‘Nicely done! Perhaps this won’t be quite as boring as I’d exp-’
Something in his complacent smile triggered a response in Marcus, a sudden kick in the pit of his stomach, and he found himself going forward with a growl of anger, meeting his opponent’s waiting blades and driving him backwards in a flurry of cuts and parries. Staring into the other man’s eyes, his swords seeming to move of their own volition as he hammered at the retreating gladiator’s defences, he saw the first hint of concern in the other man’s face. And then, as if his opponent had simply decided enough was enough, he glared at Marcus and stopped retreating, fighting back with a speed and skill the Roman had rarely experienced.
Cleander clenched his fist as the fight’s tempo escalated, banging a palm on his chair’s arm in approval.
‘Now we can see what these men are made of! This is a fight!’
As they watched, Mortiferum parried a flurry of blows and then, in the brief moment when Marcus’s defence was opened by his ferocious attack, sprang forward in a straining lunge and jabbed the very tip of one of his blades into his opponent’s leg just below the knee. The gladiators lining the walls cheered loudly at the first blood, and Sannitus stepped forward, bellowing a command at the two men.
‘Stop fighting!’
At the ludus’s main door a heavy fist banged twice on the woodwork, jolting the slave on duty out of his comfortable reverie. He slid open the thin vision slit carved into the thick beams, speaking though it without even bothering to see who it was that had disturbed his doze.
‘Fuck off and bother someone else. The ludus is closed to the likes of you for the night.’
‘Really, Piro? Closed to the likes of me?’
The doorman started, half recognising the voice from a memory that he hadn’t revisited for years. It was deep and commanding, filled with an arrogant disregard for anyone else, the voice of a man who had faced death a hundred times and walked away unharmed.
‘It’s not …’
‘It is.’
‘Fuck me …’
‘Not while there are dogs on the street. Now open this door and let me in, unless you’re keen to see the colour of your own liver before you go to the underworld.’
Sannitus stepped in between the fighters, prodding at Mortiferum with his long stick to push him out of sword reach before bending to examine the wound. A slow seeping runnel of blood was oozing down Marcus’s leg, and the lanista nodded with a look that spoke volumes as to his desire to get the fight finished before one of them badly hurt the other.
‘Blood! One to Mortiferum!’
He stepped back, waving the two men together.
‘Fight!’
‘Go on Death Bringer, put the tyro in his place!’
The veteran gladiator nodded at Hermes’s shout and stormed into the fight, his face set in determination at the realisation that nothing other than the best of his skills and commitment would be enough to defeat this new and unexpectedly effective opponent. Their swords flickered and clashed with such speed that the watching audience could scarcely follow the fight’s progress, but it seemed to Velox’s trained eye that while his brother was attacking with all of his ability, Marcus had retreated back into himself again, and was fighting on the defensive without any sign of the necessary impetus to go forward and take down his enemy.
The ferocious duel continued, the two men entirely focused on each other’s faces as Mortiferum constantly probed for an opening, Marcus comfortably parrying his blows without any sign of taking the fight back to him. Procurator Novius pulled a disparaging expression, shaking his head slightly.
‘Your man Corvus seems to have rather lost interest since taking that cut. I must profess myself a little disappointed. I thought your new boy had a little more in him …’
‘Oh, I’m not so sure …’ They looked around at the seated Cleander, his eyes still intent on the fight. ‘This looks more like strategy than tactics to me.’
He waved away their bafflement, watching as Marcus allowed himself to be manoeuvred around the small arena. At length Mortiferum managed to lever an opening in the Roman’s defence, more by brute force than any subtlety with his blades, whipping a blade in under Marcus’s defence to prick a skilful cut into the top of his thigh to the renewed cheers of the gladiators lining the walls.
‘Stop fighting!’
‘Well now, Edius.’
The assistant lanista whipped round, his eyes narrowed at the sound of his challenger’s voice. He stepped closer to the newcomer, screwing up his eyes and staring hard at him in the corridor’s gloom. The ludus slave standing behind him put a startled hand to the hilt of his sword, then froze at the look of wolfish anticipation on the stranger’s hard, scarred face as he wagged a forbidding finger.
‘If you air that iron, one of us will die before your next breath is expelled. Do you choose to die, here and now?’
The terrified man eased his hand away from the weapon’s hilt, swallowing audibly.
‘Wise. And you, Edius? Do you and I have to fight?’
The lanista shook his head, raising his empty hands before him.
‘I’m no more of a fool than I was the last time we met.’
The big man nodded, putting out a hand.
‘I’ll be needing weapons, Edius. I’ll make a start with your man here’s blade, and I’m sure you can find me another quickly enough, eh?’
The lanista turned, taking the sword from the guard’s scabbard and pointing down the corridor.
‘Fetch him another. Quickly. And tell no one else.’ He turned back to the big man. ‘I’ll not get in your way. But why come back now?’
The newcomer’s answer was accompanied by a shake of the big man’s head.
‘I’ve been asking myself the same question.’
Sannitus put himself between the two men for a second time, examining the puncture with swift professionalism.
‘Blood! Two to Mortiferum!’ He looked at Marcus, perturbed at the unconcerned look on the Roman’s face. ‘Nearly there. Just behave yourself and take the third cut and we’ll have this done.’
He stepped back from them.
‘Fight!’
Mortiferum, smugly secure in the certainty of his impending victory, frowned as Marcus held his hands up to raise his swords until they were level with his face, forcing the other man to look him in the eye. The gladiator shook his head in bemusement, his lips twisting in the grin of a man who knew he already had the fight in the bag.
‘You’re good, Corvus. Very good. You’re the only man I’ve ever met, other than my brother, who can watch his opponent’s eyes and leave his swords to their own devices. But you’re not quite good enough to stop me, are you? No one’s ever come back against me in a blood match once the first hit was called, never mind two. So be a good boy and-’
Marcus cut him off, his voice hard with hatred and disgust.
‘Do you recognise these? You should.’
Mortiferum shook his head.
‘Why should I recognise some pair of swords I’ve never seen before?’
‘Because they used to be the property of one of the first families you and your fellow murderers destroyed in the name of imperial justice. And now here they are, hungry for your blood.’
Sannitus stalked up to the two men with a look of anger clouding his face.
‘Get on with the fight, or I’ll-’
Marcus’s voice was suddenly as cold as stone, as he overrode the lanista’s warning without turning his gaze from his opponent.