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After so many years spent in the army at the borders of Germany Province, returing to Rome was strange for Marco. He couldn’t say he appreciated the capital of the Empire: he was born in a small village of a far province of Giudea and his relationship with the Romans had always been bad.
Rome was a big, chaotich and dirty city; everything that mattered happened there, or at least they thought so, and the conspiration and the subtitle roamed freerly. In the army, everything was clear, and the enemy visible in front of him.
Marco couldn’t wait to join back his legion, his family. His Pops, his commander, had ordered him to return for his promotion, and Marco wasn’t the kind of man to defy the order to the man that had given back a purpuose to him. His idea was to spent the little time possible in Rome.
Right now, he was resting in one of the lower tavern of the Suburra quartier, where he managed to rent a room for a couple of nights. Despite being a successful soldier, with enough funds to live confortable, he didn’t want to attract the attention of unwanted people. No one would look for him in that hole.
He was, of course, wrong.
“The next one is on me.”
A stranger place a silver coin on the counter and sat down next to Marco. He wore a brown hood with a mantel that hid his features entirely; yet, experience in combat told Marco he was a fighter, and his accent was from someone that was born in Rome, probably from aristocracy. Young, too.
“Thanks,” he said dully, hoping the stranger would take it as a clue to leave.
Instead, the stranger said, “I need a favor from you.”
“Not interested.”
“You haven’t heard about it yet.”
“No need,” Marco replied. “I’m here only for a couple of days, and I don’t plan to get in trouble. And I definitely haven’t an habit to help people I don’t know, even less people that don’t even introduce themselves.”
The stranger nodded, still he didn’t offer Marco his name. Instead, he said, “have you ever heard of Portgas D. Ace?”
Actually, he had. The name had reached his legion, which was strange because they’re barely informed about what happened ourside their camp, living very secluded from the rest of the empire. But Pops had taken information about this young soldier that held very well the line, almost by himself after the death of his captain, and was rewarded by the emperor himself.
Although Marco knew, he answered, “should I?”
“Maybe.” The stranger shrugged. “He’s been arrested.”
“Arrested? For what?”
“Treason.”
“And it is true?” Marco found himself asking, and then he mentally scolded himself for showing interested.
“Does it matter?” The foreign smirked, and for the first time he let Marco saw a little of his face, his blonde hair and the scar on the right side. “But no, it’s not true. They arrested him because they found out is Gold Roger’s son, and that’s reason enough.”
Marco couldn’t hide his surprise. He knew Roger very well, had even met the man in person quite some times, before he went and tried to overrule the empire, starting his conquest from the England province. He had no idea he had a son.
“They’re going to execute him?”
“They tried.” The stranger snickered. “They have a beast eat him during games. Funny enough, instead of eating him, the beast protected him. Apparently, Portgas had aided the panther during his campain in Africa.”
“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Marco stated.
“Maybe it is, maybe not.” The stranger sip something from his glass. “But what people will think of it?”
“That this man is protected by the gods.”
“Exactly.”
For the love of the Gods, Marco thought, now he was interested. He should have leave when he still had the chance. He drank down his wine.
“What do you want?”
For a second, the strager didn’t answer. “I want you to train Ace.”
“Train?” Marco blinked. He didn’t expect that.
“Since what happened with the panther, the emperor and his SCAGNOZZI couldn’t simply executed hima gain, so they turned him into a gladiator. Promise that, if he wins enough battle, they will grant him freedom.”
“I guess they hope he dies sooner or later.”
The stranger nodded. “That’s why they scheduled his next match against Doma, which is right now the strongest gladiator around. Officially, the reason was that Doma was a german, and it’s unwhorty of the romans to not being able to defeat him, so they rely on the ‘protected by the gods’ for it. Unoficially, they hope he loses.”
“And you think so, too?”
“Let’s say I’d prefer to not take risks.”
“Why me?”
“Because I know who you are, Marco the Phoenix.” The stranger looked straight in his eyes. “Undefeated Gladiator, thrteeen match in a row unscatered. They called you the Phoenix because no matter how serious your wounded were, you always turned up again.”
“I was luckly.”
Inside himself, Marco cringed. No one should know about his past. The days in the arena were something he tried to forget. The blood, the warm of the sun against the armor, the dust of the yellow and red sand around the ring… battle at the borders weren’t less cruel, yet they had something fight in the arena never had: comrades.
But there was one more pressant matter on the question: gladiators were revered and ostracized altogether. At the borders, under Pops’ protection, who he was, who he had been, didn’t matter at all. In the capital, it was a different matter entirely and a former gladiator wouldn’t be regarded with favor for a promotion. Marco really didn’t care about it, but it cared about returning home soon. A wrong rumor could delay it, and the man in front seemed the right kind of person that traded with rumors.
