1 year BEFORE 400 AD:
I gritted my teeth when I heard the noise of the crowd, a mix between jeering, hollering, and cheering. Sweat plastered my black hair to my forehead, and I brushed it to the side with my hand. A guard put a calloused hand on my back and pushed me roughly forward. Aemilanus was his name, I remembered. Just a few steps took me out into the bright, summer sunlight. The arena floor was made of wooden planks that needed replacing and covered with harena from the hill of Monte Mario. I squinted as I scanned the faces of the audience awaiting my defeat, my failure. My eyes landed on my family clustered in a corner of the seating area. They looked nervous, but I knew within my heart that they weren't worried about my death. The glances at Emperor Arcadius showed the truth. They were nervous about their reputation, not my life. Before today, I didn't realize a poor family, my family, could have a reputation.
A few weeks ago, my older sister was caught having an affair with Kanut, a fruit seller in a stand just outside our village. Having an affair was risky enough, and because Kanut was a distant relative of Emperor Arcadius, the Emperor had to take matters in his own hands. His Majesty decided that our family would have to pay for my sister's crime. One member of the family would have to be a gladiator in a gladiator game. My father was gone. Dead many years ago. My mother and sister could have been the gladiator, but none of them would budge. Instead, averted their gaze from my eyes and pushed me forward when the messenger from Emperor Arcadius came. Since this crime is in relationship with the Emperor, it would have to take place in the Colosseum in Rome. Our small village was in the outskirts of the city, and it took an hour to walk there with the messenger.
The booming voice of the Emperor shook me from my memories. "Today, all of you gather to see a family pay their crime. Behold Achill and his opponent!" No name meant that I would be facing a slave. Someone that is barely regarded as a human with a soul.
On the opposite side of the arena, a metal gate creaked open. A thin man with knobby knees stepped out, being forced to stand on the arena by the other slaves brandishing leather whips. For the first time, I thought I actually had a chance of leaving the arena alive. I was tall for a sixteen year-old, and lean. This slave was no match for me. "Ave imperator, morituri te salutant!" cried the slave. The crowd jeered and rocks hurtled toward the slave, but most missed. My hand clenched around the grip of the sword. I could not afford to die, especially by the hand of a slave's!
"Begin!" roared Emperor Arcadius, and the ever enthusiastic crowd echoed his words. Not wanting to be the defensive person, I charged and thrusted my sword at my opponent. The slave managed a weak block, but the force of my attack made him stumble. Not enough, I thought. He was still standing, so I charged again. Already weakened from my first attack, my opponent tripped over his own worn sandals, and landed with an oof! on his back. I pressed my knee against his chest, preventing him from getting up. With a single swipe of my sword, his own sword swept out of his sand and clattered a few feet away. Before I knew it, my weapon was raised over his throat. I looked at the Emperor. Thumbs down. "Pollice verso, lagula!"
*Harena means, "Yellow sand," or just, "Sand"
**Ave imperator, morituri te salutant means, "Hail emperor, we are who are about to die salute you!"
***Police verso, lagula means, "Execute him!"