‘There’s only one Hermes!’ his fans shouted, roaring themselves hoarse. ‘Only one Hermes!’
The very ground trembled as Hermes marched towards the circle. He was wearing the same body armour as Pavo, although his shield carried his signature image of Cerberus and his champion’s belt was wrapped round his waist above his loincloth. Pavo felt the sweat on his back turn cold with fear as Hermes approached him. The colossus from Rhodes appeared even more muscular than he remembered. His biceps were solid and smoothly curved, as if fashioned from marble. The veins on his forearms were like cords of rope. He paraded to the crowd, bowing to all four grandstands in turn. Pavo felt his heart briefly soar as he heard a number of spectators jeer Hermes and cheer his own name.
‘Pavo’s going to cut your head off!’ a voice bellowed clearly above the din.
Staring out of the grille that covered his face, Pavo glanced back past his shoulder and spied Macro looking on from the mouth of the tunnel. Bucco stood next to the soldier. Pavo drew strength from Macro’s presence. His gruff honesty and stubborn dedication to the task at hand put many of Pavo’s high-born friends to shame, and he had learned more from the soldier in a few months under his wing than the years spent studying the classics and observing the great debates in the Senate. He was sure that Macro would make a fine centurion one day.
The umpire gestured for both fighters to lean in as he explained the rules of the bout.
‘Now listen,’ he barked so that both gladiators could hear him above the noise of the crowd. ‘The rules are simple. It’s a fight to the death, which means there’s no mercy from the Emperor today. If neither of you is able to kill your opponent outright, I’ll call an end to the contest and the judges will declare a winner.’
He pointed to three magistrates wearing fine togas and seated on the bottom row along the northern stand, below the podium. Each gripped a wax tablet and a stylus, poised to make a mark whenever one of the participants landed a clear blow on his opponent. Pavo turned back to the umpire as he went on.
‘The loser must accept the judges’ decision with good grace. Whoever loses, I expect you to die like a true Roman. I want a fair fight, and that means no tugging at each other’s armour, no chucking sand and no stepping outside the chalk line. If you step over the line, you forfeit the match – and your life. Understood?’
‘Yes,’ Pavo said.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Hermes rasped from behind his helmet. ‘I can’t wait to cut this brat to pieces, just like I did to that treacherous Roman shit Titus.’
‘My father was an honourable man,’ Pavo retorted. ‘You’re just scum, Hermes.’
The champion erupted into laughter, his massive shoulders heaving. ‘Fool. Once I’ve carved you up, I’ll take my place among the greats.’
Pavo frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Narcissus has promised that a statue will be built in my honour, celebrating my victories. It will go on display in the Campus Martius. I’ll be idolised by Romans across the Empire.’ He snorted in amusement. ‘Why else do you think I came out of retirement? I was already the greatest gladiator who ever lived. Now I’ll be recognised as a true hero – more than old Titus ever was.’
Pavo lunged at Hermes, gripped by an indescribable hatred and unable to hold back his rage. The umpire thrust out his hands, separating the two gladiators and ordering them back two paces. With his tall, sinewy build and black eyes sunk deep into his skull beneath his bald head, the man carried the air of a strict schoolteacher, and both gladiators immediately obeyed his command. When the umpire was satisfied that both fighters were under control, he nodded to the attendants. They handed a sword each to Pavo and Hermes, then quickly retreated towards the tunnel entrance. The crowd suddenly hushed. The moment of the fight was finally upon them. All eyes fixed on the umpire. Pavo stared ahead at Hermes, picturing his face behind the visor, imagining his scarred upper lip twisted with hatred. The younger man tightened his grip on the handle of his sword and took a deep breath.
At last the umpire filled his lungs and bellowed, ‘FIGHT!’
Hermes took Pavo by surprise, pushing forward instead of retreating behind his shield, instantly slamming his sword arm out and angling the tip of his weapon at his opponent’s exposed neck beneath his helmet. Pavo froze for an instant, the sword tip twinkling softly as it surged towards his throat. Then he hiked up his shield just in time and the sword rang dully as it glanced off the top edge and veered above and to the side of his head. In the next moment Hermes let out an animal growl and charged at Pavo with his shield tucked tight to his shoulder. Pavo crouched behind his own shield. The frame shuddered violently as Hermes clattered into him. Pavo dug his feet into the sand and held firm, the honed muscles in his legs tensing to stop him from falling backwards. The powerful impact trembled up his forearm and stung his shoulder muscles as panic flooded his mind. His strategy for the fight had been based upon the assumption that Hermes would rely on the counterattack. He had not prepared for his opponent to charge at him. Now Hermes sidestepped to his right and thrust his sword at Pavo’s unguarded flank. Spinning round to face his opponent, Pavo quickly dropped to one knee and ducked behind his shield, blocking the pointed tip before it could puncture his midriff. The crowd screamed in delight as the sword rattled against the shield boss and glanced off.
