✕ “And that’s four in a row without a break, without fault! Is there anyone else...? Will anyone step up to Achilleia the Amazon? Come now, there must be someone. Fifty silver denarii to any gladiatrix who can put her on her back...!”
Achilleia stood still in the enter of the small dusty amphitheater, listening to her editor loudly shout this nonsense to his competitors and to the small crowd that had gathered to watch the fighters train. He was quite the showman in addition to being a slave trader; she was almost impressed with his relentless theatrical presentation.
In this small gathering of gladiators and gladiatrices, her editor was making small change off of bets. The other slave traders were wary of sending their gladiatrices in against her; she wasn’t killing anyone today, but they were being injured --- and with the fighting games ahead in just a day in a larger amphitheater in Rome proper, no one wanted to be injured; it would be a death sentence tomorrow. This gathering was only supposed to be for training, practice... but her editor never let an opportunity to make money off of his most famous product go.
“...” At the name ‘Achilleia the Amazon’, she gave a huff and looked away. In that Greek-styled helmet and so little leather to cover her body, she must have really looked the part. Clever marketing; the crowds always turned out to see this alleged Amazon fight.
She almost missed it when an opponent volunteered in the hopes of winning fifty silver denarii. Achilleia turned her light blue eyes over to see who had volunteered to fight her, and she unceremoniously spun her gladius once for fun and stepped forward. It didn’t take long. A clash of swords, a few grunts and growls, and her foot soon kicked against the other woman’s chest to knock her onto her back. Achilleia was done with this. Someone else could take a turn.
She turned away from the center of the small arena and hurriedly jogged off, towards a barrel by the side of the arena, hoping to get a drink of water on this hot day. The observers who were standing nearby keenly dispersed from the barrel. They would admire her from afar, but she was still a slave, and a slave with a weapon no less. No self-respecting Roman would actually want to be near her.
@parisezu.
