The Imperial Banner (3 page)

Auctus could hardly have looked more different to Indavara. He was six inches taller, long-limbed, fair-haired and blue-eyed with high, pronounced cheekbones and an angular jaw. His left shoulder and upper arm were wrapped by thick padding; and this was covered by a section of bronze scale armour that began at his collar and stretched down to his elbow.

Held high in his left hand was the trident: a six-foot wooden pole topped by three barbed iron spikes. In his right hand was the net. Indavara had scoffed when he’d first seen one, but now knew how deadly they could be. Fully nine feet wide, the net was weighted around the edge by lead weights or, as in this case, polished stones. Indavara had seen them ensnare swords, trip a man from twenty yards, even take out an eye. He wondered what inadequate weapon Capito would provide this time. Any type of spear or sword would do; the longer the better.

Auctus had just noticed the female attention. He wandered towards the enclave and swung his net languidly above his shoulder, as if to catch the women. This was too much for one young girl who flung herself at the parapet and had to be restrained by her friends. With a slight grin, the northerner strode back across the rope and back into the second section.

Indavara reached the second barrel. This one was not shaded from the sun and he could easily see the bottom. He realised he had fundamentally underestimated Capito’s determination to see him die. The barrel was empty.

Maesa took up a position midway between the fighters. He watched Indavara turn away from the barrel and stare down at the tiny dagger.

‘There’s nothing inside!’ announced the centurion. ‘A cruel twist of fate!’

‘Cruel! Cruel!’ thousands of voices replied. Others hissed at Capito, outraged that their hopeful wagers now seemed so unlikely to pay off. Capito waved away the noise and insults and dodged a bunch of grapes aimed at his head. As the barracking died down, he noted something an untrained ear would miss. Beneath the seething indignation was the buzz of animated conversation. Deep down, the mob wanted to see Indavara tested; to see if he could survive this.

Maesa conducted a cursory examination of Auctus’s equipment, then hurried over to Indavara. There was only the knife to check. The centurion lifted Indavara’s wrist to show the dagger once more to the crowd, prompting more boos. Auctus walked slowly towards Indavara, narrowing the gap to about five yards, then stopped.

‘And now our warrior must face the second of his three tests. Who will triumph? Who will be defeated? Indavara against Auctus! Let the battle begin!’

The northerner held the trident level with his waist, grip about halfway down the pole. Indavara noted the thick, gnarled veins that chased up his forearm. Holding the heavy weapon up with one hand was difficult, and wielding it in battle for any length of time required great strength. The German gathered the ropes of the net together in his right hand and cast a professional’s glance at the tiny knife, its blade barely visible above his opponent’s fist.

They circled each other until Indavara was facing the podium. He darted forward, prompting Auctus to take a pace back and loosen his grip on the net, ready to use it if his opponent charged.

But when the attack never came, the German took his turn to advance. Indavara held his ground, settling into a low, fighting stance, ready for a move from either hand. Auctus centred the trident and stepped forward again, training the three spikes on his enemy’s neck. Indavara still didn’t move, even as the northerner released the folds of the net.

Just three yards separated them when Auctus made his first lunge with the trident. Indavara took a step left and ducked below the high thrust. He saw the net swing but was caught out by Auctus’s speed. A stone caught the front of his shin; a stinging blow that would have halted a man unused to ignoring pain.

Auctus recovered the net and instantly closed the space again. Indavara was next to the rope – the limit of the fighting area. If he crossed it Bonosus was sure to poke him back into the second section with his spear. So he scuttled right, then backed towards the centre, the German following warily. Indavara could see he would be difficult to unsettle. He executed the basics well and always kept his body and weapons correctly aligned.

Aside from a few loudmouths, the crowd was quiet, expectant. This clash of champions was one for enthusiasts.

Auctus took the initiative again, eyeballing his foe as he strode towards him. Indavara bounced up and down on his toes and waited. His options were limited; he needed time to see what Auctus could do before he tried anything.

The German jabbed the trident forward again, simultaneously swinging the net at his enemy’s knees.

Indavara shuffled backwards, avoiding both attacks.

