Arena

by Simon Scarrow

  Heart pounding, Pavo glimpsed Hermes above the rim of his shield. The champion was hacking his sword down like an axe chopping wood. Pavo instinctively hoisted his shield horizontally above his head in a smooth, swift motion, his arduous sparring sessions in the courtyard with Ruga firmly ingrained in his muscles. There was a thunderous crack as Hermes’s sword hammered against the shield. Pavo felt a vicious pain shooting through his wrist as it absorbed the shock of the impact. Now he pushed up, every sinew and muscle in his legs straining as he threw off his opponent’s sword and knocked Hermes off balance. He jerked his flat shield forward, just as Ruga had taught him. Hermes grunted as the iron-rimmed edge slammed against his bronze chest protector. A wild cheer erupted from a section of the crowd as Hermes was momentarily stunned. Others booed vehemently. Glancing over his shoulder, Pavo realised he had been pushed back from the centre of the combat circle. He now stood a few short paces from the edge, the chalk mark clearly visible in the sand.

  He swung his gaze back to Hermes, perspiring hard inside his helmet. Droplets of sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, temporarily blurring his sight. Ahead of him Hermes quickly recovered from the shield blow and brought the base of his sword crashing down on top of Pavo’s shield, battering it to the ground before booting it aside. Pavo felt his heart skip a beat as the handle was savagely wrenched free of his aching grip. The shield landed a short distance to his right. Cursing the gods, he reached out to retrieve it, but Hermes reacted in a flash, slashing his sword at his opponent’s outstretched arm. An intense searing pain stung Pavo’s flesh as the sword tip grazed his bicep, nicking the muscle. Hissing sharply between gritted teeth, he snatched his trembling hand away from the shield, blood seeping from his glistening wound. Now Hermes swung his sword down at his opponent and Pavo immediately jerked his own weapon above his head. A rasping clang echoed around the arena as the two swords slammed into each other just above his helmet. Filling his lungs, Pavo roared and sprang to his full height, throwing off Hermes. The champion stumbled backwards, visibly shaken by the sheer strength of his opponent. He made a deep keening sound in his throat.

  Pavo lunged at him, sensing a chance to draw blood. Hermes batted away Pavo’s thrust with an outward sweep of his shield before raking his shield arm back across his chest and smashing the iron rim against his opponent’s helmet. A clangorous sound rang through Pavo’s skull. For a brief moment an unsteady blur clouded his vision. His sight cleared just as Hermes booted him in the guts. Pavo bent double and gasped at the cold air. Nausea burned in his throat. He staggered backwards, his muscles seized with anxiety. Hermes struck out at him with a brutal thrust of his sword. Pavo raggedly parried the move. Seething behind his visor, Hermes punched his shield into his opponent with unstoppable force. The younger man lost his footing, groaning in despair as he tumbled to the ground. His back crunched against the thin sprinkling of sand covering the travertine paving. He coughed and sputtered painfully inside his helmet. Every fibre of his being ached. The armour felt twice as heavy as it had done at the start of the fight. The spectators in Hermes’s section of the arena rose to their feet, chanting and shaking their clenched fists in triumph.

  ‘He’s crossed the line!’ one of the fans declared. ‘Pavo has lost!’

  Another section of fans who’d been chanting Pavo’s name heckled their rivals, making offensive hand gestures and hurling insults in their direction. ‘Dirty cheating bastards!’ one of them shouted wildly. ‘Pavo never crossed the line!’

  Pavo gazed down at his feet. To his horror he saw that he had landed on top of the chalk mark enclosing the circle. His upper body lay fully outside the circle, with his trailing leg remaining inside by a hair’s breadth. There was a collective rumble as the five thousand spectators crammed into the arena rose to their feet and craned their necks. Some shook their heads decisively. Others pointed to the floored gladiator and argued heatedly with their companions over whether or not he had crossed the line. Hermes raised his arms in victory as Pavo lay bewildered on the sand, gripped by despair, unable to believe that he had lost. Meanwhile the opposing factions shouted over each other, both sets of fans fired by the belief that their judgement was correct. Pavo swung his gaze back to Hermes as the champion swaggered towards him and stopped at his feet. His colossal frame cast a vast shadow over his opponent.

  ‘On your knees, traitor,’ Hermes grunted throatily. He was breathing deeply inside his helmet and his voice rasped through his airholes. ‘Now you’ll suffer a humiliating death in front of the Emperor … just like your old man.’

