[She'd watched the whole thing. Lifetimes ago, on the worst day of any of her lives, she'd watched another man die. That had taken hours and hours. Hours huddled at the bottom of the cross with the other women in that horrible darkness. She hadn't looked away then.
This time was different. This time she was sitting in the good seats in this arena with slaves who kept trying to get her to eat things. It made her sick. This whole stupid life made her sick. She was absolutely powerless, just like she had been then. The only thing she could do was watch.
And so she watched him fight and she watched him die and it was awful. She hadn't promised Charon that she wouldn't cry, largely because she hadn't been sure if she could keep that promise. But when she saw him fall, she didn't cry.
Instead, she turned to her husband. “This,” she said, “Is fucking stupid.”
He didn't seem appreciate that reaction. “You need to watch yourself,” he said. “I don't know why you've taken an interest in this particular gladiator, but I hope now that he's dead we're finished with this nonsense. If I'd known he would be such a bad investment I never would have bought him.”
She jerked back as if she'd been slapped and, for a few insane seconds, she considered slapping him.
She took a breath and said, very quietly, “I am going home.”
That was probably the most shameful part of this whole thing. There was nothing she could do and nowhere she could go except back to the house that she shared with this man. This man who had sent a man who she actually loved to his death. She wanted to break things. She wanted to break this whole fucked up world. It was wrong to blindly hate the Romans, but right then—as she looked around for some poor slave to escort her through the streets—right then she really, really did. And she hated her husband too.
Later, she would cry, but for now it was easier to be angry.]