I AM

This is not who I thought I would be. Before my family was captured and forced into slavery, I had aspirations of becoming a wealthy business owner or possibly a scholar and philosopher. Becoming a warrior was the furthest thing from my mind. Unfortunately, our Roman conquerors had other plans.

The plebeians of Rome needed entertainment to distract them from their miserable lives, and to maintain their place in society, patricians had to satisfy this need. That’s where I and others like me came in. My physique and natural agility made selecting me for training at the Ludus School for Gladiators a simple choice. These pathetic fools had no idea who they were training.

The instructor’s treatment was harsh, but fair considering we were slaves. My weapon of choice was the gladius, or short sword, but I became adept with the trident and net, the dual sword fighting style, and the bow and arrow while on horseback. My combat skills quickly earned me the title Prime Palus or Top Warrior. The more I competed, the more the crowd roared my name. Winning became second nature to me, and collecting the money from my labors made my owner richer than he already was. Some of my colleagues were as unhappy with this arrangement as I was. It was time for a change.

Competitions in the Great Coliseum were through for the day. Fortunately, no one from my cadre had died. I lay on my bunk, the roar of the crowd chanting my name, still ringing in my ears when Flavius stopped next to me.

“Has the Master told you yet?”

“Told me what? I haven’t been told anything.”

“As Prime Palus, I would have thought you would be the first to be told. We are being sent into the arena again tomorrow without the customary day of rest. Our master has made a wager with another senator. Seven of us, with you as our leader, are to fight the senator’s pride of lions.”

“We fight men, not animals. I must speak to the master. We will not be treated in such a degrading manner. We are Gladiators, not peasants.”

“You are slaves and subject to my bidding.” The voice boomed out, filling the dorm room as their wealthy master stepped from the shadows flanked by his personal guard. “Today you are my gladiators, but should I require more slaves to work the fields in the days to come, then you will fill those jobs as well. You do not have the right to question my decisions. Understood!”

All the gladiators stood at attention and pounded their fists to their chests in a salute and replied, “Understood, Senator!”

The seven men sentenced to fight in the next day’s spectacle gathered around their leader to discuss their fate.

“Prime Palus, this is an insult. We are the best gladiators in Rome. Everyone knows us by name. Maybe we’re too good and he is afraid of us.”

“That is my thinking exactly, Flavius. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I will no longer do his bidding. If we band together with the rest of our brethren, we can free ourselves from this unfair bondage. Are you with me, men?”

The gladiator dormitory erupted as, with one voice, they yelled, “FREEDOM!”

These were battle-hardened men comfortable confronting the enemy and winning battles. A plan was quickly created to overrun the Senator’s sprawling villa and demand their freedom. Guards, realizing they were no match for the invaders, offered minimal resistance and surrendered within minutes. The Senator, being used to a life of privilege, was not willing to give up without a fight. The battle was brief and the outcome predictable.

Prime Palus stood over the fallen Senator with the point of his sword resting on his foe’s chest. Still defiant even in defeat, the Senator screamed, “Who do you think you are breaking into my home like this?”

“I don’t think, Senator, I know who I am. I am SPARTACUS and we are free men!”