V
The city's economic discord became immediately apparent as the line of
gladiators led by the gladiatrix left the confines of the school. Shabby vendors
haggled with greedy patrician customers. The regal glided amongst squalor.
Shattered amphorae littered spaces where fresh pottery was being crafted. Narrow
winding streets suffocated. Throngs of beggars clogged the way of the more
prosperous as the mounted centurion led his infantry. In the midst of the
congestion, the huge Nubian tugged the rope leash looped around Rasenna's neck
as they progressed toward the coliseum.
This morning the streets were actually less congested than normal. Most had
already taken advantage of Caesar Scipio's free admission to the spectacle, and
earlier had fought their way into the coliseum to take possession of the best
seats the upper tier afforded. Prostitutes continued to roam the alleyways,
occasionally peeking out from shaded nooks to have a look at what was hurting
their usual business.
The cloth mantle covering Rasenna's head became many shades darker than the pale
rose tunic whose color it once matched. Sharp thorns ringing it pierced the
fabric. Blood from the scalp underneath was absorbed. Coagulated blood blackened
the hue. Fresh streams stained the material. What did wounds from the crown not
darken was soaked by sweat. Precious little of its original color remained the
same as the long tunic Rasenna wore.
Progress proceeded through the narrow streets. The coliseum loomed before them.
It was not as impressive as the one in Rome, but still of great size. Statues
stood in two stories of arches surrounding the outside.
The centurion led the military escort and the chained about to perform into a
side entrance. Sounds of celebration from inside the coliseum radiated through
out the surrounding area. The last gladiator and escort disappeared as they
entered the entrance and walked down the incline to below the arena.
