‘Yes!’ Macro said, thumping a fist against his thigh.
His triumph was cut short as the lion spasmed briefly before lurching to its feet, roaring defiantly in spite of the splintered shaft protruding from its belly. Pavo looked on disbelievingly as the lion struck out at Macro, swatting the stocky optio aside with ease. He tumbled to the ground next to Pavo, a large gash visible across his thigh. The younger man glanced up as the lion drew close to the two fighters, groaning in pain.
‘Shit,’ Pavo muttered darkly. ‘We’ve had it.’
A cold dread gripped him as the beast moved in for the kill. The thought of being ripped apart by the lion froze the blood in his veins. The arena trembled, the crowd rising as one to catch a glimpse of the gladiators on the verge of death.
‘Come on, you bastard!’ the third fighter yelled, jabbing a spear tip into the lion’s back.
The lion jerked its head from side to side in an effort to shrug off the spear. The third fighter ripped the weapon out of the beast as it spun away from Macro and Pavo. Fresh blood dripped from the spear tip and a bright red gash streaked the lion’s back. In the next instant the lion sprang forward at the fighter. The man grunted as the beast clawed at his chest, its massive weight pressing down on top of him. He fell back against the sand and the spear was wrenched from his grasp. Now the lion let out a deep roar as it angled its jaws at the prone fighter’s neck. The fighter stretched his arm towards the spear, but the weapon lay tantalisingly out of reach.
‘Kill it!’ the third fighter begged his companions.
Pavo knew he had no more than a moment to act. He scraped himself off the ground and snatched up a spear lying on the sand close by. A short distance in front of him, the lion opened its jaws wide as it prepared to make its second kill. Planting his feet firmly, Pavo trained the spear point at the beast. His senses were heightened. He was keenly aware of the venomous pitch of the crowd, the shimmer of the sand under his feet. He flooded his lungs with air and launched the spear. The lion jolted upright in pain as the tip plunged into its back, blood splattering its golden mane. There were audible gasps of disbelief from the spectators as the animal rolled on to its back and pawed at the air, panting irregularly as it died.
Relief flushed through Pavo. The feeling quickly faded as discontented murmurs spread through the crowd. The spectators were furious that the fighters had survived, denying them the spectacle of the lion ripping the rest of the men apart. Conflicting emotions stirred inside Pavo, his elation at defeating the lion tempered by the grim certainty that he had succeeded only in delaying his own death. He glanced up at the imperial box, where Pallas and Murena shifted uncomfortably on their feet. Pavo couldn’t help but notice that the stern-faced senator who’d arrived late seemed pleased with the result. Below the senator Pallas muttered discreetly to his aide. Nodding promptly, Murena shot up from his seat and disappeared down the nearest set of steps leading from the galleries.
‘Get this fucking thing off me!’
Pavo snapped his eyes back to the third beast fighter. He was waving his arms and legs for help, pinned beneath the dead weight of the lion. Pavo hurried over to the man and rolled the lion off his chest. He offered his hand. The fighter brushed it away.
‘Don’t expect me to thank you for saving my life, Roman,’ he growled scornfully. ‘The only reason I agreed to help defeat that beast is because I didn’t want it to kill you … I wanted to save that pleasure for myself.’
Pavo went white behind his visor as he noticed the familiar brand scarring the man’s forearm: the mark of the house of Gurges. At last he placed the dull, heavily accented voice of the beast fighter.
‘Amadocus …?’ he said falteringly. ‘Is that you?’
‘Who the fuck else?’
The gate crashed open behind Pavo. Several guards poured out of the passageway. Nerva followed them, the official marching purposefully towards the beast fighters. He was stopped in his tracks by Murena calling out his name from the passageway. The aide pulled Nerva aside and began issuing orders to him.
Pavo looked back to Amadocus. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Fighting in the games, what does it fucking look like? No thanks to you, Roman. Gurges went bankrupt after you beat Denter. I was sold to a lanista who owned a travelling troupe. Greedy bastard couldn’t wait to get rich off my back. He threw me into the arena while I was still injured. I lost my bout, nearly paid with my life, too.’
Several attendants dragged the lion towards the opposite gate. Macro clamped a hand over the wound on his thigh, blood trickling between his fingers.
‘My injuries ended my career as a champion of the arena.’ The Thracian shook his head at his missing fingers. ‘The lanista sold me off to participate in the beast fights. Told me it was that or the mines. You’re the reason I ended up here, Roman. I swear as soon as I get the chance, I’m going to kill you.’
Murena waved Nerva away. The official hurried over to the beast fighters and nodded impatiently at Macro.
‘Hilarus! Present yourself to the infirmary and get that wound cleaned up. The imperial aide will be along shortly. He wants a word with you.’
‘Great,’ Macro muttered under his breath. ‘Just what I need.’
‘What about me?’ Pavo asked.
Nerva flashed a sinister grin at Pavo and Amadocus in turn. ‘You two are to return to the antechamber with the other gladiators. You can watch the animal hunts while you’re there. If I were you, I’d enjoy the show. Once those idiots are done prancing about, we’ve got a treat in store for the crowd. You’ve killed the lion — now let’s see if you can do the same to an Atlas bear.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A pair of guards escorted Macro down a series of corridors towards the infirmary. At this early hour the cots were empty. The medical orderlies diligently checked the equipment, preparing the stretchers and surgical instruments for the inevitable stream of patients that would follow. A strong scent of garlic lingered in the air as Macro entered the infirmary. He grimaced as he thought of the carnage that would soon overwhelm the orderlies. Memories rushed back to him of the field hospitals in battles along the Rhine, the stench of torn bowels, the rags soaked in fresh blood, the bodies piled high.
A wizened surgeon with grey eyes greeted Macro with a weary smile. ‘It seems we have our first patient of the day. Step forward, gladiator.’
Macro remained at the door. He didn’t like the tone of the surgeon’s voice. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.’
The surgeon craned his neck at Macro’s gashed thigh and clicked his tongue. ‘No such thing as flesh wounds when it comes to wild beasts, my boy. I’ve seen their cuts turn a gladiator half mad before he died. Allow me to have a closer look.’
Macro gritted his teeth as the surgeon prodded at his wound, inspecting it with his bony index finger. A wave of nausea washed over the optio. After what felt like a long time, the surgeon withdrew his finger and washed his hands in a bowl of water.
‘You should live, provided we clean it out and suture it,’ he announced, wiping his hands on a rag. ‘Otherwise you might die in a day or two. Come with me.’
Macro reluctantly followed the surgeon into an adjoining room. He hesitated in the doorway as he caught sight of several needles, scalpels and saws arranged on a wooden table, their pointed tips shining in the wan candlelight. The surgeon turned to him.
‘It won’t hurt. A little pain when the needle pricks the skin, that’s all.’