Chapter 15: The Exhibition

Things changed around the ludus over the next week. The servants hurried around the buildings, cleaning, painting, and repairing anything visible. The main fighting pit had stands being assembled around it, and Titus was always present, worried about every detail. Carts of supplies, mostly food and wine, arrived daily as the larder was stockpiled. I overheard Titus arguing with one of the deliverymen about payment due. Titus yelled him down until he left, promising to return after the exhibition. Titus even spent a reasonable amount of time watching the training and giving feedback to the lanistas, most of which was ignored as soon as he left.

I only saw Elora from a distance while I trained, as the servants were just as busy inside the manor as others were outside, trying to pretty up the crumbling estate. It was not even organized chaos, just chaos. Lanistas yelled at laborers for getting in their way, and Titus yelled at the lanistas, while we were stuck in the middle, training and trying to prepare. My mornings were spent with Varka and Vetter, but there was little they could do to help me now, as I was not destined to fight.

My body had been shaped by exercise, but I lacked the speed of the better gladiators. I had gotten significantly stronger, but brute strength mattered little if you couldn’t stop the point of a sword coming for your throat. Tullus pushed me hard in both the precision of physical training and mastering my aether control. It was weird to think of myself as a mage wielding two firebrands. But as I practiced, I was becoming more comfortable with the idea. Trickling aether to both hands was easy now, and the best way to prolong the spell form and give a flashy performance.

Since I didn’t need to attack anyone, the flaming streamers left by the blades let me create artistic after-images in your vision if it was dark outside. Tullus altered my display to take advantage of this.

I did get the flame-proof clothing Tullus had requested. It was less of clothing and more of a circus outfit. It was made up of a heavy blood-red leather belt that held a large and uncomfortable polished bronze codpiece over my groin with it anchored by a strap through my ass cheeks. From the belt hung several black leather straps that extended down to my knees. When I performed the steps and flips, the straps whipped around, exposing the codpiece underneath, which had a relief of oversized genitals. There was no upper body clothing, but my torso was to be rubbed with a non-flammable oil, and I had a loose bronze chain necklace and bronze bracers to dress me up some. I looked like a proper savage.

When Titus first saw me in the attire, he grimaced. “Why are his thighs a pasty white? Get his tan to be uniform across his body,” he said in exasperation at Varka. This actually allowed me to sunbathe atop the walls during the midday meal until my pale skin was an angry red that Faustus could heal. A few days wasn’t enough time, and the tan line was still going to be evident, but my thighs were at least not a blinding white.

Two days before the exhibition, the First Citizens began to arrive. The first few arrived in covered wagons with a few guards. I only caught glimpses of the men as they were escorted upstairs to their rooms. My jaw tightened as I realized the First Citizens had come alone, which probably meant the handful of female servants would be tending to their needs during the night.

Tullus whacked me with the flat of his blade when I stared angrily at the latest to arrive. “If you are not going to pay attention, I will go practice with Aferius.”

“Why don’t people rise up against the First Citzens? The slaves have to outnumber them twenty to one,” I gripped angrily.

He slapped me again with the blade. “Don’t speak such stupid words aloud.” He sighed. “There is no slavery in the Empire. Be careful with your words. There is only debt that needs to be repaid and—” He pointed his blade directly at me, “those that are to be executed and giving the blessing of being allowed to live a few more days. Now we are going to use this water barrel to help you gain more height on your flips…”

The only benefit to the First Citizens’ arrival was the copious amount of food being prepared on the upper floor. They couldn’t possibly eat all of it, and the leftovers from gluttonous meals trickled to the kitchens below. Joren distributed it as fairly as he could among the gladiators and guards. This included half-full wine glasses, but I was not going to drink from another man’s cup—especially one of these First Citizens.

The day before the exhibition, the important First Citizens finally began to arrive. I only knew this because their entourages were much larger, and some brought their wives and children to this spectacle. These First Citizens had the rank of baron, which meant they controlled land and industry in the Empire. Titus practically drooled over them, as they would have the most gold to spend on renting his gladiators.

Tullus explained what would happen tomorrow as best he could. “We are being rented out for the Festival in the capital. Most of these First Citizens won’t even bother going to the capital, and they are just here to watch a tiny sampling of decent fighting for free, Titus invited everyone within a week’s ride. Those here to purchase services from Titus will pay based on what we show them. If the skill on display is alluring enough, Titus will hope for a bidding war to drive up the price.”

“What about me?” I asked the ludus champion.

Tullus shrugged. “I think it depends on the First Citizens’ whims. Besides the matches in the coliseum, there will be parties in the villas in the city every night during the games. You might be expected to perform there. Or you could be expected to put on your show on the sands in front of fifty thousand people.”

“But I won’t have to fight for my life?” I questioned earnestly. 

“For your sake, I hope not. Your defense is still terrible. If you do have to fight, just heat your blade so hot your enemy won't approach,” Tullus advised unhelpfully before motivating me with a lightning-quick slap of his blade to continue practicing. The exhibition began tomorrow during the midday meal and would go until dark. I was scheduled to be the last display for the guests, dancing with my fire swords in the darkness.

At breakfast, the novicus were all nervous about their first showing. Most of the fights were scripted, but my group was too inexperienced to be expected to participate in a choreographed fight. The old man, Appius, had shown himself a decent swordsman, and Quintus was good as a brute. The others, however, lagged even behind me in skill, even though their bodies now showed only lean muscle.

