Page 30 of House of Serpents and Slaves

"Alright, little warrior," he said with a resigned sigh. "If you want to prove yourself, then face one of my gladiators in the arena."

"Face one of them? Which one?" I asked. My mind immediately went to Antonius, the biggest gladiator we had. Marcus must have guessed what I was thinking, or maybe it was written all over my face because he grinned.

"Whoever I pick."

"I'm not sure..." I said, fear coiling inside me at the thought of facing a well trained gladiator in the arena. I had trained early every morning and late every night for over a decade, and had sparred with Septimus for years, though less often recently since he was picked for more and more fights.

"You didn't make Septimus do that," I said, my eyes meeting his.

"No. I made him fight me," said Marcus, his voice serious. "But I think that would complicate things. If you really want to try this, then prove it to me in the arena. Face one of my gladiators and show me that you have the skills and courage to become a gladiator and I'll train you."

This was it. My only chance and I knew it. I just had to hope that I could hold my own long enough to prove I deserved to be on that sand with them all. I thought of Tarus lying facedown on the dirt, the swinging bodies of my parents, and the leery face of the soldier Arilius, a name that still haunted my dreams. I thought of the Emperor that had ordered my village to be destroyed, and I looked Marcus straight in the eyes, my face calm, even though my insides churned.

"I accept your challenge, Marcus."

He nodded, but didn't smile. He reached out and ran a finger down one side of my face, tracing it gently. "Give me three days. There’s another arena fight in two, and if I live through it, you can come into the arena the next day."

I smiled at him, relief and joy filling me up inside as hope blossomed. “You’d better live through it, Marcus, because I'm going to hold you to this.”

“Well, there’s an incentive.”

9

The air in the ludus was thick with anticipation for the upcoming fight. I could feel it as I made my way through the corridors, the usual pre-fight tension amplified by whispers of the night's special attraction. The dragon. Even now, the memory of that magnificent beast sent a shiver down my spine. It would be an honour to win it, and of course, if we didn’t win it, it would be because we were all dead. On the other hand, if we did win it, at some point we’d be ordered to fight against it and while I had faced some terrifying creatures in the arena, a dragon was on a different level altogether and I didn’t fancyour chances. I pushed the depressing thoughts aside. I had more pressing matters to attend to.

I found Drusus in the courtyard, surrounded by a group of bedraggled individuals in chains - new slaves he was considering for purchase. The sight of them, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, made my stomach turn. I'd been in their position once, long ago.

"Drusus," I called out, approaching with what I hoped was casual confidence. "A word, if you have a moment."

He turned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw me. "Marcus. Shouldn't you be preparing for tonight's fight?"

"I'm ready," I assured him. "This won't take long."

"A minute,” Drusus grunted, then turned back to the slave trader. "Continue," he barked.

I stood silently as Drusus resumed his inspection of the slaves. His eyes roved over each body with cold calculation, assessing their worth as if they were cattle at market. It was a familiar scene, one I'd witnessed countless times, but it never failed to make my skin crawl.

"This one," Drusus said, pointing to a young woman with haunted eyes. "What are her skills?"

The trader grinned, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Ah, she's a fine one, that. Trained in household duties - cooking, cleaning, mending. And..." he leered, "she's got other talents too, if you catch my meaning."

Drusus grasped the woman's chin, turning her face this way and that. She didn't resist, but I saw a flicker of something - hatred, perhaps, or simple resignation - in her eyes. "Might do for the kitchen," Drusus mused. "Or for entertaining some of our more... discerning guests."

He moved on to a burly man with calloused hands. "And this one?"

"Strong as an ox, that one," the trader boasted. "Good for heavy labor. Bit simple in the head, but follows orders well enough."

Drusus prodded the man's muscled arms, then shook his head. "No finesse. Useless in the arena, but maybe for heavier domestic work. I’ll take him." He turned to a younger man, barely more than a boy. "What about him? Any fighting experience?"

The trader shrugged. "Quick on his feet, from what I've seen. No idea if he can fight though. He’s not shown much spirit since we picked him up."

Drusus circled the boy, who stood straighter, a hint of defiance in his stance. "Might have potential," Drusus muttered. "But he'd need extensive training. Not worth the investment."

As Drusus continued his assessment, I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable. It wasn't just the casual cruelty of his appraisal, but the way he spoke about their potential uses. Especially when it came to the women. I couldn't help but think of Livia, of the way Drusus looked at her sometimes. It made my blood boil.

"Nothing exceptional here, though I’ll take the bigger one and the first woman," Drusus finally declared, turning back to me. "What did you want to discuss, Marcus?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "It's about Livia," I began.

---