And, worse than everything else, the tone of the stranger’s voice gave him a certain: he knew about Marco’s secret, and that was no good.
“Are you threatening me?”
The stranger shook his head. “No need.”
“Because, from what I’ve seen, and from what you are, now you’re interested. Why should I force you on something you’re already willingy to do?”
And it was true: now Marco was interested. Not that it was ready to admit it.
“Who are you?”
“It’s not important,” the stranger replied, and stood up. He slid another coin on the counter. “What it’s important is Ace’s life. You’ll find hima t the Impel Down Gladiator School.”
Of course. The official school of Gladiators of the Empire. Marco doubted that, if they really wanted him dead, they would risk having him somewhere else when it might cause trouble. It was unfortunate: any lanister, Marco knew better. The Imperial ones… might be difficult to convince.
“I give you no guarantee.”
“I asked for none. Just a heartwilling attempt. And…” The stranger hesitated. “Thank you.”
When the stranger left, Marco remained alone in the tavern, recoleccting his thoughts and hearing again the confusion around him, that the presence of the stranger had somehow attenuated. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened.
What he knew for certain was that his return home had just been delayed and that, the day after, he would pay a visit to the Impel Down Gladiator School.
Impel Down’s lanista was Magellan, a scary and imponent man. Marco didn’t know him personally, but his reputation preceded him. He wasn’t cruel per se, but he governed his school with iron fist. No one of his gladiator had ever dared to think of a revolt, let’s aside trying one. Punishiment were something no one would take lightly. Marco had meet enough lanista to recognize a good one when he saw one. The problem was that lanista weren’t good to begin with.
Magellan had heard about Marco too. It was to be expected, since knowledge of gladiators and gladiators’ tecniques was indispensable in the job. As much as Marco didn’t like his past to be such a public knowledge, this time it could be at his advatage.
“So, Phoenix, what I can do for you?” Magellan asked. “I have to say, I’m surprised of your visit. Tired of the army? Do you want another chance in the arena?”
“No and yes,” Marco replied. His stance were relaxed, as he sat in front of him. “I’ve heard you had a young gladiator, very promising. Goes with the name of Ace.”
“Oh, yes.” Magellan snapped his fingers. “A pain in the ass, that one. People already revered him as the Gods’ chosen, but he is nothing more than a brat. Most of my men declared they would prefer trying their fortune with a Vestal than train him.”
“But he’s good?”
“He’s great, actually. If he would be just a little bit disciplined… I may used him for years.” He shrugged. “At this rate, he wouldn’t last long.”
Marco scrutinized him: Magellan looked sincere, so maybe he didn’t know the plot against Ace in order to have him killed. But Magellan was a lanista: maybe he knew, and a part of him hoped that plot didn’t work. It wasn’t goof for affairs when the better gladiators die.
“I may help with that,” Marco said. “In truth, I’m here to ask you the permission of traing Ace.”
Magellan looked at him bewildered. “That’s a pretty strange request. How come?”
“Well, you know my story, and you’re aware of Pops – my commander’s reputation. We always look for promising men, and we’re not timid to search for them in the strangest place. Pops got an interest on this man.”
“The price for Ace’s freedom is high, I tell you. It may even been impossible to pay.”
Marco shrugged. “Buti f Ace dies, we don’t even get the chance to try.”
For a while, Magellan didn’t answer. He sat there, in his chair, hands below his chin, lost in deep thoughts. Then, he nodded. “Ace is scheduled for a fight in thirthy days.”
“Against who?”
“That is a secret, for now,” Magellan replied, and this time Marco had the impression he knew more than he was saying. “You have my permission to train it for this fight. If he survive, we’ll talk a little better at the arrangement. If he dies,” he shook his head, “it won’t matter anymore, will it?”
“I don’t plan to have him die. That’s why I’m here.”
Magellan nodded. “But I have to warn you: training that little beast isn’t easy as you may think.”
Magellan’s assistance Hannyabal guided him inside the gladiator school. Other trainers were taking care of the gladiators and Marco breathed hard, the memories of his time inside a school not much different returned fully. He recognized the charateristics of the different fighting style and noticed his hand twiced in anticipation.
Ace wasn’t training with any of the other group. He didn’t even had a trainers. He was alone, in front of a pole he used like an adversary, and moved his wooden sword around ita s it was an ax. His wrist and anckles, Marco noticed, were shackled. Not enough to impede him to fight, but enough to avoid any escape attempt.
