Marcus noted the arrival of the slave, presumably with some kind of order for him. He was right in that respect, the slave drew himself up to his impressive 5 feet 2 inches and stuck out his pigeon chest.<br/><br/>“You gladiator, you are to accompany me to the mess hall.” Letting his eyes rest on the slave Marcus asked, “For?” He slave swelled up even more, “Not to serve the mistress that is for certain, you would spill everything. That is what I was told and now I have told you.”<br/><br/>Marcus nodded and then walked towards the slave. As he drew near the slave wilted. Then Marcus stood looking down at the slave and then after a pause said, “Where you not to lead me some where?” The slave turned and scuttled away with Marcus following.<br/><br/>As they walked Marcus chastised himself, that was so brave making a house slave cower and for all you know he could be the head guards bed companion. Be aware, be watchful, be silent until you know he mentally said to himself.<br/><br/>He could hear the sound of combat as they approached and his ears had not lied to him. The mess was a melee of struggling men, Gladiators by their build. The Slave turned and very wisely ran off down the corridor.<br/><br/>Marcus for his part leaned against a wall and watched with professional curiosity. These where the men he would have to kill one day, he might was well get a handle on how they fought.<br/>