Indavara reached the second barrel. This one was not shaded from the sun and he could easily see the bottom. He realised he had fundamentally underestimated Capito’s determination to see him die. The barrel was empty.
Maesa took up a position midway between the fighters. He watched Indavara turn away from the barrel and stare down at the tiny dagger.
‘There’s nothing inside!’ announced the centurion. ‘A cruel twist of fate!’
‘Cruel! Cruel!’ thousands of voices replied. Others hissed at Capito, outraged that their hopeful wagers now seemed so unlikely to pay off. Capito waved away the noise and insults and dodged a bunch of grapes aimed at his head. As the barracking died down, he noted something an untrained ear would miss. Beneath the seething indignation was the buzz of animated conversation. Deep down, the mob wanted to see Indavara tested; to see if he could survive this.
Maesa conducted a cursory examination of Auctus’s equipment, then hurried over to Indavara. There was only the knife to check. The centurion lifted Indavara’s wrist to show the dagger once more to the crowd, prompting more boos. Auctus walked slowly towards Indavara, narrowing the gap to about five yards, then stopped.
‘And now our warrior must face the second of his three tests. Who will triumph? Who will be defeated? Indavara against Auctus! Let the battle begin!’
The northerner held the trident level with his waist, grip about halfway down the pole. Indavara noted the thick, gnarled veins that chased up his forearm. Holding the heavy weapon up with one hand was difficult, and wielding it in battle for any length of time required great strength. The German gathered the ropes of the net together in his right hand and cast a professional’s glance at the tiny knife, its blade barely visible above his opponent’s fist.
They circled each other until Indavara was facing the podium. He darted forward, prompting Auctus to take a pace back and loosen his grip on the net, ready to use it if his opponent charged.
But when the attack never came, the German took his turn to advance. Indavara held his ground, settling into a low, fighting stance, ready for a move from either hand. Auctus centred the trident and stepped forward again, training the three spikes on his enemy’s neck. Indavara still didn’t move, even as the northerner released the folds of the net.
Just three yards separated them when Auctus made his first lunge with the trident. Indavara took a step left and ducked below the high thrust. He saw the net swing but was caught out by Auctus’s speed. A stone caught the front of his shin; a stinging blow that would have halted a man unused to ignoring pain.
Auctus recovered the net and instantly closed the space again. Indavara was next to the rope — the limit of the fighting area. If he crossed it Bonosus was sure to poke him back into the second section with his spear. So he scuttled right, then backed towards the centre, the German following warily. Indavara could see he would be difficult to unsettle. He executed the basics well and always kept his body and weapons correctly aligned.
Aside from a few loudmouths, the crowd was quiet, expectant. This clash of champions was one for enthusiasts.
Auctus took the initiative again, eyeballing his foe as he strode towards him. Indavara bounced up and down on his toes and waited. His options were limited; he needed time to see what Auctus could do before he tried anything.
The German jabbed the trident forward again, simultaneously swinging the net at his enemy’s knees.
Indavara shuffled backwards, avoiding both attacks.
Auctus pressed on and repeated the move. Indavara leapt to his left, sure he was clear of both net and trident.
But then Auctus twisted his wrist and swung the net upward. Indavara felt rope brush his neck, then a shuddering crack as one of the stones caught him under the chin.
Blinding white flashed into his eyes. He staggered back, reeling as the pain bloomed higher. His eyes cleared; and he saw the trident-head coming at him.
He pushed off to his right, dropping into a neat double roll that took him clear. Springing back to his feet, he looked up as the German marched towards him, yelling in a language no one else in the arena understood.
Indavara realised that the blow had pushed his teeth up into his tongue. The thumbnail-sized chunk he had bitten off was sliding around in his mouth. He spat it out, along with a glob of bloody spittle.
With the trident held high, his arm bent at the elbow, Auctus swung the net in ever wider arcs ahead of him.
Indavara retreated, heels scuffing the sand. He had a move in mind, but to pull it off he would need to slow that net-arm. Mindful of the rope, and Bonosus’s men lurking behind him, Indavara crabbed right, quickly accelerating into a trot.
Auctus dropped his grip to the centre of the net and a swift flick of the wrist sent it spinning towards Indavara’s feet. It struck the ground just as he jumped but then bounced back up, ensnaring a foot. He fell headlong into the dust.
Women screamed. Men bellowed warnings at him.
With not a single glance at the onrushing northerner, Indavara cursed his fellow gladiators — Never throws his net? — and sat up. He reached for the rope and the single stone pressed against his foot. The stone came away easily, leaving only two criss-crossing ropes wrapped tight. Indavara tore at them, then looked up.
Auctus was five yards away.
At last the rope slid off, and Indavara scrambled to his feet. He would have taken the net himself, had the trident-head not been so close.
Auctus drove the weapon at his enemy’s neck.
Indavara threw himself backwards and twisted away from the trident.
A single spike hit, tearing a gash in his shoulder.
Auctus slowed himself, spun around and plucked the net from the ground before Indavara could react.
The wound was small but deep. Beneath the torn fabric of his tunic, Indavara could see dark and pale tissue. He wondered if Auctus kept his weapons clean. The wound wouldn’t kill him; infection might.
From the crowd, the traditional chant: ‘A hit! A hit!’
The German was in no mood to tarry. Taking only a moment to shake sand from the net, he adjusted his grip on the trident, and stalked towards his fellow gladiator once more.
Indavara took care to move slowly, and winced with every movement of his shoulder. He swapped the knife to his left hand for a moment, so that he could wipe the sweat off his right. When he returned it, he realised he might have a way to slow that net-arm.
Auctus stretched his arms wide like two great wings and closed on his prey once more.
The crowd were quiet again; their man was in trouble.
Indavara spat out more blood, tried to ignore the fiery pain in his shoulder, and awaited his foe.
Auctus jinked from side to side, offering half-jabs and feints. His next real swing of the net whistled past Indavara’s left ankle. Then the trident shot forward.
Jab, swing. Jab, swing. Auctus was grinning and talking; he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Another jab.
Indavara threw the knife to the ground.
Confusion was just beginning to register on Auctus’s face as he swung the net. It slowed him down.
Indavara darted down to his left and managed to grab the edge of the net.
Auctus hauled it back; but Indavara didn’t resist, instead flinging what he held up and to the right. The net whipped high into the air and landed on the trident-head, catching two of the spikes.
Ducking under the tangle, Indavara launched himself at Auctus.
With both hands occupied, the German was defenceless as Indavara’s swinging right forearm caught him under the jaw, knocking him clean off his feet. Auctus fell backwards, pulling the net and Indavara with him.