The sounds of bronze blades striking shields resounded through the air. The sight of them clashing, of blades and shields at work and the desperate struggle between those in the arena drew loud cheers from the gathered crowd. One of the men had a large helmet, a bare chest and a large tower shield. He wore a loincloth, and made to parry the blade of the other man, if one could even describe him in such a manner. Where the man in the loin-cloth was tanned from a lifetime of hardship and outside, the other sported the upper body of a man and the lower one of a horse. The Centaur wore a large steel hauberk and sported a similar shield to his foe which he often used expertly to protect his lower body in particular from harm. The aggression in the ring inspired a great deal excitement in the crowd, amongst man and woman alike. Throughout the tense exchanges of blows bets were made, among peasant and noble alike. The boxes of the elites had proper seating and shade from the suns’, so that none of them were burnt by the suns’, thus protected it did not keep the women from keeping slaves nearby to fan them, as they eyed the sweaty physique of the first of the two warriors hungrily. The elites also feasted as they observed the match on fine foods brought to them by servants where the people in the stands looked on and satisfied themselves with hard bread and watered wine. The ladies in these shaded, comfortable seats gossiped amongst one another and discussing which of the gladiators could teach their sons to fight like men. All while the men from the nobility discussed matters of trade and the recent increase in pirate raids.
The Circus Orissius was always open on the first day of the week, and was treated as an event every time. Built during the reign of Orissius the Founder, who had escaped from the destruction of Atenia, rallied a number of the Ifriquyan Legios and set the first stones down upon the five hills of what later became Orissia. Once he had built the first buildings of the city he set about over the next fifteen years planning and constructing such structures as the Hippodrome and the Circus Orissius. He had done so with the aid of more than three hundred thousand men from Tirreinia and Kulævron, along with Punicia, with his Circus no less grand than that which had once stood in Roma. The Circus itself was an impressive structure more than three hundred meters long, two hundred and fifty nine meters wide and seventy meters high. Able to fit nigh on one hundred and sixty-thousand individuals it was considered the envy of all lovers of gladiatorial spectacles. It was also the favourite of Magrias’ many distractions and the reason for which he made certain to visit it every week, at times twice a week.
Three members of the Imperial Senate, seated in the second to uppermost boxes (the one directly to the left of the great Imperial one) atop a series of cushioned benches bent their heads together to whisper among themselves. They were seated nearest to the great stone wall that held up the Imperial-Box, with the three of them dressed in tunics, breeches of the softest silk and with great cloaks thrown over their left shoulders in what was the latest style for men. The first among them wore a green tunic with his cloak a soft blue, and red breeches, the second wore a blue cloak and tunic and red breeches, while the last one wore brown and had a red cloak.
Each of them were plump, middle-aged and had come a long way in their careers and were more preoccupied with whispering among themselves than worrying over what the other twenty men in their box were doing, or what their wives were up to in the box with them were doing. Each of them had already placed their bets and felt comfortable in his choice, even as their wives watched with bated breath the match progress.
“It really has gotten out of hand, the Scarlet-Lady’s pirates are said to have raided the village of Villia to the east,” one of the lords, Avarius grumbled furiously. “I shan’t believe how much more common these raids are becoming!”
“She has been recruiting from among those captured I imagine,” Verdian hissed with no less apprehension and fury. “I have also heard she has not been setting the ships’ she captures ablaze but recruiting them into a growing armada!”
“This would not be a concern if we had a stronger Emperor, or still had the armada of old,” Fallerian complained loudly.
The peasants themselves for their part sat upon large open air benches, each of them sweating and suffering under the heat of the suns’, not that they paid them much mind. They had come to the Circus Orissius for a show of combat, just as the nobility looked on, and betted so too did those throughout the rest of the arena. Notably, the young women of the lower classes just as those of the upper ones did in the private boxes swooned, while young men and boys alike cheered for their preferred fighter.