Auctus pressed on and repeated the move. Indavara leapt to his left, sure he was clear of both net and trident.

But then Auctus twisted his wrist and swung the net upward. Indavara felt rope brush his neck, then a shuddering crack as one of the stones caught him under the chin.

Blinding white flashed into his eyes. He staggered back, reeling as the pain bloomed higher. His eyes cleared; and he saw the trident-head coming at him.

He pushed off to his right, dropping into a neat double roll that took him clear. Springing back to his feet, he looked up as the German marched towards him, yelling in a language no one else in the arena understood.

Indavara realised that the blow had pushed his teeth up into his tongue. The thumbnail-sized chunk he had bitten off was sliding around in his mouth. He spat it out, along with a glob of bloody spittle.

With the trident held high, his arm bent at the elbow, Auctus swung the net in ever wider arcs ahead of him.

Indavara retreated, heels scuffing the sand. He had a move in mind, but to pull it off he would need to slow that net-arm. Mindful of the rope, and Bonosus’s men lurking behind him, Indavara crabbed right, quickly accelerating into a trot.

Auctus dropped his grip to the centre of the net and a swift flick of the wrist sent it spinning towards Indavara’s feet. It struck the ground just as he jumped but then bounced back up, ensnaring a foot. He fell headlong into the dust.

Women screamed. Men bellowed warnings at him.

With not a single glance at the onrushing northerner, Indavara cursed his fellow gladiators –
Never throws his net?
– and sat up. He reached for the rope and the single stone pressed against his foot. The stone came away easily, leaving only two criss-crossing ropes wrapped tight. Indavara tore at them, then looked up.

Auctus was five yards away.

At last the rope slid off, and Indavara scrambled to his feet. He would have taken the net himself, had the trident-head not been so close.

Auctus drove the weapon at his enemy’s neck.

Indavara threw himself backwards and twisted away from the trident.

A single spike hit, tearing a gash in his shoulder.

Auctus slowed himself, spun around and plucked the net from the ground before Indavara could react.

The wound was small but deep. Beneath the torn fabric of his tunic, Indavara could see dark and pale tissue. He wondered if Auctus kept his weapons clean. The wound wouldn’t kill him; infection might.

From the crowd, the traditional chant: ‘A hit! A hit!’

The German was in no mood to tarry. Taking only a moment to shake sand from the net, he adjusted his grip on the trident, and stalked towards his fellow gladiator once more.

Indavara took care to move slowly, and winced with every movement of his shoulder. He swapped the knife to his left hand for a moment, so that he could wipe the sweat off his right. When he returned it, he realised he might have a way to slow that net-arm.

Auctus stretched his arms wide like two great wings and closed on his prey once more.

The crowd were quiet again; their man was in trouble.

Indavara spat out more blood, tried to ignore the fiery pain in his shoulder, and awaited his foe.

Auctus jinked from side to side, offering half-jabs and feints. His next real swing of the net whistled past Indavara’s left ankle. Then the trident shot forward.

Jab, swing. Jab, swing. Auctus was grinning and talking; he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Another jab.

Indavara threw the knife to the ground.

Confusion was just beginning to register on Auctus’s face as he swung the net. It slowed him down.

Indavara darted down to his left and managed to grab the edge of the net.

Auctus hauled it back; but Indavara didn’t resist, instead flinging what he held up and to the right. The net whipped high into the air and landed on the trident-head, catching two of the spikes.

Ducking under the tangle, Indavara launched himself at Auctus.

With both hands occupied, the German was defenceless as Indavara’s swinging right forearm caught him under the jaw, knocking him clean off his feet. Auctus fell backwards, pulling the net and Indavara with him.

They had barely struck the ground when Indavara wriggled free of the net and hammered a fist down, splintering Auctus’s nose. Despite the transformation of the middle of his face into a pulpy mass of flesh and bone, the northerner managed to keep functioning. His scrabbling fingers reached for the trident.

Indavara was not about to give up his advantage. Forcing his weight down, he wedged his elbows into the German’s armpits and gripped his foe’s neck with both hands. He’d used the choke hold before and knew it to be immensely difficult to dislodge.

