A/n I don't own Spartacus or any other characters.
Fight!
Sitting in the corner of a dimly lit cell – the smell of piss, shit and blood burning my nose and eyes – I waited to be called to the arena. I am to be in the fight before the Primus against some Thracian called Spartacus. The crowd were getting restless, I could hear the jeering and the stomping from above which caused dust to fall from rafters; obviously the amateurs before me were not putting on a good enough. Winning this fight would give me the Primus in my next fight and any gladiator worth a shit dreamed about the glory of fighting in the Primus. Looking down at myself I hardly recognised the Briton I used to be. I've been a Gladiator in Capua for a few months, its intense sun turning my skin dark and the hard training and lack of food had altered my body. I was now leaner and more muscular. My dark hair, now below shoulder length, was now tied in plait along with my beard. Fights had left me scarred all over.
The doors opened that lead out onto the sands of the arena and the bright sun flooding the darkness of the cells the Gladiators were kept in before they went to fight. I recoiled a little as the brightness hurt my eyes. Another body was being dragged in by arena servants; a headless one at that. It was being dragged by its ankles and it left a red, sandy smear behind. When the doors shut I notice my Dominus, Armenius, making his way toward me, flanked by his two guards.
"Brennus are you ready?" he asked.
I stood up straight and gave a nod.
"Good. Listen to me, Legatus Glaber wants that Thracian dead and has promised a big pay if his wishes are met. If you win this I will give you as much wine and cunt as you can handle. It will take my Ludus to new heights and wipe that smirk from that dog Quintus Batiatus."
"Dominus," I acknowledged.
"Don't let me down Brennus, I need this." He turned towards one of the guards in the cells, "fetch him his weapons and armour so he can ready,"Armenius ordered.
The guard disappeared around the corner and a few moments later appeared holding my equipment. He came to my cell, opened the door and placed my things on the straw-covered floor, then undid the chains that held my hands together.
"Now ready yourself, win this fight and you will get the Primus against one of Solonius' men when you next fight," Armenius said, before hurrying away, back to his seat in the stands.
I slowly put on my bracers, the leather shoulder plates and then picked up my trident and finally my net.
Two guards holding spears and shields came to my cell and opened the door.
"Ready to die you Brit shit?" One of the guard snarled at me.
I wanted to shove my trident into his throat, fucking Roman. I could do it easy; I could kill both quickly, take their sword and shield. I was trained as a Retiarius, but I could use them well enough. Then I could escape the arena, killing anyone who came close, but then what? They would hunt me down. I would still be under Rome's eye, never truly free. I looked him up and down and bared my teeth at him.
"Get a move on," he laughed as they pointed their spears at me. They guided me to the huge door as I beat on my chest with my spear hand, growling and grunting, pumping myself up.
"Go," he said finally as the doors were pushed open.
I stepped through them and the doors shut behind me. I stood just inside the small tunnel around the doors. I took a deep breath, and stepped out into the open to an eruption of noise. The crowd went wild. "Brennus, Brennus," echoed around, mixed with cheering and boos. Making my way over the now blood-soaked sand, soaking up the crowd to the middle of the arena. I faced the covered podium where the Magistrate and others of importance witnessed the games. I thumped my spear hand to my chest three times, then held up my spear and net high and let loose a primal roar, much to the crowds delight.
On the other side of the arena another door opened, and I got my first look at the Thracian. He was smaller than me in height and build, with short brown hair and a short beard. He wore high leather boots and shoulder armour; his hands were wrapped like mine in cloth and leather. He had a short sword and a shield, typical Thraex. He walked with a lot of confidence for such a small man. The crowd chanted, "Spartacus, Spartacus," clapping and cheering as he made his way across the sand to my side. Side by side we were facing the podium and bowed our heads in submission, then turned to face each other. A Lanista, to the Magistrates side, stood up to do the introductions and the crowd fell silent. I stared this Spartacus in the eyes and roared at him, nothing but intensity and focus stared back. I heard the word, "fight," follow by an explosion of noise from the crowd.
The Thracian took a few steps back to get out of reach of the long trident I had in my right hand. I started swinging my net in circular motions, drawing his eyes, in that moment I thrust the trident hard aiming at his sword arm in an attempt to disarm him. He was quick. His shield clattered into the shaft, deflecting it harmlessly to his side, the impact jolted through my forearm and made me stumble slightly forward. He swung his sword, glancing it across my left shoulder blade, just below my guard, making a shallow gash that began to slowly bleed. I whipped around quickly, roaring in anger and swinging my net wildly at his head, forcing Spartacus to duck. But doing so, he failed to clear the following trident which slammed into his lower legs, sweeping his feet from under him and knocking him on to his back.
I couldn't believe I had him already in my sights. As I repositioned my feet, I turned my trident to aim down at the fallen Gladiator, who'd clearly had the wind knocked out of him. I jabbed hard, aiming at his abdomen, but he quickly rolled out of the way and as he did he sliced at my thigh, sending a hot pain through my leg. He was on his feet charging at me before I had recovered; I only just managed to get my net wrapped around his arm to pull the stab wide. He was fast, and I was already beginning to gasp hard for air and my leg was throbbing, slowing me down on my feet. I managed to swing and jab my trident quickly in response, this time I caught his shield arm near his shoulder.
The grimace on his face, followed by the slight drop of his shield, gave me the opportunity I had been waiting for. The crowd, sensing blood in the air, raised the volume inside the arena to near deafening volumes. "Brannus, Brennus," was echoing all around me. I swung my net and it caught in his shield; with a quick, hard tug it was sent flying from his hand. My eyes half followed its path and I grinned wickedly at Spartacus.
The slight lapse of focus, my side exploded with pain and I let out a roar of pain. I looked at my right side to see the sword of the Thracian impaled deeply in it; blood gushing. Finding it hard to catch my breath, I stumbled slightly as the sword withdrew, making the blood flow faster, covering my leg and the sand below my feet.
I gave a feeble thrust with my trident, but I had nothing left, my vision already beginning to darken. This was it. I fell to my knees gasping for air. I dropped my weapons and clung to my side. The noise in the arena seemed louder but far away. The light seemed brighter, even though everything else seemed dark. I felt something cold but wet press against my throat and a hand on my head.
This snapped some reality back into me. The sword of Spartacus was pressed against my throat. The Thracian had beaten me. The crowd went wild with bloodlust. We faced the covered Podium where the Magistrate sat. He stood up and directed his attention our way, his white toga seeming brighter than possible. He looked to his side at the smiling Romans, who gave a nod. I felt Spartacus lean to my ear, "make peace with your gods."
I did not fear death.
The Magistrate held his hand out to his front. I thought of my family. I thought of my Briton, my home. I was clinging on to life as it tried to escape from the wound in my side. The Magistrate's thumb turned down. I shut my eyes and raised my head. A roar of triumph was let out by Spartacus as his sword sliced my throat. The taste of blood filled my mouth and filled my lungs; darkness filled my sight and thoughts and I slumped to the sand.
I'd lost everything.