Therein the middle of the arena, there was not a care for the thoughts or opinions of those watching them. The armoured gladiator slashed diagonally from top right to the bottom left, only for his blow to bounce off the shield, his foe for his part thrust out his shield in order to send him tumbling backwards, tripping into the sand. The fallen man drew a gasp from a great many of the women, whereupon he slid backwards and back onto his feet. Rolling with the blow, and regaining his feet with all the smoothness of a panther. When next they came together, the man threw his shield to the ground to the surprise of his enemy, and moving forward, grabbed at the shield of the Centaur, who surprised by the attempt to grapple for his shield, tried to thrust the shield once more at him. The shield was pulled free and thrown away, only for beast-man’s attack to be anticipated, with his foe catching his sword-arm by the wrist.
While the two struggled for dominance, each one gripping the other’s sword-arm by this time, in the Imperial-box seated atop a grand gilded, golden throne, Magrias the Emperor of all Orissia looked on. Most had learnt over the years to fear that gaze, for whomsoever it should descend upon could more often than not count upon death being quick to follow after it.
Dusky skinned, dark eyed with a thick beard, Magrias had long since gone bald and had developed a pronounced paunch due to his over-indulgence. Dressed as he always was in purple silk robes tied together by a golden-girdle and with golden coronet that was decorated with rubies and emeralds, Magrias gripped the sides of his throne with visible eagerness.
The throne itself was a gold chair that was a foot higher than the seats of the men and the divans of the women who reclined before the men and to the sides of their box. Most of the chairs were made of bronze so as to distinguish them from the golden chair of their ruler, with their armrests cut in the shape of herons, whereas those of the Emperor were shaped in the manner of phoenixes. Where the princes wore red, green and blue silk with cloaks cast over their left shoulders, their father did not.
The great phoenix-shaped chair of Magrias long known as the Agate-Throne was bedecked also in jewels such as rubies, topaz stones, emeralds and purple gemstones all along the back of the chair. Many were those who had been caught staring greedily at it, with those slaves that did often tossed from the Imperial-Box and into the arena as punishment. Those princes and noblemen that did had a frequent tendency to often be reprimanded or their corpses found in the streets the morning after.
At present he was seated with his family and favourites, with a number of them all seated around him, with the dusky-skinned Emperor leaning forward on the cushion atop his intricately forged throne.
Seated before the men-folk were the women who reclined on a series of cushioned sofas, near to the edge of the Imperial-Box, most of them fanned by fans made of ostrich-feathers which were wielded by a number of female slaves. The slaves themselves were better dressed in many respects in their pale silk dresses than the peasants that were seated to either side of the five great boxes reserved for the nobility and Imperial family.
A man prone to playing favourites with his court and family, it happened that for the first time in a great many years Magrias had scandalized a number of the merchant-Senators as they were called by some of the old warrior-nobility and invited a man of common-birth into the Imperial-Box.
The newest of Magrias’ favourites was Berach. A bluff old soldier, who sat upon a hard, wooden chair with the upright posture of a man accustomed to being on the road. Though he ran towards stoutness in recent days, there was a glint still in his old blue eyes, a vigour to his movements and formidable air about him. It was for these reasons that he impressed the Emperor, who had once soldiered to the southernmost edge of the Empire and even travelled to the east, just shy of Deshret.
What separated Berach from the likes of other generals was his humility. He knew his position at the side of the Emperor was a dangerous place to be, and did not seek to enhance it. To the contrary, his only hope was to be dispatched once more to the frontier finish bolstering the defences of that region whereupon he intended to retire. Fear of the factions that surrounded his liege and of the mad glint in the man’s eyes were what prevented him from becoming ambitious.
Though most had not taken to him, there were however some of the princes that approved of their patriarch’s choice with Aberash the one who approved the most. Always eager to please his father, he was also the most approving of war, the gladiator matches and of the races in the Hippodrome.
“Look at him! I have never seen a man fight quite like him,” Prince Aberash murmured to the man to his left as he pointed out the tanned, helmed figure struggling with the Centaur.
“I have once or twice in my time,” General Berach admitted, though he was nonetheless impressed and studied the warrior with a great deal of care. Hitherto now he had not gambled, and so he turned to the second to eldest of the princes and with a glint in his eyes he said to the youth to the right of the Emperor. “Prince Bukarus, you placed a rather large bet upon the Centuar I do believe.”
