A full-blooded roar snapped Pavo’s gaze back to the pair of Germans. They had finished picking off their hapless opponents, leaving Pavo as the last surviving fighter from his side.
‘Don’t stop fighting!’ the umpire thundered. ‘Only the last man standing wins!’
Now the two Germans turned on their comrades. Fewer than a dozen men were still standing. The Germans made short work of them, slashing through them with a series of coordinated attacks, severing spinal columns and punching through the napes of exposed necks. The bodies quickly piled up around their feet. The Germans looked around for another opponent and, spotting Pavo, simultaneously charged at the young gladiator to a rasping cheer from the mob, who were desperate to see their former hero cut down.
The man on the right lunged at Pavo first, the sharp points of his swords glinting in the light. Pavo bent at the knees and pushed out with his shield, meeting the attack head on. There was a jarring clang as the sword tips glanced off his shield boss and carried towards the sky. Now Pavo leaned forward and jerked his sword down at an angle, piking his opponent through his leading foot, slicing through tendon and bone. Blood spurted out of the wound and the German immediately tensed up with pain. He reached down to his impaled foot. Pavo retracted his arm and swept his shield in front of him in a wide horizontal arc, smashing into his opponent’s jaw with the iron rim. The German’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he crashed to the sand.
‘Scum, that’s my brother!’ the second German growled in broken Latin.
In the same draw of breath he launched at Pavo and slashed at him with the sword in his left hand. Pavo jumped back but the sword tip grazed across his front. A searing pain exploded in his chest as the tip pierced his flesh. His nerves screamed in agony and his fingers instinctively unclenched, releasing the sword from his grip. The German kicked his shield away as Pavo dropped to his knees, and shaped to plunge both swords at his felled opponent’s neck.
‘No! He’s mine!’ Amadocus bellowed savagely as he charged at the two gladiators.
The German spun towards the onrushing Thracian. Pavo glanced past his shoulder. He saw Amadocus stampeding towards the German, his eyes burning fiercely as he cut down his opponent with a stab to the abdomen. The German’s eyes widened with shock as the blade sliced through his vitals. He gripped the blade, trying to prise it out of his torso, but Amadocus had a firm grip and quickly twisted it, churning up the German’s bowels. In the same instant Pavo bolted upright and backed away from Amadocus. The German gasped in agony and fell away to the sand, landing in front of Pavo. His eyes went dim and a gurgling sound came from his chest.
The Thracian pulled his sword out of the fallen German and glanced across the corpse-strewn sand.
‘Just you and me left, rich boy,’ he chuckled as he looked back at Pavo. ‘Guess what? This time tomorrow, it’ll be me who’ll be rich. Murena visited me last night in my cell. Promised me ten thousand sestertii, a farm in Brindisium, and all the cunny I could ever wish for in return for making sure you die.’
‘And you believe a word that Greek rat says? You’re even more stupid than you look.’
‘You think you’re so clever, Roman. You won’t look so smart when my blade rips through your throat!’
Pavo stood frozen to the spot as the Thracian advanced on him, lips bared in a triumphant snarl.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Fighting through the burning pain in his chest, Pavo staggered backwards from Amadocus as his great rival lunged at him. The umpire waved his wooden stick at the Thracian, demanding that he give Pavo a chance to arm himself to make it a fair contest. Amadocus seized the umpire by his shoulder and stabbed the man in his stomach with a single clean blow. The crowd cheered, revelling in the sight of the official meeting a grisly end. Amadocus retrieved his blade and the umpire dropped to the sand, clutching his bowels to stop them spilling out.
Then the Thracian filled his lungs and resumed his charge at the young gladiator. Pavo quickly darted to his side and grabbed the two swords lying beside the gutted German. He looked up and glimpsed the gleam of a sword tip plunging down towards him. In a flashing blur he hefted the two swords as he twisted round, slamming them lengthways against the blade thrusting towards him. The rasping clash of steel against steel rang shrilly around the arena. Amadocus growled as Pavo pushed up on the balls of his feet and shoved the Thracian back a step. Amadocus came at him again but Pavo adjusted his stance and held both swords up in front of him, the blades close together, blocking the repeated thrusts. Amadocus breathed heavily, sweat running down his torso as the effort of his relentless attacks took its toll. But Pavo refused to get drawn into a slogging match. He knew that if he was to win against his old rival, he’d have to fight on his own terms, using his swordsmanship to overcome his more powerful opponent.
Amadocus attacked again, making a low keening sound in his throat. ‘Fight, you Roman shit! Don’t retreat like a woman.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’ Pavo taunted.
Amadocus snarled as he swung his blade. He stopped mid-swing, a cruel smile trembling on his lips as he spotted the flesh wound across Pavo’s chest. ‘You’re bleeding, Roman. It’s a sign. The gods must favour me.’
Pavo smiled. ‘Fighting a wounded aristocrat and you’re still struggling. You must be losing your touch, Thracian.’
Snarling madly, Amadocus stabbed at Pavo again, jerking his sword at the young gladiator in brutal thrusts. Pavo pushed out with his swords and deflected the attack. But he was beginning to tire. He could feel his muscles aching from the strain of keeping the swords raised. His breathing became increasingly ragged. Amadocus grinned as he sensed blood. He thrust his blade at Pavo, aiming for his torso. But at the last moment he jerked his wrist up and angled the blade at his rival’s arm. Pavo twisted away from the thrust but the sword tip pricked his flesh and sent a stinging pain running down the length of his arm. He gasped for breath. His fingers spasmed and the sword tumbled helplessly from his grip.
‘Got you now, Roman!’ Amadocus sneered.
Pavo staggered backwards, his muscles palpitating with adrenalin and fear. Mocking taunts rained down on him from the galleries above the parapet. Now Amadocus reached down and grabbed the dropped sword before Pavo could reach for it. Armed with two weapons, his eyes full of savage intent, the Thracian jerked his arms back, tucking his elbows tight to his sides then thrusting both swords at Pavo’s neck with immense force. For a brief moment the gladiator saw the life of his son hanging in the balance. Then, with one last burst of his failing strength, he dived to the right, evading the thrusts, and cut upwards with his remaining sword, stabbing Amadocus in his armpit.
The Thracian glanced down, stunned by the blade piercing his flesh, hot blood gushing down his torso and spattering the sand. Convulsing with anger, he lunged at Pavo. The gladiator winced in pain as Amadocus landed on top of him and the two men crashed to the ground. Pavo kicked out at Amadocus in a desperate attempt to throw him off. The Thracian punched him on the jaw. Pavo saw white. His vision cleared as Amadocus grabbed a curved dagger glinting on the sand. Now the audience shrieked with joy as the Thracian plunged the dagger towards Pavo’s throat. Pavo threw his hands above his head to shield himself from the blow. His forearms were locked in a brace across the Thracian’s forearm.
‘It’s over, Roman,’ Amadocus rasped, pressing the dagger mercilessly towards his opponent. ‘At last you die. Or beg for your life!’