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T he dim glow of torches cast flickering shadows across the arena, as if the very spirits of the fallen sought to reclaim their place amongst the living. My sandals sank into the coarse sand, each grain a testament to the blood and sweat that had been spilled there. The wooden bleachers loomed above me, a silent witness to countless battles fought for the fleeting adoration of the crowd.

My hand slipped down the broom handle and for a moment, I gripped the wooden hilt of a sword. I closed my eyes, feeling the thunder of hooves on the ground beneath my feet, the roar of the crowd around me as I drove my enemy to their knees...

"Get to work, Livia!" Drusus, the arena's owner, barked at me, his voice shattering my daydream.

"Of course, Dominus." I forced a weary smile and gripped my broom tighter. My muscles ached from labouring in this place, but I couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness. Even as a slave, I had to maintain some semblance of dignity.

I swept the sand, my thoughts wandering to the stories my mother and father once told me under the warm glow of the hearth. Of heroes and glorious battles. And dragons. How I'd yearned to see a dragon. Those tales seemed so distant now, yet, even here, in this den of violence and despair, I clung to them as tightly as the broom in my hands.

"Hey, watch it!" A gladiator pushed past me, his scarred face twisted into a snarl. I took a step back, trying to make myself as small as possible.

"Sorry," I muttered, my heart racing. I despised arrogance and entitlement, but I knew better than to challenge those who wielded power over me. Gladiators were still slaves, but they mattered more than me. They brought in the money and Drusus wouldn't be bothered if one knocked me down, as long as I could still get up and work. I tended to avoid most of them when possible.

"Let her be!" Marcus called out, shooting me a quick smile. He was one of the trainers, and a fair one. I’d admired him from afar for years.

A gladiator himself, but one who had fought for many years and had earned himself a higher rank over the others. Drusus treated him almost as an equal and Marcus received benefits the others didn't, like his own room and meat three times a week. He could take any slave he wished for the night too, whereas the other gladiators were only permitted one a week. I'd never heard of him taking one though.

I enjoyed watching him during the battles in the arena. He was tall and muscular, with skin like polished ebony and piercing dark eyes. His voice carried an air of authority, and even the most hardened fighters respected him. Few liked to go up against him.

Here in the small towns of the empire, gladiators rarely faced each other in battles to the death. That was far too costly and a waste of food and training. Instead they fought until one forfeited and fed the crowd's desire for blood by taking on ferocious animals baited and enraged.

Only last week, I'd seen Marcus take down a mirage cat single handed. I had replayed the fight over and over in my head since then, memorising each lunge and retreat until I could tell the story to the other slaves.

The scarred gladiator grumbled, stalking away from me, and I continued to sweep the area. There was a battle planned for the night and the arena needed to be cleaned and ready before the sun reached the horizon. Cleaning around training was tricky, and I had to dodge several sparring pairs as I went. One pair came towards me so fast, I stumbled to the side out of their way before they collided with me.

I turned to see Septimus striking hard at his opponent again and again, leaving no time for the defending gladiator to do anything except block his strikes, until his back was against the arena wall. I grinned, recognising one of Septimus's signature moves. Tarus had taught him it when we were children.

Until five storms ago, Septimus had been a slave like me, working at the arena rather than fighting. Not content to sweep floors and scoop up blood and guts from the arena floor, he'd argued repeatedly with Drusus to allow him to try out as a gladiator. Five storms ago, a wasting sickness had taken the lives of six gladiators and laid up another four, leaving Drusus with only twelve gladiators to please the crowd and Septimus had been only too pleased to step up.

Now he was a crowd favourite. He was a great fighter and he inspired me, though I'd never tell him that. He was a slave who had become a gladiator. If he could do it, then so could I, and if I could gain access to the arena then I would be unstoppable. Of course, he was still a dick. Apparently even gladiator training couldn’t change your personality.

I swept slowly around the fighters as they trained, my eyes flicking up to watch each man or woman, studying their moves. I had been blessed by the gods with a very good memory, and I could often recreate fights I'd seen when it was just me and my poor excuse for a sword.

