Simon Scarrow - Arena

‘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.

The champion of Rome swayed on the spot for a long moment. The crowd gasped in disbelief as he pawed at the blade jutting out of his neck and made a strange gurgling noise. Then Pavo wrenched the blade free. Hot blood gushed out of the wound, splashing down Hermes’s chest and staining the glittering belt wrapped round his waist. Hermes gave out a final wheezing grunt. Then he collapsed.

A stunned silence hung over the arena. Pavo looked on numbly for a moment, struggling to grasp that he had won. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and watched Hermes die, the wound in his neck disgorging a steady pump of blood that spilled on to the sand and formed a wide pool beneath his sprawled body. Then it hit him. The enormity of his achievement. He was overcome by waves of ecstasy and relief.

‘By the gods, I’ve done it,’ he whispered to himself, as if he could barely believe it was true. He closed his eyes and saw an image of his father flash in front of him. ‘I have avenged you, Father …’

He let his sword fall from his grasp to the sand. There was no hot pounding in his veins as he’d experienced in the wake of previous fights. He felt only immense satisfaction that he had accomplished what he had set out to achieve many months ago. All the depredations he had been forced to endure, the deep humiliations he had suffered, the narrow escapes in the arena against some of the most feared fighters in Rome — he had met them all. He didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be cast into a ludus, fight as a gladiator and return to Rome to defeat the great Hermes, he would have mocked them. Now, as he made a silent prayer to Fortuna and Mars, he was simply grateful that he was still alive.

Every muscle in his body throbbed with exhaustion and pain. He could hardly stand upright. The crowd erupted into a full-throated cheer. Even Hermes’s fans joined in in recognition of the stunning display of power, skill and determination from the victor. Soon every spectator was roaring his name. Pavo was indifferent to the praise of the mob. Tomorrow, he knew, they would be in awe of another gladiator.

There was a tumult in the mouth of the tunnel. Pavo turned and saw Murena striding out of the shadows accompanied by a large detachment of Praetorian Guards. The imperial aide pointed to the victorious gladiator.

‘Guards!’ he shouted, his smooth voice cracking with anger. ‘Arrest this man!’

Pavo was dumbfounded. Murena had betrayed him. A hot rage swept through his veins as the guards pushed forward, two of them grabbing him by the arms. Boos immediately chorused around the stands. Pavo was too weak to break free of the guards’ grip. He cast a panicked glance across the arena, looking for Macro. He glimpsed him in the tunnel, where a handful of Praetorians were struggling to restrain the optio from entering the arena. One of the guards lifted the helmet from Pavo’s head and the harsh light stung his eyes. He turned to face Murena. The aide to the imperial secretary approached him, an amused expression on his face. Pavo took a deep breath to compose himself.

‘Release me at once!’ he stuttered.

‘Not likely,’ Murena sneered, pulling a sour face at Hermes’s sprawled body. ‘Beating the colossus of Rhodes. I must say, that’s quite the achievement. I had my doubts. But once again you have proved us wrong. Sadly for you, instead of the Emperor proclaiming you Champion of the Arena, you’ll be hanging from a crucifix.’

Pavo felt the blood freeze in his veins. ‘We had a deal.’

Murena smiled and took a step closer to the young gladiator. ‘A deal?’ he said in a low, mocking voice, barely audible above the chorus of disapproval showering down from the stands. ‘Did you honestly think I would let you walk free, hailed as a champion, after you so nearly killed the Emperor? Of course not. You’re a traitor, Pavo. Just like your father. The mob may love you now, but once they hear the truth, your disgrace will be complete. The Emperor may have spared Appius, but I will make sure he grows up as lowly scum.’

Pavo convulsed with anger. ‘You bastard!’

Murena laughed. ‘Rant all you want, my dear boy. Now we will make you pay.’ He waved to the guards. ‘Get this miserable traitor out of my sight.’

Pavo resisted, digging his feet into the sand despite his sapped strength. ‘You can’t do this!’ he protested.

‘Oh, but I can.’ Murena laughed cruelly, his eyes narrow with cunning. ‘I must say, this has all worked out rather nicely. Hermes is dead, Pallas and I retain our influence within the imperial palace and you are to be nailed to a cross. A fitting fate for the son of a treasonous general, no?’

Pavo clenched his jaws shut as black rage pounded viciously inside his skull. He was consumed by an urge to snap the neck of the imperial aide. Murena smiled gleefully at him.

‘Send my regards to Titus in the afterlife,’ he mocked as he turned to leave.

‘That’s the culprit!’ a voice thundered from across the arena.

Murena halted and turned back round. Pavo looked towards the entrance at the opposite end of the arena and spotted Narcissus storming out of the tunnel, accompanied by Emperor Claudius and several of his German bodyguards. Narcissus appeared flushed with anger. He sidestepped Hermes’s bloodied corpse and pointed an accusing finger at Murena.

Claudius frowned sharply.

‘Are y-you quite s-s-sure of this, Narcissus?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely certain, your majesty,’ the freedman replied brusquely.

Murena shifted uneasily on the spot, his face shading white with fear as he looked at Narcissus and the Emperor in turn. He smiled weakly. ‘Is there a problem, your majesty?’

Claudius flashed a look of cold anger at the aide, his lips quivering with outrage. ‘N-Narcissus tells me that you hired s-s-several thugs — retired g-gladiators, no less! — to kill him.’

Murena was momentarily flustered. Murmurs erupted in the stands. The aide briefly lost his composure and something like panic flashed in his pale eyes. Pallas paced sheepishly behind Claudius. The imperial secretary did not even glance at his aide, Pavo noted. The two Praetorian Guards still held the gladiator by the arms and they glanced from Murena to Claudius, uncertain as to their orders.

‘Is s-s-such a thing t-true?’ Claudius asked after a pause, his temper rising.