words either red, or yellow.
The next fighter is Juba, the orc who picks up the wooden sword given to them for their testing and fiercely fights back as Hagen tests him.
“Good.” Hagen says with a smile finally happy to see someone fight back
“Red” Proximo says and nods to Hagen to smears red paint on Juba
Juba looks at Hagen with honor at having won red.
“Elf!” Hagen shouts
Nagamasa curiously looks at Hagen, walks up and tosses the sword to the ground—Nagamasa refuses to fight. With Proximo’s approval, Hagen slams his sword into Nagamasa’s stomach causing him to collapse, but he stands back up in defiance. Hagen hits him a second time and Nagamasa falls to the ground. Proximo stops Hagen as he is about to make the third blow, calling out
“That is enough for the moment. His time will come.” Proximo says smiling at Nagamasa, he sees it now, a true fighter.
Nagamasa looks at Hagen with a slight grin, turns and walks away. The day continues with Hagen testing the slaves and seeing with will make the better fighters. But the travel has taken much of the daylight away from them and soon it is time to retire and all are lead to where the slaves are kept. It is a huge bunkroom with bedrolls laid out. Nagamasa sits at his bedroll staring out at the night sky. How long ago did he loose it all? Days, maybe weeks, it’s so hard to say.
“Elf, why don’t you fight? We all have to fight.” Juba asks curious why he would let himself be hit
Nagamasa only looks at him for a second and then rolls his back to him without an answer. Juba stares at the back of the elf, Juba can tell that he must have lost much, he can only hope that in this time he can be this mans friend.
It is mid afternoon weeks after his arrival with the other slaves and now Nagamasa and the others shall face there first time in the arena. The slaves, are shackled together to a pole, they walk through the market place where dyed red yarn hangs overhead, dripping onto them as they make their way to the arena. A white bull is seen with red dye poured along its back. Proximo walks under a large umbrella, to protect him from the dripping dye.
“The gods favor you. Red is the gods’ color. You will need their help today.” Hagen says seeing some of the red dye hit Nagamasa on the shoulder.
At the arena, under the bleachers, the crowd can be heard stamping their feet, cheering. Proximo gives the gladiators a
Talk of encouragement, after all, they are there to make him Money.
“Some of you are thinking you won’t fight, some that you can’t. They all say that until they are out there. Thrust this into another man’s flesh” he says and thrusts a sword into the air in front of him as if it were another man.
“And they will applaud and love you for that. You… you may begin to love them for that. Ultimately, we’re all dead men, sadly we cannot choose how, BUT we can decide how we meet that end in order that we are remembered as men.” Proximo finishes and then walks out of the main gate to watch in the stands. He is curious how the elf will do; he was marked as yellow, the weaker of the slave colors. But he is sure that if he had decided to fight he would have won red.
Nagamasa listens intently; he bends down and picks up a handful of dirt, rubbing it between his hands. He has decided to fight. He will not lose the honor of being a man. They are paired off—red with yellow. Nagamasa is paired with Juba. Hagen is paired with a frail and frightened slave. Standing in the gateway before they enter the arena, the frightened slave in front of Nagamasa loses control from fear and relieves himself down his leg. Nagamasa views this and steps back. Hagen is seen closing his eyes, perhaps in prayer before he enters. The door to the arena is thrown open and the first fighter runs face first into the morning star which is swung by one of the armored opponents. Blood splatters everywhere. The fighters pan out and everyone runs into the arena. Proximo runs to the edge of the arena to look down onto his fighters—sizing them up for skill. Juba starts to follow an opponent but Nagamasa quickly takes control of the fight, pulling Juba back. Meanwhile, Hagen is with the frightened slave who is screaming in fear and crouching down while Hagen fights. Then the opponent thrusts his sword into the frightened slave, who falls down dead. Hagen, needing to be free from the corpse, cuts away the chained hand
And uses it to swing as a weapon. As the fights continue, Hagen lifts and plants another opponent on the horns, which adorn the arena. Nagamasa fights with his shield, Juba with a sword. When the final opponent is reached, Juba is standing behind Nagamasa with his hand on Nagamasa’s shoulder. The muscular opponent, heavily masked and carrying a trident, stands fiercely against Nagamasa and Juba. Nagamasa turns the trident back into the opponent and together, Nagamasa and Juba spear him in the gut. The opponent withdraws the trident from his own body and goes back on the attack. Nagamasa and Juba, working as one, run at the opponent, using the chain that joins them, to cut him at the throat, knocking him to the ground. Nagamasa, Juba and Hagen, and the remaining slaves, stand exhausted in the arena while the crowd roars.