  Pavo froze. Panic was beating like a drum in his chest. He swallowed his bitterness and struggled awkwardly to his feet, a feeling of dread tightening in his bowels as he prepared to face his gruesome fate. His heart sank like a lead weight at the thought that he had failed his father. He awaited his agonising death, awaited the moment when the champion of Rome would plunge his sword into the hollow between the base of his neck and his collarbone, piercing his heart. His only consolation was that he would join his parents and Sabina in the afterlife. To have come so close to revenge, only to fail at the last – it had all been for nothing, then. Dark droplets speckled the sand around Pavo as rain began to fall from the clouds hanging low above the arena.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ he whispered inside his helmet.

  ‘Halt!’ a voice suddenly cried.

  Both Pavo and Hermes looked towards the umpire. He was waving at Hermes, gesturing for the champion to step away from his opponent. Up in the imperial box, Pallas and Narcissus both stared intently at the umpire while Claudius consulted another member of his entourage.

  ‘Pavo has not crossed the line!’ the umpire exclaimed as loudly as possible, struggling to make himself heard over the competing yells of the crowd. ‘The fight is not over!’

  Hermes stood his ground and cocked his head at the official. ‘Bollocks,’ he spat as he jabbed the scuffed chalk line with the bloodied tip of his sword. ‘This pathetic shit clearly crossed the line. Look at the chalk.’

  The umpire shook his head stiffly. ‘The rules state that the whole body must be outside the circle in order for the fighter to forfeit the contest. Pavo’s leg was still inside. According to the rules, he is not out. He has not forfeited the bout.’

  Hermes rounded on the umpire. ‘But that can’t be—’

  The umpire cut him off with a raised hand. ‘I am the umpire, gladiator. My decision is final. Step back from your opponent and return to your position!’

  Hermes towered over Pavo for a moment. After a pause he turned and paced sullenly back to the centre of the circle, fuming and shaking his head in disgust. The spectators closest to the action turned to their companions in the next row up and relayed the umpire’s decision. Soon the news had spread throughout the stands. Hermes’s fans, incensed by the verdict, loudly jeered the umpire and started pelting the arena with wine cups and cushions and anything else they could get their hands on. The guards around the exits set upon the offenders and hauled them out of their seats. Pavo’s supporters remained standing, cheering deliriously and urging their hero on. The young gladiator noticed Pallas closing his eyes as he breathed a sigh of relief. Narcissus stood on the other side of the Emperor, his face locked into a tight-lipped scowl. A moment later a servant hurried over to Narcissus and whispered into his ear. Nodding severely, the adviser turned his back on the arena and headed for the exit. Murena and Pallas exchanged a smug look. Pavo glanced back at Hermes.

  ‘An outrage!’ Hermes snarled inside his helmet, loud enough for his supporters to hear.

  At that moment the skies opened up. The gentle pitter-patter quickly swelled to a deafening hiss and there were cries in the stands as the spectators were soaked through by the sudden downpour. The rain fell over the Forum in freezing, slanting torrents, spattering the grandstands and turning the white sand a dark brown. At once several sections of the crowd shot to their feet and hurried towards the nearest exits, raising their hands above
their heads as they tried in vain to protect themselves from the driving rain. Others loudly cursed the gods as their togas were drenched. In mere moments large swathes of the grandstands had emptied. Pavo watched as the rain washed away the chalk line, blurring the circle and making it impossible to judge where the gladiators were permitted to fight. The scuff mark where his leg had trailed across the line was quickly obliterated.

  ‘Shit!’ the umpire cursed. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in the direction of the tunnel. ‘The fight is suspended! Clear away the weapons!’

  The attendants darted out of the tunnel entrance, eyes narrowed, jaws clamped tight and chins tucked to their chests as they braced themselves against the driving rain. Pavo could not hear a thing above the pinging sound of the heavy droplets striking his helmet. The arena guards looked on helplessly as hordes of spectators scurried towards the exits. The German bodyguards hurriedly led Claudius out of a separate exit. Pallas and Murena and the rest of the imperial staff followed closely behind. One of the attendants ushered Pavo out of the arena, rain drumming loudly against his armour, the wet sand squelching underfoot. As he dragged his exhausted body towards the tunnel, Pavo could barely lift his head. By the time he reached cover, he was drenched through to his loincloth. Turning back to the arena, he saw Hermes trudging towards the opposite entrance. The champion, still raging over the umpire’s decision, angrily shrugged off an attendant.

