The Birth Of The Beta

1. FIGHT

“You disgrace!”

“You adulterous lover of violence and death!”

“You’re a shame to all women, they weep for you!”

Aoife took a deep, calming breath as her sandals brushed over the sands, and she heard the crunch of rubble beneath her feet. She could smell the doughy bread that was being sold to the audience in the seats. The sweet smell always brought her comfort. It was so familiar to her. She heard the insults as always, but the grumblings from the traditionalists were in the minority compared to her first fight, when the entire crowd had been horrified by the sight of a female gladiator. Since then, she had managed to win over the plebs. In many ways, this had been a harder battle than the fight to the death she had faced with many of her challengers over the years, but almost everyone cheered for her now. Today was her last fight. She had been fighting in the arenas for twelve years, she was famous and had earned lots of money during those years. She was extremely lucky because, unlike the other gladiator schools in the area, who used servitude contracts that made the werewolf gladiators slaves in all but name to the house they belonged to, she worked for Cornelius Heaton.

               Cornelius Heaton was a human, and he owned Heaton House Gladiator Ludus. However, he didn’t believe in buying people’s lives for money or trapping them in contracts that made them forfeit their freedom. He frequently said that ‘True loyalty had no price.” The first time Aoife had fought, she had won effortlessly, but she had been upset by the crowd’s reaction. The serpentine spectators had spat venom from their seats, and it stung as they made contact with her. Some had left the stands refusing to watch her from the moment she stepped on the sands, others had called her degrading names, and tried to throw food at her. Cornelius had simply smiled and talked about how, in three years’ time, people would cross deserts and leave the luxuries of the big cities to see her, and all those who jeered would be considered old-fashioned. He had been right about it all.

Over the years, many trainers and gladiator houses asked if they could buy Aoife from Cornelius. He would always explain that he couldn’t sell what he didn’t own, so Aoife could leave, but it would be of her own volition, and then he would inform them that they would have to ask Aoife herself. Some didn’t bother to ask after being insulted by Cornelius’ response, some took one look at Aoife’s scowl and decided to give up their interest, for the few who were daring the menacing growl, and promise of trouble they couldn’t handle soon sent them on their way. After today’s fight, Aoife would sign a two-year contract to be the trainer of Heaton House, the first time any werewolf had ever had this role. In fact, it was the first time any woman had held any position, other than wife, in living memory.

               Usually, gladiators would bow to their masters in respect, but Aoife always kneeled to Cornelius. It was a joke between them, done to show the irony that when loyalty is freely given and earned, it was deeper than when it was bought and demanded. It confused many of Cornelius’ peers and on their journey home after each fight, Aoife and Cornelius would make each other laugh by mimicking the shocked and perplexed reactions of their critics to each other. Stretching up, she heard little pops of her joints as she forced her body to extend to the edges of her flexibility. Her neat collection of stomach muscles seemed more prominent as she leaned back, arching her spine. She ran her hand through the short hair she had on the left of her head, smoothing it down to make sure that it hadn’t flopped onto the right side that was shaven to her scalp. Running her fingers across the grains, she knew it looked the way she wanted it too: savage. The mountain range of strength peaked across her biceps and shoulders, she was the perfect presentation of androgynous attractiveness.   

               Wanting the audience to be fully immersed in the spectacle they were about to see, Aoife raised her hands above her head, and started to clap at a steady, rhythmic pace. She spun on the spot so that her sage coloured eyes could see the audience as they started to copy her. The heart of the arena was finally beating, causing her own heart to rush with excitement. Steadily, Aoife walked over to the white stallion that Cornelius had hired for her, and patted his neck to keep him calm. She swung her foot into the stirrup and sat astride him, looking like the fabled Amazons of the dying religion. Her last arena fight was going to be a glorious, grandiose gala of gore. Taking the gladius from her belt, she raised it high, letting out a battle cry, while circling the arena, riling up the audience. The gates opened announcing the arrival of the challengers, and Aoife sharply halted her horse, assessing the competition.  She was completely unflinching as they stared back at her. Lifting her helmet from its red horse hair, she pushed it on to her head and clicked her heels onto the horse’s flank, pushing him forward. She thrust her blade into the first gladiator, careful to aim at a place he would recover from. Her second manoeuvre had to have more style to keep the mob entertained, so she swung to the underside of the horse, her belly against the beast’s stomach. She extended her blade and cut the calf of the next opponent, trying to be conservative with the depth of the cut. Just enough that he couldn’t stand up for now, not forever. Finally, she circled the last man. She wanted to appear like an eagle scrutinising its prey. She jumped from her horse and landed on the gladiator’s back, toppling him to the ground. She sat straddling his waist and plunged her sword into his shoulder at an angle that appeared to be a killing incision to the untrained eye, but she knew that his wolf would heal him in an hour or two. Merciful. She had told Cornelius that she didn’t want her last fight to be filled with death, unless it was the only way she could save her own life. She had succeeded in making her vision a reality.

