Spartacus: Blood and Sand
'The Harpy of Corinth'
Chapter 4- Feed the Birds
My first victory. The crowds chant my name. The nights do not dampen the heat of the day. After supper, I grabbed a piece of wood and a small worker's knife. I spent a few days carving an owl to place on the window. Barca came by my cell when my carving was complete, "Is that a sign of your gods?" Barca asked, I nodded. I remembered the look in Sedna's green eyes before I lopped off her head. Her eyes showed no fear of my steel. She was ready for death, "You have gained victory, your gods smile upon you,"
A slave girl named Mira came by my cell, "Dominus has called for you," She said. I nodded and got up from my cot. Mira escorted me to the chamber of Batiatus. He looked up at me, and lightly smiled. I have proven that I can fight in the arena as I would fight on the battlefield. Ashur was there at his side. I do not trust that Syrian, much less than my doubts I have toward Batiatus. He lightly gestured with his hand for Mira to leave, and I was now alone with him and Ashur. I wonder what business he has with me?
"Kadri, my Amazon in flesh, you fight well as you have proven yourself in the arena," Batiatus praised with open arms, I nodded simply to his praises with my hands behind my back, "Sedna was Silonius's ill-trained and ill-fated attempt to try and best you on the sands, keep up your strength and you will bring me more coin, much more than the usual allowance, and Silonius can cease to stroking his cock at slave girls at the market, I took a gamble at purchasing you, but the knucklebones have fallen in my favor,"
"Continue your training, Kadri, Silonius's ambitions know no bounds, he knows how well you fight, he will find others to try and best you," He said, and he gestured me to leave. It was then that I knew my place here at the ludus. I am a weapon destined to fight and die on the sands. From what I have seen of the weapons the others train with, death will come in many forms. As I was escorted back to my cell, I saw Barca walking passed me, likely going to see Pietros. I share a good friendship with the Carthaginian.
I looked at him as he walked away. If this is the fate that the gods have given me, so be it. I hope Athena is there to guide me, and bring me wisdom. As the rays of Apollo's sun scorched my back, I trained among the men of the ludus. The man I faced was a Gaul named Crixus. His weapons are the sword and shield, but it was his foot that put me on my back as I faced him, "Stay down bitch, for you are no Naevia to me nor a brother among us," I rolled over my back to get on my feet, and picked up my swords.
I attacked again, relentless in approach to him. My swords have yet to hit flesh, and seemed drawn to his shield. The pommel of my sword struck his cheek, but he turned me over his back, and struck my belly with his shield, pinning me to the ground, "You are nothing but a cockless waste of flesh," The Gaul snarled like a wolf. I sought a way to break him of his hold on me. I spat blood in his face so I could free myself, and gave him a knee in the back. I readied my swords as he wiped the blood from his face.
"You keep attacking me? You fight a fool's battle," Crixus mocked as I attacked him again. This time around, he weaved to dodge my wooden blade which was aiming a slash for his head. Chronos seemed to be weaving his hands as time slowed down. I anticipated Crixus is going to strike me in the back, and evaded his strike and struck his sword from his hand. From small victories came larger defeats, buried his fist into my stomach and struck the edge of his shield to my back, "with no chance of victory," he added.
"Your very face insults me," He said adding to his sharp words a strike with the pommel of his wooden sword to my stomach, and another strike to my back with his shield, "your very presence here...is an insult upon this ludus," I cringed and gritted my teeth to the pain. He turned me over, and placed his foot on my breast and pressed hard. I cried out in pain, "beg for mercy, fucking cunt," He hissed like a serpent. The thing that stopped him from killing me was Batiatus. Crixus released his foot from my breast.
Crixus was attacking me with all his strength. He does not want the shame that falls on a man who is defeated by a woman. It is a matter of pride to him. With every battle, he would strike me down. He struck me in the stomach with a hard kick, but I shed no tears in pain. I will not give in. It is not the salt of tears that my tongue tastes, but the sweat from Apollo's sun. By trainings end, Crixus held onto his pride while my body was punished. I brought myself back to my feet. Crixus looked at me, and looked away.
Another evening comes with supper, Barca smiled, "How fares your training, Sister Kadri?" He asked, putting a stew of beans, lentils and vegetables into my clay bowl, "do not fear Crixus, he does not want anyone to doubt his cock, it goes tenfold for you," I know the feelings of Crixus. Men possess pride in themselves, and their strength. Yet their pride is as fragile as a jar of wine. It only takes a stone of right size to break it. I nodded to his words of advice, and sat down for supper. It is better in taste than appearance
Barca is a strong man, as is his love for that young boy Pietros. When speaking of the ways of love, I do not desire cock and my skill with a blade will guard my cunt for any advances I may receive from the men should they try to force themselves on me. I wish for a man's hand in friendship and trust. I have two in my possession in Barca and Pietros. My eyes caught sight of Barca and the boy in the corner feeding seeds to pigeons, "These birds, these birds are the only ones who know freedom within this ludus,"
"You speak the truth, Sister Kadri, but you must have patience and spill much blood, in time you will earn yours...or die trying," Barca replied, stroking the soft feathers of the bird in his hands. My eyes grew heavy as the evening draws late. I headed back to my cell to rest. Barca's words occupied my thoughts as I looked at the stone walls. A single mark on the wall. A single victory beside my name. Whether I live or die is now decided by steel. Yet it is the gods that I pray to whose creations have made that steel.
Medicus tended to my wounds before I rested for the night. I wonder when the next time I will fight in the arena? The sands are soft, and stained with blood. Every victory will be one step closer to earning my freedom. It is like attacking a walled city with only your fingernails as weapons. You scratch and claw, struggle and bleed. In time, the walls will be breeched, and the city will fall. The city is not real, but an image in the mind. Barca is right by his words, the only way to gasp freedom's hand is to kill, or die.