“Boagrius yes, as he has never lost a single match before,” the prince confirmed with a slight twist of his lips. “And it was a rather large piece of land just to the west of Punicia, why do you ask?”
“I would place a bet; I will gamble you the whole of my past year’s salary and the town-house your father recently gifted me, on the victory of that man down there.” Berach replied pointing at the arena.
This statement amazed those around him, with only a few turning to gape at this rather expensive gamble. More than one of them guffawed now, for most were quite impressed by the feats of strength and skill that the gladiator had achieved certainly, yet none believed he could secure victory over Boagrius.
The Centaur may have originated in Punicia’s great arena the Circus Punicius, where he had dominated for twenty-two years every match he had participated, however he had struggled more than ever before in his entire career, with the greatest of Orissia’s gladiators. At first he had circled about, preferring to err on the side of caution before he had pounced, at which time he had seized the advantage in the fight.
Observing this, the warrior returned his attention to the battle happening before them, his gaze hard and yet still interested. Seeing this Magrias leant over to whisper to him, with most not able to hear what was said.
When the Emperor leant away, he was to lean towards his heir Ejike to whisper now to him, whilst his favourite continued to study the Gladiators.
“What is his name?” Berach asked after he had placed his bet, keen to hear more about the man upon whom he had staked his future, his eyes never leaving the distant figure, such was the interest he had taken in him.
“His name is Lachlan, he is a Caled,” one of the women piped up.
It was Vivian, the eldest of the princesses of the Imperial line of Aferian. The general glanced at her if only momentarily, one of the few men in that box who could do so. The princess took no notice of this, far more interested as she was in the match taking place before her. As she did so though, several of the women watched her with serpentine eyes and began to whisper between themselves, with even the slaves doing so.
The princess hardly cared what they thought or believed. Fascinated as she was with the match far below, she watched with bated breath just as many other thousands of women did, even as she attracted the interest of others.
“He first came here some eleven years ago, Berach,” Magrias replied pleased at the other man’s interest in one of his favourite ‘toys’. “It happens that Emeka bought him rather cheaply, and set him to work within the Circus as a Gladiator. He has since refused to sell him, no matter the number of offers that have been sent his way.”
Their attention was diverted from their discussion by a sudden scream that burst from the likes of Boagrius.
One might not have expected a man to be able to overpower one such as a Centaur, with the two focused upon wrestling for dominance. The first to make to pull back in an effort to raise up his horse-legs was the Centaur Boagrius. This was not only expected by his foe, but counted upon, as his enemy reacted with a sudden strong, inhuman pull, one that drew a great scream of agony from the brown-haired horse-man as his arm was dislocated.
Not yet finished, while his foe let out his last cry, the other warrior acted swiftly; tugging his sword-arm loose he was to rear back to gather momentum before he slashed one last time at his foe.
This caused the crowd erupting into cheers, they were not alone in their jubilation at the sight of blood. Magrias carried along by the eagerness of the crowd to either side of him threw himself forward from his throne, cheering and applauding with visible joy. Though, she had long considered herself quite above such displays, princess Vivian was no less consumed by a great deal of personal satisfaction at the gladiator’s victory.
Presenting the head up for all to see it, the warrior was to when he saw the Emperor motion upwards reach up to remove his helm.
This was the part of the matches that was always Vivian’s favourite. She burnt to see the man’s vivid green eyes, scarlet mane and stubble, so that she leant forward to see him better.
The distance between them was one that irritated her, more than she cared to admit and that made her all the more conscious of her choice in raiment. Dressed in a gold-trimmed white dress, and wore like her father blue silk slippers, with gold armbands, rings and earrings. Dusky-skinned, with dark eyes and long straight hair (a gift from her mother), she was voluptuous and was propped up on one elbow as she reclined nearer to the edge than any other woman present. Bedecked in gold and silver, with a tiara of silver and diamond jewels upon her brow
Her father standing near the foot of her divan, she hoped that Lachlan might have seen her, and held her breath as she did so.
The head was held up, and snapping his fingers for one of the slaves to hurry forward, Magrias without so much as a glance at her took the offered satchel of bronze coins and threw it down
The bag landed at the man’s feet, whereupon he threw away the grizzly trophy he had held up and taking up the bag held it up now.
