Simon Scarrow - Arena

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 …’

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.