Gladiator

He felt the rage swelling up inside of him as he considered this possible ruse. Were these people so sneaky that they had nothing better to do than try to weaken him with female flesh? Perhaps he was over reacting, but then why had they not taken him out of his cell today to train for tomorrow morning's battle?

Quaking with pent up anger, he resolved to at least stretch out his muscles, and get some exercise in tonight. He would be as quiet as possible so as not to awaken poor Margaret. He started by stretching out on the stone floor as far as his muscles would allow. Some fighters were as big as him, but lost mobility because they neglected to stretch their muscles as well as building them. After he was nice and loose, Bastion began doing silent exercises in the cell. First he stood on his hands, his bare ass against the wall, and began pushing his entire body up the wall. His arms corded mightily under the strain of pushing his body directly upwards, and when his arms were almost fully extended he held the position for as long as he could. He did not bother keeping track of how long it was, just letting the burn fade into his arms as he sat there, looking upside down at the woman asleep on his pallet.

Just before he felt his muscles about to give out, he let himself slowly down. Quietly he rubbed out his screaming arms, soothing away the ache with more stretches and some rubbing. Bastion continued his work out silently pushing his body to screaming levels of ache before silently backing off. Making his body loose, then punishing it with various exercises.

Several hours passed in the night of him working silently. Finally when he was satisfied that he could not exercise much more without room to run or without making too much noise to awaken Margaret, he allowed himself to cool down. Sitting on his cool floor, he used some water and some of the linen bandages to scrub off the worst of his sweat before slowly crawling back under the blanket beside the warm woman.

His heart swelled at the feeling of soft woman flesh pressed against him, and he quickly fell into a deep slumber. The morning light streaming in through the window awoke Bastion early. He was not used to such long periods of inactivity. Margaret still slept, but if her back was any indication, she probably needed the rest badly. He cradled her and listened quietly as the slave pens underneath the coliseum came to life slowly.

He could hear above him the sounds of crowds beginning to gather for this morning's spectacle. The chill air in his cell from the night had crept into every stone, but with Margaret at his side, he could not feel a thing of it. He was ravenously hungry however, and noticed that they had not brought him his evening meal last night. He wondered again if this was a ploy to get him to lose today.

The sounds of Maraxius coming down the hall roused Margaret. She stirred in his arms, and he finally got out of the blankets. Waiting by the door for Maraxius to open it, Bastion stood ready for today's fight. He spoke to Bastion after opening the cell door. Bastion had a feeling it had something to do with Margaret, but he was not sure. He did however make one thing clear, despite the language difference. Bastion pointed at the woman sleeping on the pallet, then the floor of the cell. She was to stay here; no one was to take her. He again pointed to her, then the cell floor, and then mimicked the door closing and a lock turning in a key.

He hated the though that she may think he was saying she was to be locked in here, a prisoner in this cell. But he could not risk having her not be here when she was gone. Stepping out into the already warming hallway with Maraxius, he lightly tapped the guard on the shoulder.

"Who do I fight today?" He asked in his native tongue, mimicking a sword fight, and then shrugging his shoulders while looking around.

The guard seemed to understand and said a few things, then added a gesture, drawing a finger from his hairline down the side of his face in a ragged line. "Ahh, that man is a good fighter," Bastion thought to himself. There was no doubt who Maraxius meant; his opponent was the only one in the pens with a long, jagged scar running from jaw to brow.

Bastion paused a moment as if thinking, then decided to try communicating one more time. The cell door now closed and locked he pointed at his cell, "Mahr-gah-ret," he then thumbed his chest emphatically, "Bastion's" Maraxius nodded and seemed ready to turn off and lead the giant man down the hall, but Bastion had one more thing to say.

Tapping on Maraxius's coin purse, and then shaking his fist as if rolling dice he asked, "Do you bet on the games? Do you bet on me?" pointing again to the purse then to himself and shrugging his shoulders.

