The beast swept around again, tusks still down in the charge, and Mevia swung the spear at its head. The metal blade smashed into the side of the boar’s skull but had little effect as it covered the short distance and swept its tusks up, raking at Mevia’s legs. She threw herself sideways onto the other prone boar and screamed as a tusk ripped down the side of her thigh. Rolling over the dying beast she landed on her knees, the gash opening and blood spilling down her thigh. For a fraction of a second she glanced across at the beast, the fires reflecting from the moisture in its eye and a shiver ran down her spine. In that moment she saw death coming, and she knew she must kill it now or be killed. With all of her remaining strength she forced the heel of the spear into the sand between her legs, holding the protruding shaft low. The raging boar was around and bearing down before she had time to think but she lifted the spear a fraction on impulse. The boar, sensing the kill, launched itself at her but the point of the spear found its open mouth and it ran itself onto the shaft. The momentum kept it coming as the blade slashed through its organs and its legs gave way. The mighty beast thumped down, spraying sand over Mevia as she closed her eyes in relief, tears welling up behind them.
The cheering of the crowd swept around the arena like a thundering wave. Nero watched as the wounded gladiatrix struggled to her feet, taking a moment to compose herself with her chest heaving, and then limped forward toward the royal box. He stood and applauded, his gaze taking in her athletic nakedness, as she came to a halt.
“Patrobius! I would never have believed it!” he turned and smiled at his aide. “I think I will see her after the games to congratulate her. Have her wound stitched and dressed... but dress nothing else!” He laughed and slapped Patrobius on the back.
“Let’s have the next one, before these Christians go out!”
As the two boars were dragged out by the side entrance, the rear gate opened and a boy walked out, with a gladius in one hand and a shield in the other. Both looked too large and heavy for the slim figure.
Unseen to all, the three Orbs of energy floated above the arena.
The first pulsed out a thought. “He walks out for love, as I said he would.”
The second pulsed back. “Then he is a fool.”
The third orb remained silent.
Domitius came to a halt in the centre. His hands shook; his legs felt like lead and he could barely breathe. Beneath his helmet, sweat poured from his brow, dripping into his eyes, and he used his forearm to wipe them. He looked around the arena, at the now dead, blackened Christians, their faces frozen in a rictus of pain, on flaming crosses, the crowds behind standing and jeering in the orange light, and above them darkness.
He tried to steal himself, control his breathing and steady the shaking, but to little affect.
Across from him strode twelve Ethiopian warriors, dressed in short, tribal, grass skirts and holding small, wooden shields and long, thin spears. Their oiled, muscled, black torsos glistened in the firelight, as they came to a halt opposite. Behind them came six women, one with a wailing babe in her arms, and eight children of various ages, all naked.
Domitius could barely contain his shaking, and he took a pace back. He realised he was holding his breath and blew out slowly, muttering a prayer to Mars, the god of war. “I have never called on you before, but if you can hear me, give me the strength to go on.”
The warriors took a pace forward, then glanced at the royal box, waiting to begin.
Nero watched with fascination, and then turned. “Patrobius, what is the meaning of this?”
“He is against one of the villages, Your Highness...”
Nero laughed. “Come Patrobius, give the boy a chance. Let us say three of the Ethiopians, and a woman and child, the one with that screaming brat.” He smiled wickedly.
“As you command, Highness.”
Patrobius held his hands in the air and the crowd grew silent. He called out, down to the arena. “You three on the left, and you, the woman with the babe.” He pointed down at them and then gesticulated at Domitius. “You will fight this... this mighty warrior of Rome, to the death. The rest of you, move away to the side.”
There was confusion as guards ran out and separated the tribe, translating the order. The three warriors smiled and the woman with the baby in her arms stood behind them, fear etched across her face.
Patrobius watched patiently as the villagers were separated and then held his arms in the air to settle the crowd again. He glanced at the arena, satisfied all was ready, then looked to the Emperor. After receiving a nod from Nero he turned to his front and bellowed into the night. “Begin.”
***
Domitius took several paces back, as the confusion kept him from attention. He closed his eyes quickly as the guards pushed the Ethiopians apart leaving three and a woman in the middle. He said a final prayer. “Mars, god of war, give me the strength to stand, and to die swiftly. Let me not turn and run, for my love is watching. Give me honour to face my final breath.”
“Why would you run?” pulsed a thought in his head.
“Whaa...”
“Free your mind, Domitius, let me in, you have called for a god and I am here.”
A wave of energy swept into Domitius, power coursing through his veins, pumping through his muscles and organs. His perceptions and his senses were magnified ten-fold as everything around him seemed to slow down. He could pick out distant sounds, filtering out others, anywhere he chose. His sight had magnified so that where ever he looked was a touch away if he focused on it.
“Is it truly you, Mars?”
