They swung, clashed, and swung: with real blades, not wooden practice swords. Sometimes one turned her back. Waiting until she sensed a blow coming, she would swipe up at an angle behind her, or spin suddenly to parry full face, laughing. There was a spirit out there in the practice. Those were genuine grunts of effort. I saw teeth bared with exultation after each successful maneuver. They were good, just as Chloris had boasted. They enjoyed the sport. They were operating as a team, of course. Professionals work for display. Programmed in pairs, their art looks more dangerous than it is. Their skill is to choreograph enough for effect, while also improvising to cause excitement. Blood, but no death. In performance they know each other well enough to stay alive-on the whole.
I wondered if they had fought others for real. Must have done. They would be seen as second-rate otherwise-and these girls were clearly popular. The public accepted them as professionals. I wondered if my light-footed, lithe ex-girlfriend had ever killed anyone. I wondered if anybody on her team had died.
Chloris had set Florius a task here. At present she was protected by sheer distance. The only way in to get to her would be by entering through a gate. Shinning up and over the safety barrier would be impossible; besides, there was no point. Out there in the center, she would see anyone coming, whichever direction he chose. Had she noticed me? If she was looking out for Florius, she should have done. I could not tell.
The two girls seemed completely absorbed in their practice, and I knew better than to call out. Attracting their attention when they were working at that pace would be asking for a sword stroke to shear accidentally into flesh.
There were too many people sitting in the tiers of seats. Apart from the men, there were couples and even a small group of silly school-age girls-eyeing up the men, of course. High in the presidential box I spotted one woman entirely on her own, wrapped closely in a stole; she could not be cold in this baking weather so it must be for anonymity. She seemed intent on the couple in the center-perhaps a would-be colleague longing to join their group, or maybe just lost in lesbian love for one of them.
I decided to move from the gates. If Florius should come in behind me, I did not want to put him off. Everything was quiet. I set off around the interior, and kept walking.
I caressed the pommel of my own sword reflectively. I wore it in the military way, high on the right, under the arm, ready to be extracted with a rapid wrist-swivel. The point was to keep free of your shield, but of course I was carrying no shield. Even coming overseas, I had not brought protection of that sort on what I thought was a trip to audit building works. Besides, a sword could be discreet but a shield was too obvious. In Rome going armed in the city would be illegal. Here in the provinces, personal weapons were tolerated by default (Mars Ultor, you try making a German or a Spaniard leave his hunting knife at home), though anyone acting suspiciously in the streets would be stopped by the legionaries and stripped of their blades, no questions asked.
Well, anyone except enforcers, who bully or bribe their way into tooling up without hindrance. If money talks, bad money sings.
It buys a lot of backup too, as I was soon to find out.
Movement caught my eye. A far gate had partially swung open.
At first it was impossible to make out what was happening or how many newcomers stood in the shaded entrance. I sped up, still on the perimeter, heading that way. The two girls in the center continued their practice, but turned their stance slightly, so both could observe the far gate.
"Amazonia!" a man's voice yelled. The girls stood still; she of the plait made a welcoming gesture, encouraging him to join them out in the arena. There seemed to be no response. The two of them waited. I left the wall and started off gently toward them.
A male figure finally emerged from the gateway. I could see he was lean, tanned, and shaven-headed. He wore natty dark brown leather trousers and navvy's boots; he had bare arms tightly tied with rope bracelets to make the muscles stand out. He looked like any tough nut from the Suburra, and that's a scary look.
He was nobody I recognized-or so I thought at first.
Behind him, by a few paces, came about five others. They strung out in a line sideways, walking casually. The odds seemed acceptable, so far. Two each, if I joined the women. The heavies were dressed up like anyone in the street, though even from this distance I could tell they carried an armory. They had swords and daggers stuffed in their belts, and a couple held staves in their fists. They sauntered in, behaving like some rich man's train of unruly slaves who would cause trouble just because they could get away with it. It did not fool me. These men knew exactly what they were about, and it was mean business.
I moved out fast across the ring. Chloris and her friend had shifted on light feet. They closed together, fully on guard and swords up, ready to make a stand.
The man in leather trousers stopped, within easy call. The heavies fanned out either side of him and moved up. They remained some distance from the two female gladiators, but if the girls made a run toward any part of the perimeter, they would be easily chased. I slowed down, not wanting to precipitate anything I could not control.
The nearest heavy was eyeing me up. He was about twenty strides from the couple at the center, half that from me. No point attacking him; well, not yet. He was a snotty brute with thrusting calves who had never learned to bathe. I could see the dirt ingrained on his skin, and his lank hair was as thick with natural grease as some old sheep's stinking Wool.
"Amazonia!" Repeating her name, the shaven-headed autocrat shouted a little more appeasingly. His accent labeled him: Rome. Born there and taught corruption there. It was a light, troublingly weak voice. It still sounded contemptuous and arrogant. This had to be Florius.
He had walked only as close as he needed, protected by his men. If the girls tried to reach him, they would certainly be stopped. They did not try. Nor did they answer. An intense silence filled the amphitheater. Everything lay so still, I could hear a faint chink of ringed mail as one of the bodyguards shifted his weight unintentionally The casual daywear was a disguise; the brute was professionally armored beneath his tunic. The other men stood motionless.
"You fight well. I'm impressed by the demonstration. But you need organization behind you and I want to supply it!" announced the hopeful manager. His tone stayed harsh, yet somehow unconvincing. Still, he had plenty of backup. It would take courage to say no to him.
The helmeted figure with the dark plait took the risk, shaking her head. At her side, her friend showed by tiny movements that she was searching the heavies for any notice of surprise attack.
"Put down your weapons."
Neither girl reacted.
"Time to talk-" With the pretense that this was still a business arrangement, he was wheedling. Then he spoiled it: "You're outnumbered and outclassed-"
Not quite. The other girl touched Amazonia's arm and both glanced behind them. Through the gate where I had entered ran a small group of their colleagues, just three or four, but enough to even up the balance. Pausing only to drag closed the mighty gates, they raced across the sand, all wearing combat costume with either tridents or short swords. Soon they were fanning out either side of the central pair to give them cover.
Now we had a full standoff.
The man who must be Florius toughened up. "Oh, let's stop the games, girls. Lay aside your arms!"