  ‘What the hell were you doing out there?’

  Pavo turned and lifted his eyes to Macro. The soldier nodded towards the arena floor, a cold expression on his weathered face.

  ‘Sir?’ Pavo panted, breathing unevenly through the airholes in his helmet.

  Macro thrust a scarred finger at his chest. ‘That performance was a joke! You almost handed victory to Hermes on a plate. If it hadn’t been for the umpire, you’d already be cut to pieces. I bet Hermes could hardly believe his luck.’

  Pavo shook his head. ‘He’s too strong and fast. You saw how he knocked me down. There’s nothing I can do.’

  Macro stepped into his charge’s face and looked him sharply in the eye. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve been struck down a few times myself in skirmishes in the Second Legion. Do you know what I do when some German scum has me on the ground, eh?’

  Pavo shrugged.

  ‘I get up again, lad. Then I let the bastard have it. A good Roman soldier would rather shag a pig than surrender to his enemy. He’s taught to fight to win or die trying. The same goes for you. So tell me, how badly do you want to beat Hermes?’

  ‘Badly,’ Pavo croaked.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ Macro growled.

  ‘I want to beat Hermes, sir!’ Pavo shouted hoarsely as he struggled to catch his breath. ‘I want to kill the bastard!’

  ‘That’s better.’ Macro thumped his young charge on the shoulder while the rain continued to fall in shimmering rods of silver. He pointed to the sodden arena. ‘When you go back out there, you show Hermes what a real champion is made of. If he hits you, you hit him back twice as bloody hard, d’you hear? Make that bastard regret the day he chopped up your old man.’

  Pavo nodded vigorously. He hesitated for a moment. Then he glanced tentatively back out at the arena, filled with a sudden doubt. ‘But how I am supposed to defeat him, sir? I’m doing exactly as you and Ruga taught me, but I still can’t get past his defences.’

  Macro grunted and scratched his jaw. ‘Hermes is certainly a tough nut to crack. From watching the fight, I’d say the only way to beat him is by depriving the bastard of his most effective weapon.’

  ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘His shield.’

  Pavo snorted. ‘And just how am I supposed to do that?’

  Macro grinned. ‘You know how Ruga reckons Hermes has no weaknesses?’

  Pavo nodded uncertainly. Attendants brushed past him, bearing buckets of sand to scatter over the arena floor as the rain started petering out. He turned back to Macro.

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about the way Hermes fought against Criton,’ the soldier went on. ‘And I think I’ve got an idea …’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The rain stopped a short while later. Puddles shone across the wet sand as Pavo and Hermes re-entered the arena. The spectators hurriedly resumed their seats, having sought refuge under the tall porticoes lining the Forum, and the Emperor and his entourage returned to the imperial box. There was no sign of Narcissus, Pavo noted. He turned to the umpire and watched him pacing impatiently up and down the sand while a pair of officials sprinkled chalk over the faintly visible marking. Wielding his shield and short sword, Pavo stepped inside the freshly drawn circle and prepared to face his opponent again, repeating to himself the plan Macro had explained to him in the tunnel. He closed his eyes and prayed to Jupiter that the soldier’s strategy would work.

  Once the umpire had examined the chalk line, he paced back to the centre of the circle and gestured for the gladiators to approach and resume the bout. Hermes flexed his neck muscles and stared at Pavo as he warmed up.

  ‘The gods won’t save you a second time, traitor. It won’t matter where you fall, once I’ve buried my sword in your fucking neck.’

  ‘Go to Hades,’ Pavo said coldly.

  Hermes held up his sword. The blade glinted under the clearing sky. He grunted. ‘Funny, that. Titus told me the same thing … right before I cut his head off.’

  An almost inhuman anger took hold of Pavo. He saw red, his muscles twitching with hatred, his blood simmering as it ran hot through his veins. With steely resolve he took in a sharp draw of breath and firmed his core muscles as the umpire raised his stick and frenetic yells went up amid the crowd.

  ‘Fight!’ the umpire boomed.

