‘Who fights who?’ Vespasian asked; he did not want to have to fight Magnus.
‘We do a free-for-all. Get your swords, we’ll start back here.’
They turned and looked at each other; there were no words to say. They each knew that they had a responsibility to the group to fight and die well; there was no other way.
Vespasian grimaced at the irony of the situation as he walked to the arena’s edge to pick up his sword and shield. He had never been to a gladiatorial show. He had always wanted to, but now that he had the chance it was he who was to fight. It would be his first and last show; he knew he would die. There was no way that he, a sixteen-year-old youth, would be the last man standing, but before he went he would do his best to give one of his comrades a clean death.
The noise of the crowd was growing as more and more money changed hands in bets. He wondered idly what odds were being given for him winning. He thought of Caenis and pulled out the silver amulet that she had given him. He held it tightly in his fist and prayed for Poseidon’s protection.
He let go of the amulet and it swung free as he bent to pick up the sword. A Thracian near him tugged at his neighbour’s sleeve and pointed. He picked up the shield. The noise around him changed to a low murmur; more people pointed. They’re betting on the first man to die, he thought. He tucked the amulet back under his tunic, turned and walked back towards his comrades.
They each stopped five paces from the middle. Corbulo looked at them one by one. ‘Do not ask for quarter. Deliver a clean death. It is now in the hands of the gods.’
They saluted each other and then crouched into position.
The crowd had gone very quiet.
Vespasian breathed heavily, his palms started to sweat and his heart raced. He looked from Magnus to Corbulo to Faustus, their eyes just visible over shield rims. They started to circle each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.
Behind him he heard a couple of individual shouts from the crowd. Something was happening. We’ve not started fighting quickly enough, we’ll all be impaled, he thought, and then sprang forward, crashing his shield against Corbulo’s. He thrust his sword at his throat, Corbulo parried, the blades met with a clash of iron and screeched as they slid down each other to lock together at the hilt. Vespasian felt something slice through the air behind him as he pushed down on Corbulo’s sword with his own. Magnus going at Faustus, he thought; but where’s the noise, where’s the cheering? Corbulo stepped to the left, pulling his sword away, causing Vespasian to overbalance. He fell to his left but had the presence of mind to bring his shield up to block Corbulo’s back-handed cut to his neck.
He hit the ground and rolled. Corbulo pounced towards him, shield up, sword arm extended, pointing at his throat.
‘Stop!’
The command was easily audible, for by now the only noises were the sound of their exertions and the clash of their weapons. The audience was completely silent.
They froze, Corbulo over Vespasian, Faustus squaring up to Magnus.
Vespasian looked round. Coronus and his elder son had pushed their way out of the crowd and were striding towards them, escorted by a dozen armed warriors.
‘Drop your weapons,’ Coronus shouted.
Four swords fell to the ground, followed by four shields.
He pushed Corbulo aside and leant over Vespasian. ‘Show me what you wear around your neck.’
Vespasian pulled out the silver amulet.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘My woman gave it to me when I left Rome.’
‘Where did she get it?’
‘Her mother left it to her; she said it was a symbol of her tribe.’
Coronus hauled Vespasian to his feet and pulled him close. ‘It is a symbol of a tribe,’ he snarled. His eyes bored into Vespasian’s. ‘ My tribe, the Caenii.’
‘My woman is called Caenis.’ Vespasian said quickly, convinced that he was going to be killed most painfully for sacrilege. ‘She told me of the story of Caeneus, but she said that he came from Thessaly, not Thracia.’
‘He was from Thessaly, but it was to this land that his son, my namesake, Coronus, fled after Caeneus was killed fighting the centaurs.’
‘I saw your men re-enact Caeneus’ death at the river.’
‘We do that when any man of our royal house dies,’ Coronus said quietly. He relaxed his hold on Vespasian. ‘My youngest son was also called Caeneus. My eldest here…’ he pointed to the young leader of the war band ‘… is also called Coronus, and so it has been since the original Coronus founded our tribe and named it after his father.’
Coronus stepped back, letting go of Vespasian’s tunic. ‘What was the name of Caenis’ mother?’
‘I don’t know.’ Vespasian didn’t take his eyes off Coronus; he knew that he was talking for his life. ‘I only know that she was a slave in the household of Antonia, the sister-in-law to the Emperor Tiberius. She died when Caenis was three. Antonia brought Caenis up in her household; she is like a mother to her.’
‘How old is Caenis?’
‘Eighteen, I think.’
Coronus nodded slowly. ‘That would mean her mother would be in her thirties, if she still lived. Skaris!’
The older man with the grey forked beard, whom they had seen arguing with the priest at the river, stepped forward. Coronus turned to talk with him privately. His escort surrounded the Romans, spears held at the ready. Vespasian noticed for the first time that each man wore the same image around his neck, only made of wood or stone. Coronus turned back to Vespasian, apparently satisfied with what Skaris had said.
‘Get up, Roman. It would seem that you speak the truth.’
Vespasian got to his feet and looked at his companions, all of whom were standing stock-still, trying to follow the course of events, not daring to believe that they might have a way out of this situation.
Coronus told his men to stand down and then addressed a few sentences to the crowd. As he spoke they murmured their assent and began to disperse. When he had finished he held out his arm to Vespasian, who took it.
‘My youngest sister and her infant daughter were taken as slaves over thirty years ago. As a member of our royal house she would have been wearing a silver image of Caeneus; the one that was given to you must be it. Your woman Caenis is my sister’s granddaughter, my great-niece. She gave you this amulet with love, to protect you. We will not harm you or your friends. You have the protection of the Caenii and are free to go.’
Vespasian stared at him in disbelief. ‘I will not forget this, Coronus, and I will be sure to tell Caenis who her people are; she will come back to thank you one day.’
‘If the gods will it, so be it. But before you go you will eat with me.’
He led them through the camp to his tent. All around people stared at the four Romans as they passed, shouting out in their strange language and making gestures of welcome and friendship.
Once they were seated with food and drink before them Coronus proposed a toast.
‘May Poseidon hold his hands over his people, the Caenii, and protect them and their friends.’ He drank. Vespasian, Magnus and Faustus followed, Corbulo did not. Coronus looked at him and shook his head. ‘I believe you will not drink because you wish to come back and fight us, am I right?’ he asked.
‘You are an enemy of Rome, it would be my duty.’ Corbulo put down his cup. His friends exchanged worried looks, afraid that this arrogant young aristocrat would land them back in the arena to fight again.
Coronus smiled. ‘Enemy of Rome, you say? That is not so, I only do Rome’s bidding and they pay me handsomely for it.’
‘They paid you to attack her soldiers,’ Corbulo sneered.
‘They paid me to attack the Caeletae, and then to attack your column in their territory. Why? I do not know. But I will prove it to you.’