A Nameless Slave - A Roman Boy Child Trapped in the Slave Machine.
Boy that Took Down an Empire
Mood Music - Battle Background
The sweat stung his eyes. He squinted against the glaring sun.
Barely twelve, he was strong, but this day was far from done.
His tanned skin itched under the coat of blood glued grime.
His hair reeked with gore and fluids mixed to a putrid slime.
The thumping heart in his bony chest pounded to the sound of the merciless crowd.
The slaughter was heating up. Men and women alike madly stood and cheered aloud.
The first death blow was dealt to a runaway slave. Her head now from her body parted.
The crowd thundered approval knowing after this the good fights would soon be started.
The boy sprang to life running into the strewn bodies as the signal was given.
He grabbed the nearest foot of a not yet dead woman and pulled as if whip driven.
He had learned long ago to be fast or else feel the stinging bite of the lash himself.
As first for the convicts, then the slaves, so too for him there would be no help.
He must do his duties no matter what they were. He must be right and fast every time.
He could ill afford the meals that surely would be denied if he failed what was assigned.
That was assuming he survived the inevitable beating.
No guarantees through that death would he be cheating.
Yanking the almost corpse with every ounce of his might,
his mind no longer registered the horrors of this plight.
Weeping, freezing up, and other childlike things born of fright
were luxuries lost to a child when the price could be his life.
Drop the woman and dash out among the slain again… Heave, pull as hard as you can.
Grip vice tight, sweat and blood make slick. Thank the Gods, this time a smallish man.
By the time he got back into the chute with the body, the gladiators were coming in.
Maybe they saw that he was not the last to return he imagined with an almost grin.
That was the way. He had thought it every night for years it seemed.
That was the way to get the freedom he so longed for and dreamed.
He barely remember his family at all, but his one vividly clear memory was of loss.
His father’s defiantly screamed words when nailed to a rough hewn Roman cross.
“Freedom is what we are born with! It is not something you can take! We will rise…”
Those words rang each night, turning into screams long before his father’s actual demise.
His mother, sisters and he were forced by the Romans to watch for two agonizing days
while they camped, gathering villagers that got away, as they put it, “rounding up strays.”
He saw his father’s last rapt breath, painfully gasped,
a gurgled desperate plea for air, a death rattle rasped.
He stared up at the dying man looking for answers, for a way to set him free.
But, he could not. The very last thing his father ever was in this world to see
were his grubby hands, bloody from one who had been so fresh and new.
The one whose eyes his father would no longer, not ever again, stare into.
His baby sister, broken. The guard threw her on a rock. She had cried too loud.
Throwing his soldier’s red garbed weight about, he stood looking so very proud.
Every night since, as any good son would, he fantasized of killing all the guards,
of avenging, slaughtering, reeking bloody vengeance like was told of by the bards.
The reality of being a boy in the Roman slavery machine was his morning wake up call.
So he determined from the start to survive, to grow, to one day, somehow, see them fall.
Hades’ piss! That was the signal and several boys had already beat him out of the chute.
He hauled his skinny bones as fast as his legs would churn. Damn, he really had to scoot!
His standing with the other boys was ever fluid. He could ill afford to drop in the ranks.
The lowest standing of boys at night were little more than holes for fun served on shanks.
He would not think of it. He would be lightening fast, no load too heavy for him to haul.
Great, this time it was parts, less energy to carry, two arms and a leg. Watch it don’t fall!
The sands were already getting slippery with blood and gore.
The sun was barely past mid day… So much more yet in store.
- A Nameless Slave ~ Part Two ~Bloody Offerings
Not the first back in the chute, but by no means the last. Being thin has advantages when it comes to being fast. Pay attention now, he sternly told himself, planting feet to get the best view he could. Finally, something to learn from. This time
Why is it that gladiators are currently all the rage?
Perhaps it is because they are the reflection of the violence, corruption and desperation that lies at the heart of our own culture.
Power plays, maneuvering, corruption, gratuitous violence and sex!
While the action and drama contained here outdo any soap opera ever thought up in the minds of Hollywood, it actually has a plot, with many subplots. The show transports one back into the days of Gods being old and man being new, a time when all roads led to Rome.
Hot is the word!
This one was a blockbuster!
Here is yet another example of the brutality of the period intertwined with the political intrigue, lasciviousness, excess, plots within plots and social climbing taken to the level of an Olympic sport.
For all out brutal and full on in your face fight scenes, you can't beat this series. The eye candy is of a stellar quality as well be you looking at it from the perspective of either sex. It's one of the most original series around.
Nature or Nurture? What makes a good gladiator?
What quality do you think is most important for a gladiator?See results without voting
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By the one, the only, the reigning master, The Epigramman.
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