A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii (18 page)

The shrieking of reed pipes blown by musicians standing under Pansa’s box ended the clamor. An expectant hush fell as both fighters walked to stand in the center of the circle. Perhaps ten steps separated them.

This was it
, thought Rufus, licking dry lips.

Pansa nodded, and the
summa rudis
gestured with his stick.

Murranus didn’t hesitate. With an animal roar, he charged at Pugnax.

“Gods, he wasn’t ready for that,” observed Satrius.

There’s no need to point it out
, thought Rufus irritably, hoping that this elementary mistake wouldn’t prove to be Pugnax’s last. To his relief, Pugnax braced himself so that Murranus’ shoulder charge didn’t send him flying. Parrying a powerful sword thrust, he launched a counterattack, reaching around Murranus’ shield with his curved blade. There was a yelp of pain, and Murranus took several steps backward. The audience behind him roared in appreciation.

“First blood to the
thraex
!” Rufus heard the
summa rudis
shout, and his heart sang.

As the two fighters circled one another, each looking for a chance to strike, he saw the wound on Murranus’ back. It was over the shoulder blade, and was bleeding profusely.

“It’s not deep,” said his father.

“That’s all right. Murranus’ shield is as heavy as a legionary’s
scutum
. It’ll already be agonizing.”

Sure enough, Murranus’ left arm had begun to drop. That didn’t mean he was beaten, however. With another fierce cry, he launched himself at Pugnax. Throwing his body weight behind his shield, he drove back Pugnax much as he had earlier with the
thraex
in the school. In danger of taking a bad wound, Pugnax retreated at speed.

Shit
, thought Rufus.
The crowd won’t like that
. But before his worries could coalesce, Pugnax raised his sword and shield high and did a twirl. He had none of the grace of a dancer, indeed, he looked ridiculous. It seemed he was aware of it, because even as Murranus chased after him, Pugnax spun around again.

Laughter broke out to Rufus’ left, and then to his right. Men pointed. Some shouted encouragement at Pugnax. Others poured abuse on Murranus, whose supporters were doing the same to Pugnax. But the shouts of “Coward!” and “Fight him!” were drowned out by the roars of amusement.

Rufus grinned. “He’s trying to tire out Murranus,” he whispered to his father.

“He’d best not flit about for long, or the crowd will turn again.”

It was as if Pugnax had heard Satrius’ words. Lowering his arms, he faced Murranus, who spat something derisory. The noise in the arena drowned out what he said; Pugnax’s reply was also inaudible, but it sent Murranus running forward at him. The two traded blows for a time. Sunlight flashed off their blades and their helmets. The sand, which had been so well raked, was thrown and dragged up by their bare feet. Their shields banged off each other with dull thwacks. Murranus knew well the advantage of his shield. He was able to deflect Pugnax’s every blow. The tactic wouldn’t win Murranus the battle, Rufus decided. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. All Pugnax had to do was not to take a wound, and not to run away too much. Sooner or later, Murranus would weaken enough for Pugnax to injure the bastard again. When that happened, it’d all be over.

Yet Murranus was no fool. Grunting with pain, he raised his shield high. Before Pugnax could react, he brought its rim down on the top edge of Pugnax’s, whose arm was driven down by the weight. At once Murranus thrust his blade at Pugnax’s unguarded breastbone. Gasps rose from the crowd, and Rufus felt sick.

In utter desperation, Pugnax twisted sideways. Instead of running him through, Murranus’ sword sliced a long cut across his chest. Pugnax reeled back in agony, blood pouring down his belly. Murranus was after him like a lion on an injured antelope. Somehow Pugnax held up his shield, resisted Murranus’ first strike and then his second. Shuffling his feet, he backed away as fast as he could.

The audience bayed their bloodlust. Men rose to their feet, and were shouting at Murranus to finish the job, to kill Pugnax.
They’re so damn fickle
, thought Rufus furiously.
Don’t listen to them, Pugnax. Stay strong
.
Murranus has spent his energy in that attack.

