Ludus of Batiatus, Capua
Was... was he dreaming?
It had worked.
In time he expected the elation he had imagined would accompany such success would be forthcoming, but at this moment -
Heart pounding mercilessly against his ribs like a war hammer Crixus perched uncomfortably against a cross-spar of the metal cage he now occupied, lost in stunned contemplation. Head in hands he drew in a ragged breath, his work-hardened, tatter clad body trembling still, ice-chilled as it had been ever since he found himself in this hallowed place. Though it felt like days, in reality it had been but a few short hours, if that.
From the abutting cell the subdued buzz of murmurings invading his private thoughts were mildly distracting. Mostly from a pair who bore a matching dark-eyed intensity thrown in his direction, sharing communication in common unfamiliar tongue, utterances clear in supposition even if their words were not. He paid them no great heed. Until compelled to either resign himself to the growing gnat-like whine increasingly offending his ear or offer brief answer to satisfy and still prying minds. Strong fingers struggled to comb through the tangle of wild and stringy blue/black mane he took a shuddering breath in preparation for the wearying task, a tight-lipped smile barely covering the tremor of his accursed nervousness.
If they but knew...
His guts screamed, clenched, roiled, threatened to evacuate, only by strength of will did he maintain the camouflaging aura of bravado as he attempted answer to their curiosity. Inside, even as his tongue shaped words, he relived the foolhardiness of his recent actions - live or die, by one means, or another...
Foolish actions? Perhaps. To risk all in hope, trusting faded childhood memory of well-loved, long slain brother's grappling lessons, thoughtfully abridged for entertainment of hardly more than lap-wetting sibling? There was a great chance the gods would have him culled for his audacity in the attempt, an even greater chance he would die anyway when his furiously booming heart exploded in his chest as it had threatened to do constantly whilst he fretted, desperately awaiting the much vaunted Lanista's arrival and the perfect moment to employ his suicidal strategy. Pressed to action also by the certain knowledge that he would rush to meet his doom sooner rather than later if he let it pass and did nothing at all.
Damned if he did, or didn't? As a stone hauler he had lasted longer than most, been... fortunate? At least until contracted out to this sadistic tyrant, Tullius.
If accounts overheard were true -
'A gladiator though! To die with honor, in battle, as did my brothers, our father, his father and all before us! Better to die a proud Warrior's death than fade and rot a nameless, worthless slave... '
With these words he had steeled himself during broken snatches of uneasy respite, absent useful rest, snub-chained on filthy floors whilst the overseers slept and the moon reigned the night skies for too brief time, or toiled under lash with throat parched when water proved more scarce than gold or when belly ached for sustenance to fuel overworked frame, yet received only a meagre splash of foul gruel, begrudgingly dished.
The nervous twitch of his lip as he gave simple but honest reply, misread as cold arrogance, served only to seemingly impress his probing interrogators.
Blind to the reason behind it but somewhat cheered by his new companions' positive responses, a mustering of self-belief, self-worth long lost, sparked something tangible stowed deep within his jaded spirit, igniting the flickering flame of the Glorious Champion he KNEW he would someday become...