Vaius looked up and caught me watching them. "See that you stay out of the way, girl," he growled, his muscles rippling beneath the scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms. He wore leather armour and carried a sword and shield, like many of the other fighters. Their visages were fierce, reminding me of the very tales I crafted in my mind during brief moments of respite.

Girl, I thought with irritation. I was nearly twenty six storms. Had I not been a slave I would have my own business by now, or be joined to another and have a family. Or have graduated from the military academy, I thought wistfully. That had been my dream. Mine and Tarus. And Septimus too, I supposed. To attend the academy, to graduate with honours and rise up the ranks until we received the most prestigious military reward one could receive - a dragon egg presented by the emperor himself.

I shoved the thought away. I was about as far from dragons as we were from the fabled ocean. Sighing, I bent down to yank a stray bone from the sandy floor, throwing it into the wooden bucket I carried along for that reason. Carrion birds would descend on the arena after a fight, drawn by the blood, and although the majority of remains would be removed, there would often be the odd limb they could strip back to the bone.

I had been unsuccessful again the previous week in persuading Drusus to let me at least demonstrate my sword skills. He had looked me over disdainfully and laughed at the very idea of me going into the arena, before telling me I was lucky to hold the position I did where I wasn't called upon to risk my life. He continued to tell me how blessed I was after he'd ordered me to my knees and fucked my mouth.

I couldn't blame him. I didn't exactly fit the ideal image of a female gladiator. The two we had at our arena were slaves taken from the west of the empire, where it was said that the trees were tall enough to tower over your head and the leaves were copper green. They were as tall as most of the men, with broad shoulders, heavy breasts and arms as thick as my thigh. They were impressive and I loved to watch them fight.

Although I wasn't short by any means for an imperial woman, I barely reached the shoulder of most of the gladiators. My frame was slender, and I had sadly never been overly blessed with womanly curves. Drusus was right, I couldn't compete in strength against a gladiator, but it didn't stop me from being determined to try. I just needed someone to take a chance on me.

Suddenly, the sound of trumpets blared, signalling the end of training and the serving of evenmeal. I hurried to finish my chores as the gladiators left the arena to return their weapons and armour to the armoury. I finished cleaning the arena and made my way back to the slave quarters. The other slaves were already there, preparing and serving the evening meal. I joined them, taking my place at the table and waiting for my small portion of the food.

Gladiators were served first. They needed to eat and prepare for the upcoming fight. They also got meat on fight days, and one other time during the week. Slaves got meat once every two weeks and on festival days. Today was not a meat day, but there was the broth left over from cooking it, and a serving of flatbread. The fight the previous week must have brought in a good amount of money, because there were also three dates apiece tonight.

As we ate, the slaves chatted and laughed, but there was an underlying tension as the battle drew nearer. The gladiators finished eating and left the room to ready themselves. Some of the slaves left too, assigned to help them get their armour on. I rushed through the rest of my meal, keen to watch. I had finished my chores for the day, although I would need to be available after the fight in case any gladiator requested my company.

After the fight, the men would often need to find ways to calm themselves, and the majority would take a slave to their beds. I had been going since I became a woman at fifteen storms. I had been later than most, but Drusus had patiently waited, his position as my owner meaning he would be the one to introduce me to carnal activities. From what I'd heard from other slaves, Drusus had been kinder than most, though he’d got rougher as I got older. Sadly, I seemed to be one of his favourites, but I had soon worked out that if you acted keen, most men could be kind, though there were always exceptions.

Clearing my plate, I headed out of the eating area, but instead of heading straight to the arena, I made my way back to my quarters. I shared a room with four other female slaves, but there was no one there as I reached the room. They must have already got ready for the fight.

Working fast, I removed my tunic and slipped behind the curtain in the corner of the room, using the water basin and a rag to clean my body quickly. As one of the higher ranking slaves, I had the privilege of owning two tunics, and I pulled the cleaner one over my head, smoothing it down.

I pulled the wooden pins out of my dark hair, letting it fall to my shoulders. I brushed it through, wishing I had some of the scented oil my mother had often used to brush through her hair. Instead, a simple brush through would have to do. I pinned my hair back up again into a bun at the nape of my neck, but pulled a couple of locks of hair down to frame my face.