As we ate, even more First Citizens arrived; many had not sent word that they accepted his invitation, but their appearance made Titus ecstatic. The stands would be full, and there would likely be competing bids for all of his gladiators, even the novicus. Titus’s mood suddenly changed when a carriage escorted by twenty-three mounted men in blood-red full armor arrived. I was sitting in the yard chewing on sugarcane as they stormed through the gate. All the horses were beasts in their own right, the size of draft horses but muscled like thoroughbreds.

“Who is that?” I asked no one in particular.

“That is Duke Erebus Cornet. Titus’s nemesis—not a good sign,” Joren said from a short distance away. Titus was greeting the duke as he exited his carriage, but he was sweating and flushing in apparent annoyance. I was close enough to hear the exchange.

“I didn’t expect you to come to my humble Ludus!” Titus said in a faux greeting.

“Am I not welcome?” the duke replied darkly. “Your ludus falls in my province, and it has been too long since I visited. You even failed to send me an invitation this year.”

Joren had moved closer to me to talk in a hushed tone. “The last time the duke came to an exhibition, he purchased rights to every gladiator and matched them against superior opponents. Only one in five of us returned to the ludus,” Joren said sorrowfully. His good arm went to the stump of his other arm unconsciously.

“He can do that? Pit us against whatever he wants?” I said, my heart starting to race as my fate might change.

“If he pays enough, yes,” Joren said before walking away, disgusted. Joren was liked by most of the gladiators because he always made sure we had enough to eat, even if Titus or a lanista told him to withhold food as punishment. We were given time off to prepare mentally, and I watched and listened to the party inside from under a balcony.

People were clearly getting drunk, and the fighting pairs were being paraded inside so bets could be placed. I was surprised that First Citizens didn’t realize that the outcome of nearly every match had been fixed. Titus was the one who set the odds and collected money. Hearing others betting on the fate of the fights made my blood boil, and I could ruin Titus’s display of real fights if I told enough people that everything was rigged—but I chose not to.

The First Citizens meandered from the villa to the stands at midday. There was no rush as the entertainment was guaranteed to start only after they were seated. The dukes’ legionnaires went with him, taking up a section to themselves. I only briefly caught Elora carrying a tray, and she looked miserable. The seating was tight as the sets filled it, blocking my view of the fights. The opening act was a juggler of deadly implements, an ugly man named Polycerius. When I sat near him at meals, I was certain he smelled like aged cheese. His act was not impressive and appeared to be being ignored by most everyone except the children of the First Citizens.

Joren grabbed my elbow. “Come to the kitchens before you draw unwanted attention or do something stupid.” I didn’t hesitate as I was the only gladiator in the open and my act was not destined for hours. The kitchens were mildly somber as I helped with boiling rice. The cheering soon reached us as the real fighting started. It was hard to hear the clash of steel and leather as the crowd was very into the fight. I tried to remember who the first match was, but could not. The next match should be Appius and Postumus against Drusus and Quintus. With Faustus available, the fight would be bloody.

A huge roar echoed to us in the kitchens as the first fight finally concluded. I could hear Titus’ voice echoing and celebrating the fighting. The services of the two gladiators who had fought was being auctioned off immediately after the fight. The stands were silent as Titus asked for bids, but only a single voice echoed.

Joren spat into the fire. “Titus is ogre fucked. That was Erberus’s voice. Almost every baron and First Citizen in the stands falls under his provincial rule. They will not dare outbid him. He is going to repeat what he did before and buy the contracts of every gladiator.”

Joren was right. The crowd was rowdy and loud during every fight, but once the bidding started, only a single bidder spoke. The hopelessness in Titus’s voice reached even us in the kitchens, and the mood was somber, not for Titus but for the likely fate we would face in the capital.

The matches dragged on as I listened numbly. I wanted to review my dance or do some last-minute practice, but the uncertainty just weighed on me. The sunset and the fights continued under the light of torches, adding a weird ambience. The final fight of the night Aferius and Tullus. The two gladiators, probably aware of their fate, still put on an impressive showing by the loudest roars of the day. Their fight stretched for nearly a quarter of an hour, a testament to their endurance.

When deafening clapping signaled the end of the fight, I moved closer, my heart racing as I the final entertainment of the evening. I could hear Titus dully praising the display of prowess and offering the services of Tullus and Aferius to open bidding. “The most powerful gladiator at my Ludus, Aferius the Godsworn, will start at one hundred gold per fight!”

The cool voice of Duke Erberus cut through the air. “Please tell me you are joking? A hundred gold to start the bidding?”

“Since there has been only one bidder all evening, I want to make certain his value is recognized,” Titus said tightly.

“Fine, one hundred gold it is. But for that amount, he’ll need to prove I didn’t overpay, and I’m assuming it covers the entire festival, not just a single fight?” the duke responded coolly. I didn’t hear Titus’s soft reply but I assumed the duke got his way.

Tullus’s services were offered reluctantly next, and as the ludus champion, Titus offered his services at one hundred and fifty gold, which the duke didn’t flinch to pay. A despondent Titus announced my act. “To finish the evening, I have a display of martial magic for you all. A gladiator with a unique spell form that is sure to both mesmerize and beguile. Please extinguish all the torches and put away all glowstones. I present: Thomas, Master of the Flame Blades!”

The lighting around the pit started to wink out one by one. The torches on the walls of the ludus were extinguished by guards. I moved under the stands to climb down into the fighting pit. Even in the near-darkness, I could tell the sand under my feet was sticky with fresh blood from hours of fighting. I moved to the center of the floor and found the heavy wooden water barrel had already been dragged out, and the two dull, long swords lay across it. My only three props for my performance.

I grasped both hilts and sent a winding orange flame down their lengths. My torso glistened in the firelight, and I hoped this oil was truly flame-resistant as I started to spin both blades in countering directions...

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