by Nick Brown
Indavara was still screaming when he let go and pushed himself up. The trident slid off his body.
Auctus’s eyes were pink, his face and neck scarlet; and bulging veins ridged his forehead. But with both hands now free, he reached for his enemy’s neck.
Indavara swatted his hands away and slammed his right elbow down on to the German’s forehead, pummelling his skull into the ground. Something cracked.
The crowd roared.
Unsure whether Auctus was still alive, Indavara stood up and grabbed the trident.
Bonosus and his men hurried towards him, to ensure that the governor give the decision this time.
But Indavara was more interested in the burning rents in his back and shoulder than convention. With a one-handed jab, he buried the trident in Auctus’s chest, then watched as the northerner’s mouth fell open and his eyes rolled up into his head.
The crowd quietened. Bonosus looked around apprehensively; he had failed in his duty. This second breach of protocol turned eyes towards the podium. Sensibly, the governor waited. Shouts of approval – begun by Indavara’s most ardent followers – grew swiftly into a tumult. Before long, the governor and those around him were applauding too.
Capito, now standing against the parapet, gestured for Bonosus and the other guards to follow Indavara towards the third section. He wished he was closer, to see how badly his fighter was injured. It was always so damned hard to tell with the rare few like Indavara; those who could not only take damage, but continue to fight long after most men would have fainted or given up.
Capito couldn’t resist the urge to turn round. The slave-trader had moved to a spare seat just a few yards away. His face was set in a stony grimace.
A teenage slave arrived.
‘Are you ready for the platform now, sir?’
‘Raise it.’
Indavara touched his back. The trident holes were an inch deep; and a thin stream of blood issued steadily from each one. He twisted his body from side to side, then bent back and forth. The pain was no worse; it seemed there was no serious damage.
As he crossed the second rope, an enterprising supporter with an impressive throwing arm lobbed a gourd of water. It landed in the dust at Indavara’s feet. He picked it up, removed the stopper and drank, idly watching as Auctus’s body was carried away. He sloshed the remainder of the water over his wounded shoulder and back. The cheers reached a crescendo as he held the gourd up towards the supporter.
The messenger had reached the bowels of the arena, and now the order was given to raise the lifting platform. Sand slipped down over the edges of the five-yard-square gap created by the opening of the hatches. Then began the slow, creaking grind of the winches as the slaves set to work.
Indavara would have liked to avoid giving Capito the satisfaction of seeing him check the third barrel but he had to look. There was nothing there of course. He lashed out: a straight, solid kick that knocked the barrel on to its side. Facing a man with such a knife was one thing; facing a wild animal was another.
He watched the luminaries on the podium get to their feet, as eager as the rest of the crowd to see what would appear from below. The cage rose past him, covered with a huge grey sheet. Bonosus and his men closed in around it. When the platform reached the level of the arena, locking planks were hammered into place. The arena was quiet again. Indavara could hear the hurried breaths of the slaves below. Bonosus neared the cage and placed a single hand on the sheet.
Maesa began his final speech: ‘Again our warrior has overcome great odds! Again he has triumphed! But now he faces his final challenge. The beast inside this cage is all that lies between him and freedom.’
Maesa halted for a moment, waiting for the cheers to pass.
‘And what of this animal? It was captured just one week ago, in the high mountains of Dalmatia. A beast nine feet long, weighing over five hundred pounds. Within its mouth forty teeth, upon each paw claws three inches long. Behold . . .’
Bonosus pulled the sheet away.
‘The bear!’
The crowd noise surged, then stuttered as they saw what Indavara faced.
The immense animal could hardly move. It had been forced to sit up on its hind legs – there was no space for it to settle on all fours. Indavara could not imagine how they’d forced it into the cage, though the small patches of glistening red on its light brown fur gave him a good idea. The bear was slobbering, and repeatedly knocking its head against the thick wooden bars; so hard in fact that one of them was coming loose. Then the beast poked its nose out, shiny nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. The other bears Indavara had seen in the arena had been half this size: young or old; weak or diseased. But this one seemed in peak condition, with thick layers of flesh over its massive limbs.
Indavara looked despairingly at his blade. Yet more boos and jeers swept around the arena.
Capito sat down, thus making himself less of a target; the missiles aimed at him had become larger and more solid. Two young men tried to force their way over to him and had to be restrained by legionaries. Even some of the nobles shouted abuse. Capito shrugged.
Indavara was five yards from the cage. The side facing him was hinged at one end and functioned as a door. There was no lock, just a thick chain wrapped tight around the poles. Bonosus ordered two of his men to take it off. As they warily approached, the chief guard provided a distraction, poking his spear through the side of the cage and prodding the bear.
The animal growled a warning, then tried vainly to turn round. It pawed at one of the bars, claws scraping away slivers of wood. The anxious guards were making a poor job of loosening the chain.
Indavara suddenly felt a sick dread. Events had overtaken him. The legionaries were locking all the exits except the northern gate, the escape route for Bonosus and the guards once the bear was free. The only real cover he could use was the box. But it was a good thirty yards away.
