Murranus sauntered across, and stood in front of the cochlea, using the red shield to attract the bull’s attention, moving it from side to side. The bull, however, trotted backwards and forwards, shaking its head, snorting, almost as if planning what to do. Claudia noticed how swiftly it moved, gracefully, like a dancing horse, its sharp hoofs barely touching the ground. She ground her teeth in anger. She knew nothing about animals, but someone, probably Dacius, had chosen well. The bull was a superb specimen, probably the victor of many fights.
Murranus danced forward, trying to entice the bull. The animal moved backwards. The crowd gasped as if in one voice, for, without waiting or the usual pawing of the ground and tossing of the head, the bull burst into a charge, a powerfully fast canter, aiming straight for Murranus. The crowd roared as the gladiator dropped his shield and retreated hastily behind the cochlea. The bull turned slightly and came in, thrusting with its horns at the fallen shield, butting it with his head and trampling it under its feet. It then backed off, pawing and snorting, as if studying the cochlea and wondering what it was.
The mood in the amphitheatre changed. Claudia felt the muscles in her legs and thighs tense. Some of the crowd were jeering, deriding Murranus’s efforts. The bull had now caught sight of him and moved round the cochlea for another confrontation. The game continued, the bull charging in swiftly, Murranus running away, using his shield, which he had now picked up, as well as the cochlea to protect himself. The visitors in the imperial box were discussing tactics heatedly. Some whispered cowardice, others pointed out that Murranus might be tiring the bull.
Claudia couldn’t understand what was happening. It looked as if Murranus was weakening, his body coated in a sheen of sweat, while the bull was as impetuous and aggressive as ever. The only thing she did notice was that the bull no longer withdrew, but circled the cochlea before breaking into a thundering charge, almost crashing into the barrier, or turning to gore the battered shield which Murranus dropped now and again. On occasions Murranus didn’t move swiftly enough; once he stumbled, rolling in the sand to avoid the hoofs and slashing horns.
The fight wore on. People were jeering but also mystified. The bull began to show signs of exhaustion and baffled fury. Its charges became shorter but were still as vigorous. Then it happened. Murranus, once again armed with shield and sword, stood in front of the cochlea, baiting the animal to charge him again. Hoofs pawing the ground, the bull tossed its great black head and broke into a charge as fast as an arrow leaving a bow. This time Murranus did not retreat. In fact he dropped his shield and ran to face the bull. The crowd gasped and shrieked. The bull tried to slow. Murranus, like a dancer, like an athlete clearing a gate, leapt in the air, a graceful somersault which took him over the bull. The animal, disconcerted, could not stop, but crashed into the wooden platform supporting the cochlea. The blow seemed to stun it; it staggered, attempted to turn. Murranus moved in fast, at a half-crouch. He brought back his sword and sliced at the animal’s left leg, cutting muscle and sinew. Moving swiftly away, he inflicted a second cut on the other leg, though not as deep or dangerous. The bull, roaring in pain, turned, but now it was slowed, dangerously impaired. It appeared unaware of the injury until it tried to break into a charge, and bellowed as its rear legs buckled. Again Murranus moved in, stabbing and cutting, this time slicing at one of the front legs just above the hoof. The bull, seriously injured, staggered and swayed. The crowd was roaring, praising Murranus’s skill and bravery. The gladiator brought his sword up, pressing the flat of the blade against his face as if saluting his opponent. The bull staggered forward and sank to its knees. Murranus slipped to one side and drove the sword deep into the back of the bull’s neck. Blood sprayed out of the wound. The bull coughed, roared and slumped, even as the crowd rose and gave vent to its approval.
Chapter 13
‘Quod erat demonstratum.’ (‘What has to be proved?’)
‘I didn’t know you were a bull leaper!’ Claudia hoped she could disguise her trembling as she sat on the bench in the small cell-like tavern off the main tunnel beneath the amphitheatre.
‘Neither did I.’ Murranus grinned and, at Polybius’s request, stretched out his arms so both the tavern keeper and Oceanus could dry his sweat and oil his body. They took off his loincloth. Claudia, embarrassed, glanced towards the entrance, where two burly mercenaries kept away sightseers and well-wishers.
The tunnel was dimly lit; a place of flickering shadow and dancing flame, echoing ghostly with the sound of distant voices, the roars from the animal pens, and the shouting of the crowd now waiting for the high point of the day. The clamour from the tunnel grew abruptly louder. Claudia walked to the doorway. The arena was being cleaned, the bull’s corpse dragged out to the slaughter yard.
Claudia returned to her seat. She felt weak with relief, yet fearful at the imminent confrontation with Meleager, now arming in a chamber further down the tunnel. The crowd had been ecstatic over Murranus’s performance, truly astonished by his cunning tactics and the skill of that leap. Of course, others had seen the bull dancers of Crete, but very rarely had such prowess been shown in the arenas of Rome. Even the Emperor had risen in acclamation. Claudia had jumped up and down and it took some time for Uncle Polybius to calm her and whisper the message that Murranus wanted to see her.
‘There.’ Claudia looked round. Murranus patted the new loincloth. ‘As neat and tidy,’ he winked at Claudia, ‘as a bridegroom on his wedding day.’
Polybius and Oceanus now began to arrange the armour piled on the floor, the silver filigreed breastplate, the leather kilt, the oblong shield, the embroidered sword belt, leg greaves, and a shimmering arm guard.
‘Wasn’t that Spicerius’s?’ Claudia asked.
‘It was,’ Murranus murmured. ‘Today I’ll wear it in his honour.’
He picked the arm guard up. Oceanus hurried to tie the straps.
‘You seem little interested in the gossip.’ Polybius lifted up the ornate Thracian helmet, with its broad brim and heavy face guard. He used his fingers to brush the gorgeous scarlet horsehair plume. ‘I mean, don’t you want to know,’ Polybius thrust the helmet into Oceanus’s hand, ‘what they’re saying about Meleager?’
‘I’m not interested.’ Murranus was staring at Claudia. ‘I don’t give a damn about tittle-tattle. What does it matter, if I’m killed in the next hour?’
‘Don’t say that,’ Polybius urged.
‘I said if.’ Murranus patted him on the shoulder. ‘I have sacrificed the bull. Now I’ll go out and defeat Meleager, but, gentlemen, I thank you for your care and attention.’ He gestured at the entrance. ‘In ancient Greece the heroes of Homer always armed for battle with the help of a beautiful maiden.’
Polybius and Oceanus took the hint, clasped his hand, embraced him, wished him good luck and left. Outside, the tunnel echoed with the sound of voices. The herald shouted that Meleager was ready. Murranus walked over to Claudia, embraced her gently and kissed her on the forehead.
‘Bull leaper,’ she whispered as she leaned against him.
‘I didn’t want to tell you.’ Murranus kissed her again. ‘I was practising. I didn’t know whether such a trick would work. I couldn’t see you beforehand, I didn’t want to alarm you.’