Maraxius looked at Bastion in an odd manor. Bastion was not sure if he was being misunderstood or if the guard just did not want to admit to gambling. Bastion continued on anyways. "Sillius," Bastion said naming the scared man who he was to fight, then raising his arm, and slowly bringing it down as if a tree falling. "Sillius falls in 30 seconds." Bastion then held out his hands and began counting from 1 to 30 as he ticked off on his fingers. When he reached 30, he again made the falling motion with his arm and said again, "Sillius." He concluded by crossing his arms against his chest and daring Maraxius to disagree with him.

Maraxius looked at Bastion for a long moment as if he was pondering the situation. He then spoke to the giant and then flashed his open hands three times, then said "Sillius" and pointed to the floor. Satisfied that Maraxius had understood him, Bastion allowed a huge grin to spread across his face as he nodded.

A short while later he was standing in front of the weapons rack to pick out his weapons. They had dressed him in ridiculous garb. He imagined it was what these people imagined people of his homeland dressed like. It was mostly furs and leathers, covering most of his legs, but leaving his chest bared. Another set of leathers and furs covered his left arm, for no reason that he could imagine. Determined to not let the ridiculous garb slow him down, Bastion selected his weapons. A well used, and slightly blunted javelin and a massive club. One that no doubt most would wield with two hands, but that he was able to swing with only one mighty fist.

The morning stretched on as he waited for his match. The furs were hot and uncomfortable, and all Bastion could think of was Margaret downstairs in his cell. He prayed that she was still there. The more he thought about it the more he felt the animal rage taking over him. The urge to hurt his captors was replaced by a new sort of rage. He thought of people taking her from him, he thought of people beating her, of whipping her. A red haze blurred his vision and the sounds around him began to grow quiet as his inward focus became all consuming.

Finally he heard his name being called from far away. A hand jostled his elbow. He spun, club raised in his meaty right fist, only to see the face of Maraxius. The guard was pointing to the open tunnel indicating that it was his time to fight. Barely able to control his rage, feeling as if it was a red hot blanket settled about his shoulders, Bastion stomped into the dueling ground.

The light of the late morning sun was almost blinding and it took him a few moments to adjust his eyes after the darkness of his cell. But there were the crowds of people in the stands. Calling out either his name or Sillius's. Across the sand arena, he saw his opponent. Sillius was dressed in a very ornate, yet very functional suit of mail. He held a small shield strapped to his left arm and a sword in his right. The helmet on his head was mostly open, but had a nose guard that did not interfere with the man's vision.

The two of them closed to within a hundred feet of each other then turned and bowed to the royalty box, awaiting the horn that would start the match. Bastion felt the anger burning through his veins. He looked at Sillius and saw only the person who would hurt Margaret, the person who would take her from him. Bastion released a primal scream from deep in his chest just as the horns blew to start the match.

Sillius was waiting for Bastion to make the first move, not willing to close with the giant if it meant falling into a bad position. But Bastion had planned for such a non-offensive. In his head he counted out the seconds. Three seconds had passed since the horns blew, twenty-seven seconds left to take the man down.

He hefted the javelin in his left hand, and began to charge at the armored gladiator. Six seconds down, twenty-four seconds to spare. As he closed, he passed the point where one would normally have tossed the javelin. But he was not planning on using it, as they would expect him. Eight seconds down, twenty-two seconds to go, he had closed more than half the distance to the armored man, and finally he hurled the javelin in a predictable, but very near arc. As expected, Sillius raised his shield and dodged slightly to the side to deflect the easily thrown javelin, nine seconds down, twenty-one to go.

However what Sillius was not expecting as he came up from the dodge, lowering his shield, was to see the huge, heavy mace also flying, airborne directly towards him. Bastion had tossed it the second he had seen Sillius go down into a defensive crouch to avoid the javelin. As Bastion had hoped, the armored man stood up directly into the flight path of the whirling mace.