The chain finally slid to the ground and the men pulled it free. Bonosus barked an order and they swung the door open, then hurried away. With one last jab, he turned and ran after them.
The animal swung a paw at the side of the cage, crushing one of the poles. It bucked backwards and then – realising it was free – half fell on to the sand.
Indavara backed away. He wanted the crowd as noisy as possible, but they had quietened so much that he could hear Bonosus still shouting orders as he neared the gate.
The bear righted itself, ran its nose into the dust, then looked up. Its beady eyes came to rest on Indavara. Then it ambled towards him, huge shoulders rolling above its head.
Indavara stayed absolutely still.
Teeth bared, lips trembling, the bear loosed a roar. Then it charged.
Indavara turned and bolted back across the second section as another wave of noise engulfed the arena. He had no idea how fast the bear was moving. He was aiming for the far corner of the box.
He saw his shadow flashing across the sand to his left.
Fifteen yards to the corner.
Arms and legs pumping, he sprinted along the side of the box.
Ten yards. Five.
The noise was deafening. He readied himself to cut right, then glanced left again. A massive dark shape bore down on his shadow. He would not make it.
Indavara brought his hands up over his head and dropped to the ground.
The animal couldn’t slow itself in time. One front paw struck Indavara and the bear tripped, flying over him, landing heavily in the sand, claws scraping the ground as it slid past the box.
Indavara was up quickly. He had taken a heavy impact on his back but felt only the sting of the trident wounds. Checking he still had the knife, he retreated back past the box, watching as the bear rolled over, shook itself down and got slowly to its feet. He looked inside the box to see if there was anything he might use as a weapon but there was nothing – not even a loose sword blade.
The bear sniffed its way over to where Spear had died.
Indavara g
lanced towards the northern end of the arena and realised instantly he had to get back there. He jogged backwards, eyes trained on the box; then crossed into the second section and moved left towards the eastern wall.
He was vaguely aware of people screaming his name, others shouting encouragements and suggestions, but this noise didn’t register. He knelt down in front of the deer carcass. He had seen enough dead animals to know there was something here he could use. Just as he grabbed one of the rear legs, the bear’s great head emerged from behind the box.
Looking down for as long as he dared, Indavara used the dagger to make an incision just above the deer’s ankle bone. He dug around until he could see the tendon. Then he made another deep cut just below the back of the knee.
The bear was lumbering towards him now, nose close to the ground.
Indavara gripped the tendon, cut it away from the flesh, and pulled the pale stringy length from the leg. Then he stood, and calmly sliced more skin and hair away as he backed towards the cage.
The bear changed direction to follow him. What he feared more than anything was another charge. There was nothing but open ground behind him; the cage was too far away.
But the beast had picked up the smell of the deer and it now lolloped towards the wall. With only a cursory glance at Indavara, it sniffed the leg, then licked at some blood.
Still moving backwards, Indavara finished stripping the tendon. It was eight inches long, not as strong as it would be after days of drying but strong enough, he hoped. He tucked it and the dagger into his tunic.
As the bear stuck its snout into the deer’s torn belly, Indavara reached the cage. The pole that the animal had struck was so broken as to be useless. The one next to it, however, was in good condition. Better still, it had come loose at the top; all he needed to do was get the bottom free. He wrapped both hands around the pole and twisted it from side to side, levering it away from the nails holding it in place.
The blow that had sliced off the top half of Indavara’s ear had affected both his hearing and sense of balance. Over time, his sense of balance had somehow corrected itself but his hearing remained impaired. He could make out sounds to his left but they were often dulled and indistinct.
And so when someone in the crowd threw a bottle over the parapet, striking the bear’s back, and sending it careering away towards the nearest living target on which to vent its rage, he didn’t hear the thumping impacts of the huge paws. Though most within the arena saw the animal charge, their astonishment at its speed struck many of them dumb. Only a few managed to shout a warning in time. They saved Indavara’s life.
He had almost wrenched the pole free when he turned. With one last heave, he threw himself to the ground just as the bear leapt.
The beast made a belated attempt to swipe at him but couldn’t halt its charge. It crashed headlong into the cage, crushing most of two sides and knocking the entire structure end over end. Hardly seeming to notice, the bear raised itself up on its hind legs to its full height, towering over Indavara. Its whole body shuddered as it unleashed another roar.
Indavara was back on his feet. He clamped both hands on the pole and held it up in front of him.
The bear dropped to all fours and plodded towards him, snarling and salivating.
Indavara lowered the pole so that it was level with the bear’s head. He retreated slowly, jabbing it forward as the animal pursued him. But its speed caught him out again, and one sweep of a paw struck the pole. Desperate to hang on to it, Indavara was knocked to the ground.
The bear lunged at him.Two claws tore flesh from his right calf. Crying out, he leapt to his feet and suddenly he was running again.
Every step jarred his wounded leg. His chances of outmaneuvering the bear had just dropped from minimal to non-existent. So he took the only option left. He ran towards the barrel he had earlier kicked over and darted inside, dragging one end of the pole in with him.
The crowd were confused. Some applauded their hero’s resourcefulness, a few booed what appeared to be cowardice, others were disappointed that their man seemed beaten.