That didn’t stop Auctus trying. He punched Indavara in the head, then clawed at his neck; but he couldn’t inflict enough pain to loosen the thick fingers digging into his throat. The German spasmed his back but he couldn’t shift his foe.

Indavara had lowered his head to avoid the flurry of blows and by the time he looked up, Auctus had hold of the trident. Pain pulsed through Indavara’s shoulder as he channelled all his strength into his hands and squeezed tighter. He couldn’t let go now.

Auctus moved his arm as high as he could, holding the trident-head over Indavara’s back. Indavara shook him, trying to dislodge the weapon, but Auctus knew it was the only chance he had left. Gritting his teeth, Indavara pressed harder still, watching his fingers turning white. Auctus was doing well for a man who couldn’t breathe.

The crowd yelled warnings that became a single cry.

Auctus plunged the trident between Indavara’s shoulder blades. The barbed spikes sliced easily through the tunic, sank into the skin, then tore at the flesh as the pole tipped backwards.

Indavara was still screaming when he let go and pushed himself up. The trident slid off his body.

Auctus’s eyes were pink, his face and neck scarlet; and bulging veins ridged his forehead. But with both hands now free, he reached for his enemy’s neck.

Indavara swatted his hands away and slammed his right elbow down on to the German’s forehead, pummelling his skull into the ground. Something cracked.

The crowd roared.

Unsure whether Auctus was still alive, Indavara stood up and grabbed the trident.

Bonosus and his men hurried towards him, to ensure that the governor give the decision this time.

But Indavara was more interested in the burning rents in his back and shoulder than convention. With a one-handed jab, he buried the trident in Auctus’s chest, then watched as the northerner’s mouth fell open and his eyes rolled up into his head.

The crowd quietened. Bonosus looked around apprehensively; he had failed in his duty. This second breach of protocol turned eyes towards the podium. Sensibly, the governor waited. Shouts of approval – begun by Indavara’s most ardent followers – grew swiftly into a tumult. Before long, the governor and those around him were applauding too.

Capito, now standing against the parapet, gestured for Bonosus and the other guards to follow Indavara towards the third section. He wished he was closer, to see how badly his fighter was injured. It was always so damned hard to tell with the rare few like Indavara; those who could not only take damage, but continue to fight long after most men would have fainted or given up.

Capito couldn’t resist the urge to turn round. The slave-trader had moved to a spare seat just a few yards away. His face was set in a stony grimace.

A teenage slave arrived.

‘Are you ready for the platform now, sir?’

‘Raise it.’

Indavara touched his back. The trident holes were an inch deep; and a thin stream of blood issued steadily from each one. He twisted his body from side to side, then bent back and forth. The pain was no worse; it seemed there was no serious damage.

As he crossed the second rope, an enterprising supporter with an impressive throwing arm lobbed a gourd of water. It landed in the dust at Indavara’s feet. He picked it up, removed the stopper and drank, idly watching as Auctus’s body was carried away. He sloshed the remainder of the water over his wounded shoulder and back. The cheers reached a crescendo as he held the gourd up towards the supporter.

The messenger had reached the bowels of the arena, and now the order was given to raise the lifting platform. Sand slipped down over the edges of the five-yard-square gap created by the opening of the hatches. Then began the slow, creaking grind of the winches as the slaves set to work.

Indavara would have liked to avoid giving Capito the satisfaction of seeing him check the third barrel but he had to look. There was nothing there of course. He lashed out: a straight, solid kick that knocked the barrel on to its side. Facing a man with such a knife was one thing; facing a wild animal was another.

He watched the luminaries on the podium get to their feet, as eager as the rest of the crowd to see what would appear from below. The cage rose past him, covered with a huge grey sheet. Bonosus and his men closed in around it. When the platform reached the level of the arena, locking planks were hammered into place. The arena was quiet again. Indavara could hear the hurried breaths of the slaves below. Bonosus neared the cage and placed a single hand on the sheet.

Maesa began his final speech: ‘Again our warrior has overcome great odds! Again he has triumphed! But now he faces his final challenge. The beast inside this cage is all that lies between him and freedom.’