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A Gladiator's Life - 9 - Stretch Armstrong (edited 10-16-25 +100 words)
🕑 Added 2025-10-06 00:11:12 +0000 UTCChapter 9: Stretch Armstrong
When they strapped me to the rack, my body trembled uncontrollably. Each click of the wheel made me flinch, even though it took a dozen clicks before my hips started straining. I remember my cousin telling me about gymnastics practice, where one or sometimes two of her friends would press her into the mat to achieve a split. Men and women are built differently, and when my hip popped after a click, I screamed. My eyes teared up, but I saw no sympathy in the eyes of Varka or the others in my training group. Varka looked pleased, and the others looked fearful for their turn.
Faustus came and healed me, and just as the pain was erased, the wheel clicked again as the guard turned it. I screamed again as there was a louder pop this time, and Faustus yelled, “Back it off. The bone has dislocated from his hip. Too hard to heal that way under pressure.” The pressure eased, and I panted in relief. A soldier snapped the femur head back into place. Faustus healed me and waved for them to continue.
When my split was to Varka’s satisfaction, I was coated in sweat, and my voice was hoarse from screaming. They backed off the machine, and my body was too exhausted to move, so, like a doll, they repositioned me for my hamstrings next, pushing my torso to my thighs. My legs and waist were strapped in place, and the board on my back clicked forward. My breathing became difficult as my chest was compressed, and I almost passed out from lack of oxygen.
Throughout the painful experience, I could tell what they were doing: stretching the muscles, tendons, and ligaments, then healing them in the stretched position. It was definitely a shortcut, albeit monstrously painful. I definitely screamed more than Quintis, which I didn’t mind admitting.
After the splaying of my legs and stretching my hamstrings, the shoulder and torso were not nearly as bad. When Faustus told Varka he was nearly out of aether, I was released from the rack. My brain told me I should still be in excruciating pain, even though I felt fine as I tested my limbs.
I felt better than fine as I picked myself off the ground. I had pissed and shit myself, but no one commented. We all moved to the small yard for our daily stretching. My body still trembled at the memories even though there was no pain. During this stretching, I could touch my toes, and even lay my hand flat on the ground.
After stretching, we moved on to some wrist exercises, thrusting our hands into buckets of rice, with Varka teasing us with a day off if we could touch the bottom. I noticed the others' dirty, bloody hands reaching into the rice repeatedly with revulsion, knowing it would be part of a meal soon. We also turned some grips with weights attached until our forearms burned and our hands were torn apart.
The most “relaxing” part of the day was standing on boards balanced on a rounded rock and tossing a ten-pound sacks of sand at each other. If we knocked another man off, we scored a point. The first of us to get 10 points would get tomorrow off. Quintis won easily. The stout mason picked on the boy Aulus, throwing the weight at him with impressive strength and speed every time. The easiest way to avoid being knocked off was to dodge. At first, I thought Varka would punish me for dodging, but when she didn’t, no one tried to catch the sack any longer. However, if we stepped off the board, she deducted a point. I finished the training with a score of -5 points, but I only had one bruise. That in itself was a victory.
The more experienced gladiators in training looked at us with amusement as we trained and went through the stretching rack over the next week. The only real mishap was when Drusus tore his groin muscle tendon while being stretched. A ball of muscle formed on his inner thigh, and Faustus had to use a lot of his aether to coax it back in place, the entire time the farmer was screaming so loud that everyone in the ludus stopped what they were doing until his pain ended.
The morning after we had all been through the rack, Varka led us to the training yard where other gladiators were going through sword forms with heavy, dull blades. Varka spoke with the lanista leading the training, who then approached our group of seven. The scarred man was dressed in leather armor, and his deeply tanned skin was taut with muscle.
“I am Vetter and will be teaching you the sword in the mornings from now on. Varka can only handle small swords, and even then, she’s not very skilled with them.” The clear innuendo had Varka clench her jaw, but she didn’t interrupt. “All of you take a weapon from the barrel,” he gestured, and had the men he had been training moved away to continue apart from us. My companions rushed to the barrel of rusty iron rods, upset that they were not real weapons. “Think I would trust you novices with a real blade? You would likely cut off your fingers—or other appendage,” he chuckled. I guessed all lanistas were asses.
