The Killing Sands
Page 4
of the referee struck the ground. And to the delight of the crowd, he lurched forward. The fight had begun.
He crossed the distance rapidly, and threw all the weight of momentum behind his shield, attempting to bring an abrupt end to the battle. I was ready for the brutish onset, taking a step to the side to elude the force of the charge. I slashed down at the unguarded flesh of his back, and was met with the dismissive wave of a shield as he brought his sights back into position. The ease of the move was alarming, bringing his arm around with no hint of the weight it carried. And then I was scampering to hold onto my footing, as he found the base of my shield with another heavy lunge, sending a sharp pain up my right arm. I recovered just in time to lean back sharply from the swiping blow that followed, and hastily made distance between me and my pursuer.
He set himself now, the bright red of his shield drawn up high to the dark visor, waiting in stoic silence. The jeers of the masses were flung around me. I ignored them as I stalked a wide circle around the Murmillo, trying to gain a measure of the defence before me. The bear on his shield faced my every step, the snarling beast rearing up against the crimson backdrop, biding its time for the moment when it would seize me by the throat and drag me into a mangled embrace. I threw out a wordless curse. No stratagems sprang out at me from the scrambled, rushed thoughts that crashed through my mind. The impossible once again began to feel impossible. I was adrift in a wild sea, frantically striking through the waters as I was pulled in towards the gaping mouth of the maelstrom. But I had no choice but to keep fighting, to keep aiming for the calm stretches that escaped the shadow of the clouds. I had to delve deeper, scrape out every last grain of strength I held within me, find an edge to place at the end of my desperate fight. I had to believe that the spirits of Fate were behind me, willing me to find my mark.
He drew back against my advance, as I brought a flurry of feints and darting cuts against him, looking for the one chance, the one mistake that would bare his skin to my blade. It seemed like a blanket had been suddenly thrown to cover the world, leaving it empty but for two gladiators on the endless sands. I felt an urge to roar with every blow, there was a blazing frenzy surging through me. My arms were coated with sweat and throbbed with each strike but I did not lighten the barrage. I could not. Something had to give. The Bear was giving up little ground, unbroken behind the great width of his shield, using his sword to clash and slide against mine whenever I gained an opening. My sword-hand was screaming from the impact, begging to just let its grip slip away, but I kept swinging away at the leaden force. I could not stop. The calm had abandoned me.
I paused for that moment. My rage vanished. In its place, there was nothing. I felt a chill about me, and looked down vacantly to the sword that protruded from my belly. The hand now drew it back slowly, the blade scraping a grazing tune against a rib on its way out. Blood began to stream down, almost tentative as it crept out into the light. My knees struck the sand with a wooden thud, and my hands freed themselves of their burdens. I heard muffled footsteps and shouted words and a staff was lodged between me and the sword. Red drops inched their way along the blade, falling onto the dirt with a soft patter.
The rod was withdrawn and then the crimson blade came to rest gently against my shoulder, sticking to the skin. Blood now came thickly from the wound, and I just stared at it with a detached wonder. My arms remained limp at my sides, no move to clutch at the torn flesh, to make some attempt to fight the flow. I fought to remember who I was, but the struggle was feeble, empty. I tried to focus on the bright balcony ahead of me, the man that stood at its centre, the man with purple folds. I tried to understand the roar that swept down from the hundred steps, the chant that echoed again and again. My thoughts returned hollower than the day of my birth.
The sun glinted eagerly on gold as the man raised his right hand towards me. The din ascended to a cheer as the thumb pointed to the heavens. The trumpets returned. The sword slid up to set its prickly edge across my neck. A harsh laugh came from behind me.
‘I wish we could do this again, Thracian.’
I felt the gentle roll of a tear creeping down my cheek. I had surrendered everything. The crowd were chanting again, stamping a final beat. I stretched my gaze upwards. The sun still hung near its summit, a brilliant orb against a barren sky. A dull pain was beginning to find its way through my gut. The blade was lifted once again, and I closed my eyes to its return.