by Nick Brown
Maesa shook his head as the crowd vented their disdain.
‘Let us hope that our warrior can ensure justice is done.’
Encouraged by the short swords of the legionaries, the two criminals shuffled into the arena, drawing hisses and boos. Both men were struck by a volley of low-value coins, bottles and foodstuffs. Only a few sharp words from Maesa and the prompt action of some soldiers in the stands restored order. The criminals were escorted to the other side of the box, directly opposite Indavara. One man – the younger and taller of the two – was bearded and well-built. Given his appearance, Capito had chosen to characterise him as a barbarian, equipping him with a heavy double-bladed wood axe. He remained defiant, shaking his fist and cursing at the crowd. The other man already looked beaten. Bony and slight, he could barely raise his eyes from the ground. The iron spear he held in both hands was dragging in the dirt. Indavara named the criminals Axe and Spear.
A weak cheer greeted the arrival of Bonosus and three of his guards. All now wore full military-style armour and heavy bronze helmets; and they were armed with seven-foot cavalry lances. With such weaponry and protection, the four of them could take on any animal or gladiator; as well as deter any thoughts of escape.
Indavara had resolved to make no such attempt. Even in the unlikely event that he could clear the arena, his face was so well known within the city that he would be picked up again in hours. He would not waste either mental or physical energy on false hope; he knew how Capito’s mind worked, and he knew he would face his greatest ever challenge this day. He had accepted his fate.
Bonosus stepped into his line of sight and gestured towards the barrel. Indavara glanced across at Axe and Spear, now deep in conversation on the other side of the bridge. Axe was doing most of the talking. Judging by their body language, Indavara guessed they didn’t know each other. That was good. He walked over to the barrel and looked inside, and at first he thought it was empty. Only when he leaned over the edge and reached into the shadowy depths did he realise there was something at the bottom. It turned out to be a tiny dagger: little more than a three-inch blade sandwiched between two lengths of wood. It looked like the kind of home-made weapon a boy might carry.
Bonosus made no attempt to hide his amusement as Indavara stared disbelievingly down at the blade. The chief guard then signalled to the criminals to raise their weapons. Spear just about managed to get his in the air. Axe, however, spun the weapon around his head with some aplomb. Bonosus indicated that it was Indavara’s turn.
Shaking his head, Indavara held up the blade, unsure if the crowd would even be able to see it. The immediate chorus of booing suggested they had. Bonosus and the other guards withdrew to form a perimeter around the box.
Maesa’s expression suggested he shared the crowd’s opinion but he nonetheless waved to Indavara and mouthed: ‘Ready?’
Indavara nodded.
The centurion ignored the criminals and faced the podium. ‘It is time! Time for the first clash of this contest! Let the battle begin!’
Axe and Spear looked across at the man they would have to kill, then at each other.
Indavara moved up to the box and saw that the interior hadn’t been changed. Fixed to the base were hundreds of pointed objects spaced about five inches apart: sword blades and spear-tips, shards of glass and upturned nails. Indavara had seen several men perish by falling from the bridge and none of them had died quickly. Close to the base were gaps in the wood to drain the blood out.
He examined the knife again. Despite the ridiculous size, it was well-made. If he could get close enough, he could kill with it. Bonosus sent two of his men towards Indavara but he didn’t need any encouragement; experience would favour him on the bridge. Two strides and a neat leap carried him up on to the steps and prompted a burst of applause.
Bonosus and another of his men moved towards Spear. He looked all set to protest but then Axe stepped in front of him. With a word to Spear, he held the weapon in one hand and climbed up the steps on to the bridge. The crowd reaction was mixed. Some commended his bravery, others mocked his arrogance. Spear walked away to Indavara’s left, around the corner of the box.
So that was to be their tactic: to attack him from two sides. He started across the bridge, knowing he had to judge his speed carefully. He didn’t want to appear too adept, but he had to move far enough to draw Spear up on to the box behind him.
