Glory is a Liability

Rome didn't fall in a day. But this ludus might.

Maximus Decimus Meridianus Flatulentus—"Max" to his creditors, "That Idiot" to the rest of the Mediterranean—owes money to people who don't officially exist. Desperate, he signs a contract he doesn't read. The small print guarantees death, a plank for a bed, and wine that costs extra.

Welcome to the Ludus Gallicus, a gladiator school in the hills of Nemausus where the sand is imported, the owner drinks like he's trying to forget something specific, and the training post has developed a personality, a name, and possibly a grudge. His name is Brian. Do not make eye contact with Brian.

Max is not alone in his bad decisions. His fellow novices include:

•Felix, a former Alexandrian accountant who treats combat like a depreciation schedule
•Brigitte, a Gaulish woman who forged her way in and laminates her grudges
•Dagobert, a towering Gaul who speaks only in third-person proverbs and geological time
•Silenus, an elderly Greek who definitely, absolutely, under no circumstances fought at Marathon
•Thrax, a mountain Thracian with strong opinions about moisturizer
•Brutus, a silent giant who communicates through grunts and wears a bucket as spiritual armor

When the Governor's Wife—bored, rich, and famously indecisive—demands a private performance of The Fall of Troy, the Ludus must become a theater troupe overnight. What follows is a cascade of improvised deaths, rolling barrels, flying wigs, and Brian's long-awaited revenge.

"Glory Is a Liability" is a sharply comic play about the business of survival. It's about owing more than you own, being watched as the first step toward being real, and discovering that competence is just another trap. Most of all, it's about trying—ridiculously, desperately, hilariously—in a world that rewards you with barley rolls and expects you to say thank you.