Simon Scarrow - Arena

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?’