Yet he did not do as countless others had before him. As always, he did not bow, nor did he lower his eyes as he turned away.
There were eruptions from the crowd, as he returned to the cells that were to be found below the seats. The warrior exited the arena through a large iron gate that was situated to the left-hand side of the great arena, which house a large gate also to the right-hand side and another six hidden ones. The hidden doorways were for the introduction of animals into the arena, with this particular act one that Magrias loved to inflict upon the slaves that fought for his delight and entertainment.
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He was not alone in this regard, and it was for this reason that as the battle had progressed, many of those around him had leant forward eager to gain a better view of the violence.
Yet as the youth retreated into the catacombs below, nary a glance in the direction of the great crowd that filled the arena. His manner was cool, indifferent and utterly distant as it had always been.
The coolness of his departure was something that had not changed in a decade, with his disdain for the chains that bound him, something that served at present more to amuse those around him, than infuriate them. Yet there was one who did not cheer, laugh or applaud at this departure, for he saw in the eyes of the man a great tiger, or a wolf simply watching and waiting for a time when it might break free.
Contrary to others, Berach felt worried. He had a sudden instinct that the man he had just borne witness to was destined for far greater things than to end his days, for the amusement of a declining Empire. Quite where destiny might lead him, he did not know. He knew only that if destiny was to handle Lachlan as it had handled all others before him, it was unlikely to touch him gently. It suddenly made him concerned for the people he had sworn to protect and those he had sworn himself to; had they the wisdom to see the dangers of caging a wolf as they had?
*****
As she travelled through the city, long after she had toured the Pauper’s Quarter and the burnt ruins of the temple of Hathor that she had once visited every week, she thought back to that day. To say that Vivian loved the Circus Orissius was a mild statement. She adored it, and had grown up with it. Yet not for the same reason that her brothers did, for to her there was much that might be said about the Circus that did not please her. The stench of death, the garish displays when men died, these did not appeal to her, nor did the vision of men being torn asunder by beasts. Yet what did appeal to the dusky-skinned maiden, was Lachlan himself.
He had arrived ten years prior, in chains having been a brigand. There were rumours he had been sold by an angry former lover, the maiden Tanya the Sword-Dancer herself. She had drugged him and left him for the Imperial Legions, who had rather than killing him decided to capture him, and sell him into slavery. Someone had expressed interest in him apparently, and had decided to make a gladiator of him, so that he had fought for the Empire’s entertainment for the past ten years.
Vivian had thus grown up with visions of his muscular build, his flashing red hair and steel sword and where he had as a little girl frightened her, as she grew into womanhood he had come to fascinate her. Her family was a large one, with a great many men-folk in it, and she had met as princess a number of Imperial officials over the years, many of whom had asked for her hand. Yet none of them were quite like Lachlan, she had noticed. None of them radiated with his sheer barbarism and masculine nature, so that she could not resist comparing most of them to him.
“Such barbaric displays are an unbecoming sight for an Imperial princess to see,” her former nanny Fadzai nagged, hardly pleased at how the princess always insisted upon going to visit the gladiatorial matches, or so the princess assumed.
“Really I fail to see what is wrong, with them,” Vivian countered at once.
“But really, to see them pawing at you, and weeping and blubbering and begging it really is unbecoming,” Fadzai complained at some length, which served only to confuse the princess. Seeing how the princess had reacted, the nanny studied her intently, with a keen-eyed pair of dark eyes before she muttered, “What do you think I meant? I spoke of those orphans and those desperate men.”
“They really are not so terrible as all that,” Vivian retorted of a mind that her nanny was in the wrong, where the peasants of the city were concerned.
Vivian might well have said more to her nanny and handmaiden, annoyed at how the two women had needled her about Lachlan when the carriage came to a sudden halt. Confused the women assuming that they had halted simply due to traffic, as the Pauper’s Quarter was infamous for its small roads and terrible traffic turned back to their discussion.
What they did not expect was a series of shouts, and for there to be laughter once more, and for the women within the carriage to suddenly find themselves thrown to one side. Each of them screamed hysterically as the carriage was pushed aside, thrown over so that the door might be torn off of its hinges.
