Chapter II

Stabbing the man on the ground a few more times, Mikus laughed loudly. This was a brilliant kill. That guy had no chance against 'Dionysos', the best gladiator that's ever lived. OK, it wasn't official, he still had to beat Karofskus, who'd won 45 fights and lost only 2. Mikus had a long way to go yet, but in his eyes he had much more charm than Karofskus. And when they faced each other on the sands... oh yeah.

"GET OFF! GET OUT OF THE ARENA!" A slave shouted at him, poking Mikus' back with his red-hot poker, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Stop doing that!" Instinctively, Mikus swung around with a hard punch, connecting fist with face. The slave flew backwards, the poker digging into his most private places. Swear words spewed from his mouth like an overflowing sewer.

The crowd were loving this, cheering and joining in with the stream of filth.

Mikus had, by this time, left back to his room near the arena, still thinking about how he could beat Karofskus to a pulp. He'd had enough of the cocky gladiator's constant bullying and bragging. It was time to show him a lesson somehow. But he still had another match to go, and that was in a few days' time, so he had to rest.

Staring at the ceiling, Mikus found himself becoming floppier and floppier. His eyelids drooped and soon he was fast asleep.

"Why can't I go to the games?" Rickius whined. "I am an epic gladiator! The best that's ever lived!"

"Because I want to save you for something important. I think you might be the latest attraction at... Lupercalia, perhaps?"

"Lupercalia? That's in ages. Let me go, or I'll kill you!" Rickius' fists tightened, but Sueia was still calm. She was Spartan, after all- the best Greek state with the best fighters in the known world. She could kill Rickius with one blow.

"It's only in a couple of months. So stop complaining. Now go, and close the door on your way out."

"Huh?" Rickius wasn't exactly the best at Latin, being a native speaker of German (the language of the barbarians; very fitting for Rickius).

"CLOSE. THE. DOOR."

Rickius left, fuming. He slammed the door behind Sueia, who only smiled at the stupidity of her gladiator.

Kurtus woke up in the morning, feeling emptier than before. The realisation that Varro was gone forever; the realisation that he was never going to see him, or talk to him, or kiss him again hit him. Kurtus couldn't begin to imagine what that would be like. He didn't need to: he was already living it. And he didn't want to.

It was finally time. He'd had it planned ever since he saw Varro killed. But now he had the courage to do it. Kurtus gripped the knife in his sweating hands. It had been under his bed all night, for the time when he thought to do it.

Kurtus poured some water from his jug into a bowl. He had everything ready. At last.

He dipped his hands into the water, making sure it went to his wrists. He rubbed his wrists in the hope of finding a vein, or getting one to plump up a little. Soon he saw greenish lines rise from his skin.

Can I do it? Yes, I can. What will happen if I don't die? Nothing. Nobody cares. What if it doesn't work? It's another thing for those horrible guys to tease me about. So I have to do it. And it will work. If I just cut deep enough...

Kurtus rammed the knife into his left wrist, cutting short his doubts.

Quickly, before I get too weak. Do the other wrist. Now.

He switched the knife to his other hand and did the same to his right wrist. Now he could free himself from the pain of this world and join Hades in the Underworld, where he belonged.