I am the answer, but what is the question?

Standing at the bottom of the gang plank I was relieved to be home after two months at sea. I glanced across at the other dis-embarking passenger and thought I saw a tear in his eye, for if his tale was true it was twenty years since he last stood on these shores.
I then noticed the slight rain and realised there were no tears left in the scared faced man.

At over 6' he was imposing; I'd seen that most of his body was covered in scars, those visible were the ones on his face. One running horizontal under his left eye stopping just before his nose. The other a puckered circle on his right cheek. Over the two month voyage he'd told me the tales of all of them.

He was saying his farewells to the crew, even the first mate who now had a broken nose from their - disagreement. I'd noticed he was friendly to everyone, but friends with no-one.
The fight with the 'mate had happened the first day, as we were signing on board, the 'mate had laughed when the warrior had spelt out his name.
I new him as Fortu, he spelt it 42. It was not his birth name, but the slave number he was given when he was six and sold to the slave fighting pit owner.

The first few years of his life as a slave consisted of him cleaning and looking after the older pit fighters, he had no formal education and it had given me pleasure to teach him in the evenings on the ship.
His teen years had seen him put on muscle and start to learn the forms of various weapons. When he reached 6' he'd been given training with several two-handed weapons, his favoured being the bastard sword.
At twenty-one he fought in the pits for the first time. Team battles to start, against other pit slaves or exotic animals. He began to prove himself, being successful meant staying alive, he gain notoriety and started to fight in the pairs.
This is were he learned to be friendly to all, slave life is tough why make more hardship.
But no true friends, for who new when you would have to fight and kill each other.

In the country where he was a slave they had a religious festival every ten years, dedicated to their god of war. The festival ended with a pit fight tournament, the best fighters from each house fighting in a series of battles culminating in the final last man standing event. The winner would be favoured of the God and therefore no longer a slave.
Fortu had been selected with others of his house. It was during the lead up events that he'd received the puckered scar to his cheek. Faced against a net and trident fighter he'd become entangled, managing to just avoid a direct thrust, a side tine had ripped into his mouth. Sensing victory his opponent had released his hold on the net freeing Fortu enough to crash them both to the ground.
Whether is was loss of blood from the gouged eyes or bitten out tongue Fortu didnt know, but he was the only one to stand after.


Part two - Pit fighter freedom, to be continued