‘Go out there and win,’ Macro urged.
‘Win?’ Pavo mumbled sarcastically. ‘I can hardly stand up!’
Macro cleared his throat and made a pained face. ‘They put something in your drink,’ he admitted. ‘Murena told me shortly before ordering me down here. He bribed Gurges. Achaeus added a potion to the usual brew to slow you down. The effects wear off quickly enough, I’m told. You’ll soon be back to your usual cheerful self.’
Pavo felt a surge of rage sweep through his veins as he thought back to the cup of foul liquid the doctore had forced him to swallow. ‘They have no shame, those Greeks … Bastards.’
‘Sod them,’ Macro snapped. ‘If you don’t go out there and sort out Denter, then we’re all in trouble. The guards are keeping the mob in check, but there’s only a few of them and they won’t hold for long. If they fall, we’re looking at a full-blown riot.’
Pavo growled through clenched teeth at his predicament. ‘So either I triumph over Denter and save the skins of the two men who ordered the death of my father and have conspired to kill me off, or I fail and cause their downfall, at the expense of countless lost lives and the ruin of an entire city.’
Macro nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it, lad.’ He pursed his lips and smiled stiffly. He had thought about informing Pavo that Pallas had threatened to execute both the optio and the gladiator if they failed to quell the growing public unrest. Macro had listened ashen-faced to Murena, stunned at how quickly and brutally the mood could change. Two months after being decorated a hero, he was facing the prospect of a crucifixion along the Appian Way. But he bit his tongue. Pavo had plenty on his plate already, he reminded himself. No point shovelling more worry on top. Besides, Macro wanted him to confront Denter with renewed purpose, not a bellyful of anxiety.
Pavo examined the ground. ‘Not much of a choice.’
‘It never is, in my experience,’ the optio replied grimly.
‘To Hades with Rome,’ Pavo grumbled darkly. ‘When this is all over, if I somehow manage to survive, I will leave the city and get as far away as possible from its dark soul.’ He stiffened his neck. ‘The frontier with Parthia, perhaps.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Macro replied sarcastically. ‘I hear that’s a proper shithole.’ He slapped Pavo heartily on the shoulder, quelling the sense of dread writhing in his bowels at the thought of being crucified. ‘Well, there’s nothing for it now but to knuckle down and get the job done. Come on, lad. On your feet.’
Pavo squinted at the arena. Servants worked quickly to clear away the debris that had been thrown into the grounds. ‘I’m not sure I can beat Denter,’ he said. ‘That man doesn’t know fear.’
‘Bollocks.’ Macro chuckled. ‘Denter isn’t a patch on you. He’s just a thug.’ He looked at Pavo with a glimmer in his eye. ‘Do you know why he won so many fights?’
Pavo shrugged. ‘Because he’s good with a sword?’
‘Because he’s already won the battle before he steps out on to the sand.’
Pavo looked at Macro quizzically. ‘How do you mean?’
‘He frightens his opponents. All that rubbish about ripping out his own teeth at the banquets? It’s scare tactics. The German tribes along the Rhine are the same. Soldiers in camp swap horror stories about them over supper. When the time comes to face them in battle, some of the lads have surrendered before the first arrow has been shot. Denter is just trying to bully you, lad.’
Pavo shrugged. He wanted to believe Macro, but the daunting record of his opponent made him hesitant.
The optio pressed on, his voice rising with conviction. ‘Think about it. Pallas and Murena clad Denter in armour from head to bloody toe. They’re scared of you, Pavo. And you know why?’ Pavo shook his head. Macro puffed out his chest in pride. ‘Because you have the ability to beat him. I know it. I’ve seen what you are capable of.’
Macro surprised himself with the compassion in his voice. He was an old-fashioned soldier at heart, not one given to moments of sympathy. He’d lived a hard life on the outposts of the Empire, keeping the barbarian hordes at bay, and kindness was in short supply. But Pavo had been through plenty, in his eyes. He did not deserve to fall to a thug like Denter.
‘With a sword, I might have a chance,’ Pavo conceded. ‘But with these …?’ He waved a hand at the trident and net, sighing wearily as his voice trailed with uncertainty.
‘Funny you should say that.’ The optio bent down to the net and pricked his thumb on the tip of a lead pellet, testing its sharpness. He looked back to Pavo and beamed. ‘I’ve been thinking about your weapons. And I’ve got a plan …’
Denter was already parading around the arena when Pavo emerged from the tunnel to a chaotic wave of noise. The servants had cleared the arena and the veteran stood freely in the middle, pumping his clenched fist at a section of the crowd in an effort to wind them up even more. Pavo looked up at the galleries. Guards stood menacingly at the exits, ready to pounce on any troublemakers trying to stir up further violence. Denter’s supporters and local people clutched their blood-streaked faces. Servants dragged the limp corpses of several men towards the gallery steps. Order was restored to the crowd as the herald announced the return of the two gladiators to the stage. Pavo swallowed hard and slogged towards his opponent with great difficulty. He still felt listless from the effects of the potion-laced drink. A thick fog had settled behind his eyes.
He stopped a short distance from Denter. He stared at his opponent and thought once more of the revenge he had vowed to take on Hermes.
‘Come back for more, have you?’ Denter growled through his helmet. ‘Ha! The crowd won’t save you this time, you spineless shit.’
The umpire signalled for the bout to resume.
Pavo tensed his muscles as Denter burst at him, a grating snarl sounding inside his brimless helmet. Jolted into action, Pavo hoisted his trident towards his opponent’s exposed mid-section and directed the tines towards his intricately detailed loincloth. But his movements were still slow and heavy and the trident felt unwieldy in his grasp. Denter batted it away with a quick downward thrust of his shield. Pavo felt his heart sink as the tines plunged into the sand. Now Denter hammered his shield into the ground, trapping the trident under its iron rim. Pavo unsuccessfully tried to wrench it free. Letting out a roar, Denter raised his sword high above his helmet and swung the blade down at the trident. With a distinct crack the sword hacked through the shaft, detaching the iron shank and tines from the splintered handle.
Pavo relinquished his grip on the broken weapon and backtracked away from the middle of the arena. Now Denter hefted up his shield and chased down his opponent. The veteran’s blood was up. Pavo could discern his heavy breathing through his helmet as he smelled the imminent defeat of the young challenger.
‘Stand your ground, you little shit!’ Denter rasped. ‘Victory is mine!’
Pavo edged back a little further. The local people in the crowd heckled Denter as he closed in on his opponent. Some of the spectators rose from their stone seats and waved strips of white cloth at their rivals from Pompeii. Pavo sensed the mood turning among the fractious mob. Denter charged at him, spurred on by the roars from the Pompeiians, and emboldened by the fact that his rival had lost his main weapon. He dropped his shield to his side and thrust his sword at Pavo’s bare chest. The younger gladiator lumbered to the left in a frantic bid to avoid being cut. But he was too slow and Denter caught him on the left shoulder, the tip of his sword skewering Pavo’s joint. Some of the spectators screamed as the blow struck. The Pompeiians whooped with delight. Pavo felt a burning pain explode in his shoulder muscles. Denter gave the sword a twist, dicing tendon and cartilage, sending another sickening wave of agony through Pavo. Nausea tickled his throat. He braced his jaws shut as Denter ripped the blade free. Hot blood gushed out of his wound and splattered the sand.