They had barely struck the ground when Indavara wriggled free of the net and hammered a fist down, splintering Auctus’s nose. Despite the transformation of the middle of his face into a pulpy mass of flesh and bone, the northerner managed to keep functioning. His scrabbling fingers reached for the trident.
Indavara was not about to give up his advantage. Forcing his weight down, he wedged his elbows into the German’s armpits and gripped his foe’s neck with both hands. He’d used the choke hold before and knew it to be immensely difficult to dislodge.
That didn’t stop Auctus trying. He punched Indavara in the head, then clawed at his neck; but he couldn’t inflict enough pain to loosen the thick fingers digging into his throat. The German spasmed his back but he couldn’t shift his foe.
Indavara had lowered his head to avoid the flurry of blows and by the time he looked up, Auctus had hold of the trident. Pain pulsed through Indavara’s shoulder as he channelled all his strength into his hands and squeezed tighter. He couldn’t let go now.
Auctus moved his arm as high as he could, holding the trident-head over Indavara’s back. Indavara shook him, trying to dislodge the weapon, but Auctus knew it was the only chance he had left. Gritting his teeth, Indavara pressed harder still, watching his fingers turning white. Auctus was doing well for a man who couldn’t breathe.
The crowd yelled warnings that became a single cry.
Auctus plunged the trident between Indavara’s shoulder blades. The barbed spikes sliced easily through the tunic, sank into the skin, then tore at the flesh as the pole tipped backwards.
Indavara was still screaming when he let go and pushed himself up. The trident slid off his body.
Auctus’s eyes were pink, his face and neck scarlet; and bulging veins ridged his forehead. But with both hands now free, he reached for his enemy’s neck.
Indavara swatted his hands away and slammed his right elbow down on to the German’s forehead, pummelling his skull into the ground. Something cracked.
The crowd roared.
Unsure whether Auctus was still alive, Indavara stood up and grabbed the trident.
Bonosus and his men hurried towards him, to ensure that the governor give the decision this time.
But Indavara was more interested in the burning rents in his back and shoulder than convention. With a one-handed jab, he buried the trident in Auctus’s chest, then watched as the northerner’s mouth fell open and his eyes rolled up into his head.
The crowd quietened. Bonosus looked around apprehensively; he had failed in his duty. This second breach of protocol turned eyes towards the podium. Sensibly, the governor waited. Shouts of approval — begun by Indavara’s most ardent followers — grew swiftly into a tumult. Before long, the governor and those around him were applauding too.
Capito, now standing against the parapet, gestured for Bonosus and the other guards to follow Indavara towards the third section. He wished he was closer, to see how badly his fighter was injured. It was always so damned hard to tell with the rare few like Indavara; those who could not only take damage, but continue to fight long after most men would have fainted or given up.
Capito couldn’t resist the urge to turn round. The slave-trader had moved to a spare seat just a few yards away. His face was set in a stony grimace.
A teenage slave arrived.
‘Are you ready for the platform now, sir?’
‘Raise it.’
Indavara touched his back. The trident holes were an inch deep; and a thin stream of blood issued steadily from each one. He twisted his body from side to side, then bent back and forth. The pain was no worse; it seemed there was no serious damage.
As he crossed the second rope, an enterprising supporter with an impressive throwing arm lobbed a gourd of water. It landed in the dust at Indavara’s feet. He picked it up, removed the stopper and drank, idly watching as Auctus’s body was carried away. He sloshed the remainder of the water over his wounded shoulder and back. The cheers reached a crescendo as he held the gourd up towards the supporter.
The messenger had reached the bowels of the arena, and now the order was given to raise the lifting platform. Sand slipped down over the edges of the five-yard-square gap created by the opening of the hatches. Then began the slow, creaking grind of the winches as the slaves set to work.
Indavara would have liked to avoid giving Capito the satisfaction of seeing him check the third barrel but he had to look. There was nothing there of course. He lashed out: a straight, solid kick that knocked the barrel on to its side. Facing a man with such a knife was one thing; facing a wild animal was another.
He watched the luminaries on the podium get to their feet, as eager as the rest of the crowd to see what would appear from below. The cage rose past him, covered with a huge grey sheet. Bonosus and his men closed in around it. When the platform reached the level of the arena, locking planks were hammered into place. The arena was quiet again. Indavara could hear the hurried breaths of the slaves below. Bonosus neared the cage and placed a single hand on the sheet.
Maesa began his final speech: ‘Again our warrior has overcome great odds! Again he has triumphed! But now he faces his final challenge. The beast inside this cage is all that lies between him and freedom.’
Maesa halted for a moment, waiting for the cheers to pass.
‘And what of this animal? It was captured just one week ago, in the high mountains of Dalmatia. A beast nine feet long, weighing over five hundred pounds. Within its mouth forty teeth, upon each paw claws three inches long. Behold. .’
Bonosus pulled the sheet away.
‘The bear!’
The crowd noise surged, then stuttered as they saw what Indavara faced.
The immense animal could hardly move. It had been forced to sit up on its hind legs — there was no space for it to settle on all fours. Indavara could not imagine how they’d forced it into the cage, though the small patches of glistening red on its light brown fur gave him a good idea. The bear was slobbering, and repeatedly knocking its head against the thick wooden bars; so hard in fact that one of them was coming loose. Then the beast poked its nose out, shiny nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. The other bears Indavara had seen in the arena had been half this size: young or old; weak or diseased. But this one seemed in peak condition, with thick layers of flesh over its massive limbs.
Indavara looked despairingly at his blade. Yet more boos and jeers swept around the arena.
Capito sat down, thus making himself less of a target; the missiles aimed at him had become larger and more solid. Two young men tried to force their way over to him and had to be restrained by legionaries. Even some of the nobles shouted abuse. Capito shrugged.
Indavara was five yards from the cage. The side facing him was hinged at one end and functioned as a door. There was no lock, just a thick chain wrapped tight around the poles. Bonosus ordered two of his men to take it off. As they warily approached, the chief guard provided a distraction, poking his spear through the side of the cage and prodding the bear.
The animal growled a warning, then tried vainly to turn round. It pawed at one of the bars, claws scraping away slivers of wood. The anxious guards were making a poor job of loosening the chain.
Indavara suddenly felt a sick dread. Events had overtaken him. The legionaries were locking all the exits except the northern gate, the escape route for Bonosus and the guards once the bear was free. The only real cover he could use was the box. But it was a good thirty yards away.
The chain finally slid to the ground and the men pulled it free. Bonosus barked an order and they swung the door open, then hurried away. With one last jab, he turned and ran after them.