Fighting For A Red Robe

by 404wan

At the dawn of the third century AD the Roman empire fell into a chaos that reached even a humble gladiator school where Kisame found a new home after being torn from his village as a captive of war. While he's put through a rigorous training insurrections and war lie on the horizon, and as a young slave Itachi takes his chance to change his fate. Rated M for sex and violence.

1. Prologue

Fighting For A Red Robe.

Prologue.

He felt numb. Whether it was from the fact that from where he stood he could see the woman he was going to marry get felt up and molested by several men or his present state of complete nudity he did not know. He couldn't find the strength to speak even a word anymore when one of them paid the auctioneer and put his shackle on her neck. A pain shot through his chest like none before and the breaths he took were icy cold and gripped his heart. The next moment she was gone. "Where are they from?" said a voice close to him. He blinked away the tears he wasn't able to produce and looked around. The last few weeks he'd spent in a daze, from his village getting attacked and plundered to being shackled and lead to this town, he'd been away in his mind, denying the truth.

But now she was gone, and soon he would be sold off to whomever as well to live a life as slave. His grandfather told him stories about the greatness of the roman empire, but what he'd seen of it so far did nothing but sicken him. They came in numbers far greater than theirs, a blinking army of death, all in the same uniforms, with the same helmets, shields and weapons. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother's scull being smashed in with the throw of a lance. Someone touched his arm, and he staggered back. He'd been lost in thought again and didn't notice the person standing in front of him stepping on the platform.

"Don't worry sweetness, I won't harm you." The person in front of him said with a smile. It was a young man with skin as pale as the moon and hair as dark as the night. When he opened his eyes to look the now slave over again Kisame saw a darkness in them that went deeper, far deeper than just their colour. The young man came up to about chesthight. He wore that weird little beige dress thing everyone there seemed to wear, with a robe wrapped around him as red as freshly spilled blood. "I don't think these are what you're looking for, sir." The auctioneer, who'd just stepped over from the other side of the platform said to him, and Kisame, though he didn't understand the words that were being spoken, noticed the sneer in his voice. The figure in front of him turned his eyes downwards for a moment before looking up again with one eyebrow raised. "I think I'll be the judge of that, salesman. Where are they from?"

He shook a small bag he held in his hand and the sound of clinking gold immediately changed the auctioneers attitude. He stepped closer with a big fake smile on his face, "These fine specimen are true barbarian warriors from Africa! This one right here," He patted Kisame on the arm, who didn't like it and growled menacingly at the puny man while widening his eyes and baring his teeth. The man quickly removed his hand. "Yeah, he's a beast alright! Took out half a centuria! 40 men singlehandedly! But that's no surprise, looking at his physique." He gestured to the large slave's arms and legs, the size of tree trunks, being a bit jiffy about touching him now. "The three tattoos on both of his cheekbones stand for honour, bravery and strength."

Kisame, who didn't understand anything the men were saying, was fixated on the young man's dark hair, it seemed to shimmer in an unnatural colour when he moved, as if sunlight was woven through it. He reached out and gently took a handful of it. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" yelled the auctioneer, and started beating his unadjusted slave on the back with his wooden cane. Kisame barely felt it and brought the black silk closer to his face. The person attached to it, who's eyes had turned the size of saucers upon touch, was forced to take a step forward, towards a man four times his size. Looking closely, Kisame saw that it was really golden thread that was woven through, "Beautiful…" he said in his own language. He looked down at the other, who had a terrified, but also somewhat curious, look on his face. He quickly let go. The young man took a step back and smiled. "He has no fear, that's good, he'll make a fine gladiator. Tell me about the other one." The slave next to him was as tall as he was, and originated from a region close to Kisame's home. He was well-adjusted and calm. This was his second time being sold, as he'd been in the city a while. He told Kisame earlier, since their language didn't differ so much, that he'd been quite content where he was until his owned wanted to bugger him or something. He was unfamiliar with the meaning of the word, but apparently that action was enough reason for the slave to brutally murder him. Hence being sold again.

The auctioneer also told this story to the buyer, being forced to do so by law, and the young man seemed pleased by it. During the time the deal was being made Kisame looked around a bit and noticed the dirty looks the other free people, and even some slaves, seemed to send the dark haired figure. None of them wore a robe the exact same colour as him, and their looks confused him. He heard a clanking noise and looked to the slave standing next to him, a green metal shackle with writing on it had been put around his neck, and the young man was turning to him to put one on as well. While he was reaching up his hair fell over his back, exposing his throat. He was wearing a shackle himself.

While they were led out of the market and into the city by the ropes the figure had tied around their pretty new necklaces Kisame kept noticing the people stepping out of their way with looks of disgust on their faces. But their guide seemed to be used to it, and the way he held his head high said he wasn't uncomfortable at all, and felt no shame. He turned to the slave who was walking next to him, probably to the same destination. "Why does everyone seem to hate him?" the other snickered. "See the red toga he's wearing?" "Toga?" "Robe, it's called a toga here, it means he's a prostitute… a slave prostitute." The only prostitute he'd ever known was 'the lawless woman' who lived in the woods around his village and traded sexual favours for food and necessities, she'd been rejected by the tribes. "How can that be, he's beautiful!" and while he spoke it he realised it was true, the fair figure steadily walking on before him was beautiful, more than any man should be.

"Yes he is, if we're lucky we'll get to tap that too." Tapdat? This man was using too many words he didn't know the meaning of. "What does he want with us?" "Nothing, he's a slave, slaves can't own other slaves so he was probably sent by his master, and from what I understood from their conversations just now we're going to be gladiators and this pretty thing has a boner for aggressive murderers." "I'm an aggressive murderer." "Me too." Kisame grinned and extended his arm towards the other, who grasped it in a firm handshake. "Better to be stuck in hell with a friend, right?" The young man looked back when his charges stopped moving and pulled on the ropes. They quickly strode forwards again, towards a new life.