V

The city's economic discord became immediately apparent as the line of gladiators led by the gladiatrix left the confines of the school. Shabby vendors haggled with greedy patrician customers. The regal glided amongst squalor. Shattered amphorae littered spaces where fresh pottery was being crafted. Narrow winding streets suffocated. Throngs of beggars clogged the way of the more prosperous as the mounted centurion led his infantry. In the midst of the congestion, the huge Nubian tugged the rope leash looped around Rasenna's neck as they progressed toward the coliseum.

This morning the streets were actually less congested than normal. Most had already taken advantage of Caesar Scipio's free admission to the spectacle, and earlier had fought their way into the coliseum to take possession of the best seats the upper tier afforded. Prostitutes continued to roam the alleyways, occasionally peeking out from shaded nooks to have a look at what was hurting their usual business.

The cloth mantle covering Rasenna's head became many shades darker than the pale rose tunic whose color it once matched. Sharp thorns ringing it pierced the fabric. Blood from the scalp underneath was absorbed. Coagulated blood blackened the hue. Fresh streams stained the material. What did wounds from the crown not darken was soaked by sweat. Precious little of its original color remained the same as the long tunic Rasenna wore.

Progress proceeded through the narrow streets. The coliseum loomed before them. It was not as impressive as the one in Rome, but still of great size. Statues stood in two stories of arches surrounding the outside.

The centurion led the military escort and the chained about to perform into a side entrance. Sounds of celebration from inside the coliseum radiated through out the surrounding area. The last gladiator and escort disappeared as they entered the entrance and walked down the incline to below the arena.

VI

Rasenna gripped the coarse iron bars from inside the cell. Her head throbbed from the thorns that had been removed shortly after they entered the cool gloom of the basement below the arena. Her soggy mantle and then tunic were taken, the crown slammed back on her head and then she was put in a cell.

"Open the cell. Bring her out. Chain her wrist to the others'. She will lead the poma." The organizer of the spectacle shouted orders.

Rasenna thought the aedile had a squeaky voice, rodent-like, but she stepped from the cell as the door swung open, allowed chain to link her wrist with a gladiator and moved toward the elevator platform that would lift them all back up into daylight. The parade of gladiators before those gathered inside the coliseum would be her first look at its interior.

At least wearing just the two pieces of leather would be cooler. A drop on her arm distracted. A fresh blood dot slid into a thin stream and ran down from Rasenna's upper arm. It had fallen from one of the thorns. Rasenna looked away, and chose to ignore the newest reminder of her crown.

Slaves worked pulleys and the platform rose. All were soon above ground.

She stood dumfounded. Rising, and filling most of the arena space was a small mountain. It was a fair replica of the area where she finally was captured. Trees and shrubs, along with rocks and cliffs, were all planted or constructed in the center of the ring. Rasenna even saw a stream of water just like the one she had dove into to escape the Romans, except this one looked like it encircled the whole mountain making it into a small island. Her eye caught something move amongst the planted undergrowth and she wanted to see what it was, but a hand pulled her elbow.

"Come on. You'll get time to look more later."

Crowds filling the two tiers cheered the arrival. Most of all, they cheered the gladiatrix. The previous week all had heard the gossip and seen the graffiti covering the city's walls proclaiming this spectacle. Patricians had the best seats. These were located on the lowest tier. It was the most shaded with a huge awning shading them. Above shouted females of many classes. There was a smaller awning covering them in shade and standing above all were plebians and slaves. Tuba and cornu brass sounded around the packed coliseum. Pennants hung limply in the stilled air. Triumphal emblems sparkled around the venue. All grew ecstatic, as the elevator appeared bearing those they had come to see.

It was a short walk over to front Scipio's luxury box. Rasenna barely bothered to consider the cushioned seats, elaborate frescoes, glittering jewelry, or wafting perfume odors. She kept silent and eyes on the ground until she felt their guide lead them back toward the elevator.

Once more in the bowels of the coliseum, Rasenna inhaled the cool air. It was rank with the smells of animals and humans, but at least it was not as hot as above. From the corner of her eye she saw one of the slaves approach carrying a leather belt with sheath attached.

"This is for you," he said as he knelt and tightened the belt around her waist and then a small strap at the end of the sheath to anchor it to her thigh. "You are to be first."

Rasenna walked with the slave back to the elevator. Waiting there was the Nubian. In his hand he held out to her an old sword. "What's this?"

"Your weapon, gladiatrix. Take it."

She held out a hand, then used two. The short blade was heavy. Rasenna looked down at the rust and pitted surface and was about to protest when she felt the platform under her move as she was lifted up. She looked back into the basement and saw all of their eyes upon her.

None spoke as she rose back into bright sunlight.