The year is 80 AD.

In Central Rome, between the lush green trees of Palatine Hill

and the imposing buildings of the Forum,

the city's narrow streets are thronging with people.

Thousands of them.

Walking among the excited crowds is a tall man dressed in a long white silk toga and thin leather sandals. His face is covered by a bushy

beard and his brow glistens with sweat from the relentless Italian sun.

In his hand he holds an engraved iron chip,

and neither love nor money would make him part with it.

It's a ticket to one of the most hotly anticipated events in Roman history,

the grand opening of the Flavian Amphitheatre.

All around him, the Roman roads are alive with celebration

Processions of musicians and dancers twirl up ahead

while acrobats cartwheel past. Exotic animals gathered from all over the Empire

roar, purr, and chirp from their cages.

The bearded man, a respected poet by the name of Marshall, tries to push his way through the hordes of people and to no avail.

Everyone is headed towards the same place so he gives up rushing and walks at the same slow pace

as the crowd under the blistering sun.

Now a cry goes up.

Someone ahead has caught sight of Rome's most celebrated gladiators.

Verus and Priscus, who will be fighting the headline Battle to the Death

later today. A wave of cheering passes, and though he's a serious man, Marshall can't help but join in.

...