SPQR- Chapter 3
When Martellus was young, there was nothing that cheered him up than seeing the arena where the gladiators battled. The strongest of all the species in Rome would do battle here, often to the death, with all manner of dangerous weapons. Chariot races, re-enacted battles, plays imported from Grecia, and the work of the bestiares (wild-animal fighters) had enthused Martellus, and the wolf's father just as they had captured the hearts and minds of all Rome's people. Yes, some of those "hearts and minds" did indeed end up littering the floor of the arena but that simply played into the character of the city. With the exception of the Greek plays, there were actual deaths on the arena floor but whenever this happened, the crowds cheered this as just part of the spectacle. The Romans liked their entertainment brutal and bloody, and Martellus knew that this would be nothing new- he had already participated in military conquests which were by their very nature, filled with death.
In an attempt to patch the scars of the wars the Roman wolf soldier had fought in, Martellus determined that a trip to the arena with his father would be the proper event which would make him feel more Roman. It had been many years since Martellus had witnessed a battle in the arena between the gladiators, and he was certain that a battle in which he had literally nothing to fear would be refreshing. He had already made it known to his garrison that he would no longer participate in foreign conflicts, having paid off a debt to the Empire and having suffered dearly for it. After what turned out to be such a wonderfully successful campaign against the Judeans, there would be no dishonor in retiring from the Imperial army. In fact, there was nothing but honor and reward for the wolf who had fought so valiantly against the Judeans. But the war had changed him- Martellus Lisenius would never fight for Rome again, at least not in the foreign provinces. There were so many atrocities he had born witness to that, even at his young age of 31, the wolf had already grown weary and tired of war. He knew full well that in a short time, his father's seat on the Senate would become his and he would have to show the same honor and integrity as he had shown on the battlefields of Judea and Thracia as a younger wolf.
But the heavy responsibilities of a Senate career still in the future dissipated as Martellus began his walk down to the arena with his father for that ancient Roman pastime. When Rome was still a republic, the arenas were used for contests of strength and skill by the gladiators, the strongest individuals of the Empire who fought with all kinds of weaponry in battles to the death. These battles were occasional, and each of the gladiators, usually members of the Imperial army had voluntarily decided to fight for the entertainment of the Roman people. But in Martellus' time the Republic had given way to the Empire and so the tastes of the people had changed into something far more bloodthirsty. The gladiators now were matched against conscripted men, enemies of the state, and religious minorities (those who refused to bend their knees to the Emperor), and these fights against professional killers were one-sided. As Martellus took his seat next to his father, he looked around at the seats now filled with Romans of all species, all enthused at the thought of seeing glorious battles played out on the sands of their arena.
The first event of the afternoon was the chariot race. Martellus had been a chariot driver, having experienced the power and speed of the Arabian horses, which his army had confiscated from many of their defeated foes. Only the fastest horses would be appropriate for the army, having to cover such vast distances. The chariots were of course the work of master craftsmen, the ones at this race were created solely by builders with a lifetime of experience, many of whom worked for the Roman army itself. These races were dangerous, because as well-made as the chariots were, they were never designed to be in high-speed collisions with other chariots. And yet to be the fastest driver would require such reckless crashes at bone-jarring speeds. Many times a chariot had broken down under the intense battering of the other charioteers and several times, many young drivers were ran over and simply trampled to death or permanently disfigured. The race today was thrilling, with a young cougar just barely losing out to a fox who had at one time served as a legionnaire just as Martellus had.
Then came the gladiator battles between a Roman lion and one who had been conscripted from Cyrenaica, although this was of his own choice to fight. The war these two men fought against each other was well worth the cost of admission by itself with each swing of the sword matched by one of equal strength or a dodge of incredible agility. The lion from Rome was the victor and very soon his gladius cut the throat of his victim- the gladiators knew very well that there was shame in defeat. To beg for mercy was not Roman and thus the gladiators would either win honor in the arena or literally die trying. And then other gladiators came and exacted Roman justice on many of the slaves that they had taken from Judea and the other provinces. This caught Martellus' attention, as the slaves came from many of the regions his soldiers had been assigned to.
A group of foxes in white walked onto the stage through one entrance and a gladiator walked in through another- Martellus could hear the crying of these poor foxes, who appeared to be members of a family, over the din of the crowd. There was a young vixen, only a few years younger than Martellus himself. She was with an elder fox and one of the same age, probably her father who seemed more resigned to his fate and her husband, or maybe her brother respectively. He could see they were in distress, as anyone facing the last few seconds of their life would be. In a short time, the merciless gladiators arrived and started slashing at them, their blood staining the white robes they were wearing and the sands of the arena.
"Let heaven and earth bear witness that we are innocents being killed by those with no mercy. Rome is no friend of the innocent. Rome lusts for blood!," she exclaimed and then she died, after bleeding profusely. Martellus heard her cries over the cheers of the crowd and it affected him severely. It wasn't the violence of the chariot race or the carnage of the gladiator battles but this shedding of innocent blood. The family of foxes, two generations worth of captured slaves had done nothing to earn this punishment but Rome was a blood-red city and demanded sacrifice. Martellus had been a member of the army and had actually participated in occupations where innocents had been killed. The damning charge that the vixen had launched on her dying breath was true and all Rome was covered in blood of innocent men. And most damning of all, Martellus was a guilty murderer, he and all his countrymen.