The next thing a male voice was coming into my head. “Phil! Phil! Wake up, its 7.30, breakfast at 8.00.” Everything came back...to me in a rush. Chris was up and making coffee in his shorts. (Sorry for that pun.) I swung my legs out the bed, my head was pounding, my hip ached, my knob was sore and I generally felt shit. Chris on the other hand looked and sounded bright as a button. “Right mate, lets have a drink, and get down for breakfast, and then we’re set up. Fair?” The fool took it. I knew he had to die, he was arrogant, impetuous and scary. I would not simply kill him though, that was not honourable. I would fight in front of an audience. His father would see his son make an effort, hopefully a foolish one.His father had, for two years, been setting his son in fights against slaves, even a one-armed gladiator recently. The boy thought he was good. The problem was, he did not realise that the slaves were given a drink before the fight which was. More

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