Even from a few dozen feet away Bastion could hear the crunch of bone as the metal nose guard crumpled inwards, crushing the man's nose, twelve seconds down, eighteen left. As Sillius recoiled from the massive hit to the face, he stumbled backwards, off balance. That would prove to be his crucial error. Bastion had never stopped running, slamming into the armored man full speed while his shield and sword arms were spayed out to the side. The massive hit lifted the smaller man into the air a good four feet. When he came crashing back down onto his back, several feet behind where he had been standing only moments ago, Bastion was already standing over him. One foot on his chest, his large hands pulling Sillius's sword out of his weakened hands.

Holding the sword tip to Sillius's throat, already beginning to be coated in blood from his smashed nose, Bastion loosed a roar. Twenty-one seconds after the first horn blow and Sillius was looking up at Bastion, his own sword loosely held to his neck.

A few seconds went by as the stunned crowd absorbed what it had just seen, then broke out in thunderous applause. Over the noise of the crowd and the blood raging in his veins, Bastion almost did not hear the sounds of the closing horns, registering only twenty-seven seconds after they had blown to start the match. Bastion dropped the man's sword at his feet and strode back to the gladiator tunnel amid thunderous applause. He knew that he was going to get yelled at by the slave master. These people liked long matches, long bloody matches. But Bastion did not care. He wanted to get back to Margaret as quickly as he could. He knew the baths would come first, and he hoped that at the very least he had repaid Maraxius for the bandages and salve from the other night. He strode into the slave tunnel ready to accept whatever fate had in store for him.

Time blurred as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and watched him go, she wanted to rest more but her body demanded she get up. The guards had drifted off and again and she finally found the refuse pot and used it. Her stomach growled but she was used to such hunger even as she wondered why Bastion would be fighting on an empty stomach. She drank a little water and used the rest to clean up a little bit, as the bandages were a temporary fix at best. She had been too groggy to hear what he had said to the guards but she could hear them now.

They spoke about how fierce his opponent was and how they hoped he had enjoyed her while he still could. She bit her lower lip and wondered if perhaps she should have tried, but he had not woken her and she vowed to attempt to reward him regardless of the outcome. A different set of guards came on duty and spoke regretfully about not being able to see the fight that was due to start any minute. They unlocked her cell and pulled her roughly from where she had sat huddled in the corner. She listened hoping they would think her unable to understand them. One even went so far as to call her terrible names that she could not repeat. They mentioned she was going to be tending to all the big man's needs if she was lucky. The room she ended up in was just as secure as the cell, but there was a steaming tub, several sponges, and a towel of sorts. She prayed that he had won and she would not be facing his opponent.

Margaret heard a horn in the distance and shuddered, taking the time to look over the items provided. The next blare of horns startled her, it surely had not been enough time for the match to be completed. She dreaded the sound of heavy footfalls even as she hoped it was him walking to her.

Her hands fidgeted, one moment attempting to conceal her breasts, holding her legs close together, feeling jittery, as she looked towards the other door. She had been holding her breath and she let it out a soft murmur of thanks, "Basschun," she would have run to him if her feet would have allowed it. As it was he seemed happy and surprised to see her and she hoped the water would have cooled down some. His garments made him seem all that more gruff and as she was not sure how they were held on, hoped he would take them off or she would be forced to reveal her ineptness as removing such outlandish gear.

"Bath?" she asked softly her fingers flicking the surface of the steaming water. She could feel a new bruise forming on her arm where the guards had grabbed her but ignored the pain hoping to get a smile out of her Bastion. It surprised her how quickly she thought of him as hers, or at the very least her protector. She had heard one of the new guards mention raping her, but the others had dissuaded him by reminding him that Maraxius had said that any such use of the slave would be obvious to Bastion and something about how it would be stupid to get him angry over some cow.

Striding into the gladiatorial pens, Bastion had been prepared for a long match of shouting, and perhaps even a few lashes of the whip for a match that had gone by too quickly. However he was actually surprised to see the slave master and several of the guards laughing and cheering his name as he came back. Maraxius gave him a grin and wink and things dropped into place. Maraxius must have shared his tip with his guard mates and they were probably all quite happy over their winnings. Either that or the thunderous applause from the stands had stopped them from beating or even berating him today.

