‘Get stuck in!’ Macro laughed. ‘Don’t show them any mercy!’
One of the Thracians hastily grabbed a spear from a rack on the wall and singled out Pavo, charging at him in a mad fury. The young gladiator tensed his strong muscles, his mind racing as the spear tip glanced off the shield braced in front of his chest. Pavo filled his lungs and charged the man, knocking aside the spear and then driving the tip of his sword into the rebel gladiator’s groin before cutting up into his stomach. The man spasmed furiously as blood cascaded out of his wound. Pavo gave the sword a twist for good measure, then wrenched his weapon free and watched the gladiator collapse to his knees. Glancing around, he saw Macro smashing his fist into another gladiator’s face. Grabbing the stunned gladiator by his throat, Macro hurled the man off his feet and sent him crashing into a rack of javelins arranged along the far wall. Behind the optio another gladiator seized a curved dagger and lunged at him, spitting with rage.
‘Macro, watch out!’
Pavo raced towards the optio as he spun round to face the gladiator armed with the curved dagger. He slammed his right shoulder into the gladiator, knocking the blade away a moment before it slashed at Macro. The force of the blow dropped the gladiator to the ground. As he made to scrape himself off the ground, Pavo thrust his sword into the rebel’s exposed neck. The man rasped, his fingers clawing at the point sticking out of his throat. With a final grunt Pavo wrenched his blade free. Blood spurted out of the wound.
‘Learning a trick or two, I see.’ Macro nodded admiringly at the Thracian.
Pavo shrugged casually. ‘I had a good teacher.’
‘That’s the last of that sorry mob,’ Macro said, gesturing at the sprawled gladiators. ‘But there’ll be plenty more of them on the way. The sooner we burn this place down, the better.’
Pavo surveyed the armoury while Bassus fetched an oil lamp. He noticed something and turned to Macro, pointing out several empty racks. ‘It appears these gladiators were not the first to loot the armoury.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Macro asked.
‘There are weapons missing, sir.’
Macro thumped his fist against the wall. ‘Fuck! Bato must have removed some of them first.’
Pavo nodded. ‘They probably took as much as they could carry, and intended to come back for the rest.’
‘At least most of his men won’t be armed. Good job too. There’s enough weapons here to arm every one of the gladiators to the teeth.’ Macro indicated the array of swords, spears and shields on display in the armoury. Some were unfamiliar to the optio’s keen eye, and he supposed they had been modelled on the curved weapons preferred by armies in the east.
‘Burn it,’ he ordered.
Gripping a bronze oil lamp by its handle, Bassus held the flame to the nearest wooden rack. The air was quickly choked with fumes and a few moments later the rack erupted into flames. Bassus applied the flame to another rack and retreated with Pavo and Macro to the gate as the flames licked at the swords and spears, burning the shafts and handles. The guard threw the oil lamp into the swelling flames and joined the two men in the corridor. Macro grunted in satisfaction, his blood stirring at the sight of the weapons going up in flames.
‘Sir!’ Pavo exclaimed, clasping Macro’s arm. ‘Look!’
The optio followed the young gladiator’s gaze beyond the porticoes and across the training ground. In the soft twilight he spied a horde of gladiators disgorging from the dormitory block and charging towards the burning armoury.
‘The fire’s alerted them,’ Bassus observed. ‘Now we’re really in the shit.’
Several of the men were equipped with shields and swords. Others carried thrusting spears and daggers. Bato led the gladiators from the front of the pack. The Thracian rebel wielded a curved bronze shield and a curious four-pronged dagger. The steel prongs were bunched tight and straight in the shape of a cross, and were roughly a foot in length. Duras marched by his side wearing leather gloves with iron spikes sewn into the material. A three-pronged bronze fork was studded to the knuckles.
Bato grinned sadistically at Macro, his green eyes sparkling as they reflected the flames consuming the armoury. Smoke billowed out of the gates. The air was thick with the smell of charred wood. Beside the optio, Pavo clenched his fist round the handle of his sword in trepidation.
‘There’s got to be a hundred of them. They’ve got us trapped, sir.’
‘Hold your ground, lad,’ Macro said resolutely.
Bato slowed his pace as he neared the men. The flames roared behind them. The Thracian was momentarily distracted by the fire raging in the armoury. He pulled a sour face at the scorched weapons, then looked back at Macro and pointed at him with the prongs of his dagger.
‘Ah, lanista! Trying to ruin my plan, I see. Sadly, you’re too late. We already looted some weapons from the armoury. Along with the swords and shields taken from the guards we’ve killed, enough of my men are armed to easily overthrow you and the remaining guards.’ He turned to Pavo. ‘And I see you’ve brought your friend along. How convenient. Now I shall have the pleasure of watching you both suffer.’
‘You might kill us, but your rebellion is doomed. You’ll all be crucified.’
Bato laughed smugly. ‘I think not. By the time the legions get word of our uprising, we will have disappeared into the hills. A lifetime of looting and pillaging awaits me, Roman. The only thing you have to look forward to is an excruciatingly painful death.’
‘Go to Hades,’ Macro bellowed huskily.
‘You first,’ Bato rasped.
As he made to charge at Macro, a sudden shout erupted from the south of the training ground, in the direction of the main entrance. The Romans and gladiators simultaneously turned towards the guttural cry. In the next instant the outer doors groaned open and a wave of shadows swarmed through the entrance and charged towards the gladiators gathered on the training ground. The look on Bato’s face shrivelled to abject horror at the sight of the onrushing force. The men wore the breeches familiar to German tribes, and were armed with two-metre-long spears with shafts made of weathered ash with iron shanks mounted on top. Their swords were considerably longer than the standard legionary type. The gladiators stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the sight.
‘Thank fuck for Murena!’ Bassus cried. ‘The Germans are here!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Macro faced forward, his heart warming at the sight of ever more Germans pouring into the training ground.
‘NOW!’ he roared. ‘Come on, lads! Let’s stick it to ’em!’
The optio led with his sword towards the line of gladiators as Bato bellowed orders for his men to confront the advancing Germans. The spell broken, the Thracians slowly turned as one to face the Germans racing across the training ground. Several gladiators on the front line who were fortunate enough to be armed raised their pilfered shields to brace themselves against the impending attack. But the men were shaken by the bloodcurdling roars from the Germans and seemed hesitant to charge. Bato booted one gladiator in the small of his back, kicking him towards the oncoming shadows.
‘Run at them, you dogs! Cut them down!’
His words were silenced as the Germans tore into the gladiators, thrusting their spears. The Thracian front line stood firm, planting their feet in the sand as the spear tips pierced their shields. Their unarmed comrades howled in agony as the tips punched through muscle and bone, impaling the gladiators and driving them back, pressing against their comrades to the rear. One of the men gave out a bloody gurgle as a German plunged his spear at him with such power that the tip exploded out of his muscular back. Undeterred, the gladiator began furiously hacking at the staff jutting out of his chest with his short sword. His German opponent snarled and thrust his spear in an upward motion, sweeping the gladiator off his feet and piking him in the air. Around him there was a blazing shimmer of steel as his comrades brought their long swords to bear and proceeded to cut down the enemy in a manic hail of stabs and thrusts.