I

Tarquinia, Italia 73AD.

The courtyard in Tarquinia was full that day as the long awaited slaves from Britannica arrived upon their shores. There had been little talk of anything else as the day drew nearer and many a wealthy Roman man hoped that the slaves would be of good stock, and Domitius was no different.

Shifting the red sash about on his shoulder, Domitius listened to the ramblings of the wealthy patrons around him discussing their wishes for the slaves they were about to purchase.

"I need a young girl to help me around the villa," A woman told her husband, "She need not be very pretty."

"Strong men, that is what we need," Another man clasped his business partner on the shoulder, who eagerly agreed, "Strong men to carry great weights and for labour."

Domitius's needs however were far greater than all of theirs. Those he bought today would be fighting under his name, bringing him glory and riches and perhaps one of them would soon earn him favour with the emperor.

Domitius's thoughts of Rome and gold laurel wreaths where interrupted when the sound of a lock being pulled back echoed out through the courtyard silencing the voices of the crowd. Looking towards the corner, he saw a line of slaves being led underneath out from underneath a covered walkway.

Led in shackles towards the stage, men on either side of them striking them if they fell out of line, the slaves from Britannica came into sight.

"Get up there!" A brute man whose face was covered in dirt shouted at a broad-shouldered slave girl. Domitius looked on hopefully but saw that she had begun to cry at the small jibe and he mentally struck her from his list. The people he chose had to be strong, both mentally and physically.

As the slaves were lined up on the wooden stage barely two feet off the ground, the people in the crowd began to approach and inspect the merchandise. Wiping his hands on his robe, Domitius strode up and down the line of ten or so captives before he chose two men, his high position offering him first choice.

The first man he chose was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a dumb, flat looking face; Domitius doubted he was very smart but he had a good physique. The second man was not much taller with long brown hair and a set jaw which spoke of defiance. Domitius would enjoy breaking it out of him.

After the price was discussed and agreed, Domitius stepped back and examined his fingernails whilst he allowed the others to fight over the scraps. The two business men chose a young man with short black hair wearing a blue tunic. Domitius thought his arms looked a little thin and his skin was slightly too soft but they may yet be able to do something with him.

Once all of them were sold they were led back inside and a fresh batch was brought out. This line was full of petite, shivering girls and Domitius shook his head instantly, he had no need for any of them. The women in the crowd rushed forward to buy themselves a new servant, taking heed not to buy any that were more beautiful than they were in case they turned their husband's heads.

The next two batches of slaves offered Domitius very little excitement as he baked under the midday sun. In the last batch, Domitius had bought only a stocky lad with round cheeks and blonde hair. He seemed a bit young and timid but that was of no matter, it would not take long to work it out of him.

Domitius began to think that these Britons were not all that savage after all, or that the best of them had been killed in the battle when the last batch was announced for the day.

Waiting at the end of the stage for them to be lined up so that he could begin, Domitius was thinking of the long travel he had to take back to his villa and thinking that this trip had almost not been worth the effort when he heard a commotion.

"Move, you stupid-" One of the guards shouted near the back but Domitius could not see who it was over the heads of the other slaves.

Stepping forward, Domitius saw a young girl resisting the guard as he tried to drag her up the steps and onto the stage. The girl shouted something in her own language as she pulled on her chains, trying to get away, when the man's strength overcame her and she was yanked to the ground. The mass of hair, which could have been blonde under all of the dirt and grime, fell around her face, shielding her. Before she could stand, the man dragged her up the steps and hoisted her into position.

Domitius thought that was the end of it and began to turn around when he saw the girl raise her head, and he was struck by the cold beauty of it. Her jaw was smooth but strongly set, her nose straight and through the mud on her flesh he could see that her eyes shone a bright aqua. The image was spoilt however as she pulled her head back a little and spat in the man's face, and an audible gasp filled the courtyard at the young girl's savagery.

As the man raised his whip to strike her, her eyes squeezing tightly shut, Domitius raised a hand.

"Halt," Domitius told him.

The guard, whose whip was a mere inch from marking the girl's skin permanently, froze and looked at Domitius. Breathing so heavily that his lower lip trembled, the man's arm shook as he forced himself not to act upon his desire and hurt the girl.

Lowering his arm the man stalked off the stage, each of his heavy footsteps filling the air like a drum, and Domitius took a step closer to the girl, his interest piqued when she lifted her gaze to meet his directly.

The corner of his lip tilted upwards as he saw the stubbornness that lingered there and he looked deeper. He imagined her skin would have been a pale cream colour before but now it was covered in muck and burnt from sun exposure, and her hair, which ran past her shoulders and was filled with knots and curls, he could see would most surely be blonde as he had first thought.

Domitius had purchased girls before to fight for him, after all female gladiators were quite the novelty, but those girls had been stocky and big-boned whereas the girl before him was rather small and slender, not his usual type.

But despite lacking in her figure, the girl's eyes made up for Domitius's hesitation. Like two wide jewels set in her skull, Domitius stared at the striking flecks of sapphire and cobalt in them and saw something close to determination and strong will inside of them.