Sure enough, Murranus wasn’t able to pursue Pugnax for long. He halted after only a few steps, and placed his shield on the ground, so that he could rest his left arm and shoulder. His chest heaved in and out. Boos and catcalls rained down on him, but they were also being thrown at Pugnax, who was taking the opportunity to rest too.

Rufus found that he was biting a thumbnail to the quick. Pluto only knew how the contest would go from here, but it didn’t look good for Pugnax. His wound wasn’t deep, but it was long. Runnels of blood coated his whole front, and had turned his off-white undergarment crimson. The strap that helped to hold the padding in place on his right arm had been partly severed, allowing the layered linen and leather to sag down and expose his biceps. If he didn’t finish the
murmillo
with his next attempt, he might never win.

That was
, Rufus thought grimly,
if Pugnax even had the strength to fight on.

Beneath him, Rufus felt his seat shift. For a heartbeat, he didn’t appreciate what was happening, but then he saw the cloth awning overhead shaking. His heart pounded. “Stay where you are!” he hissed at his father, whose complexion had gone even grayer.

Wails of terror rose as those around realized what was going on. “Vulcan is angry with us!” cried a man. “The fighters aren’t good enough!” shouted another.

Pandemonium reigned in the moments that followed. The dominant sounds were those of roof tiles falling from buildings, people yelling and crying, or calling on the gods to spare them. The ground shook. Incredibly, the entire structure of the amphitheater trembled, like a terrified child about to receive a beating. A number of the statues that stood on the lip of the enclosure—including the one of Pansa—swayed and fell into the arena, landing with heavy thuds on the sand. An awning tore in two with a loud ripping noise, closely followed by another. A terrible screech of stone off stone, came from within the tunnel. There was a loud crash, as something immense struck the ground. Several men who had been about to enter the passage retreated, screaming that part of the roof had fallen in.

Just like that, the tremor stopped.

Rufus studied his father’s face. “Are you all right?”

Satrius nodded slowly. He looked very old. “What should we do?”

“Stay put. The amphitheater is well built. It should withstand any further tremors,” said Rufus, hoping he was right.

“Very well. We’d risk our lives trying to get out anyway,” said Satrius, indicating the next tunnel over, which scores of men were fighting to enter.

“Aye.” Rufus eyed Pugnax. He had not won, but at least he wouldn’t die. Understandably, neither gladiator had restarted the contest. Now it would be called off, leaving Pugnax to fight another day. Rufus had no idea how he would persuade Jucundus not to ask the court for Pugnax to be sold, but it was better that he had a live fighter to worry about rather than a dead one.

He hadn’t reckoned on Pansa.

The trumpets began to blare. They went on for long enough to the panicked audience to stop screaming, and to pause in their headlong flight.

“Citizens of Pompeii!” yelled Pansa as the notes died away. His very figure—tall, golden, confident—demanded attention. “There’s no need to leave! The earth has stopped moving. We are safe here. I ask you to take your seats again, for the contest has not ended! Afterward, there are more fights on the agenda, with gladiators of far greater skill. Before that, in the interval, there will be wine and bread for all. For all! Provided at my expense, naturally.”

Pansa was taking a real gamble
, thought Rufus. Most times that the earth shook, there were a number of tremors before things returned to normal. Yet, as his heart beat out ten and then twenty beats, the ground and the amphitheater did not move again.

With nervous laughs, the audience began to sit down. “It’s rude to turn down free wine,” cried a graybeard off to Rufus’ left. “And bread!” added his companion, a man with a bad squint. More jokes were cracked, about how the statues wanted to join in the fight, about who’d been first to get up and run, about someone who’d wet himself.

On Pansa’s orders, the reed pipes sounded once more. With jangling nerves, Rufus studied Pugnax. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, but he was moving with painful slowness. Happily, Murranus didn’t seem in much better shape, carrying his shield at least a hand span lower than was wise. They closed in and began to spar, each trying to find a weakness in the other. Neither managed to land a decent blow, and the crowd began to rumble unhappily.