A roar came from the arena and my head snapped up. They were starting. Not wanting to miss any of the fight, I quickly did up my sandals and ran out of the room. I made my way to the bottom of the stands underneath the crowd above, squeezing past the animal handlers to where a few of the slaves were standing to watch. I looked out into the arena and my heart raced from the energy in the arena – the electric hum in the air before the storm of violence.

My friend Octavia turned as I reached her side. Another imperial slave, she had been sold when her father had run up debts he couldn't pay. She'd been seventeen storms when she'd arrived at the arena, only a month after I had, and she'd taken one look at me and stubbornly decided we were going to be friends. I hadn't had much choice in the matter and we'd been inseparable ever since.

"You took your time," she said. "I thought you weren't going to bother tonight."

I grinned at her. "When do I ever miss a battle, Tavi?"

"Well, there's always a first time.”

“Never going to happen. What animals have we got tonight?"

"Oh, no animals," said Tavi, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. "Haven't you heard? Drusus got another arena to bring more gladiators to the town for ours to fight. He promised them a big reward if they can best ours."

"No wonder the crowd is so riled up," I said, peering over the wooden divide to try and catch a glimpse of these strangers. "If there's going to be human blood spilled. Who's fighting? Do you know?"

Tavi closed her eyes, trying to remember. "Marcus, Septimus, Antonius, Vaius, Andus, Lucius, Tarsus and... Cato."

I grunted at the last name, secretly offering up a prayer to the gods that tonight was the night Cato met a messy end. I said as much to Tavi, and she quietly agreed. None of the slaves liked Cato. He did some of the training, and he was a bully. Around the slaves he liked to swagger and throw his weight around, always reminding us that we were worthless and that he was a great fighter.

"He is good though," she murmured. "Even Marcus says he's one of the best."

"Mmm..." I said, glancing over to the enclosure where our gladiators were getting ready to fight. I watched as a slave helped Cato on with his helmet.

"He is very good..."

"But?" asked Tavi.

"But he's... predictable. He used the same patterns and techniques over and over again. It's so easy to see what he's going to do next, and he doesn't adapt well."

Tavi nodded. "I see what you mean," she said.

A roar went up and I looked out to see Drusus striding out into the arena. He held up his hands and the crowd quieted.

"Veredus!" Drusus bellowed. "Tonight our fine warriors face a threat greater than ever before. Tonight I give you... the killers of Hikma!"

The trumpets blared and the opposing gladiators strode out into the arena and even I felt a jolt of excitement as I saw them. Their leathers were black and well used, and their skin colour ranged from light brown to almost black. Each face had been painted with the image of a skull - a threat of death that sent chills down my spine. The leader was a huge man that would possibly equal the height of Antonius. He held his hands up, encouraging the crowd who roared their approval.

"Well, he knows how to play the game," commented Tavi.

"He does indeed," I said, watching him closely. The crowd was already in a frenzy, eager to see bloodshed. Our gladiators emerged from the gates, their armour glinting in the sunlight. Marcus was among them, his presence commanding respect. Antonius and Septimus followed behind, then the others.

The leader of the challengers did not recoil. He strode forward, holding his hand out. Marcus grasped his wrist, and he did the same to Marcus. It was supposed to be a symbol of good sportsmanship, something I'd always thought stupid considering they were about to try and kill each other.

"We will destroy you," said the challenger calmly.

Antonius stood at Marcus's side and he grinned.

"Will you? I must say, it's nice to see you girls dressed up for us. I apologise for not doing the same." He turned and shouted over his shoulder. "Quick lads, we forgot to put our makeup on too!"

The gladiators tittered and the challenger's face was like thunder.

"We bring death to this arena," he said, towering over Marcus and sending a glare at Antonius.

"Then you can take it with you to Inferi when we send you there," said Marcus, no longer smiling. The two broke apart and the gladiators formed up, awaiting the sound of the trumpets.

"May the gods grant us victory," Marcus shouted, as the crowd began to cheer and shout. The atmosphere in the arena was electrifying, like a spark ready to ignite a blaze. “Victory and honour! Glory and long life to the Emperor.”

"Victory and honour," I murmured to myself, watching them with a mixture of awe and envy. I gripped the handrail tightly, the coarse wood biting into my palms. The trumpets sounded and the battle began.