I was last in line and chose the least rusty rod left. “Your boys are slow,” Vetter said to Varka with a snicker, and I hurried back. Vetter smiled darkly at Varka, but then turned to us. “Now you are going to hold a position until your body gives out, then we will proceed to another.”
I don’t think Vetter was aware of my ability to draw on my aether to keep my energy up. Vetter talked as he walked among us. The first position was a common guard stance with the sword arm slightly extended and the rod held at an angle that made parrying an attack away from the body easy. Instead of drawing continuously on my aether, I pulsed the ability, giving myself time to recover. Vetter was walking around, correcting our foot and body positions, first with words and then with a tap of his club. The tap of the club was more impactful the more times he needed to correct you.
He was waiting for all of us to fail, and when I stayed like a statue after the others started trembling and lowered their rod, I saw Varka smile for the first time at Vetter’s consternation. His eyes narrowed when I was the last one left, no tremble in my arms. I didn’t know how much aether was left, but I felt like I had only used half my reserves.
“Varka, this one has too much potential for your first. It would be a shame for you to spoil him as you do the boy,” Vetter announced while looking me in the eyes. His breath smelled odd, not unpleasant, but I couldn’t place it.
“Titus gave this group to me. I will train them how I want to!” Varka snapped back, but flushed slightly. “You are only tohelp with the sword training,” she said in warning.
“Fine,” he said sharply and headed to a rack of shields, grabbed one of the larger ones, and returned to me. “Normally, we don’t give out shields until you learn the basic sword forms, but you can start building strength.”
I strapped the damaged shield to my left forearm and incorporated it into the following poses. After we practiced seven stances, we began working on transitioning between them. The toughest part was the footwork, and I felt lucky to have a shield. It gave Vetter a target with a club when he corrected me. The others were not as lucky as Vetter, who would beat them. He was clearly hoping they would retaliate; if they did, he would slap the rod aside and then hit them harder. Smiling the entire time.
After five hours, the others couldn’t hold their weapons, and my aether was nearly empty. The third dinner bell rang, signaling it was our turn to eat. “Not a bad group, Varka. Even the boy might be useful for something other than warming your bed,” Vetter said, before turning to leave.
We all wanted to rush into the dining hall for food, but Varka stopped us. She had ceramic jars for each of us. “Rub this into your sore muscles to recover overnight.” She paused at me, and I thought she might withhold mine, but she didn’t. The gel inside had a strong liniment scent as the others quickly slathered it on their aching muscles. Varka sneered, “You only get one jar a week.” She then turned away smugly to get her evening meal.
I was the only one who hadn’t opened my jar, and the others had used half or more of theirs in their eagerness. I went to the kitchens and skipped the rice after seeing the familiar buckets from earlier in the day. Joren had saved me some of the fatty meats from earlier meals, and I piled them on something that looked like grits. The others came in a few minutes later, and I noticed the boy had a black eye and wasn’t carrying his jar anymore. It wasn’t my problem, and I was sure he was paying Varka in his own way, and he would get more.
I ate quickly to get back to my room, worried I might be targeted too. At least I could bar my door from the inside at night. I tested the ointment gel on my wrists and forearms—the sorest muscles I had—just a dab and some spreading. It was cold and sank deep into the muscle. As I concentrated on it, I felt it working. It resonated with how I used my aether to fight off fatigue. It was a magic elixir, probably near worthless in this world, but a godsend for us. I used it very sparingly, which was hard to do as it melted away the soreness completely.
When I finished, I looked for a spot to hide it in my small room. The rafter was too obvious, but the floor was hard-packed earth. I dug a small hole, covered the jar with a rag before placing the jar inside, and then covered it with dirt. I then set my piss and shit bucket over it. Still not a great hiding spot, but better than nothing. I heard the others outside my door, and someone, most likely Quintis, tested it. The door rattled, but he didn’t try to break in. I was sure the four would target the Appius, the old man, tonight for his ointment — not my problem, I told myself.