Frightened by the dark grinning face that stared down at them gleefully, the first to be extracted from within the small box on wheels was Etenesh. She was thrust aside with the young woman screeching in terror.
The intention of the man that loomed over her was unsettling to say the least. The sight of him leering down at her, horrified and sent a chill up and down her spine one that made her freeze even as she felt his hand wrap itself about her wrist.
Pulling her up from the carriage, he was to hold her by the arm, leering and smiling all about him, as might a hunter with a newly caught gazelle. Vivian frightened and feeling small could only stare at him in wretched horror before she began to weep and screech, instinct overtaking reason as so often happened when women were faced by the horrified foreknowledge they were to be defiled.
Everything happened so swiftly that she was later to struggle to remember it. But as it happened the man went from leering and triumphing, knife held up to screaming in pain, just before he was distracted by a small Tigrun kitten biting into his leg. Dropping her, onto the ground he was to focus the majority of his attention upon the child whom he kicked away with a growl.
He did not have long to abuse the child as the captain of her guards, Filbert came racing back to the carriage, sword in hand and death in his eyes. Cutting asunder the lives of all those before him, he was to hew down all the assailants of the princess and her women who all clung to one.
What Vivian noticed if absently was how the guards sought to chase away the last of her attackers, only to then turn about when Fadzai pointed out, “There were children involved, an Ursidae and a Tigrun!”
This caught the attention of Filbert who immediately ordered that the children be found and slain for their participation in the attack. Vivian wished she could have objected, however her voice which rarely if ever failed her was now to prove itself a dead thing that she could no more command nor summon forth.
This she knew was wrong, and yet she could do nothing more than stare after the guards dumbly, tears coming to her eyes even as she felt a flash of guilt for the boys. As she sat there, weeping with her women she wondered if distantly; why had those men attacked her and who might well have sent them?
*****
The guards seemed intent upon chasing them throughout the city with both youths tiring quickly. Thankfully, while the guards were larger and had the advantage of longer limbs, the boys had the advantage of knowing this part of the city far better than they. Familiar with every alley, every food-stall, and every building charred and unmarred they were able to make use of this knowledge to put some distance between them. Yet the city-watch seemed relentless, now that they had to cover up their own involvement in the attack on the princess.
Frightened the pair was to realize fairly swiftly that they could not evade their pursuers forever, not if they hoped to live that is. It was Osurio who was to ask the question first, “What are we to do, Felix?”
“I do not know!” Felix snapped at him as he looked about all around them, in a panic. They were in between a pair of buildings that had been partially destroyed in the fire. Neither was immediately recognizable to him, yet he had the suspicion that they were nearer to the center of the Pauper’s Quarter.
“Oh! Look there is a sewage grate!” Osurio replied as they turned the corner to find themselves just behind the large eight storied apartment-building to their left.
“What?”
“A grate Felix,” Osurio urged him eagerly, with the Tigrun more than a little apprehensive, seeing this, his friend urged him, “Help me with this Felix! Hurry!”
Reluctantly Felix followed his urging and worked to remove the grate. To his surprise it was not sealed into place but slid if ever so slowly out of place. They were fortunate in that it had already been partly dislodged from where it ought to have been, Felix noticed. Distracted by his apprehension as the steps of the city-watch grew ever louder, he almost let slip a small cry of surprise when Osurio released the large hunk of iron.
“This ought to be enough, now let me squeeze down,” Osurio told him just before he began doing just that.
“Fine but be quick about it!” Felix hissed at him urgently, now full of fright at the sound of the watch and guards that could be heard growing louder.
Hardly waiting for the other boy to have finished descending, he soon threw himself into the sliver of darkness that was available to them, seized by fright and impatience as he was this seemed the most natural thing to do.
The ladder that was supposed to be there felt wet and rusted, yet neither boy paid this the slightest mind, as Felix came near to stepping on the small fingers of the other boy with his boots. “Watch where you step!”
“I shan’t see, now move so that I might move this grate back into place,” Felix growled back at him, with the other boy struggling against him ever so slightly.
