“So where you from? I came over from Greece last year- ” “Quiet, aren’t you?” The Thracian jogged his elbow.

The other fighters were already trooping into the long hall where they were all fed, whooping as they filed along the trestle tables and grabbed for the wine jugs. Hey, maybe next time I’ll get Belleraphon and then I’ll really make my fortune.”Īrius unlaced the protective mail sleeve from his sword arm, shaking it off into the basket. Had me one of those scrawny Oriental Greeks no trouble there. “Nice work you did on that African today. Not bad, huh?”Īrius bent to unlace the greaves about his shins. “First fight?” A chatty Thracian tossed his own helmet into the basket atop Arius’s. The weapons had already been collected, of course- those got snatched the moment the fighting was done. ”Īrius tossed his plumed helmet into the waiting basket, ignoring the slave who gave him cheery congratulations. see that bastard Lapicus get it in the back from that Gaul? Won’t be looking down his long nose at us anymore. hooked that Greek right through the stomach! Prettiest piece of work I. A good enough average to make the victors swagger as they filed through the narrow torch- lit hall, dumping their armor into the waiting baskets. Twenty fighters had sallied out to join the main battle of the Cerealia games, and fourteen had come back alive. The atmosphere at the Mars Street gladiator school was contented, convivial, and masculine as the tired fighters trooped in through the gates.

Mistress of Rome by Kate Quinn