               Smiling at Cornelius, who was beaming from the viewing box, she clapped in his direction. He had to be thanked for the incredible life he had given her. He had enabled her, the first female gladiator, to conquer the sands. She could see he was returning her applause, their goal had been achieved and their message was clear to all: a free gladiator could achieve more than an enslaved wolf. Descending the stairs, Cornelius held the scroll of her employment contract high above his head, so all could see this momentous moment in history. A child followed him with an ink and quill set, the clay and symbol imprint. You could almost hear the intake of breath, as the crowd watched a wolf sign a contract for a job that had only ever been held by male humans before. Aoife shakily signed her name, the only thing she could write, as she secured her position for the next two years. She couldn’t have been any more triumphant.

               Cornelius was moving with more ease than he had for the last few years. The guilt of having this precious woman fight in the arena to promote his cause was finally at an end. The relief physically made him sprightlier. Aoife’s successes made his soul glow with pride and dimmed the aches that grew with age and burden. After she signed the contract, he threw his arm across her shoulder and led her to the carriage to take them home. He knew his peers considered his relationship with Aoife embarrassing. In any other gladiator school she’d be a slave in all but name, but at Heaton House he treated her like a daughter. Their opinions, attitudes and principles were very similar. Although Cornelius had a son, their relationship was as thin as a leaf in autumn’s purge and the slightest pressure would cause it to disintegrate. His son, Magnus, was at school, and Cornelius was ashamed to admit that he was glad to have a break from the constant arguing that dominated his bond with his only living blood relative.

               He was standing at Aoife’s side of the carriage, helping her to climb in. He ensured that her fans, or even worse, the traditionalists, didn’t swarm her as she left the arena. Climbing in next to her, he picked up the reins and clicked the team of horses to pull the carriage along the streets that would get them home. He put his left hand over her right, and gave it a little shake to show the excitement that ran through him at the thoughts of her achievements. He was very proud.

“You did so well, Aoife, I’m so proud of you, but I can’t lie, I’m glad the fighting is over. I’ll never have to see you in danger again. I fully blame your time in the arena as the reason for my early hair loss,” Cornelius joked.      

“I’m glad too, Cornelius, although I have no doubt I’ll be busier than ever now I’m training the gladiators, and taking over from you. Maybe I should shave the other side of my head and accept the inevitable,” She teased back.

When Cornelius first inherited the Ludus, he had declared that he wouldn’t use the servitude contracts, fundamentally making his position about enslaving wolves clear for all. In protest, no human trainer would come to work for him. Cornelius had to train the wolves instead, and had done so for many years, learning through his mistakes and successes. 

“You never know, now that I will be a man of leisure, it may grow back…I thought we might see Neve on the sands today,” Cornelius broached the subject sensitively.

“She’s not very stable around this time of year, and I didn’t want to put others at risk. I’ve blocked her until the day passes,” Aoife briefly explained, before changing the subject. She pursed her lips, bulged her eyes, crumpled the skin on her forehead and turned to Cornelius, “Who am I?”

“Without a…doubt…you are…the governor!” Cornelius’ eyes were wet with tears at her uncanny impression.

               They carried on entertaining each other, enjoying the post-arena battle ritual they had invented when Aoife had still been little more than a child. Before she had learned to school her face, so that it couldn’t be read unless she allowed it to be. She had always been determined that she wouldn’t let the man next to her down, he could always rely on her because she could rely on him. Heaton House gladiators were widely regarded as being the best because of their training, but also because they were happy and free. She wanted the wolves at the Ludus to be as safe as possible, and this would only happen if she trained them hard. She smiled to herself, knowing she was ready for this new segment of her life.