The Way of Dorius

By Richard W. Kenneth

Dorius swaggered into the arena as the crowd roared.

The Praeco shouted, “The fourth gladiator in this final combat of our games is the Emperor’s champion! Visiting us in Hispania from distant Rome, victor of sixty battles against men and beasts, I give you Dorius Gratius!”

Dorius raised his short sword in salute. A silver mask covered his face, but his ivory skin and blonde hair made him instantly recognizable. Arrayed before him were the three champions from prior days of the games. One carried a large, curved dagger, the second a trident, and the third a spear. A trumpet blast signaled the start of the match.

“Who dares attack me first?” Dorius mocked.

As the spearman rushed him, Dorius smiled. He knew he would triumph, thanks to a life-size marble statue of himself locked away in his villa outside Rome. Enchanted by a priestess he had beguiled over a decade ago, it absorbed every crushing blow and deadly slash while he bore only minor cuts and bruises that healed within a day. It also aged instead of him and carried the marks of every misdeed he’d committed, becoming unrecognizable.

After a grueling fight, his opponents yielded.

Dorius spared their lives, as was custom. The arena echoed with shouts of, “Dorius!” as he accepted the victor’s gold.

A local noble invited Dorius to a feast that night, and he accepted.

The event paled compared to Nero’s debaucheries, but Dorius reveled in hours of food, wine, and gazes of adoring fans. They marveled at a free man from a wealthy family who became a gladiator because he was bored.

He recounted his first combat years before, when he’d beaten a veteran gladiator and first earned Nero’s attention. Then he reminisced about the Emperor’s generosity and talents, from music and acting to chariot racing. He avoided discussing his friend’s violent temper and endless pursuit of pleasure.

At dawn, a drunken Dorius stumbled into his rented mansion. His slave, Marius, handed him a scroll. “Your wife has been taken by the Praetorians!”

Dorius stared in disbelief at his beloved’s hurried scrawl: “For my faith, Nero accuses me of conspiracy in the great fire I wrote you about. His guards approach. If I do not see you again in this life, I pray you find The Way to the next – Tertia.”
“We leave tomorrow for Rome!” Dorius shouted.

He spent a sleepless night torn between fear for his wife and fear that his statue might have been taken or damaged. He’d loved many women before Tertia, but no others since their marriage. Her beauty was matched only by her kindness. She loved him despite his vanity. She alone had seen his statue and kept its secret, though she prayed Dorius would someday be free of it.

Weeks later, Dorius reached his villa. His slaves rushed to meet him. “Has there been any word of Tertia?” he asked.

“No master,” they replied.

“Was anyone hurt? Anything taken or damaged?”

“No. Tertia told us not to resist. We pray for her daily.”

“Of course. I’m glad you are all safe. Prepare food while I rest.”

Dorius raced upstairs. Entering the suite he shared with Tertia, he paused to glance at the balcony where they often watched the sunset. He opened his cloak, took an iron key from around his neck, and unlocked the door to the inner chamber.

Rushing in, he was relieved to see his statue. It had acquired more scars during his months away, but it still stood tall. His exotic tapestries still adorned the walls, and jewels of every color were still in their chest.

Before he met Tertia, he’d spend hours gazing at these treasures and remembering all he’d done, good and bad, to acquire them. They were still beautiful but cold to his touch now.

Following the meal, Dorius rode alone to Nero’s palace. After waiting two hours, he was led to the Emperor.

“Where is Tertia?” Dorius demanded.

Nero pointed outside to several charred crosses near the garden. “She had been turning you away from me, my friend, and my spies said she helped others of The Way set the fire. But she died without naming anyone else.”

Dorius reached for his sword… and found nothing. The guards had taken it before the meeting.

“Tertia!” Dorius sobbed with anguish and rage. Nero embraced him. “We are better off now, friend,” the Emperor said. “I’ll find you a more beautiful woman who won’t change you. One we can both trust.”

Burying his face in Nero’s shoulder, Dorius began tightening his arms to crush the man.

Then a vision of Tertia shimmered before Dorius. “Stop, my love,” she whispered. “Vengeance will condemn you and those in our household I died to protect. Seek the freedom I found.”

Dorius released his grip. Nero coughed. “That’s quite an embrace. Your Emperor thanks you.”

Dorius bowed, reclaimed his sword, and returned home.

He gathered his slaves and said, “Nero killed Tertia and others. Do any of you believe as she did?”

“She taught us all The Way,” Marius replied.

“I understand now. Follow me.”

Dorius led them upstairs and unlocked the inner chamber. “Come in,” he said. He opened the chest of jewels. “This now belongs to you. Use it to flee Rome and Nero’s madness. Tertia would want that. Come back at dawn, and I’ll have your travel documents.”

The slaves took the chest and departed. Dorius closed the chamber door behind them. He wrote letters granting each slave their freedom and explaining how to reach Hispania. Having honored Tertia’s sacrifice, he prayed to find what she had found.

Yet his disfigured statue mocked him. Nothing he’d done that night had removed even one scratch! Then Dorius realized the statue didn’t just reflect his wrongs and prevent his death. It embodied his fear of death. Tertia’s freedom lay in overcoming that fear.

Dorius stood and drew his sword.

“For freedom!” he screamed and swung his blade at the statue’s neck.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Richard W. Kenneth Richard W. Kenneth is an engineer by day and an author by night. His flash fiction and short stories include thrillers, science fiction, horror and fantasy. He also been known to write poetry on occasion and has a novel in progress. His work has appeared in Havok, Havok’s “Prismatic” anthology, Last Girls Club and the Icarus Writing Collective’s “Monstrous” anthology. Find his Internet nexus here: https://linktr.ee/richardwkenneth

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