Old Soul Syndrome |ONC 2020|

Midsummer, 53 BC

The waiting was the hardest part. The door was locked from the outside and, even if the gladiator could have broken it down, that would have been much too loud.

So we sat in the dark, in a strange sort of silence, waiting. It wasn't exactly awkward or strained. But it was unsettling to sit in a dark room, able to hear his steady breath. To know I was sitting in this small room with what was effectively a perfect stranger.

The only time it was broken was when he asked, "What's your name?"

"Does it matter?" I asked, genuinely curious.

There was a small shifting sound that I thought might have been a shrug. "I would like to know who I'll be running for my life with." I could hear the smile in his voice. He was quiet for a moment, waiting, then said, "Damianus."

"What?" 

He snorted softly. "My name. It's Damianus."

After another moment's hesitation, I managed, "Abelia."

"Is that your real name?"

I blinked, confused for a moment. Then understanding clicked into place. "My mother died when I was very young. If she had another name for me, I never had the chance to learn it."

He made a small sound of what I suspected was pity, but didn't say more. I bit at the inside of my lip, but my curiosity proved too much. "How did you come to..." My question stalled, my nerves getting the better of me.

If he had been a free man, the story of how he'd fallen into slavery was likely something he wouldn't want to discuss.

"How did I come to fight in the arena?" he offered wryly.

I nodded, then realized he obviously couldn't see that. Blushing furiously, I managed, "Yes."

A long sigh gusted from Damianus and he kept quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I was one of the legionaries at Carrhae."

"Oh," I said on a soft breath. The defeat of Crassus' legions in May by the Parthians had rocked through the empire. They had been completely obliterated, losing several eagles and bringing shame to Rome.

"A few survived the battle. Most who did were taken prisoner by the Parthians and sent to the far eastern edge of their empire." Damianus got to his feet, pacing restlessly along the short distance of the room. "I was knocked unconscious sometime during the end of the battle." Shame tinged his voice at the admission. "When I came to, the only thing around me for miles were the bodies of my comrades."

I closed my eyes, horror making tears well in my throat.

"I was found by the vultures who came to pick over the legionaries' bodies. The blow to the head I'd taken left me too addled to fight. They clapped me in irons and the next thing I knew, I was on a ship bound west." His pacing stopped. "I was sold to a man in Iberia. He sold me again to a lanista traveling to Rome."

"Why did you not tell the man who bought you that you were free? A legionary?"

"A legionary who wasn't with his legion?" Damianus scoffed and began pacing again. "I would be labeled a deserter and crucified. Or fed to the lions. I might not love being a gladiator, but at least I have the chance to fight for my life."

Again I bit at my lip, thoughts spinning. What a horrible fate to be dealt—to give your life and blood to the empire, just to have that same empire turn on you, see you as nothing more than a piece of meat, to die for its amusement instead of its glory.

And now he was intent on running from that empire. From the place of his birth.

I opened my mouth, but as soon as I did, a footstep sounded in the hallway accompanied by the sinister clank of chains.