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Scott Nyman

Short Stories
- Sledge

Sledge
         by Scott Nyman
Page 7 of 7

Ten minutes had passed.

"My Lord, shall I admit the doctor? We must have a ruling."

"Why? We all saw Sledge walk the length of the arena with a knife in his chest. The man is the champion. I don’t give a damn what the doctor thinks. Sledge is the winner. There’s no doubt about it. Announce this to the crowd: Sledge beat the chime, but died soon afterwards."

"At once, my Lord."

After the aide the left the room, the Emperor looked at me. There was no anger in his eyes.

"My dear young lady. Do you know how Empires are built? It’s not with bricks and steel, not with warships and weapons. Empires are built with dreams and hopes, heroes and legends. Empires are built on the backs of men like Sledge."

The yelling in the arena paused as the announcement was made. At first there was silence. Then the chant resumed. This time it was even louder and more powerful than before.

The Emperor listened to the deafening noise.

"Do you hear them? Listen! That’s no ordinary cheer. Those voices are meant for the heavens. Listen closely, my dear. Do you hear it? The people in the coliseum, they’re warning the Gods. ‘Get ready,’ they’re saying, ‘Sledge is coming.’"

He smiled as he listened. It was such a sad smile.

"No one will ever cheer for me."

He bent down to one knee and looked at my face. With his finger he wiped a tear from my cheek.

"When I die, no one will cry for me."

The Emperor rose to his feet, and walked out the door.

A day after Sledge’s funeral a huge statue was unveiled at the entrance to the coliseum. It stood fifty feet tall, twice the size of any other statue in Rome. The Emperor himself read the dedication.

"Sledge. The greatest Champion of them all."

My mother’s secret was safe. No one ever learned who I really was.

I had the vial I took from Sledge’s pocket attached to a golden necklace. Some years later I wore it at my wedding. The Emperor saw it, but said nothing.

Every now and then I take out the necklace and look at it. I like to hold the vial to the light.

My father was right: it is a pretty color.


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