“I am who you need me to be, human. I am in you now, a part of you, so relax, don’t fight against me. That’s it, let go and move with me, I will think and move for you.”
Domitius relaxed and felt himself move; a fluid and graceful step to the right. He hadn’t meant to. He watched in disbelief as his arm moved from his side and his hand spun the gladius, the blade slashing through the air in an arc with unbelievable speed. The shaking had stopped. The fear was nowhere. A supreme confidence settled over him.
“Jupiter’s balls,” he muttered to himself in wonder. “Have you done this before?”
The answer echoed around his head. “Of course, many times. The last time I was here I spent many years in a human named Alexander. He was eventually known on this planet as the Great. There have been many.”
Domitius smiled, and relaxed even more as the energy force moved him.
The two orbs above moved slowly across the arena.
“He’s changed,” pulsed the second.
“Love is strong in him.” pulsed back the first.
“It is not love that is strong in him.”
“He walked onto the sand. That was for love, and is enough.”
The three warriors moved forward, spreading out. The crowd erupted, a wall of noise broiling across the sand, slamming into the men and sweeping away. Dominius tensed. “Relax! Free your mind so that I can control your body. Yes, that’s it, now we dance with them.”
The three warriors leapt forward, thrusting spears at Domitius as he blocked one with a fluid movement and jumped to his left. He felt the gladius revolve in his hand, once, twice and then he was thrusting forward. His arm leapt out, his body curled, rolled, all the time his arm whipping in and out, hacking and slashing, and then he was somersaulting, landing lightly on his feet and his arms were in the air. He turned to see the three warriors falling, clutching bloody wounds and gaping holes. Intestines spilled through their clutching fingers, coiling on the sand like steaming eels through a net, as one by one the three warriors collapsed to the floor. The woman with babe in arms fell to her knees in abstract terror and leaned over, covering her young child and shrieking hysterically.
Domitius drank in the applause, disbelief on his face.
Nero stood, open mouthed, applauding. “By the gods! Such speed, such grace... astounding. Where did you find this boy, Patrobius?”
Patrobius frowned, anger surg
ing through him. He was already calculating ways of dispatching the boy before he would have to seal the betrothal. “I... I found him...”
“Never mind, I would meet him, have him...” Nero stopped as a familiar voice echoed in his head.
“Let me in, Nero.”
Nero closed his eyes for a heartbeat as the second orb slipped inside him. Nero was no longer in control as he raised his arms and silence descended on the arena.
“Finish this... to the death. A woman and child remain. Then we shall have the main event.”
“Farewell boy.”
Domitius felt his body return to him as the energy departed. “But wait, the woman and child?”
A pulse entered his thoughts. “I have given you life. What you choose to do from here is up to you.”
***
The first orb sent a direct pulse to the second and third orbs as they all rose from the arena, shooting upwards. “You both act like what they call Gods, but the boy deserved that chance.”
As they broke out of the atmosphere the third and largest Orb took the lead, with the other two Orbs attaching themselves behind to form a cylinder. They focused their energy into speed and swept up and across the galaxy in a few heartbeats.
The third Orb pulsed to the first, as they travelled, moving faster and faster through space. “You are young, barely three millennia old, and this is only your first visit to this colony. We put them here; we do as we will. They need pushing from time to time, to evolve. From the eight original humans, they have spread around this planet much slower than other experiments. But now they seem to be advancing well. Their use of minerals is improving and they dominate all life forms here. They must learn to act as one species though, instead of this senseless individualism, but that will take time... time they may not have if the Qullartii spread to this part of the universe. We will be back again soon, but for now, we must check on the next colony, it is only seven light years away, so we will be there shortly.”
***
Domitius stood horrified and then turned to face the woman. She was sitting up on her knees with tears streaming down her face, her eyes wide, and frantically looking around. One of her fellow tribesmen shouted at her from the back of the arena in their own language.
Domitius stared in disbelief as she placed the screaming baby on the sand and clutched up a spear to her chest. Naked, she stood over the baby and then screamed; a high pitched, ululating cry and pointed the spear at him.
Domitius couldn’t move, fear swept back over him like a blanket, smothering him. His hands were shaking again, his legs. He gaped, open mouthed, as she charged at him and he felt his own urine pouring down his legs. Frozen, he watched the spear point coming closer as she rapidly closed the distance. He tried to call out but his mouth wouldn’t work. His eyes grew larger as the point closed in on him and he marvelled at how steady she held it, at waist height, and still he couldn’t move.
His last thought before the impact was of Fulvia, and then a look of disbelief crossed his face as the spear sank deep into his belly and punched him backwards off his feet.
As the excruciating pain swept through him, he glanced at the stars above, tears in his eyes, and he took his last, few breaths.
“Why is life so cheap and meaningless?” he asked himself. “Was there any reason for the gods putting us here in the first place?”