It is mid-day in the city of Highover All along the city Oda troops have formed along the streets, people are cheering yet there is a small faction seen angrily yelling in dispute. The senators stand at the steps of the Senate, waiting, Lucius at their side, as the new Lord Oda and Maeraer
Enter on chariot surrounded by Praetorian, the elite of the Oda guard.
“He enters Rome like a conquering hero. But what has he conquered?” Once of the senators says distaste in his voice.
“Give him time. He’s youn
g. I think he could do very well.” Another replies putting a hand on the firsts shoulder
“For Rome or for you? Go to your mother, Lucius. It’s what she would want.” The first senator says now kneeling to the young boy Lucius.
“Mother!” Lucius says running though the crowd and embracing his mother Maeraer
“Lucius.” Maeraer says embracing her son and holding him tight.
“Rome greets her new Emperor. Your loyal subjects bid you welcome, Highness.” Once of the senators says smiling as Commodus walks up the stairs
“Rome rejoices in your return. There are many matters that require your attention.” Another says and gestures for him to follow to the senate building.
Commodus and Maeraer are then lead into the Senate where all the senators are gathered. Senator Gracchus begins speaking. This seems to go on for hours and as it does Commodus, seemingly bored and gaining impatient, sits, twirling the tip of his sword on the marbled floor.
“Lord Oda, the Senate has prepared a series of protocol to address the many problems in the city, beginning with basic sanitation for the Greek quarter to combat the plague which is already springing up there. So…” But he is stopped short as Commodus raises his hand interrupting him.
“Shhhhhh. Don’t you see Gracchus. That’s the very problem, isn’t it? My father spent all his time at study, reading books, learning his philosophy. He spent his twilight hours reading scrolls from the Senate. All the while, the people were forgotten.” Commodus says looking around at the senators.
“The Senate is the people, Sire, chosen from the people, to speak for the people.” Gracchus says looking around as his fellow senators nod their approval.
“I doubt if many people eat so well as you do, Gracchus, or have such splendid mistresses as you, Gaius. I think I understand my own people.” Commodus says and watches as the calm faces of the senator’s flash with anger, but only for a second.
“Perhaps Caesar would be so kind as to teach us, out of his own extensive experience.” Gracchus says extending his hands out like a hug.
There is a stir of the slightest laughter at this but it is quickly silenced with a glare from Commodus.
“I call it love. The people are my children and I their father. I shall hold them to my bosom and embrace them tightly… .” Commodus says his voice silky smooth.
“Have you ever embraced someone dying of plague, Sire?” Gracchus says his eyes that of a fierce warrior now. He can now see exactly how dangerous Commodus is going to be as an opponent in these halls.
Commodus stops. His sword held behind his head, with both hands, as though to be resting his head on it. Slowly turning around, he looks at Gracchus. Maeraer, sensing potential danger, rises to intervene. A lethal moment.
“No. But if you interrupt me again, I assure you that you shall.” Commodus says and with that he leaves the senate and walks to the palace
“Senator, my brother is very tired. Leave the list with me. Your Emperor will do all that Rome requires.” Maeraer says and takes the bundle of scrolls from Gracchus
“My lady, as always your lightest touch commands obedience.” Gracchus says and bows low to her as she walks away to the palace to tend to her brother.
Maeraer takes the scrolls to her father’s old study where she will look them over. As she stands in the room a tear builds in her eyes. How many times did she walk in here and find her father pouring over scrolls just like these, he always wanted to be the ruler the people asked of him. He was the one that taught her that the senate was probably the most important part of Highover. They were his eyes and ears and they told him what the people needed. And he would tend to it. He taught her to be the ruler that he wanted to be. Quickly she shakes these memories from her mind. She is playing a dangerous game now with her brother and she cannot let herself be distracted. She walks to Commodus’ room knowing she will find him there. Just as she thought he is there pacing back and forth.
“Who are they to lecture me?” Commodus says growling like a wounded animal.
“Commodus, the senate has its uses.” Maeraer says and smiles placing her hand on her brothers shoulder
“What uses? All they do is talk. It should be just you and I, and Highover.” Commodus says turning and looking deep into her eyes.
“Don’t even think it, Commodus. There has always been a senate… .” Maeraer says holding her head high with pride at this though
“Highover has changed. It takes an Emperor to rule an empire.” Commodus says knowing that is exactly what his master, the first lord Oda has carved in this world, an empire.
“Of course, but leave the people their… .” Maeraer starts but stops to find the right word
“Illusions?” Commodus says trying to help her.