Shaking him off the tunnel they were in was six meters wide with the middle stinking of waste and refuse, and full of slime while to the sides where they stood were slippery yet firm marble slabs to stand upon. It was with more than a little amazement that the two boys made to light a torch, succeeding in doing so after a few minutes at which time they had a difficult decision to make even as they wrinkled their noses in disgust at the stench.
“Where do we go now? North or south Felix?” Osurio asked of the Tigrun, who glanced all about them, in confusion.
“I do not know,” He blurted out without thinking.
“How can you not know?” Osurio yelled back at him, only to glance up above them as they heard the sound of feet striking the metal grate they had slid back into place a few minutes earlier. Quieting himself if ever so slightly, the young cub of a bear-man repeated his shout if in quieter form, comporting himself as though the feline had not heard him the initial time.
“I have never explored this part of the sewers,” Felix retorted throwing his hands up in the air, “The whole of the sewage system and aqueducts are labyrinthine, I am careful about where I go and which part of the city I explore.”
“Why is that?”
“Because we could be lost down here forever,” Felix told him sharply whereupon he added, “Do you remember Tagrias?”
“Yes.”
“Well he tried to explore the whole of this place, and I never saw him again,” the feline reprimanded him sharply, adding for good measure, “Therefore be quiet and be careful when exploring this place.”
Though he looked skeptical and as though he wished to argue with him, the bear-cub was to nonetheless nod his head and do as bidden. The two of them were to wrinkle their noses at the stench that permeated the whole of the sewers, as there was more mould and rotten food in that place than there might well have been found in the whole of the rest of the city.
The very worst part of it all, in the view of the other boy was how though they stood on the precipice made of stone, with nary any idea of where they were headed. It was this terrible dash into the unknown that made Felix nervous, as he had no interest in dying down there or in meeting with a deformed cannibalistic Minotaur as Theseus had in the old stories about the King of Minevra.
*****
It was difficult to tell how long they wandered down there beneath the city. The hours stretched into what seemed an eternity even as it looped back in on itself or so it seemed to the two boys. Horrified to find themselves despite the string that Felix had remembered to bring along with them, by virtue of how accustomed he was to travelling the tunnels. It had long become a habit of his, and one that he had learnt to keep to since Tagrias had disappeared in the tunnels below the city some years ago.
It was as they advanced that the two boys diverged in how they approached their being lost in the tunnels below the city; Felix was distressed while Osurio was swiftly bored. Where one felt pleased to leave behind the muck of the sewers, along with their stench the other was increasingly restless.
The walls remained firm and stony however over time they came to find themselves at one time rising and advancing uphill much to their surprise. It was with a start that the boys realized that they had left the sewers behind after a number of hours as the pool at the center of the tunnels grew ever slimmer, until at last they left it behind in favour of a simple wooden pathway.
“I wonder, if this was built as a means to get away from somewhere, or towards some place,” Felix wondered after they had found and squeezed themselves through an ovular hole in a wall that led to a new series of tunnels.
This period of restless ushered forth by these newer tunnels, and the sense of being lost was brought to an end when Osurio let slip a great cry of joy.
“Look what I found Felix! Another rod!” Osurio shouted gleefully, swinging the rod as though it were a sword, only to hit wall and jump a few feet as the sound echoed throughout the tunnels.
“Yes, yes, now put it down,” Felix grunted hardly paying him any mind, focused as he was on trying to find his way through the twisting and turning tunnels.
Soon, he thought to himself, soon he would find another ladder that led up to a grate and from there, they would step out into the city what he found was that while he was focused upon the tunnels ahead, his companion was already growing bored. Easily distracted even at the best of times, Osurio was to ignoring his surroundings take to playing with the iron rod he had found, with nary a thought for what the younger boy told him.
Irritated by this, and by how the other boy was indifferent to his pleas and his own complaints of fear, Felix was in the midst of preparing a particularly furious remark when he suddenly found himself falling forward. His cry of pain as he struck his knees and hands from when he raised them to break his fall resounded, Osurio at last breaking from his game to offer him some aid.
“Do be careful Felix, you ought to pay closer attention to your surroundings when you walk,” Osurio remarked to him.