The next morning, there had been a fight that the old man clearly lost, but Gaius and Drusus were both limping. Still, the old man lost his ointment, and it was obvious Varka didn’t care as long as everyone could keep training. I noticed the boy had no trouble moving, so he probably had Varka rub liniment on his sore muscles. The little shit was grinning — which made me angry.
The four men only left me alone because Titus often came to watch our progress and focused on me. I was far behind the others but making the biggest gains in strength and conditioning, and would soon pass them.
The next few days started to blend together. The mornings were reserved for Vetter, who had us quickly progressing in the desired movements with weapons. Afternoons and evenings were conditioning and strength training. If we worked hard, we were allowed to bathe before dinner. After seven days of this, Postumus tried to escape one night. He probably thought, we were not being watched as closely and accepted our fate. He didn’t get far outside the walls before three guard watchmen caught him.
He was tightly tied to a post as Varka whipped him. The lashes were fierce, leaving long, crisscrossing scars on his back. A triangular piece of skin was even torn away in the violence. As his back bled, Postumus was unconscious. Varka turned to us, still catching her breath from her effort. “Your fate is mine! This is the only warning you’ll get, and this man used it! The next one of you to run will hang!”
The display drew the other gladiators' attention. I now understand which groups came here voluntarily and which were forced into their training. Those who came willingly had some pity in their eyes, while the others showed no sympathy, having been through this themselves.
Faustus stepped out to heal Postumus, but Varka held him back. “Heal him just enough that he doesn’t die. Leave him tied up overnight and fully heal him in the morning.”
Faustus paused but eventually nodded, “As you wish, lanista.”
Three days later, during one of our runs with a pack of stones, we reached pools filled by recent rains. Varka, atop her mount, waved. “You can all bathe here today.” You would think she was being generous, but I had my doubts. As we eagerly undressed at this surprise reward, Varka’s lecherous eyes followed us under the guise of guarding us from escape. I didn’t care if she saw me naked, but if she tried to abuse me like she did Aulus, I would try to kill her.
I found my own clear pool away from the others and was shocked by the reflection. My jaw was muscular and square. My sky-blue eyes had a hardness that now seemed—mature. My short, dark beard was untamed. A dozen fine scars lined my torso, with no fat remaining. Tan lines from the straps of the packs we carried outlined my chest. I would have felt elated for my new body if not for knowing I was being prepared to die.
Sliding into the cool water, I looked at my calloused hands, now capable of wielding a weapon to kill. We hadn’t been given real blades yet, but the iron rods had gotten progressively heavier, as well as the shield. My feet were the ugliest part of me, having spent time barefoot and with sandals in our training. I didn’t understand why the guards and lanistas wore boots while we did not. The others were enjoying the cold bath, while everything about this felt wrong to me.
“Enough lounging! Wash your clothes in the pool before the return run!” Varka announced from under her tree. She was eating lunch and keeping a close eye on us. I could hear Postumus, Quintis, and Drusus whispering. The fools were too obvious in their mannerisms. We were three miles from the ludus, and only Varka was watching us. If they killed her, they would have a good head start in escaping.
I watched the men as they clearly hatched a plan to rush Varka when she got close enough and before she could ride away. Their chance never came as another group of gladiators and their lanista jogged through our camp. Varka yelled, “If any of you men get back before Sextus’s men, you can have the day off!” Varka was on her own, as this was one challenge for which I was well-suited.
My sandals and damp subligaculum were already on, and I shoved my other clothes into my pack of rocks before shouldering it and racing after the other group. They didn’t have packs, but I was sure they were too far away to hear the contest announced and wouldn’t push me too hard.
I was the first one back to the ludus’s gates. I admitted that I had hoped they would make a move on Varka. Not that the other lanistas were much better than her. Disappointment flooded me on seeing the other group followed closely by my training group. Varka came up the rear on her mount, and she pulled up looming over me, clearly unsurprised, I finished first.
“You are to report to Titus in the morning. He has borrowed an artifact from a baron to test you,” she turned and headed inside the gates, leaving us to get our evening meal and even have a few hours of daylight to ourselves.
My question was what kind of testing would I be subjected to?
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Comments
Novice Reader
Man I love this more than anything else you are writing
Brianna Stormcloud
Good chapter thank you