Rufus glanced at Pansa.
Let him end the contest,
he prayed.
They’re both injured, and there could be further tremors.

But Pansa wanted blood. “Get on with it, you yellow-livered cowards, or I’ll have you both taken out and crucified!” he shouted. “The gods must be pacified!”

Murranus moved first, somehow finding the energy to charge at Pugnax. Rufus’ heart raced as Murranus tried the classic one-two legionary tactic, punching with his shield and following that with a sword thrust. But Pugnax anticipated the move, jinking to the left so that Murranus’ lunges met only air. Unable to use his
sica
because of his body position, Pugnax brought his small shield down on Murranus’ helmet with a loud metallic clang. Murranus’ knees buckled, and the audience roared with approval.

The move must have caused Pugnax considerable pain, because he staggered a little as he moved away, and fresh blood ran from the open-lipped wound on his chest. Rufus clenched his fists. Then, to his surprise, Pugnax closed with Murranus again. The
murmillo
was moving slowly, as if he had drunk too much wine. Within a few heartbeats, he’d taken a thrust to the top of his left arm, forcing him to drop his shield on the sand. With a grunt of triumph, Pugnax advanced,
sica
slicing the air. Murranus retreated from his shield, and Rufus exulted. There would be only one outcome now.

Soon, he would collect his winnings. Jucundus would be appeased. Once the surgeon had stitched Pugnax up, he’d just need time to heal. Within six weeks or so, he’d be ready to fight again.
With Pugnax a winner once more
, Rufus thought,
his creditors would become more amenable
.

Another tremor struck, more powerful than the first. Five statues tumbled into the arena this time, and a large section of awning fell into the crowd. The timbers that held the cloth aloft were as thick as a man’s arm, and several people were injured, or worse, when the timbers landed. It was too much for most. Screams of fear rose from everywhere—An old man: “Flee! We must flee!” From a child: “Mother! Where are you?” A terrified looking merchant moaned, “Forgive me, Pluto. I should not have taken your name in vain.”

Ignoring Pansa’s cries that they should remain where they were, the poorest spectators, who were in the upper parts of the amphitheater, fled to the exits and the stairs that led down to street level. Seeing what was happening, those lower down reacted in the same way. Some ran upward, some down, toward the tunnels that weren’t blocked. A few even jumped down into the arena and demanded to be let out through the passageway used by the gladiators.

When Rufus urged his father to remain where he was, he seemed content to obey. They weren’t in huge danger of dying by staying put. Their position was only just over a man’s height above the sand. Even if the building collapsed, they didn’t have far to fall. There was greater risk, for his father especially, in wading into the midst of a terrified mob. People had been trampled to death during the panic of the earth shocks of the previous month.
No
, thought Rufus,
we will wait and see what happens
.

Pugnax and Murranus had stopped fighting again: they both looked exhausted. This time, no one ordered them to continue. Pansa wasn’t all talk, Rufus saw. His box was empty, but that was because he was among the crowd, trying to persuade them to stay. His voice was being drowned out by the general panic, however. The fight was over. Rufus mouthed a foul curse. If Pugnax hadn’t actually won, he wouldn’t get paid the victor’s purse of two hundred
denarii
. All that he’d be due was the measly fee for Pugnax fighting. Rufus could already hear Pansa’s agent saying that the whole amount wasn’t payable because the contest had been inconclusive. He’d argue the point of course, but if Pansa had made up his mind, he would have to agree to it.

Rufus’ spirits sank to a new low at the thought of Jucundus’ response to his revised circumstances. There would be no sympathy, no mercy. He would be evicted as soon as the court could hear Jucundus’ case against him. The moment that Pugnax had healed up, he would be sold to raise money for his creditors. Rufus raised his eyes to the sky. He wanted to scream at the gods, but didn’t quite dare, given what was happening. He held in his rage, instead asking silently,
Why did you have to make the earth move now, Vulcan
?
Could you not have waited for even one hour?