Gladiators of Rome:Short Stories

I

I

Tarquinia, Italia 73AD.

The courtyard in Tarquinia was full that day as the long awaited slaves from Britannica arrived upon their shores. There had been little talk of anything else as the day drew nearer and many a wealthy Roman man hoped that the slaves would be of good stock, and Domitius was no different.

Shifting the red sash about on his shoulder, Domitius listened to the ramblings of the wealthy patrons around him discussing their wishes for the slaves they were about to purchase.

"I need a young girl to help me around the villa," A woman told her husband, "She need not be very pretty."

"Strong men, that is what we need," Another man clasped his business partner on the shoulder, who eagerly agreed, "Strong men to carry great weights and for labour."

Domitius's needs however were far greater than all of theirs. Those he bought today would be fighting under his name, bringing him glory and riches and perhaps one of them would soon earn him favour with the emperor.

Domitius's thoughts of Rome and gold laurel wreaths where interrupted when the sound of a lock being pulled back echoed out through the courtyard silencing the voices of the crowd. Looking towards the corner, he saw a line of slaves being led underneath out from underneath a covered walkway.

Led in shackles towards the stage, men on either side of them striking them if they fell out of line, the slaves from Britannica came into sight.

"Get up there!" A brute man whose face was covered in dirt shouted at a broad-shouldered slave girl. Domitius looked on hopefully but saw that she had begun to cry at the small jibe and he mentally struck her from his list. The people he chose had to be strong, both mentally and physically.

As the slaves were lined up on the wooden stage barely two feet off the ground, the people in the crowd began to approach and inspect the merchandise. Wiping his hands on his robe, Domitius strode up and down the line of ten or so captives before he chose two men, his high position offering him first choice.

The first man he chose was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a dumb, flat looking face; Domitius doubted he was very smart but he had a good physique. The second man was not much taller with long brown hair and a set jaw which spoke of defiance. Domitius would enjoy breaking it out of him.

After the price was discussed and agreed, Domitius stepped back and examined his fingernails whilst he allowed the others to fight over the scraps. The two business men chose a young man with short black hair wearing a blue tunic. Domitius thought his arms looked a little thin and his skin was slightly too soft but they may yet be able to do something with him.

Once all of them were sold they were led back inside and a fresh batch was brought out. This line was full of petite, shivering girls and Domitius shook his head instantly, he had no need for any of them. The women in the crowd rushed forward to buy themselves a new servant, taking heed not to buy any that were more beautiful than they were in case they turned their husband's heads.

The next two batches of slaves offered Domitius very little excitement as he baked under the midday sun. In the last batch, Domitius had bought only a stocky lad with round cheeks and blonde hair. He seemed a bit young and timid but that was of no matter, it would not take long to work it out of him.

Domitius began to think that these Britons were not all that savage after all, or that the best of them had been killed in the battle when the last batch was announced for the day.