A Gladiator’s Oath – Prologue

September 29, 199 AD

It looked like any other sand-covered surface, but Mila knew the maze of tunnels below caged both men and beasts.

She raised her eyes to sixty-five thousand spectators, from the emperor to the plebeians, all awaiting the spectacle of death. She kept her gaze up so she would not have to look at the blood-soaked sand where criminals had been put to death just moments earlier. Instead, she focused on the feel of the sword and the weight of the shield. Libertas. That was what they called her, despite the fact that she was not free. They could hardly herald a gladiator as Mila the Slave.

She stopped walking to watch the reaction of the crowd. The sword turned in her hand as a rumble of applause pressed down on her. Not cheering—that would come later when the stakes were higher. It was a far cry from the arena at Ludus Magnus, where all she had heard was Remus’s familiar voice and the clapping of wooden swords. She found herself searching for him, trying to find him amid a sea of blurry faces. Was he outwardly calm while breaking apart inside—like she was?

They called the Spaniard Hebe. The goddess of youth. She entered through the gate of life, striding towards Mila, chin up, her skin a polished contrast to the burned shoulders of a slave. Her breasts were partially covered with enough flesh on display to satisfy the men. She stopped a few feet from Mila, peering out at the crowd from beneath her helmet, and raised her shield to them. They responded with a roar that shifted the sand.

Mila wished her own helmet could shield her from the noise. She shuddered, adjusting her grip on the weapons. Damp hands were never a good thing.

The summa rudis approached, stick in hand, shouting instructions Mila could not hear amid the noise. Did her opponent hear? Unlikely. She was all but turned away from him, her sword hand resting on the curve of her hip. For a moment, their eyes met through the slits of their helmets. Strangers. In a moment, Hebe would try to kill her. In a moment, she would try to kill Hebe. That delicate skin would be bruised and broken, painted with sweat and blood.

Mila’s gaze went to the crowd. Where was he? She did not know how to do this without him. Not entirely true—she just did not want to do it without him. ‘Shield up,’ he would shout, his tone sharper than a sword because he wanted her to live. Perhaps it was better he was not there. Whatever the outcome, she did not want to see his changed face in those final moments.

‘Gladiators ready!’

Mila softened her knees, distributing her weight evenly. Was she ready? The thought alone was dangerous. Her opponent’s shield was raised, her knuckles whitening around her sword. The stadium crackled to life in that moment, the sound vibrating around them before drifting up to the open sky, as blue as Remus’s eyes.

Her opponent lunged, the tip of her sword colliding with Mila’s shield.

Live or die.

She would not let the gods decide this one.