‘Fight!’
At Sannitus’s command the gladiator leapt forward, eschewing any attack with his sword and choosing to punch with his shield instead, looking to use his superior weight to knock Horatius off balance. The legion man stepped back, barely resisting the blow with his own shield and encouraging the gladiator to step forward again, punching even harder as he sensed that the brutal tactic was unsettling his opponent. Horatius pulled back again, his step to the rear larger than the previous retreat, his right hand sliding back until the point of the wooden sword’s blade was almost level with his ear, and Marcus narrowed his eyes as he realised what was coming. Hermes stamped forward a third time, encouraged by the soldier’s accelerating retreat to go for the kill, but as he lunged into the attack, bent on smashing the wavering shield out of his way and striking at the reeling centurion with his sword, Horatius sidestepped smartly to his left, hammering his shield’s rim against the inside of his opponent’s board. Before the gladiator had time to realise what was happening, the soldier had sprung forward off his left foot with his sword arm’s elbow held rigidly before him, the blow flattening Hermes and leaving him momentarily stunned as he fell back onto the hard sandy floor.
Horatius reflexively raised his sword to strike at the fallen fighter, but a swift call from Sannitus stayed his hand.
‘Hold! You might do it that way in the army, but in the arena it’s more the done thing to hold a fallen opponent under the point of your sword and ask whoever is chairing the games whether he should live or die. And in this case you can give him a hand since he’s your new comrade. Welcome to the ludus.’
The victorious soldier dropped his sword and put out a hand to Hermes, but the gladiator rolled away from him, regaining his footing with an easy grace that belied his size, leaving his sword and shield where they had fallen. Horatius shrugged and handed his shield to Sannitus, exchanging looks with the trainer, who shook his head in mock sadness at the loser’s behaviour.
‘I know, he’s always been a miserable bastard. It’s just as well he fights as well as he does, or he’d have had the shit beaten out of him years ago.’ He turned away and muttered an additional comment to Edius, intended only for his assistant’s ears but which carried as far as Marcus. ‘And a good thing we’ve got Velox and Mortiferum to keep the prick in order, eh?’
He turned back to the remaining triallists, grinning up at Dubnus.
‘You, the big bastard. Sure you want to go through this? You look too … well built to be quick enough for the arena.’
The Briton raised an eyebrow.
‘Would you like to put that observation to the test, Lanista?’
Sannitus shook his head with a wry smile.
‘Not today.’ He turned to shout a comment after the defeated gladiator, who was already halfway across the hall, glaring hard at his mates and silently daring any of them to make a joke at his expense. ‘Hey, Hermes! You don’t get off that easily! Come back and take those frustrations out on this.’ Shaking his head at Dubnus he gestured to the gladiator, who had turned back to stare at him with an expression that promised violence. ‘No, big man, I’ll have to pass on your offer, given you’ve got twenty years’ advantage on me. Today you can fight Hermes for the pleasure of our company.’
The Briton shrugged and stepped forward, accepting the practice weapons with a nod to the trainer and rolling his massive bearded head around on his bull neck before stepping forward and dropping into the familiar combat stance he had practised every day for the last fifteen years.
‘Come on then, Gladiator. Let’s see if you can succeed where ten thousand angry tribesmen failed.’
Hermes stared hard at him for a moment before stooping to collect his weapons, frowning in concentration as he stepped in to sword reach. For a brief moment the two men stared at each other over their shields and then, Hermes took a deep breath, blinked, and then threw himself forward at the Briton. Forewarned by his previous defeat that any attempt to bully the soldier with his shield was unlikely to bear fruit, the gladiator went to work with his sword instead, launching a flurry of blows clearly intended to find a gap in his opponent’s defences. Dubnus held his ground, parrying the attacks with sword and shield and watching the gladiator intently, waiting for an opportunity, but after a dozen fruitless attacks, Hermes stepped back, opening his sword hand enough to use his fingers to gesture the big man forward. Sannitus nodded in agreement.
‘He’s got a point, big man. No one goes to the arena to watch a fighter defend himself, they go for excitement! They want to see-’
With a sudden lunge forward, Dubnus covered the ground between himself and Hermes in a single big step, smashing his shield against his opponent’s hard enough to throw the gladiator backwards two paces. Once in motion the Briton’s attack was relentless, barging with his shield against his opponent’s board again, and a third time, before launching a furious series of sword strokes which took all of Hermes’s training and skill to deflect. With each desperate parry he stepped back again, unable to cope with the power of the soldier’s incessant sword strokes. Seeing his opportunity, Dubnus struck, swinging his sword high to force the gladiator to parry and then, while the other man’s sword was still raised in defence, stamping forward with two quick steps and hooking the ankle of his forward leg, smashing his shield hard against Hermes’s to send him sprawling onto his back. The gladiator tensed, ready to roll back onto his feet as he had a moment before, but froze at the hard touch of Dubnus’s sword at his throat.
Sannitus strolled forward, raising an amused eyebrow at seeing his man on the hall’s floor for a second time. A quiet chorus of sniggers and catcalls from the gladiator’s colleagues was silenced by a long stare and a blunt pronouncement from the trainer.
‘I’d like to have seen any of you cucumber munchers deal with that, so I suggest you all shut up until you’ve sparred with this monster …’ He turned to Dubnus, nodding approvingly. ‘Yes, that’s what the audience want to see! You’re in, now let him up.’
The gladiator stood, his face betraying the fact that the ground was clearly moving beneath his feet. Sannitus stepped close, whispering fiercely in his ear.
‘Disappointing, Hermes. Perhaps you’ll do better with the last of them. He sounds like an aristo, so I doubt he’ll have quite the same brutality as those two.’
The gladiator nodded, squaring his shoulders and turning to face Marcus, his teeth gritted in anger at his second defeat. Sannitus waved a hand, gesturing for the last of the triallists to join them.
‘Come on then, let’s see if you’ve got as much bastard in you as your mates.’
Marcus stopped just outside of the reach of Hermes’s sword and stood ready, both hands hanging easily at his sides and his eyes alert for any sign of an attack. Sannitus laughed, motioning his man Edius to give him a weapon.
‘You’re not stupid, are you?’
His answer was delivered in a deliberately dismissive tone, but the younger man’s gaze never wavered as he stared at Hermes.
‘Not stupid enough to let a man who’s already been humiliated twice by my brothers in arms have a free shot at me.’
Hermes sneered, but Sannitus nodded his appreciation.
‘You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that, Soldier. If you really are a soldier?’ He pursed his lips and looked the younger man up and down, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. ‘You really don’t look the type, do you? Sure you wouldn’t be happier up the hill with the praetorians?’
Marcus shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the gladiator.
‘I’ll let you be the judge of that.’ He waved away the shield that Edius was offering him. ‘I’ll take another sword, if it’s all the same to you.’