He stopped Hannyabal before he could interrupt Ace’s movement. Before approaching him, Marco wanted to observed him a little more. He was strong, of course, his arms’ muscles flexed in the movement as he hit repetely the pole, and his stance was aggressive but focused.
Another thing Marco noticed with second hand embarassement was that Ace was beautiful. He was young, more than half younger than Marco, with thick dark hair, intense dark hair and freckes spreaded all around his cheeks. The sweat enlighted his perfect almost naked body and Marco thought he wouldn’t disfigure next to a statue made by a greek’s artist of an ancient hero.
Then Ace turned, saw them and gritted his teeth. The intense glare of hatred Ace had was enough to wake up Marco by his lust’s thought. Ace stopped hit the pole, but kept the wooden sword in hand.
“What?” he demanded.
“This is Marco,” Hannyabal introduced him. “He’ll be your trainee from now on.”
“I don’t need a trainee.”
Marco expected that answer. “Which show you how much you need to learn still,” he said, gently. Then, turning a little towards Hannyabal, he prevented any reply from Ace and said, “can you provide me two swords. Real sword, made of iron. And can you take off the shakles, please?”
Hannyabal hesitated. “Magellan’s orders-”
“If I am to be his trainee, I need freedom.”
“Fine. But if he kills you, I’ll not be responsible.”
As Hannyabal left to fecth the swords, Ace snorted and threw the wooden one on the floor. “Feeling suicidal today, old man?”
“I hope you’ll regret it once this old man out you in the dirt.”
“Not likely.” Ace crossed his arms and smirked.
Funny thing, Marco realized he actually liked Ace. The man was a brat, of course, understadable from his young age and the situation he was put in, and also too much overconfidence. But the fire in his eyes was something Marco was lured to.
Once Hannyabal was back, Marco oberved with interest as Ace let him docily take off the shakles and then took the sword. A more agressive prisoner, a more imprudent one, might have try to kill Hannyabal, or at least scare him. Ace did neither: he weighted the sword on his palm and then tried some basic movement to get used to it and freed his muscle by the constriction on the chains. Once finisched, he reserved a gaze to Marco, who stood there, the hand gripped around the sword’s hilt but the tip brushing the ground.
“Ready?” he asked Marco. A second later, he attacked.
Both Magellan and the stranger had said Ace was good, and they’re not mistaken. He got speed and force and good instinct. Despite the fact he kept the sword with both hands, he was able enough to anticipate any threat not having a shield might bring, and so evitated them. His sword sang in the hair, the tinking sound resounded in the area as their blade clashed together.
Marco retreated, as he let Ace guiding the fight so he could observed better his movements, the way his foot shifted, his eyes moved around, and his stance changed during the different kind of attack. Also, Ace wasn’t stupid. Despite having the upper hand, he realized he hadn’t really put Marco at any disvantaged, and that Marco had been able to parry each blow, even if he kept the sword with only one hand.
“Are you playing with me?”
“No,” Marco answered. “I’m teaching you.”
With a movement of his wrist, he moved his sword in a horizontal position with the intention of slashing Ace’s chest. Immediately, Ace lowered his sword to parry and, at that moment, Marco lunged his foot and kicked one of Ace’s ankles. Ace lost his balance for a second, but was able not to fall. Yet, those second lost mad ehis concentration on the sword fell, and his grip became sloppy. Marco was able to disarm him easily, then kicked him on the chest and, this time, Ace fell.
Back on the ground, Ace remained there, painting hard, arms widened at his side. Marco placed his foot on his chest and the sword at his neck. The hatred was back on Ace’s eyes, but there was something else there; not admiration, of course, but the idea of having miss something vital.
“You’re good,” Marco said. “Great, even. I rarely meet someone so young and already so ready for a fight. But you lack two things.”
“Something said me you’re going to illustrate them for me.”
Marco ignored him. “Discipline and tecnique. This secondo ne can be taught easily: I don’t know how you had been trained until now, but you definitely knew the basic. So you can learn. About the first one…” The tip of the sword brushed a little Ace’s neck. “Do you want to live or die?”
“What kind of questioni s that?” Ace replied.
“Well, then.” Marco nodded and gave back the sword to Hannyabal. “I do expect to have everything I ask for my training ready. And also, no shakles during my job. If you want to keep him chained at night, fine by me, but as long as he’s with me, I need freedom.”
Hannyabal nodded: he was impressed by the fight.
Marco turned to Ace again, who was slowly stood up, using his elbow as leverage. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t wait for any witty remarks.
Marco had asked, and gained, a private space for him to train Ace. Magellan was more than eager to provide him, probably to keep Ace very far from trouble in his school. Marco had arrange the space with things that might be useful, and was now waiting for Ace. It was just after sunrise, and the light was still light.
