Written for the small and rare fandoms drabbleathon and the prompt, "Crixus, Battle Of One."

At night, when they finally found a safe place to lay their heads, Crixus dreamt of wonderful foolish heroics. He would rush, alone and stronger than Hercules, into a latifundia where Naevia was enslaved. Naevia would shine in her beauty and he'd make his enemies cower from his courage. His sword would cut down all comers as Minerva herself blessed his victory. With the Romans fallen at his feet, he would feel Naevia in his arms again.

Then he would awaken before dawn; dirt in his nostrils, grass in his hair, on the chilly ground; surrounded by burping, farting, stinking gladiators with the republic's finest legions on their trail.