The bridge was moving now, an unpredictable rippling motion that swiftly focused the mind. Axe held his weapon out in front of him, advancing slowly with carefully chosen steps.
Indavara stopped close to the centre of the bridge, then looked over his shoulder as the crowd yelled a warning. Spear had just climbed up on to the box. Fabricating indecision, Indavara now switched his gaze between his opponents as both moved towards him. Axe was three yards away. He shouted at Spear to hurry up. Indavara turned again and saw that Spear had taken two shaky steps on to the bridge. Precisely where he wanted him.
He spun round and ran back across the bridge as fast as he dared, arms out to steady him.
Spear froze, eyes wide.
‘Don’t turn!’ yelled Axe. ‘Keep your spear up! Don’t turn!’
But Spear had already turned. One of his feet slipped between two timbers. Shaking his leg free, he reached the edge of the box just as Indavara hurled himself chest first into his back.
The smaller man was driven into the air, then into the ground. Winded and helpless, he’d barely raised his head before Indavara punched the knife twice into the side of his neck. He then dropped the blade and grabbed the spear.
It was a heavy weapon – and not designed for throwing – but the distance was short and he had to catch his second opponent before he could reach safety.
Axe was still tottering back towards the edge of the box when Indavara let fly. The spear-head caught him on the flank; a glancing blow, but enough to unbalance him. Axe toppled backwards and his heavy body thumped down, impaled on the viciously sharp objects below.
Instinct turned Indavara around but he needn’t have worried. Spear was pawing at his neck, vainly trying to stem the flow of blood. Indavara took a moment to wipe the knife clean on the man’s tunic then left him where he lay. He walked past the box but didn’t look inside. He knew Axe was still alive though – he could hear him whimpering.
Even though both men would certainly perish from their wounds and there was no need for the governor to make a decision, custom dictated that Indavara bow to the podium after the victory. But he simply stalked towards the second barrel. Today, he would fight precisely as he wished.
The thunder of the crowd faded as Bonosus’s men finished off the criminals. The bodies and weapons were removed. Maesa reappeared from the western gate. He offered exaggerated applause to Indavara and waited for something approaching silence.
‘Such intelligence! Such skill! Still, this was a poor class of foe. Now our warrior must face a giant enemy with a formidable reputation. From distant Germania, fighting with trident and net, and with a record of victory in forty-one contests, let us welcome to the arena . . . Auctus!’
The northerner couldn’t possibly have prepared himself for the onslaught of abuse that greeted him as he strode out from the eastern gate. He kept his head held high and his expression neutral as bread and fruit rained down upon him. His long stride soon took him out of range and, after the noise died down, a few cheers could even be heard, some of them rather high-pitched.
Auctus could hardly have looked more different to Indavara. He was six inches taller, long-limbed, fair-haired and blue-eyed with high, pronounced cheekbones and an angular jaw. His left shoulder and upper arm were wrapped by thick padding; and this was covered by a section of bronze scale armour that began at his collar and stretched down to his elbow.
Held high in his left hand was the trident: a six-foot wooden pole topped by three barbed iron spikes. In his right hand was the net. Indavara had scoffed when he’d first seen one, but now knew how dead
ly they could be. Fully nine feet wide, the net was weighted around the edge by lead weights or, as in this case, polished stones. Indavara had seen them ensnare swords, trip a man from twenty yards, even take out an eye. He wondered what inadequate weapon Capito would provide this time. Any type of spear or sword would do; the longer the better.
Auctus had just noticed the female attention. He wandered towards the enclave and swung his net languidly above his shoulder, as if to catch the women. This was too much for one young girl who flung herself at the parapet and had to be restrained by her friends. With a slight grin, the northerner strode back across the rope and back into the second section.
Indavara reached the second barrel. This one was not shaded from the sun and he could easily see the bottom. He realised he had fundamentally underestimated Capito’s determination to see him die. The barrel was empty.
Maesa took up a position midway between the fighters. He watched Indavara turn away from the barrel and stare down at the tiny dagger.
