It was a move I knew. Glaucus called it "Trainer's Cheat." He did it when a pupil grew too cocky and was sure he had won a practice fight. My trainer would wait until his pupil turned away, then jump up, clinch an arm around his throat, and lay the edge of his own blade hard against the idiot's throat.
That was exactly what Romanus did. Only he was not using a wooden practice sword-and he did not stop. He cut deep with all his strength, and almost severed Scilla's neck.
Sixty-three
ROMANUS LAID HER down, then he stepped back. There was blood everywhere.
I was already striding out across the sand, Justinus at my heels. With medical detachment we claimed Calliopus for Hades, then repeated the procedure for the girl.
It ought to be all over. With Scilla dead, her claim for compensation fell. But despite the unrelenting parade of death already placed before them, the crowd were baying for more. For one thing, the big bets today would have been on all three novices ending up dead. Besides, the rivalry between supporters from the Three Towns had flared into jeers of abuse. The noise became appalling; it was terrifying too.
Saturninus, the grim professional, did not hesitate: he raised an arm, palm flat. The crowd began to drum their heels and shout in unison. Saturninus picked up the long stave which he had been using in his professional role; he brandished and then broke it. After that he pulled off over his head the uniform white tunic that all lanistae wore in the ring. Then he pointed to Romanus as if telling him to wait where he was. The gesture was plain. He was taking on the task: Saturninus was intending to fight Romanus and give the crowd one final thrill.
To renewed, better-tempered applause, Saturninus was already walking off to arm himself. Of all the three lanistae, he had the most direct experience-a professional ex-gladiator who had survived to win his freedom. Here, he was the local hero too, with most of the crowd behind him. Romanus stood no chance.
The crowd reseated themselves amidst a loud hum of discussion. There had to be a short unprogrammed intermission while Saturninus armed. Justinus and I wheeled slowly around as the latest corpses were removed.
"Clean the ring," I called, summoning the rakemen. This was not in the remit of the beaked Rhadamanthus, but as always a command spoken with authority got results.
Officials had surrounded Romanus; he was being given a water flask.
First I walked over to Hanno, followed by Justinus. Hanno was standing aloof, no longer needed for the action since Fidelis died, yet still formally part of the show.
"It's Didius Falco." From behind the beaked mask Hanno recognized my voice, I think, though he made no sign. I said to Justinus, "Translate for me, Hermes! Tell him, I know he colluded with Scilla to arrange this fight. Calliopus is dead; if Romanus now kills Saturninus, Hanno will have his heart's desire."
Hanno looked annoyed when we spoke to him, but he replied and Justinus translated back to me: "I just push an idea along, here and there."
"Oh yes. Nothing illegal."
"If other people do the work, that is for their consciences."
"Time to learn Latin. You will be going to Rome far more often now."
"Why do you think that?"
"When the new amphitheater opens."
"Yes," Hanno agreed, smiling. "That is quite likely."
I felt annoyed by his complacency. Justinus was still doggedly translating as I changed tack: "Do you know why your sister wanted Fidelis dead?"
"He had stolen from my son."
"No-tell him, Quintus. Myrrha had Fidelis kill Rumex. What's very neat is that before he was marched out here to be silenced, Fidelis had killed Myrrha too."
Justinus made the statement in Punic, then had no need to translate how Hanno reacted. He was deeply shocked. He stared hard at us as if to see if what we had said could be trusted, then he strode from the arena.
Yes, I thought. When the great new amphitheater opened, the businessman from Sabratha would still clean up financially-but today he had been stopped in his stride for a moment. That could only be healthy for him and his son.
Saturninus must be returning; there was an expectant hum.
Time was running out. Romanus was now standing alone. As I approached, he spoke to me: "Falco!" croaked a desperate voice from out of my nightmares. "Falco; it's me!"
"You bastard," I answered, without any surprise. "How did you get Glaucus to accept you at the gym? If there's one person I don't want to see at my private bathhouse, frankly-Anacrites-it's you!"
The men sweeping the final marks from the sand worked around us.
Behind the owl-eyed helmet, I now detected Anacrites' familiar pale gray irises. "Aren't you going to ask what I'm doing here?"
"I can guess that." I was furious. "When I left you in Rome, you decided that you would solve my case-that's the case you had said we should abandon. You were contacted by Scilla. Either you said no at first, or she took against you and went to Cyrene to hire me instead. You came out to Tripolitania of your own accord-"
"Falco, we are a partnership!"
I felt sick. "I was already hired by the woman; you were trying to compete! You met Scilla again in Lepcis, helped her lure Calliopus here-and now you have killed her. That was not very sensible; she'll never pay her bill! And however did you end up fighting, you fool?"
"Calliopus saw through my disguise. He had me set upon and imprisoned. He said I could either be killed straightaway and dumped in a gutter, or I could fight today and at least stand a chance-Falco, how can I get out of this?"
"Too late, you idiot. Anacrites, when they brought you into the ring you should have appealed to Rutilius. You're a free man, sold into the arena against your will-why go along with it?"
"Scilla had told me she was going to fight for Saturninus. I guessed she intended to somehow try to kill both him and Calliopus. I thought if I was out here, I might be able to intervene-Falco," said Anacrites plaintively, "I thought that it was what you would do yourself."
Dear gods. The madman wanted to be me.
The crowd was baying for the final contest. There was no way I could rescue him, even assuming I wanted to.
"I can't help you," I told him. "It's now you against Saturninus and if you try to back out, Lepcis Magna will riot."
He was being brave, damn him: "Ah well, I enjoyed working with you, partner."
I tried to find a joke in return. "You'll have to trust in the old stories-all the fights are fixed-"
"And the referee is blind!"
I turned on my heel. Justinus followed me. I took two strides then turned back with one final desperate quip. "If you get wounded, remember Thalia's performing dog: lie still and play dead."
To my horror Anacrites then held out his hand to me. He would be killed here in a few minutes; I had no alternative. I shook hands, just like a partner wishing him good luck. A partner who knew no luck in the world could possibly help him now.
Saturninus had prepared himself with a professional's efficiency. Over his embroidered loincloth, his belt was a wide, champion's effort. He wore one greave, an arm protector, and a carved, rectangular shield. His helmet was a pair to that worn by Anacrites. His bare chest and limbs looked oiled. He swept out across the arena, visibly fresh. An expert. The local man. Undefeatable.
I stared up at the massed faces, twenty-five or so rows of them. The crowd was murmuring feverishly. Then silence fell.
I expected it to be short. It was nearly so short most people missed it. Saturninus took up his guard. Anacrites was facing him, though probably not yet concentrating. With a loud yell, a heavy stamp forwards, and a powerful sword-stroke, Saturninus struck Anacrites' own sword from his hand. Now, Anacrites was not even armed.