“. . . Traditions.” Maeraer says correcting him. Although the word illusion did come to mind
“My master’s, your father’s war against the barbarians, he said himself it achieved nothing. But people still loved him.” Commodus says shaking his head
“People always love victories.” Maeraer says smiling at him, remembering how Commodus himself, when he was young, hung on every word of the letters her father would write him about the battles.
“But why? They don’t see the battles? What do they care about those lands?” Commodus says looking at her face for an answer
“They care about the greatness of Highover.” She said the answer coming to her swiftly
“Greatness of Highover? But what is that?” He asks his voice weak and small
“It’s an idea, greatness. Greatness is a vision.” She says gently stroking his cheek now.
“Exactly. A vision. Do you not see, Maeraer? I will give the people a vision and they will love me for it. They will soon forget the tedious sermonizing of a few dry old men. I will give them the greatest vision of their lives.” Commodus says his eyes now lighting up again.
Maeraer is in shock, so it was all an act. The poor lost child looking to a sister for help, all an act. She fears for that moment that she may be out of her league when matching whit with this man, he is the most dangerous advisory she has ever met.
It is that afternoon and Gaius and Gracchus are at a restaurant, discussing the games, which Commodus revived to lure the mob. Outside can be seen a juggler, merchants calling out their wares, and the crowd visiting and moving about.
“Games! 150 days of games!” Gaius says shocked reading the scroll
“He’s cleverer than I thought.” Gracchus says smiling at it
“Clever? The whole of Rome would be laughing at him if they weren’t in fear of his Soldiers.” Gaius says looking around making sure he was not heard
“Fear and wonder. A powerful combination.” Gracchus says admiring Commodus’ ambition now.
“Will the people really be seduced by that?” Giaus asks now worried
“I think he knows what Highover is. Highover is the mob. He will conjure magic for them and they will be distracted. He will take away their freedom, and still they will roar. The beating heart of Rome is not the marble of the Senate; it is the sand of the colosseum. He will give them death, and they will love him for it.” Gracchus says tossing the scroll on the table and looking out at the people. He was wrong about Commodus, he does understand the people, and now he has put his plan into action, the only hope is that they find a way to counter it before it is too late.
Back at Zucchabar. The gladiators are sitting in a cage waiting for their turn to fight in the arena. “Hitori, hitori, hitori” can be heard from the crowds-Nagamasa has gained the popularity of the crowd as well as a name for himself—Hitori. Nagamasa stands and walks through the cage as the other gladiators call out “Hitori”, as he makes his way to the arena. Nagamasa enters the ring as the chants “Hitori, Hitori” continue. When Nagamasa steps through the door the crowd becom
es silent, the opponents step back. Nagamasa pauses and slightly bows his head. Then he wades into them as the crowd cheers loudly. The
Opponents each wait to take on Nagamasa. Without hesitation, Nagamasa charges forward and machine-like and without emotion, takes on and disposes of each opponent, one at a time. The final opponent has his head cut off by Nagamasa as he uses two swords to scissor cut his neck. Having quickly and soundly defeated his opposition, Nagamasa looks up at the crowd, bloody swords still in hand. He hurls one sword high into the stands, striking a table, startling all
Nearby. Then, Roars out to the now silenced crowd. He is a slave now, an animal brought out for there amusement and it infuriates him, but there is nothing he can do about it. The crowd silenced, Nagamasa throws the other sword to the ground, spitting in disgust and begins to leave the arena. The crowd cheers
Uncontrollably. Nagamasa slows his pace, looking at them in amazement and curiosity. “Hitori, Hitori, Hitori, Hitori” They continue to chant despite his distaste for them. Not long after his little stunt with the crowd Proximo has Nagamasa summoned to him. He is not left waiting long; it takes Nagamasa only a few minutes to get to the office where Proximo is sitting at his desk his hands folded looking intently at Nagamasa.
“What do you want? Hmmmm? Girl? Boy?” Proximo asks wondering how to tame him make him more compliant.
“You sent for me?” Nagamasa asks uninterested in the question
“Yes I did. You are good, Hitori, but you’re not that good. You could be magnificent.” Proximo says leaning back in his chair
“I am required to kill so I kill. That is enough.” Nagamasa says his face like stone.
“That’s enough for the provinces but not for Highover. The young Oda has arranged a series of spectacles to commemorate his master, Lord Oda. I find that amusing since it was the first Lord Oda, the wise, the all-knowing Oda, who closed us down. So finally after 5 years of scratching a living in flea infested villages we are finally going back to where we belong, the Colosseum. Oh you should see the Colosseum, Hitori. 50,000 men watching every movement of your sword, willing you to make the killer blow. The silence before you strike, and the noise afterwards, it rises, rises up like… like… like a storm, as though you were the Thunder God himself.” Proximo says his eyes glazing over with the memory
