As Decius left the arena a strong hand clapped him on the shoulder. It was one of the others from the ludus, one of the ones who hadn’t faced a fight to the death before. Decius felt a sudden revulsion. She had been no different from him, from any of them, other than circumstance. He shrugged off the praise of the young gladiators. Many of them would be dead by sundown, he realised.

He returned to his quarters. It was getting late in the day, the sun beginning its long journey down towards the western horizon. The room had a hazy quality, light no longer coming in directly through the window but from an undefinable source. Decius removed his armour, which he now realised he had forgotten to take off in the armoury when he had left the arena. He let the segmented metal plates of the arm guard clatter to the floor. His blank, smooth secutor helmet fell alongside it. He looked at the faceless helm, its tiny circular eyes that were its only human feature. The rest of his clothes followed the armour to the floor and he took a step into the small bathing nook and opened the spout. Water from a tank on the roof that was constantly in sun came flowing in, warm and relaxing.
Sinking into the water, he thought about Valentinian. What was his game, trying to kill off his new acquisitions? He had described it so dispassionately. Treating even slaves like this – had Rome become so cruel while Decius had hidden away in the Valley?
His thoughts were interrupted by a shuffling of feet at the front door of the room. “Come in,” he said. It was Camelia. When she saw the red wound in Decius’ shoulder, that even he had begun to forget about, she gasped and threw herself towards him.
“Careful,” Decius laughed, standing up and catching her easily. “I can’t have you walking up to the villa in a soaking wet dress.” Camelia nodded and stepped back out of the nook, looking around.
“What are you doing?” Decius asked.
“Looking for something to sit on. Do you not have a stool-?”
Decius grinned. “I didn’t say you couldn’t come in.” He patted the spot next to him in the little pool of sun-warmed water. Realisation dawned on Camelia’s face, and then a sly little smile followed it.
“Turn around,” she said. Decius did so. He heard her dress hit the floor, and then her arms were warm around his neck and she was next to him. “It’s not right to watch a girl undressing,” she said.
“Can I look now?” Decius said. Camelia laughed softly.
“I don’t see why not. I’m not undressing now,” she said.

Camelia traced the shallow wound with a fingertip. “Amazon, is she-”
“Dead,” said Decius. After a few more moments, he spoke again. “I feel like something’s happened to me. I never used to doubt myself. I faced my enemy and he died. But when I fought Amazon, I couldn’t do it. Be sure of myself, I mean. It took my life being in danger to make me commit. It’s this damned school. Made me soft.”
“Not the phrase I would use,” said Camelia with a smirk. Then she became serious, and carried on: “I don’t think you’re right, anyway. It’s good to doubt yourself sometimes. This isn’t a normal circumstance. Maybe somewhere inside you realised-” she broke off, sheepishly. “But I don’t know what you felt in that arena.”
“Realised what?” Decius said.
“I don’t know, it’s silly.” Camelia said. “I was going to say, maybe you realised that Amazon wasn’t your real enemy.”
The words hit Decius with considerably more force than a rotten pear.
“You’re incredible,” he said, before he had any time to think of anything else. Camelia giggled.
“Thank you,” she said.
“This death-tournament was all Valentinian’s idea! He wants us to kill each other! Killing off his own gladiators was part of the plan all along! At least some of them, anyway.” Decius’ face fell. “I did exactly what he wanted. I played right into his hands. Bastardis!”
“The way you talk about him. You know master Valentinian?” Camelia said. Decius darkened.
“He and I go back a long way. To the war,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it some other time. Just know that his cruelty was unmatched even then.”

That night, the ludus was lit up by a great bonfire in the courtyard. The gladiators of Aurea Valle, those of them that were still alive, laughed and drank and celebrated the end of the first day of the games. Still, there were noticeably fewer than there had been that morning, and the celebrations were tinged by the wine-cups left untouched, filled for fallen warriors who would never taste their fruits. Decius stood watching the fire, sipping from his own clay vessel. At least, he thought, he was free now to make his own plans against Valentinian.
He approached a group huddled around a small table, playing a game with dice. He recognised a few of them from the morning’s fight against Amazon. When they noticed him, they cheered up some.
“Decius!” said one. “You showed that canes what the valley can do!” he said, re-enacting the climactic thrust that had ended that bout with a meat skewer straight at him. He realised that this was neither the time nor the place to broach the subject of Valentinian. He finished his wine, chatting with the other gladiators, until a figure approaching in the dark suddenly caught his eye, a white dress swirling in the firelight.
Camelia buried her head in his chest, and he could feel tears rolling down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Decius asked.
“It’s not over.” Camelia said “He’s going to kill you!”
Decius pulled her away from his chest and looked down into her eyes, shimmering in the half-light of the fire. “But I defeated his champion. His deadly woman warrior. There was no mention of a second round.”
“Mention, no. Intent, yes. There’s a secret training camp hidden in the hills on the way to town. Someone master Valentinian calls the ‘Black Dog’. The deadliest warrior in the province, he says. Maybe the Empire.”
Decius held her shoulder reassuringly. “That’s just talk,” he said. “They wanted us to think Amazon was unbeatable. Don’t worry about me. When is this next round to take place?”
“On the third day of the games,” Camelia said, suddenly very self-conscious, looking around at the oblivious gladiators and dabbing tears from her eyes. “In two days.”
“Then I have only tomorrow,” Decius muttered. “I won’t have time to train like I did for Amazon.”
“Can you do it?” asked Camelia. Decius nodded.
“There’s always a way. ‘If you can’t win, you change what winning means and do that instead.’” he quoted. “My sergeant said it to me once.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Decius said with a nervous laugh, finishing another cup of wine. “Change what winning means, I suppose.” He looked around. “I heard Tertius won his fight, but I haven’t seen him. Where is he?”
“At the surgeon,” said a rough voice from behind him. The owner of the voice was a tough-looking man with a banded leather imitation of a soldier’s lorica armour. One of Valentinian’s guards. “He killed his opposite number, but he took a nasty cut to the leg. They’re doing what they can for him.”
Decius stumbled. The wine was stronger than the usual weak stuff they had down at the ludus. A lot stronger. He sniffed the cup, and found he couldn’t make sense of anything he smelled.
“I can take you to see him,” said the guard. “If you want.” Decius nodded. That sounded good. Helpful. He said something to Camelia, something like “I’m this going nice man with,” and allowed himself to be led out of the open front gate.
“Where surgeon is?” slurred Decius, the orange light of the fire receding into the distance.
“Just a little further,” the guard said. “He lives close to town. Quite a job getting your friend out here, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Oh, town closer. Sense makes a lot.”
The guard’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, Jupiter, we’ve got a sharp one tonight,” he muttered to himself. “Sense makes a lot, that’s right,” he said aloud.

The guard led Decius to a small hut quite some way in the wrong direction for the town.
“Here we are,” he said. “I’ll knock on the door and let them know we’re here,”
“This small for a surgeon,” Decius said good-naturedly.
“He’s a small surgeon,” replied the guard.
He left Decius leaning against a tree for support and went to the door. It opened a crack, and a craggy, broken-nosed visage appeared in the dark.
“You’ve got him?” Broken Nose said.
“Went down a storm,” said the guard. “What does the boss want with him anyway?”