‘There’s nothing inside!’ announced the centurion. ‘A cruel twist of fate!’
‘Cruel! Cruel!’ thousands of voices replied. Others hissed at Capito, outraged that their hopeful wagers now seemed so unlikely to pay off. Capito waved away the noise and insults and dodged a bunch of grapes aimed at his head. As the barracking died down, he noted something an untrained ear would miss. Beneath the seething indignation was the buzz of animated conversation. Deep down, the mob wanted to see Indavara tested; to see if he could survive this.
Maesa conducted a cursory examination of Auctus’s equipment, then hurried over to Indavara. There was only the knife to check. The centurion lifted Indavara’s wrist to show the dagger once more to the crowd, prompting more boos. Auctus walked slowly towards Indavara, narrowing the gap to about five yards, then stopped.
‘And now our warrior must face the second of his three tests. Who will triumph? Who will be defeated? Indavara against Auctus! Let the battle begin!’
The northerner held the trident level with his waist, grip about halfway down the pole. Indavara noted the thick, gnarled veins that chased up his forearm. Holding the heavy weapon up with one hand was difficult, and wielding it in battle for any length of time required great strength. The German gathered the ropes of the net together in his right hand and cast a professional’s glance at the tiny knife, its blade barely visible above his opponent’s fist.
They circled each other until Indavara was facing the podium. He darted forward, prompting Auctus to take a pace back and loosen his grip on the net, ready to use it if his opponent charged.
But when the attack never came, the German took his turn to advance. Indavara held his ground, settling into a low, fighting stance, ready for a move from either hand. Auctus centred the trident and stepped forward again, training the three spikes on his enemy’s neck. Indavara still didn’t move, even as the northerner released the folds of the net.
Just three yards separated them when Auctus made his first lunge with the trident. Indavara took a step left and ducked below the high thrust. He saw the net swing but was caught out by Auctus’s speed. A stone caught the front of his shin; a stinging blow that would have halted a man unused to ignoring pain.
Auctus recovered the net and instantly closed the space again. Indavara was next to the rope – the limit of the fighting area. If he crossed it Bonosus was sure to poke him back into the second section with his spear. So he scuttled right, then backed towards the centre, the German following warily. Indavara could see he would be difficult to unsettle. He executed the basics well and always kept his body and weapons correctly aligned.
Aside from a few loudmouths, the crowd was quiet, expectant. This clash of champions was one for enthusiasts.
Auctus took the initiative again, eyeballing his foe as he strode towards him. Indavara bounced up and down on his toes and waited. His options were limited; he needed time to see what Auctus could do before he tried anything.
The German jabbed the trident forward again, simultaneously swinging the net at his enemy’s knees.
Indavara shuffled backwards, avoiding both attacks.
Auctus pressed on and repeated the move. Indavara leapt to his left, sure he was clear of both net and trident.
But then Auctus twisted his wrist and swung the net upward. Indavara felt rope brush his neck, then a shuddering crack as one of the stones caught him under the chin.
Blinding white flashed into his eyes. He staggered back, reeling as the pain bloomed higher. His eyes cleared; and he saw the trident-head coming at him.
He pushed off to his right, dropping into a neat double roll that took him clear. Springing back to his feet, he looked up as the German marched towards him, yelling in a language no one else in the arena understood.
Indavara realised that the blow had pushed his teeth up into his tongue. The thumbnail-sized chunk he had bitten off was sliding around in his mouth. He spat it out, along with a glob of bloody spittle.
With the trident held high, his arm bent at the elbow, Auctus swung the net in ever wider arcs ahead of him.
Indavara retreated, heels scuffing the sand. He had a move in mind, but to pull it off he would need to slow that net-arm. Mindful of the rope, and Bonosus’s men lurking behind him, Indavara crabbed right, quickly accelerating into a trot.