***
Paul Murphy lives near Brighton, with his wife and four children. He is currently finishing an historical fiction novel "Wolf of Rome", the first in a series of action adventures set around the time of the Emperor Augustus. He can be found on twitter @PaulMurphy1234.
Author’s Note – The Colony
by Paul Murphy
OK, so that story seems a little farfetched, eh? Well, certainly the Orbs are straight out of a fantasy story, (hey, you never know!) but what about the rest of it? Let us compare today’s society with that of a Roman. Their idea of a good night out with a visiting dignitary, was to pop down to the local arena, floodlit by burning Christians, and watch whole families, men, women and their children, butchering each other for the gift of life. Ridiculous, I hear you say! Well actually it’s not. Most of this story is true. Unbelievable, by today’s standards, isn’t it? It is worth bearing in mind how far we have come as a society in the last 2000 years, and with the same token, where we have come from. Let me explain the facts of this tale to you.
I have woven this short story around real people, places and events. Puteolis rarely gets a mention in Roman historical fiction, but has a remarkable place in their history. Now called Pozzuoli, it is sited 170 miles south of Rome on the Appian Way, on the coast just west of Naples. Here, Nero did indeed meet King Tiridates of Armenia, who shot two water buffalo with one arrow, and together they watched gladiatorial combat in Puteolis, arranged by a freedman named Patrobius. Dio Cassius, the second century historian, informs us that this was the first time women and children were seen in the arena, with the very disturbing gladiatorial battles, using captured Ethiopian villages pitted against each other to the death, where the combat of these men and their women and children, were laid on to entertain Tiridates.
Juvenal, a writer of the time, also commented on this and titillated his readers with the gladiatrix, “Mevia, hunting boars with spear in hand and breasts exposed.”
And to compound the horror, Nero did indeed use crucified Christians to light the arena for these night time combats.
Other historical events and references I have used in the story are also true, such as the town is the resting place of the venerated General Sulla, who became a dictator and then handed back the Empire to the senate. Suetonius tells us that the floating bridge was built by Emperor Caligula (little boots) in 39 AD, to besmirch an Astrologer who predicted the impossibility of his rise. “...he (Caligula) has no more chance of becoming Emperor than of riding a horse across the Bay of Baiae.” Caligula had the bridge built from Puteolis to Baiae, (about 3 miles) from trading vessels, tied together and filled with sand, to form a bridge across the bay of Baiae so as to ride his horse across as a stunt and twice prove the old astrologer wrong. (Though not all historians agree or believe this.)
The volcanic sand, or Dust of Puteoli, formed the first basis for concrete and enabled the Romans to build their vast structures. The nearby lake Avernus, was fabled to be the entrance to Hades, the Roman version of hell, as told in Virgil’s `Aeneid’, the story coming from the fact that no birds flew over it. This is because it is a volcanic lake and gasses given off do keep the birds away. The first Emperor, Augustus, told his General and good friend Agrippa (Nero’s grandfather,) to build a Naval base here, linked by canal to another lake and then again to the sea. There is also Cocceio`s tunnel, which runs under these bases and was a 0.6 mile underground tunnel link to the city of Cumae. Unfortunately this was damaged by the Germans during the Second World War.
Of course, what’s left of the story is pure fiction.
Authors’ Bio
All of our writers are members of www.inkslingerbooks.co.uk , an online community for budding authors.
AJ Armitt lives with his wife and three children in Manchester. He currently has one book in circulation ‘Entwined – Tales from the City’ and is writing a sequel. He can be found on twitter @AnthonyJArmitt
Shirley Blane is the author of The Widow's Revenge, now published as an e-book with Amazon. She has also written several prize winning short stories and is currently working on a sequel to her novel. Find her on Twitter @BlanethePain333
Robert Brooks is a young father, husband and sometimes writer of fiction and poetry! A lifelong Londoner he can be found making witty observations on twitter @robbrooks2 and blogs his poetry at www.rbpoetry.blogspot.com
Gordon Doherty lives in Scotland just by the Antonine Wall, a perfect setting for inspiring his novels set in the late Roman Empire and Byzantium. You can find him on twitter @GordonDoherty, or visit his website at www.gordondoherty.co.uk
Rachel Dove is a wi
fe, mother of 2 very boisterous little boys, frustrated writer, avid reader, blogger, teaching degree student, book reviewer for the Kindle Book Review and bad housewife. She is currently working on her first novel, and can be found on twitter @WriterDove .Her two blogs: frustratedyukkymummy.blog.co.uk and thekindlebookreview.blogspot.com
Megan Merry Wright lives in Leeds, is a nanny and storyteller extraordinaire for adorable twins and waiting to take a place on a primary teaching course. Avid poet and hopeless procrastinator, one day hoping to eventually finish her children’s novel (it’s only been six years in the making after all!). Twitter account @meganelisabeth
Tortured Hearts - Twisted Tales of Love - Volume 2 Page 8
