Alessia Angelo - Gladiatrix II

ROMAN REPUBLIC. NORTH ITALY. A LITTLE WHILE LATER.

Lucius had been more than happy with the fight. Her and Khloe had put on quite the spectacle - almost ten minutes, long enough to be impressive, not so long as to bore the audiences of rich patricians used to on-demand entertainment. Ignoring the watching faces, though, the fight itself was satisfying. lades dancing back and forth in the hot sun, flicking through each others’ defences, last minute twists and rolls, until finally she’d found a weak point and opened up a vein near Khloe’s wrist. She raised her red-tipped sword, took in the roar of the crowd, and helped her defeated opponent back to her feet - before Lucius’ guards came in, took her weapon back, and hustled her offstage.

Khloe was taken to what passed for the doctor (one of the guards, who’d done half an apprenticeship to a herbalist in the south near Croton before sleeping with his daughter and getting himself kicked out.) Her wrist was coated with a salve, bandaged up, back in the training ring. No hard feelings. Lucius, for his part, recieved a hefty pile of silver in a neat leather bag, Tulius got the acclaim of his peers, and the feeling that he’d done right by his father. Alessia got…

Nothing, of course. She was free, and paid, but the money was deducted right back to pay for her ‘upkeep’ - the tent she slept in, and the stew she ate. And even before nightfall the same day, they’d packed up and were marching on.

Some of the others had been doing this tour for a while now - those lucky enough to survive a few fights. There wasn’t money to be made for them down South, towards the heartlands and Rome itself - sure, there were plenty of games looking for fresh blood (metaphorically and, of course, literally), but not for a rag-tag bunch like them. That was for the proper gladiator schools, the ones with money to train and equip far better than Lucius’ band. So instead they stuck to the northern circuit - turning along the coast and skirting the foothills of the Alps, all the way to just brushing up against Illyria, then back again. The dead would be buried by the side of the road, or burnt, if they were worried about wolves, then fresh blood would be picked up in the next town. At least the bandits round here weren’t foolish enough to attack a pack of gladiators.

Now they’d been walking for a few days since that funeral games in the coastal town. They’d turned up away from the ocean, cutting inland, and Alessia thought how she missed the breeze on her face - it’d been a welcome balm against the endless dust and sun. It also meant the chance to buy cheap fish, and a possible change in their diets - but no, back across farmland now, and that meant bread and stews each night. No towns in sight, either - only dusty farmhouses, lonely cattle and the occasional child poking their head into the lane, called back by their parents once they saw the whips and swords of the guards.

She kept her head down as they went - out of pragmatism, as much as anything else. They were allowed to speak with each other, but only in Latin - so the guards understood - and only for the basics, guiding movement, asking for food and the like. Any hint of anything deeper, or any bond forming, and it’d be broken with a strike of a lash before the sentence could finish. Couldn’t risk camaraderie building amongst the fighters. So she took her moments where she could to share a joke or a kind word, and contented herself to sing the old marching songs in her head, and remember the voices of her friends joining in.

It was on the seventh day that they crested a hill, turned down to follow a stream, and came out in what must have been the local village centre. This one was far poorer than the last - paint peeled off the modest temple’s statues, most people had the callouses to prove they worked hard for their living. The stench of tanning leather lay thick in the air, and the marketplace teemed with livestock being brought for sale or slaughter. In such a place the arrival of the gladiators would always cause great interest, so Alessia found as they walked that conversations died on lips and eyes turned to follow these strangers down into the nearest inn. A few offered looks of recognition, pointing at a muscular Germanic tribesman near the front (Alaric, she thought his name might have been) - he must have survived all the way since their last visit. Others eyed up the newcomers, and money started changing hands. Alessia pushed an inquisitive goat to the side, and got a reproachful bleat for her trouble.

Still, the party passed down through the market and climbed up the slow rise of the other side without too much incident. Alessia noticed the mood had soured somewhat amongst the fighters - eyes turned down to the floor, shoulders raised with tension. A cackle came from an old man sitting in the dust outside his family’s house.

Dead men on earth, he laughed. Dead men on earth.

As they turned past the outskirts and began to climb the other side of the valley, Alessia saw their destination - a low-slung stone building, jutting out from the hillside like a wound. Simple columns around the front marked it as a temple, the brass statue over a burning brazier representing some local god she didn’t know. He held a staff in one hand, a sword in another, and a snake crushed underneath his foot.

In front of the temple sat a low pit, carved roughly out of stone, about eight foot deep and sheer as anything on the sides. A small indentation in one side seemed to lead into a darker cave. Ringing the outside, priests in white robes swung burners of heady incense. Alessia looked behind, and saw that a crowd had formed, following the band up from the village to watch. But there wasn’t enough time to think what this might mean, before the guards’ whip cracked and the gladiators were forced to their knees beside the pit.

Slowly, the crowd advanced around them. The priests chanted. Lucius stepped to the front, the same old pig-smile on his face, and spoke.

FIGHTERS!

He turned to Alaric, with a wide grin on his face. The German just stared back.

You’ll remember why we come here. My throat is dry after such a long trip. Why don’t you explain, while I find some wine?

