‘This is Amatus.’ Porcino casually indicated the trainer. ‘He is breaking in the youth class, as you can see, my lord.’
Marcus’s ears pricked up as he heard the deferential tone in the lanista’s voice. Clearly his companion was someone of note.
‘Ah, good! Weapons training,’ said the stranger. ‘This is precisely what I want to see. Gives me a chance to buy the best for my friend’s party. Please tell them to carry on. We can watch from the bench over there.’
Porcino nodded. ‘As you wish. Shall I send for some refreshments?’
‘No. Later perhaps, when we discuss the details.’
Porcino nodded to Amatus. ‘Carry on.’
As the two spectators watched, the bouts continued. Amatus observed his students closely, threatening to strike those who were slow to close on each other, shouting instructions and stepping in to stop fights the moment it was clear that one of the boys had been defeated. As the last four stood waiting, Amatus called out two names, leaving Marcus and Ferax for the last bout.
Marcus felt his heart quicken as he glanced at Ferax. The other boy smirked.
‘Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,’ Ferax said softly so that only Marcus could hear. ‘You can be sure that I won’t be pulling any blows for you, my friend.’
Marcus swallowed and turned away, tightening his grip on his wooden sword and wicker shield. He watched the fight, but did not take in any of the details, as if the last but one of the sparring pairs were just two shadows dancing around each other. His mind was racing as he tried to recall all that he had been taught, and all that he knew about Ferax. He must think of a way to beat his opponent. He had to make a plan.
‘Cease!’
Marcus was shocked to find that the fight was over. He saw the winner helping the other boy back on to his feet and the pair joined those who had already fought.
‘Last pair!’ Amatus beckoned to them.
Marcus swallowed and did his best to look calm and fearless as he strode out and took up his position, turning to face Ferax.
‘This fight’s been a long time coming,’ Amatus announced in a faintly amused tone. ‘So let’s see what you two can do, eh?’ He lowered his voice as he continued, ‘I know you two hate each other’s guts, but keep it under control, and when I tell you to stop, you do so at once. Either of you try anything on, then I’ll give you a hiding. Ready!’
Marcus lowered himself into a crouch, eyes fixed on his enemy. Inside his chest his heart beat like a drum and all his senses were strained to a fine pitch. Any trace of a smile, or cruel amusement, had drained from Ferax’s face and he returned Marcus’s stare with an intense expression.
‘Begin!’
With a shrill roar that strained his throat Marcus charged forward. Ferax’s eyes widened in shock and at the last moment he hurriedly threw up his shield. There was a thud as they collided. Marcus struck out with his sword, thrusting past the shield and glancing off his opponent’s shoulder. Ferax grunted with pain and he retreated as quickly as he could, opening the gap so that he could use his sword more effectively. Now he could block Marcus’s blows. After a sharp clatter of wood their swords parted company and each paused to eye up the other warily.
Unlike in the earlier bouts, Amatus did nothing to urge them to close on each other. Instead he watched eagerly. The other boys were still and silent too, keen to see how well the two foes acquitted themselves in an open fight. The excitement seemed to communicate itself to Porcino and his guest as well, and they leaned forward to watch.
Raising the blunt tip of his sword, Ferax advanced, then with a sudden movement he kicked up some grit and Marcus instinctively blinked as it stung his neck and chin. At once Ferax sprang forward with a deafening bellow and savagely hammered his sword lower on Marcus’s raised shield, driving his arm lower with every blow. Marcus ignored the jarring sensation in his left arm and concentrated on fending the attacks away from his head. Then he dropped down on to one knee, thrusting his shield up as he swung his sword in a cut to the Celt’s thigh. The blow landed home with a sharp thwack. Ferax roared again – in pain this time – and surged ahead, pushing Marcus back. Marcus tried to brace his boots into the grit to hold his position, but the pressure was relentless and irresistible and he was forced to give way.
Sensing victory, Ferax pressed on, cutting at Marcus as hard as he could. Then, with a quick switch in direction, his wooden sword swept round the edge of the shield and struck Marcus’s left arm with a numbing slap. The blow was painful and deadened the senses in his arm so that his grip on the handle of the shield momentarily loosened. Two more blows on the wicker and his fingers lost their hold, the shield slipping from his grasp. Marcus let it fall and scurried back, remaining in a crouch as Ferax snarled triumphantly.
‘There! Now to finish the job!’
He approached steadily, raising his shield to use as a ram, to bludgeon Marcus down. There was too little time to think, but as Ferax drew close Marcus sucked in a breath and launched himself forward. At the last moment he ducked down, rolling under the vicious slice that hissed over his head. In return he hacked at Ferax’s ankle and felt the impact of the blow shoot up his arms as the Celt bellowed in pain and abruptly halted. Ferax’s teeth were gritted and he winced the instant he tried to put any weight on the smarting ankle. Marcus darted round his side, forcing his foe to pivot painfully. The smaller boy moved in quickly and thrust the point into the Celt’s side and then scuttled back out of range.
‘I’ll get you,’ Ferax growled. ‘And I’ll gut you.’
Marcus kept moving, working round his opponent and forcing Ferax to keep putting weight on his injured ankle. At length Ferax slumped down on to his knee and raised his shield, desperately blocking Marcus’s attacks. Unable to find a way past the Celt’s defences, Marcus withdrew five paces and steadily circled his foe, noting that although Ferax could no longer launch an attack, neither could he himself get close enough to strike the decisive blow.
‘A stand-off!’ Amatus announced. ‘Cease!’
‘No!’ Ferax shouted. ‘I can finish him. We fight on!’
‘Suits me,’ Marcus replied coldly.
Amatus stepped in between them with an enraged expression. ‘You dare disobey my order? I’ll see you both flogged for this. Cease, I said. Do it – now!’
Marcus did not respond but sprang forward again, stabbing at Ferax’s side. Once more the wicker shield took the blow and Ferax desperately slashed at Marcus’s shin, just missing it as he fell back.
‘CEASE!’ Amatus yelled at the top of his voice.
This time Marcus reluctantly stepped back to a safe distance and lowered his sword. Amatus stormed up to him, wrenched the training weapon from his hand and turned to Ferax. ‘Drop your kit. You two are in the deepest trouble there ever was. I swear it! I’ll beat you both black and blue. Right here! Right now! Damn you.’
‘That’s enough!’ Porcino interrupted as he and the other man strode up. ‘Leave them be, Amatus.’
The instructor clamped his mouth shut, bowed his head and backed away with as much respect as he could manage to retrieve from his sizzling anger. Marcus stood, chest heaving, blood pulsing through his veins and hands balled into fists.
‘By the Gods,’ Porcino’s companion marvelled. ‘This boy is a fire-eater, make no mistake. And he is well matched by that young bull. Oh, yes! These two will do nicely.’ He turned to Porcino. ‘I’ll have them.’
‘These?’ Porcino looked surprised as he dismissively waved a hand at Marcus and Ferax. ‘Why, they are still in training, my lord.’
‘Their technique is crude, but they have something else. A vital, raw hatred of the other. I can see that as clear as day. Yes. They will do very nicely. A superb display for Varinius’s son.’
Porcino opened his mouth to protest, but the other man cut him short.
‘Naturally, I will pay handsomely for them, on my friend’s behalf.’