“I know that, it is not my fault I did not see that thrice damned grate-” It was then as he cursed the metal hunk he had struck his foot against that the two of them stopped mid-speech, looking first at one another then, at the grate in shock.
The two of them found themselves gaping down at another great grate, this one though looked when they glanced closer at it to be far more manageable. It was almost from what little Felix could tell about it almost half the weight of the one that they had lifted when they had slipped into the sewers.
Eager to find some way out of the stench-filled tunnels (as there was little left to vomit and they both felt sick and wearied from the hours’ long journey by this time), they studied it at some length. It was with more than a little eagerness that once they had finished examining the large block of rusted iron that they set to work peeling it from the ground.
“Take that rod if you will, Osurio,” Felix said to the other boy, eager to open up the tunnels below them. “I wish to use it to leverage this thing out of place.”
Eager as always to do something, the other boy did as bidden and was to slide the rod into place and throwing his weight against it he pressed down upon it.
The grate seemed to resist for several minutes, with the second boy pressing his own weight against it. The rod screeched, and the grate groaned with the two locked together with the two of them resisting one another for what seemed to be an eternity. The first to give way though, was the grate which in spite of its screeching resistance eventually gave way, so that the two boys were soon peering into the darkness below them.
Casting the torch over the hole, they could only discern shadows, and the ground itself. Ground without the slightest hint of mud, water or filth much to the delight of the two boys.
“This place looks safe,” Osurio declared thinking it most auspicious as he tied the rope to the nearby stone that they had moved.
“I do not know about this Osurio, it does not seem wise to me,” Felix muttered reluctantly, doubtful of the wisdom of his friend’s plan.
As always the other boy did not listen to him, so that the Tigrun was carried along after him if against his will. Made to descend down the rope first, he was to settle his feet thereupon the ground of what was a darkened chamber.
It took even his feline eyes a moment or three to adapt to the shadows of the room he was now in. Once he did, he felt a chill rise up all along his spine, at the realization of where it was that he found himself; he was in a cell.
All about him were a number of large men, most of them dressed in mismatched armour, most of which left their chests bared. This could only mean one thing, he mused to himself with a start; they had found their way into the catacomb of cells beneath the Circus Orissius. The worst of it all was the realization that they were not alone. Stricken by panic when he saw a number of people all around him, Felix turned back to his just as the other boy worked to light a new torch.
“What do you think you are up to? We shan’t light a torch here! There are too many of them!”
“But I cannot see anything like you,” Osurio complained loudly so that all around them a number of the men stirred.
“Be quiet!” Felix hissed at him.
The torch was lit and at once they saw more than a dozen men sleeping next to one another, in the tiny cell where they found themselves. It happened he realized that there were not three or four men as he originally thought, but nigh on two dozen in a space that was only eight meters long and four meters wide so that the gladiators were piled atop one another.
Reacting at once to the sudden flash of light, one tall, large figure suddenly arose to loom over the rest, “What in the name of Roma is that?”
Seeing the slow rise of a large figure just after his voice resounded throughout the small cell they had fallen into was more than Felix could properly bear.
Why he asked himself, had the gods deserted him, he asked himself freezing if temporarily so.
Hearing the strange figure’s shout and becoming afraid, Osurio climbed back up the rope that they had used to descend pulling himself up, with the aid of Felix. When he had reached the top he was to turn about to look down at the Tigrun who hissed at him, “Do hurry help pull me up!”
As he hissed at the other boy, he climbed up as swiftly as he could without losing anything with regards to momentum. His hopes high as they were and great as they were came however to naught. The reason for this was due in no small part to the fact that the other boy, knife in hand soon cut through the rope.
“Sorry Felix, but I shan’t risk it!” Osurio whispered back at him, “You cannot have made it!”
“Osurio you great big oaf, and son of a whore!” Felix cursed after him, hardly able to believe what his friend had done.
Curses and expletives followed with the Tigrun scrambling to his feet to wave his fist at the other boy up above him, however this availed him nothing. Helpless in the face of the gladiators who surrounded him now, he could do nothing save gape.
This did not last. It could not last.
The scream that was torn from his lips was cut short as he was gripped by the throat, as the man who loomed above him tore him off the ground in a grip so crushing the boy could feel himself losing consciousness.