Stepping back, Domitius looked at the girl from head to toe before he said, "I shall buy her."

At his words the girl's eyes shifted frantically in confusion, not understanding what he was saying when she was yanked back out of the line, her eyes looking to someone at the other end of the line.

Following her gaze, Domitius saw that an older boy began to struggle at the sight of this girl being taken away. He could only be a few years older and yet his jaw was prominent and his cheekbones chiselled. He swung his wrists around so that the guard could not grab them before he elbowed the man in his nose and tried to run to the girl.

The crowds grew restless and appalled as he shouted something in his native tongue at the young girl but Domitius felt his heart begin to pick up pace in exhilaration. This was exactly the slave he had come here to buy, strong and handsome. The crowds would love him, and he would bring Domitius a lot of money.

Domitius watched the pair with interest until the boys restraints prevented him from moving any further and he was forced to the ground, his head pressed into the wooden stage, and yet he continued to fight.

"Stop," Domitius told the guards before they did irreplicable damage, "I will buy him too."

The guards looked at one another before the man got to his feet and dragged the boy along with him. Shoving him across the stage in frustration, Domitius watched as the boy hurried to the girl's side and held her close. Domitius worried slightly when he saw this; he had a strict policy against fraternisation but he had no worries that he could tear them apart if it grew too complicated.

"That is all," Domitius told the guards, "Have them prepared and waiting for me in an hour."

With one last look at the boy and girl, Domitius turned and walked away wondering what these two would bring to his future. They were wild and scared but full of potential and he was looking forward to breaking it out of them, one broken bone at a time.

*

"Come on," The slave trader growled as he reached out, grasped her wrist and yanked her down from the stage. Neither of her feet touched the steps as she almost flew off the stage from the man's strength. Stumbling, Frieda fell to the ground but the man did not stop and she was dragged along the ground.

Eoghan was shouting behind her as the harsh ground grazed her flesh. Crying as her head hit a rock and pain erupted at her temple, Frieda looked behind her and saw Eoghan hurling insults at the man as he refused to stop and help her up.

Stretching out her fingers, Frieda grappled at the man's arm as he held the length of chain between her bound wrists and continued to pull her along like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Wrapping her fingers around his arm Frieda let out a small cry of pain as she pulled herself up, her arms shaking from how weak she was. Holding onto his arm until she was able to place her feet on the ground and keep up with him, Frieda winced when she felt the throbbing pain in her head.

Taken back inside, they were placed beside a line of other men with Frieda at the end. Looking around, Frieda could see that the other men and women which had been captured from their homeland were now all separated into smaller groups throughout the room.

"Bradan, my friend," Eoghan whispered in relief when he saw him in the same line. Frieda looked down at Bradan with his long brown hair resting over his shoulder and set gaze.

"Eoghan," Bradan leaned past the other men, "Do you know where we are going?"

Eoghan shrugged his shoulders.

Frieda did not want to know where she was going. She wanted to go home; she wanted to go back to Britannica and find her sister.

She did not know how long they were waiting for when a guard returned and ordered them to march outside once more, with Frieda at the front. She wondered what was going to happen now when they emerged outside and found a wooden carriage waiting in the street, pulled by two horses.

Frieda stared at the carriage in horror as she thought that it looked more like a cage for a single beast than a group of people. Square in shape, it had bars on all four sides for the public to look in and gawp at the foreign slaves. As she was led around the back, Frieda found a set of steps had been laid out to help them ascend willingly and unaided into their cage of servitude. Frieda clenched her jaw, fighting back tears as she lifted her foot and began her ascent.

Before she reached the top step, the smell of urine and faeces, warmed underneath the sun, crashed into her like a wave upon a ship. Her stomach churned, threatening to make her hurl, as she ducked inside and felt the damp, soiled straw beneath her bare feet.

Clasping a hand to her mouth, Frieda felt as if she was suffocating as the stench burned her every orifice. She began to turn around, unable to withstand it and wanting to escape when a guard beside the cage reached inside with a long stick and struck her hard in the leg.

"Hurry it up!" He shouted.

Crying out, Frieda stumbled into the corner of her cage and she collapsed upon the pile of sodden straw. As she felt it begin to seep into her clothes, staining her flesh, she shook with anger and embarrassment.

Equally revolted and angered, Eoghan reluctantly sat beside her, steeling his jaw as he did so. She looked at him and saw the rage in his eyes. But she also saw that that same rage was pointed inward on himself because there was nothing he could do either.

Despite everything Frieda was glad he was with her, that she was not alone. If Eoghan was not here she knew that she would not survive. She simply wasn't strong enough. As more and more people were crowded into their cage, Frieda hugged her knees against her chest and turned her face towards the bars where the fresh air brushed past, not daring to enter.

Once the cage was filled with more people than Frieda could count on her fingers, the carriage began to move.

Frieda rested her forehead against the bars as the carriage was jolted continuously from one side to the other as the wheels made tracks over the uneven cobbles. Pressing her eyes shut as she forced the tears back, Frieda felt hopeless and began to wish that she had died with her family back in Britannica.

Nothing good could ever happen to her now.