The bear was also perplexed. It circled the barrel, occasionally turning to lick the wounds on its neck.
As the moments of inactivity passed, people sat down and began to talk. Bonosus opened the northern gate and led his guards forward. They took up position behind what remained of the cage and watched as the bear neared the open end of the barrel, sniffing and peering warily inside. It retreated for a moment, then pawed lightly at the pole. There was no sign of Indavara. A hefty nudge from the bear’s head spun the barrel around. Another shunt sent it rolling towards the wall. The bear trotted after it.
Hundreds of people swarmed to the parapet as the barrel gently collided with the wall. Legionaries pushed their way to the front to stop any more interventions.
Running its snout across the barrel, the bear moaned, then growled, frustrated it couldn’t reach its prey. It rose up on its hind legs once more and a swat from its paw loosened one of the iron bands that held the planks together. The bear struck the barrel again and again, blows of such prodigious strength that in moments the other band was loose, and the barrel began to disintegrate.
The legionaries above had their work cut out trying to restrain the crowd, some of whom were ready to risk a blow from a sword pommel if they could somehow aim a missile at the animal and help their man.
The bear ambled around to the open end of the barrel and poked its head inside.
The wooden base at the other end flew off into the sand. A foot appeared, then a leg. Indavara wriggled free of what remained of the barrel and pulled himself clear, dragging the pole with him.
Except it was no longer a pole. It was now a makeshift spear, with the dagger lashed to one end by the length of tendon.
Those above were the first to notice. Cheers rippled around the arena.
Indavara moved sideways until the sun was directly above him. The bear trotted forward, wary of the pole swinging from side to side. Indavara waited until the animal seemed transfixed, then raised the pole high. Following the shining blade upward, the animal was momentarily blinded by sunlight.
Indavara took his chance. Lowering his grip, he darted two steps forward and drove the makeshift spear into the bear’s chest. The dagger sank in as far as the handle. The beast yelped and shrank backwards.
Indavara pulled the pole free. The bear recovered itself and plodded forward. Indavara held his ground and jabbed for the eyes. The tiny knife missed them but sliced down the centre of the broad head, darkening the fur with blood. The bear stopped, then lunged forward again. Curved claws raked the underside of the pole but the weapon held together.
Indavara stayed on his toes, constantly shifting across the glaring sunlight, trying to confuse the bear further.
Now he used the other end of the pole as a club, smashing it twice against the bear’s head. He caught an ear, and the animal seemed stunned for a moment. So he spun the pole over, then swept the makeshift spear towards its face once more, cutting across the smooth skin at its snout. Blood ran down into its eyes and dripped from its nose.
Enraged, the bear charged. Though Indavara had forgotten the pain in his injured leg, it buckled under him. He stumbled, and had only the time to get the pole up in front of him as the bear went for his throat.
The jaws snapped shut on the pole, splitting it in two. The bear twisted in the air and one great paw caught Indavara on the chest, slamming him to the ground.
He landed badly on his wounded shoulder, and knew a rib or two had gone. The dagger-end of the pole had landed close by but he found he could hardly move. The previously isolated points of pain on his body had fused into a pressing layer of agony that suddenly overwhelmed him. He knew with absolute certainty that at any moment he would feel teeth sink into his neck. For the first time that day, he could make out individual voices in the crowd. They implored him to fight, begged him to move. He wondered if the figurine was still secure inside his tu
nic. He wondered if the woman who’d given it to him was there.
He could not move.
Then he realised his eyes were shut. And when he opened them, he was looking at the bear, stretched out on the sand a few yards away. The animal couldn’t see him. Blood was streaming down its face, forming puddles in the sand. It was blinking and pawing uselessly at its wounds, sniffing, trying to find him with its nose.
Hope returned, and with it a little strength. Indavara breathed in as much air as he could and got to his feet. He pulled the knife from its lashing and closed both hands around the tiny handle. Planting his feet close to the bear, he drove the blade down into the top of its head.
The beast moaned. Its eyes were glassy and still.
He stabbed the blade down again, into where he guessed the brain might be, then twisted it. The blade snapped off in his hand, and he collapsed to the ground once more.
He sat there, dwarfed by the vast mass next to him. Had there been another weapon close at hand he would have struck again at the beast; plunged another blade into its skull, cut at its mouth, its eyes, its heart.
But the moment passed. And as the bear’s great head finally slid into the dust, the rage dissolved. And he felt a kind of kinship for this poor, magnificent thing, forced to fight for its life for the amusement of others. And then something he had never felt after dispatching a human foe. Regret.
Capito was stunned by the noise. All around him people were leaping and shouting and crying. He turned, looking for one particular face. The slave-trader pointed at him, drew a finger across his neck, then disappeared into the crowd.
Indavara was dimly aware of Bonosus and the other guards around him. He struggled to his feet again. Blinking into the sunlight, he turned until he could see the northern gate. Then he felt inside his tunic. The figurine was there. He pulled it out and held it tight in his hand.
The guards made way as he limped towards the gate. The crowd began to throw money. Coins peppered the sand around him.
