‘Chief! Chief! Chief!’
Cassius and Indavara turned in time to see the soldiers tie the chains off. The men closest to the cave cheered and the noise grew.
‘Chief! Chief! Chief! Chief!’
Two orange eyes glinted in the shadows, then the lion padded out into the light. It was a lean, long-legged beast, with a jagged scar down its left haunch and a heavy, golden mane that turned to black at its shoulders. The lion yawned — exposing two long, curved, yellowing incisors — and looked around at the soldiers, blinking. Then it licked its lips.
The men cheered again.
Cassius had just about recovered himself. He turned to Indavara. ‘You did say you’d always wanted to see one.’
‘I think I changed my mind.’
‘Took him a while to get used to man flesh,’ Carnifex told them, scratching at the arrow hole in his forehead as he spoke, ‘but once he realised that was all he’d be getting he got to like it well enough.’
He held up a hand again and the chant ended. ‘First Century, make your bets!’
There was a flurry of activity as opinions and coins were exchanged and wagers made. From what Cassius could gather, most of them seemed to centre on how long they would survive and which part of them ‘Chief’ would eat first.
He forced himself to block out the noise and looked at the man kneeling next to him. How long since he’d come to his aid at that inn at Palmyra? No more than three months. It seemed like years.
Indavara was once more staring down at the ground. Even he couldn’t do anything now. They were going to die here, and what a sordid, terrible death it would be.
‘You might as well tell me now.’
Indavara looked at him.
‘Who you are,’ continued Cassius. ‘Where you come from.’
Indavara hardly seemed to think about it.
‘I took a blow to the head somehow. I was still delirious when the slave trader sold me for the contests in Pietas Julia. The only man who knew me was killed in the arena the next day. All they could tell me was my name. I remember only the last six years of my life. I don’t know who I am.’
Before Cassius could even absorb what he’d heard, Annia dropped to her knees. Too far away to hear their hushed conversation, she was just looking at them, her contorted, tear-streaked face a reflection of the suffering within. She fell forward, arms covering her head.
Carnifex hauled her back to her feet. ‘No, no, Beautiful. You’re going to watch every last moment. That way you’ll be nice and obedient from the start.’
Indavara was glad to have said it. Even though he knew death was close, it felt good to have told Corbulo the truth.
He also knew there was no way he was going to let Carnifex live. He scraped dried blood out of his eyes and looked up. The centurion was directly ahead of him, Annia to the right. The closest soldier was Mutilus, a couple of yards to the left.
‘All right,’ shouted Carnifex. ‘Finish up now, lads.’
He tilted his head towards the pit. ‘Put ’em in.’
Procyon unsheathed his knife and came towards Indavara, who had bowed his head again.
‘Don’t worry,’ added Carnifex. ‘We won’t leave you completely defenceless — we’ll let you use your hands.’
‘Why don’t you try punching him?’ suggested Procyon, giggling as he cut through the ropes.
Indavara let his hands drop by his sides, then rubbed his wrists to get the blood flowing.
‘Hands,’ said Procyon.
As Cassius offered them, he sliced the blade down, cutting the ropes. The optio turned away and replaced his dagger in the sheath on his belt.
‘Now then,’ said Carnifex. ‘Who’s first?’
Before the last word was out of his mouth, Indavara had already sprung to his feet. He plucked the dagger from Procyon’s belt and charged at Carnifex. Some enterprising legionary got his shield up and drove it at him, but managed only a glancing blow to the shoulder.
Mutilus was also moving. With no time to go for his sword, the one-eyed optio came out swinging. Indavara was already under the punch when he drove his left elbow into Mutilus’s chin. Bone struck bone. Mutilus’s head snapped up and he tottered backwards. Ignoring the pain shooting up his arm, Indavara raised the dagger as he bore down on Carnifex. But Carnifex was ready for him.
The centurion slammed one hand into Indavara’s chest, stopping him dead. The other huge paw clamped around his fingers and the dagger handle. Indavara felt one of his fingers slide across the other, then heard a crack. The pain came a moment later. Carnifex let go. The dagger fell to the ground.
Carnifex spat in Indavara’s face and gripped his tunic. He stomped three steps forward and drove him bodily into the air, flinging him straight over the still-kneeling Cassius.
Indavara hit the ground hard and slid towards the lip of the pit. Only by turning at the last moment did he ensure he fell feet first. His boot caught the side on the way down, breaking his fall, and he rolled to a stop, covered in mud. The roar from the legionaries was so loud that he got to his feet in an instant, fearful that the lion might already be coming at him. But for the moment it was just watching, eyes half-lidded, tail idly swinging.
Indavara looked down at his right hand. The shattered little finger was hanging at an unnaturally acute angle.
Carnifex came up to the edge of the pit and glowered down at him with a triumphant grin. ‘You think you’re the first to try and do for old Carn, One Ear? You ain’t even the hundred and first!’
The men were in raptures, jumping and whooping at the old centurion’s every word.
‘Looks like you’re first up. Don’t reckon this’ll take too long.’
‘Chief! Chief! Chief! Chief!’
The lion was prowling from side to side now, head low, eyes fixed on its prey.
Cassius glanced back at Annia. She was standing completely still, hands over her eyes, mouthing something to herself.
Indavara watched the lion; the dead eyes, the open, expectant mouth. He fought off an image of the broad paws pinning him to the ground, the huge head blocking out the sky as the teeth tore at his neck …
It’s just an animal.
Though he’d never seen one, gladiators talked a lot: about tricks, methods, techniques. He’d only ever heard one piece of advice when it came to lions. Don’t take a single step backwards. He didn’t have a lot else to work with.
Indavara took off his belt and slid the buckle up to one end.
It’s just an animal. It’s just an animal.
He took a long breath, then marched across the pit towards the lion, the belt in his left hand.
‘Is he insane?’ said one of the men.
‘By Mars,’ said another.
Cassius looked up at Carnifex, who was standing next to him, brow now heavily furrowed. ‘Bet you never saw that before, did you?’
The lion was still shifting from side to side, swinging its head and pawing the ground. Indavara kept his feet well apart and stretched his arms high to make himself big. When he was ten feet away, the lion shifted again — a couple of inches backwards.
Indavara accelerated into a run. The lion held its ground. When he was just two yards away, Indavara whipped the belt down at the beast’s head. The buckle caught it right on the nose, ripping out a sliver of black flesh.
The lion jumped back with a yelp.
‘By all the gods,’ said another of the soldiers.
Cassius wiped his wet face with his sleeve and yelled at the men around him. ‘See that, you miserable whoresons? He’s survived worse than this and he’s a better man than every last stinking, criminal, bloody one of you!’
This time Procyon’s boot struck Cassius between his shoulder blades, sending him sprawling face first on to the ground. He lay there at the edge of the pit.
Indavara whipped the belt from the left this time, narrowly missing the lion’s head. The beast roared and Indavara caught a whiff of rotten breath. It sunk its front paws into the ground and lowered its head, ready to leap.