‘I’m sorry, Father,’ he whispered inside his helmet.
‘Halt!’ a voice suddenly cried.
Both Pavo and Hermes looked towards the umpire. He was waving at Hermes, gesturing for the champion to step away from his opponent. Up in the imperial box, Pallas and Narcissus both stared intently at the umpire while Claudius consulted another member of his entourage.
‘Pavo has not crossed the line!’ the umpire exclaimed as loudly as possible, struggling to make himself heard over the competing yells of the crowd. ‘The fight is not over!’
Hermes stood his ground and cocked his head at the official. ‘Bollocks,’ he spat as he jabbed the scuffed chalk line with the bloodied tip of his sword. ‘This pathetic shit clearly crossed the line. Look at the chalk.’
The umpire shook his head stiffly. ‘The rules state that the whole body must be outside the circle in order for the fighter to forfeit the contest. Pavo’s leg was still inside. According to the rules, he is not out. He has not forfeited the bout.’
Hermes rounded on the umpire. ‘But that can’t be-’
The umpire cut him off with a raised hand. ‘I am the umpire, gladiator. My decision is final. Step back from your opponent and return to your position!’
Hermes towered over Pavo for a moment. After a pause he turned and paced sullenly back to the centre of the circle, fuming and shaking his head in disgust. The spectators closest to the action turned to their companions in the next row up and relayed the umpire’s decision. Soon the news had spread throughout the stands. Hermes’s fans, incensed by the verdict, loudly jeered the umpire and started pelting the arena with wine cups and cushions and anything else they could get their hands on. The guards around the exits set upon the offenders and hauled them out of their seats. Pavo’s supporters remained standing, cheering deliriously and urging their hero on. The young gladiator noticed Pallas closing his eyes as he breathed a sigh of relief. Narcissus stood on the other side of the Emperor, his face locked into a tight-lipped scowl. A moment later a servant hurried over to Narcissus and whispered into his ear. Nodding severely, the adviser turned his back on the arena and headed for the exit. Murena and Pallas exchanged a smug look. Pavo glanced back at Hermes.
‘An outrage!’ Hermes snarled inside his helmet, loud enough for his supporters to hear.
At that moment the skies opened up. The gentle pitter-patter quickly swelled to a deafening hiss and there were cries in the stands as the spectators were soaked through by the sudden downpour. The rain fell over the Forum in freezing, slanting torrents, spattering the grandstands and turning the white sand a dark brown. At once several sections of the crowd shot to their feet and hurried towards the nearest exits, raising their hands above their heads as they tried in vain to protect themselves from the driving rain. Others loudly cursed the gods as their togas were drenched. In mere moments large swathes of the grandstands had emptied. Pavo watched as the rain washed away the chalk line, blurring the circle and making it impossible to judge where the gladiators were permitted to fight. The scuff mark where his leg had trailed across the line was quickly obliterated.
‘Shit!’ the umpire cursed. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in the direction of the tunnel. ‘The fight is suspended! Clear away the weapons!’
The attendants darted out of the tunnel entrance, eyes narrowed, jaws clamped tight and chins tucked to their chests as they braced themselves against the driving rain. Pavo could not hear a thing above the pinging sound of the heavy droplets striking his helmet. The arena guards looked on helplessly as hordes of spectators scurried towards the exits. The German bodyguards hurriedly led Claudius out of a separate exit. Pallas and Murena and the rest of the imperial staff followed closely behind. One of the attendants ushered Pavo out of the arena, rain drumming loudly against his armour, the wet sand squelching underfoot. As he dragged his exhausted body towards the tunnel, Pavo could barely lift his head. By the time he reached cover, he was drenched through to his loincloth. Turning back to the arena, he saw Hermes trudging towards the opposite entrance. The champion, still raging over the umpire’s decision, angrily shrugged off an attendant.
‘What the hell were you doing out there?’
Pavo turned and lifted his eyes to Macro. The soldier nodded towards the arena floor, a cold expression on his weathered face.
‘Sir?’ Pavo panted, breathing unevenly through the airholes in his helmet.
Macro thrust a scarred finger at his chest. ‘That performance was a joke! You almost handed victory to Hermes on a plate. If it hadn’t been for the umpire, you’d already be cut to pieces. I bet Hermes could hardly believe his luck.’
Pavo shook his head. ‘He’s too strong and fast. You saw how he knocked me down. There’s nothing I can do.’
Macro stepped into his charge’s face and looked him sharply in the eye. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve been struck down a few times myself in skirmishes in the Second Legion. Do you know what I do when some German scum has me on the ground, eh?’
Pavo shrugged.
‘I get up again, lad. Then I let the bastard have it. A good Roman soldier would rather shag a pig than surrender to his enemy. He’s taught to fight to win or die trying. The same goes for you. So tell me, how badly do you want to beat Hermes?’
‘Badly,’ Pavo croaked.
‘I can’t hear you,’ Macro growled.
‘I want to beat Hermes, sir!’ Pavo shouted hoarsely as he struggled to catch his breath. ‘I want to kill the bastard!’
‘That’s better.’ Macro thumped his young charge on the shoulder while the rain continued to fall in shimmering rods of silver. He pointed to the sodden arena. ‘When you go back out there, you show Hermes what a real champion is made of. If he hits you, you hit him back twice as bloody hard, d’you hear? Make that bastard regret the day he chopped up your old man.’
Pavo nodded vigorously. He hesitated for a moment. Then he glanced tentatively back out at the arena, filled with a sudden doubt. ‘But how I am supposed to defeat him, sir? I’m doing exactly as you and Ruga taught me, but I still can’t get past his defences.’
Macro grunted and scratched his jaw. ‘Hermes is certainly a tough nut to crack. From watching the fight, I’d say the only way to beat him is by depriving the bastard of his most effective weapon.’
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘His shield.’
Pavo snorted. ‘And just how am I supposed to do that?’
Macro grinned. ‘You know how Ruga reckons Hermes has no weaknesses?’
Pavo nodded uncertainly. Attendants brushed past him, bearing buckets of sand to scatter over the arena floor as the rain started petering out. He turned back to Macro.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about the way Hermes fought against Criton,’ the soldier went on. ‘And I think I’ve got an idea …’
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The rain stopped a short while later. Puddles shone across the wet sand as Pavo and Hermes re-entered the arena. The spectators hurriedly resumed their seats, having sought refuge under the tall porticoes lining the Forum, and the Emperor and his entourage returned to the imperial box. There was no sign of Narcissus, Pavo noted. He turned to the umpire and watched him pacing impatiently up and down the sand while a pair of officials sprinkled chalk over the faintly visible marking. Wielding his shield and short sword, Pavo stepped inside the freshly drawn circle and prepared to face his opponent again, repeating to himself the plan Macro had explained to him in the tunnel. He closed his eyes and prayed to Jupiter that the soldier’s strategy would work.