With his surprise, Ace walked calmy in his direction as the time Marco had requested him too. He had a scold on his face, but his postured his relaxed, arms freely dangling at his side. His shoulder slumped a little as he spotted Marco, but his head was high.
“Was this your doing?” he demaned. “They refused me breakfast.”
“You can have your stomach full while training, it’ll make you sick,” Marco pointed out. “You can have your meal once we finish here.”
“I can’t train with an empty stomach.”
Marco’s expression didn’t chance. “What I told you yesterday about discipline? You need to learn to take instruction, your bodies or your comannders. Not following discipline may kill you in battle.”
Ace snorted. “Following orders from incompeted commanders might have killed me in battle.”
Marco smiled. “Do you think am I incompetent?”
At first, Ace didn’t answer. He scrutinized Marco from head to toe, judgining him, then shook his head. “I think you’re an ass.”
“But a competendo ne.” Marco laughed. “Put this.”
He made Ace wore the full armor of the gladiator, alongside with the shield and the sword. It wasn’t hot as it should, and Marco chose the sunrise because he didn’t want Ace to get too tired soo. But he knew ti wouldn’t been enought to keep Ace by training.
“Now start running until I tell you to stop.”
“Run? With this thing on?”
“Discipline, Ace. Discipline.”
With a snort, Ace started run. One thing Marco noticed as he observed him running around, was that where Ace lacked discipline, he made up with stubborness and dedication. It was clear he had no idea how good that exercice could do for it and he hated every second, but he didn’t want to give Marco the satisfaction of seeing him failing.
That was interesting, and something Marco could work with.
He let him run for all the morning and when finally he told Ace to stop, Ace colampsed on the ground. He took off his armor with no much ceremonies, sweat that made all his skin glint on the sun. At that point, it was almost midday, and the hotness was unbearable.
“This was stupid.”
“It was not, but I don’t expect you to understand yet.”
Ace glared, but didn’t reply.
“Go wash yourself then reach for me in the dining room.”
“Can I finally eat?”
“Yes.”
And Marco enjoyed seeing the look of surprise on Ace’s face when he realized that his daily meal wouldn’t be the usually SBOBBA with cereals, but there would be meat and fruits. His eyes shone and for the first time he looked younger, like a child.
“Can I really eat this?” he asked, then, suspicious. “It’s not like it raises my debts or something?”
“No. I convinced Magellan that, if he wanted to gain money, he needs to spend some first. Eat,” he added, gestured at the table. “You get a couple hours to rest, but I plan some other exercices for this afternoon.”
Ace sat down and put a mounful amount of meat on his mouth. “I may start to like you.”
It didn’t take only one meal with meat for Ace to open up to Marco, and it was a long process, buti t happened. The moment Ace realized how much Marco’s excercized did to his resistance and his muscles, he started to prove a new respect for him. Marco realized Ace was actually good in comprend his opponents’ ability. He only didn’t want to admit it if he realized he was at disvantage. So when Marco started teaching him tecniques, he was actually eager to learn. And he was a fast learner, a smart one, the kind that learn from his mistake and understood the implication even before Marco had to explain them.
After two weeks, Marco was confident Ace could actually beat Doma.
“Why?” Ace asked, one evening they were resting after a good day of training. “Why are you helping me?”
Ace had stated to open a lot with Marco, but their conversation had always been more fights, or generallt friendly bartender. This time, Ace’s expression was serious.
“Because I like you,” Marco answered. “I felt you don’t deserve to die in the arena.”
Ace lifted his gaze and looked straight in Marco’s eyes. “The truth, Marco.”
The fact that Ace could see throught his lie was somehow unnerving from Marco; it meant their relationship is actually deeper than he expected. He sighed.
“Someone asked me to. It interested me enough to try.”
“Someone? Who?”
Marco shook his head. “Never told me his name. Younger, wealthy, a scar on his face.”
“Of course!” Ace released an annoyed snort. “Sabo!”
“Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately.” Ace released another snort, but this time it was accompanied by a soft smile and a shook of his head. “He’s my sworn brother.”
Marco would like to ask more – about their relationship, about how they had come to that. But he wouldn’t risk pressing more in that blossoming friendship, not if Ace wasn’t ready to share willingly. He was happy, though, that he trusted him enough to reveal him about the mysterious stranger.
“But I didn’t lie before,” Marco added. “I really like you.”
Ace nodded, not looking at him. “You’re not so bad too. Sorry if I called you an ass, but, to my defence, you looked like one.”
Marco laughed.
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