Maraxius even clapped him on the back good naturedly as Bastion went to the food table to blunt his hunger. Normally they would bring him a large meal in his cell after he had cleaned up, but there was a small tray of food in the ready area. Bastion ate a few figs while listening to the men talking. About his fight, their winnings, or perhaps the next match, he did not know.

Meanwhile in the arena

Alexander sat in the luxury seating near the royalty boxes in the stands. "Did you see that my dear?" He said turning to his wife," That fight could not have lasted more than thirty seconds. That Giant moved so fast, I would have expected him to be slow and cumbersome like the big man a few fights earlier. I think he would be the man we want if he is a slave and we can convince the current owner to sell him. Think of the prestige having a gladiator like that would bring to our house."

Alexander's wife Julia nodded her ascent as she watched the mountain of a man stride out of the arena and into the darkened tunnel. She personally wondered as to what he looked like up close. What was he like, he looked like a brutish barbarian, but the strategy she had just seen belied an ignorance often found in those from the northern horde. Licking her lips, she responded, "Yes dearest husband, I think we should definitely see if that one is for sale."

"You stay here and enjoy the rest of the matches my dear," Alexander said standing, "I shall go make inquiries about purchasing him."

In the bathing area:

Bastion sighed and walked to the bathing room to get cleaned up. He wondered mildly which slave would be there to wash him. He hoped it was the one boy with the funny hair, that child was very pleasant, often chattering on while washing Bastion. He thought that the child perhaps looked up to him in a strange way.

What Bastion was not prepared for however was the sight of Margaret in the bathing room. While he was used to his casual nudity for most of the time, the heat in this land seemed non stop, he still was taken aback by seeing this woman standing in the room bare before him.

He thought he caught a glint in her eyes, a look on her face of something, some emotion, was it joy? Was she as glad to see him, as he was to see her? Smiling at the woman, she said something to him and ran her hand in the large tub of water. He walked over towards her slowly, and ran one finger across her jaw line, and kissed her gently on the top of the forehead.

"Mahr-gah-ret, I am very pleased to see you here. Are you to bathe me after my victory? I hope that it will be something you may enjoy, I know I will. I hope perhaps you will want more than to just clean me." He said to her, knowing that his words would not be understood, but hoping that his point may come across with his husky tone of voice and his eyes, which combed across her body.

He loosened the laces holding the leathers and furs to his arm, then to his waist, pointedly ignoring the bulge that was growing in the front of his pants at the sight of her. He then turned with his back to her and raised his arm to allow her access to finish removing the dress, as a bathing servant should.

She was happy to see he had survived and with no obvious injuries. She heard his tone and she nodded fairly sure of what he meant. Margaret was glad for the space of room, as it was not as closed in as the tiny cell. He loosened his garments and once she figured out how they were lashed on her nimble fingers set to undo the rest of the laces and remove the clothing. She piled it by a wall figuring it would need to be returned somewhere. She wondered if they kept the gladiators naked because of the heat or to further prevent escape.

His skin was warm and she could feel and see the sweat. She looked at him shyly as her hands traced old scars along his chest and arms. She had seen naked men before, but it was different with Bastion, and she was unsure of how to proceed as it was not like she could just asked him what he wanted.

She stepped towards the large tub figuring that cleaning him was probably a good first step, her fingers skimmed the water testing the temperature. "It feels nice, I would join you in the tub but I think you are going to take up most of the space." She smiled and picked up a sponge and soaked it in the water, her own nudity made her more aware of her body and how it moved. She splashed him and smiled again, seeing him alive and well had given her a glimmer hope.

"The guards said I am going to take care of all your needs, and while you do not understand what it means. It is a very good thing," Margaret wished she had knew more about hand signals but figured they would work things out, because they had too. She was not quite sure what he was used to, as usually she would have soaked in the tub, wash herself, and then scrub off the dead skin with a towel. She took his hand and gently tugged him towards the tub, "Bath," she repeated splashing the water again. She was glad for the braids in her hair as it made her hair low maintenance, even as she looked forward to washing his hair. After all she had seen many slaves with shaved heads or mangled chopped haircuts.