A moment’s pause, then Alaric nodded, and came to the front.

The people of these villages worship this god of theirs. Have done since before Rome was a whisper on someone’s lips. And there’s a legend, here - he gestured towards the statue - that this land was infested by snakes, and the god drove them out, and made this place safe for them to live.

Once a year, they re-enact this, to keep the memory of their god alive. But they’ve decided it’s far too risky to make one of their own fight, and lose a good farmhand. So we’re here instead.

That wasn’t the most respectful way he could have put it, and some in the crowd hissed to hear their traditions so mocked. Lucius, halfway through a gulp of wine, just laughed.

Sounds like someone’s volunteering. Are we ready?

He looked towards the priests, who nodded - then gestured to a guard, who stepped forward, pressed a knife into Alaric’s hands… and then kicked him backwards.

The German landed with a thud on his back, dazed. But instead of a roar from the crowd there was just awful, fearful silence, and as Alaric shook off the impact and got to his feet, a low hiss from inside the cave…

Alessia’s eyes widened as its head appeared, then its body. Seven foot long, it must have been, and black as anything she’d seen. It swayed back and forth, as if it hadn’t felt the sun in years, until its eyes caught the intruder in its den.

Suddenly it was all anger - the hissing became a furious sound as it leapt forward, mouth open, eyes wide. Alaric ducked to the side as it shot past him like an arrow, swung out with his dagger, but only caught air. It turned, came back again, once again he moved… but this time teeth found flesh, and its fangs scraped across his thigh. He looked down, Alessia saw the fear in his eyes. A sickly green liquid fizzed in the wound. His eyes rolled back. The venom acted fast. And before he could even hit the ground Alessia felt hands lifting her up and pushing her over the edge.

Reflexes took over, as she hit the hard ground and rolled. The snake curled around Alaric’s twitching body, until the impact made its head turn and its baleful yellow-green eyes settle on her. The dagger lay in the dirt to her left. No choice then but to move - dive sideways for it, roll through on her shoulder. The sandy floor scraped away at her skin, leaving a little blood. The snake… just watched.

Perhaps the death of the first intruder had calmed it - reminded it of its superiority. Perhaps it was just watching. But either way, as Alessia pulled herself back to her feet among the cloud of incense and the watching eyes of the crowd, the snake didn’t move. It just swayed, back and forth, left to right, and watched.

She circled, slowly. Alaric had fallen in the centre, and as the snake’s body curled around him it left plenty of room to move. But each time she stepped forward, testing the perimeter with a thrust or a jab, the snake whipped round. So much faster than she could move - could ever hope to move. Twice, only luck intervened as she yanked her hand back just in time to avoid those deadly teeth. Until… with a groan like a death rattle, Alaric’s body twitched one more time, then convulsed, then a hand shot up to grip its throat.

ALESSIA! NOW!

She was already in motion - one step, two step, a leap, as the snake roared in anger and sank its fangs into Alaric’s wrist, she aimed, and thrust downwards. Straight and true, and the knife buried itself deep between the creatures’ eyes.

It hissed, wailed, spat poison as it thrashed. Alessia kept running, all the way to the other side, lest she be caught in the death spasms. Alaric collapsed, this time truly dead. They’d burn his body in the morning. But as she heard the crowd cheer, and watched the beast die, she silently thanked the one last kindness he’d showed her. And her eyes fixed on the snake’s as the light faded, and she smiled to herself, and thought.

You know what the old cure for venom was?

Bloodletting.

Bleed the wound dry, until the toxin came out with it, and let it seep away into the dirt.

Last Fury, I was hoping for a real test, against a good - a great wrestler. A champion, unlike you. And I had one, a proper fight… until your ego couldn’t stand it, and you ambushed us both. And now there’s another asterisk next to my name, just like there always is.

You robbed me of a clean victory, and in doing so, you put yourself right in my sights.

And I’m glad you did. You’re a veteran, a warrior, on your way to a hundred matches in a storied career. Even if you hadn’t hit me with that chair, I’d have liked to test myself against you, to prove that I’m just as good as the household names that everyone knows. But then you did, and you just set your fate in stone.

Are you happy you took the cheap shot? When you’re locked up in the Execution, your muscles screaming with pain, your bones about to snap… will it have been worth it? Or will you realise that you’ve offered yourself up to be the next step on my road to erasing all the doubts next to my name?

You know, I’ve become quite fond of Khloe. She’s a good woman, and a tough one. So I’m sorry she won’t get a real test at Retromania. She deserves a proper fight.

Instead, I’m going to send her the Venom with one useless arm hanging by his side, and fear in his heart. A Venom who has realised at last that for all his bravado, all his cockiness, all his long career… TPW’s moved on. There are new, better, brighter stars, people the fans actually want to see with the belt. Not an old man on one more glory-trip, desperate to shore up his own claim to kingship.

You’re going to lose to me, then to Khloe. And you’ll realise you don’t belong here anymore. You never did. The worst mistake of your life was coming back. You could’ve stayed away and coasted along on the glories of the past. But your ego couldn’t take it, and now you’ve returned, just in time to prove that you should’ve stayed a memory.

See you Friday.