Auctus dropped his grip to the centre of the net and a swift flick of the wrist sent it spinning towards Indavara’s feet. It struck the ground just as he jumped but then bounced back up, ensnaring a foot. He fell headlong into the dust.
Women screamed. Men bellowed warnings at him.
With not a single glance at the onrushing northerner, Indavara cursed his fellow gladiators – Never throws his net? – and sat up. He reached for the rope and the single stone pressed against his foot. The stone came away easily, leaving only two criss-crossing ropes wrapped tight. Indavara tore at them, then looked up.
Auctus was five yards away.
At last the rope slid off, and Indavara scrambled to his feet. He would have taken the net himself, had the trident-head not been so close.
Auctus drove the weapon at his enemy’s neck.
Indavara threw himself backwards and twisted away from the trident.
A single spike hit, tearing a gash in his shoulder.
Auctus slowed himself, spun around and plucked the net from the ground before Indavara could react.
The wound was small but deep. Beneath the torn fabric of his tunic, Indavara could see dark and pale tissue. He wondered if Auctus kept his weapons clean. The wound wouldn’t kill him; infection might.
From the crowd, the traditional chant: ‘A hit! A hit!’
The German was in no mood to tarry. Taking only a moment to shake sand from the net, he adjusted his grip on the trident, and stalked towards his fellow gladiator once more.
Indavara took care to move slowly, and winced with every movement of his shoulder. He swapped the knife to his left hand for a moment, so that he could wipe the sweat off his right. When he returned it, he realised he might have a way to slow that net-arm.
Auctus stretched his arms wide like two great wings and closed on his prey once more.
The crowd were quiet again; their man was in trouble.
Indavara spat out more blood, tried to ignore the fiery pain in his shoulder, and awaited his foe.
Auctus jinked from side to side, offering half-jabs and feints. His next real swing of the net whistled past Indavara’s left ankle. Then the trident shot forward.
Jab, swing. Jab, swing. Auctus was grinning and talking; he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Another jab.
Indavara threw the knife to the ground.
Confusion was just beginning to register on Auctus’s face as he swung the net. It slowed him down.
Indavara darted down to his left and managed to grab the edge of the net.
Auctus hauled it back; but Indavara didn’t resist, instead flinging what he held up and to the right. The net whip
ped high into the air and landed on the trident-head, catching two of the spikes.
Ducking under the tangle, Indavara launched himself at Auctus.
With both hands occupied, the German was defenceless as Indavara’s swinging right forearm caught him under the jaw, knocking him clean off his feet. Auctus fell backwards, pulling the net and Indavara with him.
They had barely struck the ground when Indavara wriggled free of the net and hammered a fist down, splintering Auctus’s nose. Despite the transformation of the middle of his face into a pulpy mass of flesh and bone, the northerner managed to keep functioning. His scrabbling fingers reached for the trident.
Indavara was not about to give up his advantage. Forcing his weight down, he wedged his elbows into the German’s armpits and gripped his foe’s neck with both hands. He’d used the choke hold before and knew it to be immensely difficult to dislodge.
That didn’t stop Auctus trying. He punched Indavara in the head, then clawed at his neck; but he couldn’t inflict enough pain to loosen the thick fingers digging into his throat. The German spasmed his back but he couldn’t shift his foe.
Indavara had lowered his head to avoid the flurry of blows and by the time he looked up, Auctus had hold of the trident. Pain pulsed through Indavara’s shoulder as he channelled all his strength into his hands and squeezed tighter. He couldn’t let go now.
Auctus moved his arm as high as he could, holding the trident-head over Indavara’s back. Indavara shook him, trying to dislodge the weapon, but Auctus knew it was the only chance he had left. Gritting his teeth, Indavara pressed harder still, watching his fingers turning white. Auctus was doing well for a man who couldn’t breathe.
The crowd yelled warnings that became a single cry.
Auctus plunged the trident between Indavara’s shoulder blades. The barbed spikes sliced easily through the tunic, sank into the skin, then tore at the flesh as the pole tipped backwards.