  There was a deafening roar from the crowd as Hermes sprang into a powerful attack, his sword point stabbing towards Pavo’s groin. But this time Pavo neatly thrust his shield out and deflected the tip, his heart beating wildly as he drew a lungful of air and lunged forward. Raising his right arm above his head, he twisted his wrist inward so that the tip of his sword was pointing down at the ground. In the blink of an eye he extended his sword arm beyond Hermes’s shield and stabbed at his opponent in a quick downward thrust, nicking him beneath the collarbone. Hermes howled in agony as the blade pierced his flesh. The champion responded by lifting up his shield to bat away Pavo’s sword and thrusting at his throat. Pavo instantly jerked his head to the side. A grating shriek filled the air as Hermes’s blade scraped along the surface of his helmet. The sound jarred shrilly between his ears and Pavo instantly jolted back from stabbing range and began manoeuvring round Hermes. The enraged champion pursued him round the circle, a bright red gash glistening on his neck.

  Hermes went on the attack again, thrusting at Pavo as he drew within range. The young gladiator swung up his shield and deflected the blow, jabbing his sword at Hermes before the champion could recover to a defensive posture and nicking him on the shoulder. Pavo’s pulse quickened. The plan was working. He focused solely on his opponent, shutting out the noise of the crowd and ignoring the nerves jangling in his throat. His senses were heightened. He was keenly aware of his breathing and the dull weight of the sword and shield in his grip as he lunged at Hermes, feinting high this time. The champion raised his shield, enraged and bleeding. Pavo smashed his own shield down towards his opponent’s toes but Hermes nimbly backed off a pace and there was a muffled thump as the shield edge thwacked against the sand.

  ‘Is that the best you’ve got, traitor?’ Hermes sneered.

  ‘Why don’t you attack like a man?’ Pavo mocked. ‘Instead of hiding behind your shield like a coward.’

  Hermes growled behind his visor. ‘I’ll cut you down now, scum! You’re going to lose.’

  He charged at Pavo, muscles shaking with fury as he clattered into his opponent with his shield and launched a mad flurry of blows with his sword tip. Pavo spun round at the last moment. There was a shrill metallic ringing as Hermes’s
sword repeatedly clashed against the shield boss. Adjusting his stance, Hermes instantly jabbed his sword low and slashed Pavo on the thigh. The younger gladiator dropped to his knee with a sharp cry of pain. Then Hermes thrust his shield out, smashing Pavo’s sword out of his hand. The weapon landed with a dull thud on the wet sand. Pavo crouched behind his shield, blood disgorging agonisingly from his thigh wound. He gripped the shield, which thrummed as Hermes battered and thwacked his sword against it relentlessly. Guttural shouts rang out through the crowd as they sensed the fight reaching its climax. Every nerve in Pavo’s body tensed with fear. With a fierce grunt Hermes kicked the bottom of Pavo’s shield, tipping the top edge towards him. Then he brought his sword arm hammering down like a fist, wrenching the shield free of Pavo’s weakening grip. It fell from his grasp. Hermes’s fans went wild as he kicked the shield away and Pavo sank to his knees at the edge of the circle. Now Hermes stood in front of his opponent, breathing hard. He chucked aside his own shield in a fit of arrogance and saluted his fans as Pavo knelt defenceless beneath him.

  ‘It’s over,’ Hermes gloated as he turned back to Pavo, a slight rasp to his voice. He tilted his head at the umpire. ‘That cheating bastard can’t save you now. You’re mine.’

  Pavo coughed up blood and slowly raised his gaze to Hermes.

  ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ he said weakly.

  Hermes chuckled harshly. ‘What’s that, traitor?’

  ‘You dropped your shield.’

  Hermes immediately froze in horror as he realised his mistake. Macro had anticipated that the champion would cast aside his shield only when he believed the fight was already won – just as he had done in his sparring match with Criton. Pavo rolled to his left, scooping up his discarded sword and springing up on his toes as he pointed the tip at the champion’s groin. Hermes’s swift reflexes allowed him to swivel towards the tip and bring his own weapon down across his chest. A faint metallic ring sounded as he parried the thrust. Pavo dug deep and summoned one last ounce of strength, swiping aside his opponent’s sword and shooting bolt upright before Hermes could recover, driving his sword tip at his opponent’s neck. There was a brief glimmer as the tip caught the glare of the sun breaking through the clouds, followed by an explosive gasp of air as the sword punctured Hermes’s throat and punched out of the nape of his neck. Hermes spasmed as Pavo drove the sword on until the pommel was almost touching his opponent’s helmet.