The roar of the crowd filled my ears, drowning out any rational thoughts as I watched the gladiators clash in the centre of the arena. Steel met steel with a deafening crash, followed by grunts and cries of pain. My heart raced, fear and fascination warring within me as I witnessed the brutal spectacle.

"Antonius! Stop playing and kill them!" I heard Drusus shout from his seat above the fray, his bald head gleaming with sweat as he waved his meaty arms in encouragement. "And watch that leg sweep, Septimus!"

His laughter echoed as Septimus narrowly avoided a crushing blow from his opponent. I flinched at the sound, but couldn't tear my eyes away from the battle.

"Strike now, Antonius!" Marcus called from the edge of the arena, his dark eyes focused intently on the fight. Antonius lunged forward, catching his opponent off guard, and my breath caught in my throat. It was all happening so fast – the dance of death unfolding before me, both terrifying and mesmerizing. The gladiator he struck fell to the sand, his helmet crumpled under his blow.

"Valour, Antonius!" yelled Marcus from nearby, praising his man. "Take out the leader!"

Antonius flashed his easy smile even as he adjusted his position. "Valour, Marcus! But only if you promise to sing me a victory song after my next triumph!"

Laughter rippled through the other gladiators and it seemed to spur on the enemy. They fought back with a sudden ferocity that wiped smiles from our gladiators and had my heart thumping behind my ribs.

"Focus!" Marcus barked, snapping me back to the present. "You can jest after you've shown me you're worthy of the arena."

Tavi and I watched, joining in with the cheering as more of their men fell to our swords, and calling out in disappointment as Andus went down in a spray of blood from a particularly vicious strike by the leader.

I focused on Septimus, who was closest to us. He was facing down a heavyset fighter, much bigger than he was, who seemed quite confident that he was going to bring him down by the insults that flowed from his mouth, Septimus had heard much worse that the drivel this guy was coming out with, and it didn't affect him at all.

The crowd laughed and jeered, expecting Septimus to be crushed underfoot. But Septimus was quick and nimble, dodging the larger fighter's attacks with ease. He struck back with his sword, landing blow after blow until the larger fighter was on his knees, defeated.

The crowd roared, impressed by Septimus's skill. I watched, my heart beating fast with excitement, and if I admitted it, the slightest relief. I might think Septimus was arrogant and overbearing, but he was all that was left of my home, and I would be even more alone if he were to be killed. If Septimus could become a gladiator, then maybe there was hope for me too, I reminded myself. That could be me out there.

I glanced over to where Marcus was fighting, thinking over the plan that had begun to occur to me earlier that evening. Marcus was well respected, and if he recommended me for training, Drusus might well listen to him. I just needed to get him on my side, to get him to watch me train. I was sure if I could convince him to at least watch me, he would be confident enough of my skills to persuade Drusus to give me a chance.

Of course, in my time at the arena, I had learned that unless you were their equal in status or strength, there was really only one way to get a man to listen to you, and that was to encourage their affections in certain ways.

I had never been in Marcus's bed, and the thought of it didn't fill me with as much apprehension as I thought it would. Watching the way he moved, like some huge mirage cat, his muscles bunching and stretching out under his armour, the thought occurred to me that it could be quite enjoyable.

Another roar went up from the crowd as Antonius finally fought his way to the arrogant leader and faced him in the centre of the arena. The leader was the last one standing, and I sent a silent prayer to the gods, asking for strength and endurance for Antonius. I enjoyed his easy manner and his carefree humour. He treated everyone the same, slave and gladiator, and I would miss his kind presence if he were to be killed tonight.

I needn't have worried. Antonius was a master of his craft, and he fought with the ferocity of a lion. He landed blow after blow on the leader, driving him back with each strike. The crowd was on their feet, screaming and cheering, and I found myself swept up in the excitement.

"Finish him, Antonius!" Marcus shouted, his voice ringing out over the chaos.

Antonius grinned, his eyes flashing with excitement. They circled each other, the tension palpable as they both searched for an opening. Then, with a sudden lunge, Antonius struck, his sword finding its mark and piercing the enemy's chest.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their voices echoing off the walls of the arena. I joined in, my heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline.

Victory was ours.