Bookworm Gladiator

The morning of the tournament brought thousands of people pouring into Palmyra; a never-ending procession of parades and caravans filled the colonnade that stretched from the temple to the city-gates. Those who couldn't afford the entry tax, jumped over fences and trudged through sunbaked hills to enter the massive maydan that had been set up with arena tents. The cavalry ground was being prepared for the first bout: Baba Haza and Hurek of Palmyra.

I watched the city buzz with excitement from my palace window, having a clear view of the amphitheater where comedians and actors performed their long-practiced routines. One of acts had been about the monkey man that Atia kept in her courtyard jungle. I shuddered, pulling the curtains close and sending my room into darkness.

Is this what my life was going to be now? Every day a gamble to see if Hurek failed and I suffered the wrath of the High Priestess? Maybe I could sit here in seclusion, in darkness, forever. Would they ask for me? Would Atia even notice that I wasn't there? That's true... I was just the biographer. A scorned scholar who was just getting in the way of everything. No one would notice or care if I-

Heavy knocks shook my chamber doors, the iron lock clanging violently against the old wood. My heart fluttered as I rushed to pull on my robes.

THUD THUD THUD

"I'm here," I cried, brushing my hair back and remembered I was actually very bald. Since when had that happened?

I threw off the lock and opened the doors to find a servant-boy panting heavily, "Master Cicero...we...can't find him."

"What? Who?"

"Hurek, he hasn't shown up to the arena," he finished, wiping the snot from his nose.

How had I been so selfish? The entire morning I'd been worrying for myself, when it would be Hurek actually putting his neck out there. Had I even asked him how he felt about being forced to fight in such a dangerous event at a moment's notice? Especially when he was so near to taking a more pacifist route and keen to earn his freedom from it all. Everyone simply expected him to fight in Julius' honor to the death. But there was more to the man than most saw. "I'll find him," I told the servant, "don't tell anyone he's missing."

I immediately made my way to the barracks. It would be empty at this time, and I knew that Hurek, like me, would be craving seclusion and peace right now. I rushed past the kitchens on my way out of the palace, my stomach aching for some bread and eggs but I had to make sure nothing went awry before the bout. Hurek was a simple man, but he wouldn't be immune to dark thoughts. The vegetable garden that separated the barracks and the palace was filled with servants harvesting what remained. "Excuse me," I shoved past them as quickly as I could, my feet slopping through the mud. I'd forgotten my sandals.

As I'd expected, Hurek sat in the empty cafeteria of the barracks; the hall where I'd first met him. A bowl of nuts sat in front of him, untouched.

"Hurek?" I approached, and the big man glanced up somberly. "Are you alright?"

"They want me use sword," he said. His eyes were bloodshot. Was he awake all night?

"Yes, this is an important match," I explained, "reputation and honor is at stake."

"I never fight this big."

"What do you mean?" I asked, taking a seat across from him. He stared down at his nuts thoughtfully. I'd heard that he first began as a fist-fighter, and then performed fights for Julius and Atia in their personal events. But to hear that this was Hurek's first time at a large scale gladiator tournament sent my heart beating faster. This was madness. All of it. Why was I even doing this? Hurek could die and I could be imprisoned for life. Maybe this was our chance to take a different path.

We could leave here, unnoticed and unheard. Slip through the heavy crowd and hit the road; East, west, didn't matter. But then what? What future was there for a runaway gladiator? And what would I do? Return to Rome? My wife was dead. I had no other family. No land.

And then there would be the obscurity. No one would read or hear my name ever again. I would write for the rest of my life and no one would read it. I would have no meaning or repute, just darkness and loneliness. Forever.

No, there was only one way forward. Glory and victory. And death was better than obscurity.

"Hurek," I said, choosing my words carefully, "what do you want to do, if not fight?"

"Hm?"

"If you could do anything in the world, what would you do?"

Hurek eyes brightened suddenly, as if he' d been waiting for someone to ask this very question. He dug into the burlap sack beside him and pulled out an unassuming box. He held it gingerly in front of him, hesitating to show me.

"Open it, I want to see," I said.

He lifted the cover and a confusing set of scents escaped the container, which was filled with waxy material in different shapes. "Soap," Hurek explained. "I make soap." He took one out of the box, an egg looking thing that smelled strongly of horse manure. "Essence of Horse," he said, getting more excited by the second.

"Ah," I said, pretending to sniff the strange soap and smiled, "that's... nice." I hadn't expected such a hobby from Hurek but I supposed that would explain the odd smells hanging around him all the time.

"Well, think of all the soap you could make from the tournament's reward," I explained, "the champion's weight in gold, and most important of all, you will be freed. You could start your own... soap making business. Leave this violent life forever."

Hurek considered my words, "but sword kill," he said slowly.

"I know, that's why you will fight with brass knuckles. You used to be a fist-fighter yes?"

"And book!" Hurek exclaimed.

"What?"

To my bemusement, the gladiator pulled out the old tome, *Our Empire's Greatest Martial Advisors*. He'd wrapped the book in chains so that it would stay shut as he... pummeled his opponents?

"I suppose we could make that work, maybe attach a handle so you could... hold it as a shield?" I said to Hurek's increasing excitement. The large man slammed his fist and nuts spilled across the table.

"We win this, and we make soap," he bellowed. "Forever!"

"Forever," I said, taking his hand in a strong shake, my insides torn with guilt and shame.

***