He’s too tall to strike in the face, though if I get in close enough I might be able to catch him under the chin. I cannot tell how fast he is, though I must assume that if he’s used to putting on spectacles, he’s probably in good condition but slowed down by his bulk.
“Good gods, that man is big!” Praxus observed.
“That’s no man, that’s a fucking beast.” Camillus remarked.
“He makes even Vitruvius look small,” Magnus added.
“Since when have you ever been intimidated by the size of those you’ve fought?” Artorius asked. “Think about all those giants you slew in Germania.”
“Those giants were dwarfs compared to that…thing,” Magnus remarked.
“Since when has size been everything?” Carbo asked, offhandedly.
Valens gave him a perplexed look. “Since when has it not?”
“Hey, we do need to have a little faith in Vitruvius,” Camillus replied, ignoring the off-color remarks of the young legionaries. “Remember, he doesn’t appreciate pain very much, so I doubt that he’ll let this guy hurt him.”
“Say, where’s Decimus?” Praxus asked, looking around.
“I don’t know, but the match is about to start without him,” Artorius said, leaning forward onto the edge of his seat.
On the arena floor, both men turned and faced the Emperor, weapons raised.
“Hail Caesar!” Both men said together.
Vitruvius was then silent as the huge African said the rest of the statement.
“We who are about to die salute you!”
“Speak for yourself,” Vitruvius said in a low voice.
Both men turned and faced each other. The African held his shield at arm’s length, his sword up at shoulder level, as if preparing to smash his opponent. Vitruvius settled into a comfortable fighting stance, his gladius low and at his side, shield arm cocked back, ready to punch. He quickly started looking for openings. He definitely wanted to end the fight swiftly. As the African giant raised his sword up slightly, Vitruvius saw what he figured might be a potential weakness.
“I’m going to spill your guts, Roman, and gain my freedom.” the African snarled. “You will beg for death before this day is done.”
“Unlikely,” Vitruvius replied with a smile.
The African’s eyes filled with contempt. Spittle sprayed from his mouth, along with a small stream of blood where he had bitten his lip in anger. He yelled a tribal battle cry and lunged straight at Vitruvius. He raised his sword high to smash his smaller opponent. The blow came hard, but slow. Vitruvius easily sidestepped as the gladiator’s weapon slammed into the ground. A vicious backhand slash followed, which the optio deflected off his shield. Both men settled into their fighting stances once more. As the gladiator raised his sword up to smash once again, Vitruvius’ eyes brightened in realization.
Got you! He thought to himself. The African was violating one of the most basic principles of close combat by leaving his flank exposed.
Vitruvius lunged in, raising his shield to protect himself from a potential blow. He stepped inside the African’s shield arm and smashed his shield’s upper edge into his assailant’s face. The shield impacted just below the giant’s chin. Without waiting to see the effects of his blow, using a straight thrust, he plunged his gladius into the gladiator’s belly, just above the belt. The blade sank all the way up to the hilt, the African giving a jolt of surprise as both arms fell slowly to his sides. Staring into the man’s surprised eyes, Vitruvius tensed and brought his gladius up in a hard slice directly through his guts and up to his ribcage. As blood started to flow from the gash, running down his hand and forearm, he angled his gladius up and thrust the point under the ribcage and into the gladiator’s heart. Just as quickly, he pulled his sword down and out, and stepped away. The African stood motionless, sword and shield dropping to the ground. His eyes were glazed, and he swayed momentarily like a tree in the wind, and then toppled forward. Vitruvius turned around, and started to walk away even before his opponent hit the ground.
The crowd stood in stunned silence. The fight was over, and it had barely begun. This was not the type of match they had expected. Vitruvius was halfway to the gate, when a lone figure started to slowly clap his hands together. The crowd looked around searching for the source. It was the Emperor Tiberius, sporting a rare smile, standing, and clapping for one of his finest soldiers, who had made a mockery of Sacrovir’s gladiator. The crowd suddenly broke into frenzied applause and shouts of adulation. Vitruvius turned back towards the Emperor, removed his helmet, and saluted with his weapon held high. The Emperor returned the salute as one soldier to another; then Vitruvius turned to salute the section holding the legionaries and walked out of the arena.
No, I guess the better man wasn’t here today, the optio thought to himself. He couldn’t help but allow himself a grim smile. It had felt good to dispatch that pompous fool Sacrovir’s prize fighter so easily. If there is somebody out there that can best me, I won’t find him in the arena.
“No!” Sacrovir screamed. He pulled at his hair frantically. The African giant he had paid so much for, who had won him many victories and great wealth, slain by a lowly legionary. His hatred only intensified when he saw the Emperor applauding the man. This, in turn, fueled his loathing. He turned and started to run down the tunnel, out of the arena as the crowd continued to chant the name Vitruvius over and over again. Sacrovir placed his hands over his ears. The name had become an abomination for him. In that moment he swore he would have vengeance upon not only Optio Vitruvius, but on all legionaries of Rome.
The men of the Second Century were still applauding loudly for their friend and optio when Decimus suddenly came running up to their seats, excited about something.
“You have got to come with me.” he panted.
“Hey, where have you been? You missed the match.” Praxus shouted.
“Oh, I saw it. Good on Vitruvius. Don’t worry I saved one for him,” Decimus said, waving his hand dismissively.
“One what?” Praxus asked.
Decimus smiled and winked. He then took off running down the steps.
“Well, don’t just stand there, come on!” he shouted back at his companions.
Shrugging, Artorius, Praxus, Gavius, Magnus, Carbo, and Valens all stood and followed the excited legionary into the atrium.
In the foyer, behind the seats there was a number of rather striking young women. All wore revealing gowns, and many had laurels in their hair. They smiled and waved at Decimus, who waved back, smiling.
“Who are they?” Artorius asked, mouth gaping. Decimus put his arm around him, eyes never leaving the young ladies.
“Those, my friends, are courtesans. They are the very best ladies of love that money can buy.”
“You mean the ones who only rich, old senators can afford?” Valens asked.
“The ones they can afford, yet cannot perform properly for, yes,” Decimus answered.
“So how do we as lowly legionaries afford such supple beauty and grace?” Artorius asked.
“We don’t. That’s the best part. They’ve already been paid for!” Decimus was giddy with anticipation.
“By who?” Magnus asked.
“Who cares?” Artorius retorted. “Maybe Severus used a share of his winnings from the fight as a way of saying ‘thank you.’ Or maybe they’re just doing their patriotic duty to the State. Either way, does it matter?”
“Indeed.” Decimus laughed as he shoved Artorius towards one of the waiting ladies.
She was a couple of centimeters shorter than Artorius, with curly hair that reached just past her shoulders. Her green eyes contrasted with the color of her skin. He could tell by the way her gown lay that she was well-endowed with a firm, tight figure. Her smile betrayed her lack of innocence. She was definitely something he could understand rich men paying a lot of money for.