Heart pounding, Pavo glimpsed Hermes above the rim of his shield. The champion was hacking his sword down like an axe chopping wood. Pavo instinctively hoisted his shield horizontally above his head in a smooth, swift motion, his arduous sparring sessions in the courtyard with Ruga firmly ingrained in his muscles. There was a thunderous crack as Hermes’s sword hammered against the shield. Pavo felt a vicious pain shooting through his wrist as it absorbed the shock of the impact. Now he pushed up, every sinew and muscle in his legs straining as he threw off his opponent’s sword and knocked Hermes off balance. He jerked his flat shield forward, just as Ruga had taught him. Hermes grunted as the iron-rimmed edge slammed against his bronze chest protector. A wild cheer erupted from a section of the crowd as Hermes was momentarily stunned. Others booed vehemently. Glancing over his shoulder, Pavo realised he had been pushed back from the centre of the combat circle. He now stood a few short paces from the edge, the chalk mark clearly visible in the sand.
He swung his gaze back to Hermes, perspiring hard inside his helmet. Droplets of sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, temporarily blurring his sight. Ahead of him Hermes quickly recovered from the shield blow and brought the base of his sword crashing down on top of Pavo’s shield, battering it to the ground before booting it aside. Pavo felt his heart skip a beat as the handle was savagely wrenched free of his aching grip. The shield landed a short distance to his right. Cursing the gods, he reached out to retrieve it, but Hermes reacted in a flash, slashing his sword at his opponent’s outstretched arm. An intense searing pain stung Pavo’s flesh as the sword tip grazed his bicep, nicking the muscle. Hissing sharply between gritted teeth, he snatched his trembling hand away from the shield, blood seeping from his glistening wound. Now Hermes swung his sword down at his opponent and Pavo immediately jerked his own weapon above his head. A rasping clang echoed around the arena as the two swords slammed into each other just above his helmet. Filling his lungs, Pavo roared and sprang to his full height, throwing off Hermes. The champion stumbled backwards, visibly shaken by the sheer strength of his opponent. He made a deep keening sound in his throat.
Pavo lunged at him, sensing a chance to draw blood. Hermes batted away Pavo’s thrust with an outward sweep of his shield before raking his shield arm back across his chest and smashing the iron rim against his opponent’s helmet. A clangorous sound rang through Pavo’s skull. For a brief moment an unsteady blur clouded his vision. His sight cleared just as Hermes booted him in the guts. Pavo bent double and gasped at the cold air. Nausea burned in his throat. He staggered backwards, his muscles seized with anxiety. Hermes struck out at him with a brutal thrust of his sword. Pavo raggedly parried the move. Seething behind his visor, Hermes punched his shield into his opponent with unstoppable force. The younger man lost his footing, groaning in despair as he tumbled to the ground. His back crunched against the thin sprinkling of sand covering the travertine paving. He coughed and sputtered painfully inside his helmet. Every fibre of his being ached. The armour felt twice as heavy as it had done at the start of the fight. The spectators in Hermes’s section of the arena rose to their feet, chanting and shaking their clenched fists in triumph.
‘He’s crossed the line!’ one of the fans declared. ‘Pavo has lost!’
Another section of fans who’d been chanting Pavo’s name heckled their rivals, making offensive hand gestures and hurling insults in their direction. ‘Dirty cheating bastards!’ one of them shouted wildly. ‘Pavo never crossed the line!’
Pavo gazed down at his feet. To his horror he saw that he had landed on top of the chalk mark enclosing the circle. His upper body lay fully outside the circle, with his trailing leg remaining inside by a hair’s breadth. There was a collective rumble as the five thousand spectators crammed into the arena rose to their feet and craned their necks. Some shook their heads decisively. Others pointed to the floored gladiator and argued heatedly with their companions over whether or not he had crossed the line. Hermes raised his arms in victory as Pavo lay bewildered on the sand, gripped by despair, unable to believe that he had lost. Meanwhile the opposing factions shouted over each other, both sets of fans fired by the belief that their judgement was correct. Pavo swung his gaze back to Hermes as the champion swaggered towards him and stopped at his feet. His colossal frame cast a vast shadow over his opponent.
‘On your knees, traitor,’ Hermes grunted throatily. He was breathing deeply inside his helmet and his voice rasped through his airholes. ‘Now you’ll suffer a humiliating death in front of the Emperor … just like your old man.’
Pavo froze. Panic was beating like a drum in his chest. He swallowed his bitterness and struggled awkwardly to his feet, a feeling of dread tightening in his bowels as he prepared to face his gruesome fate. His heart sank like a lead weight at the thought that he had failed his father. He awaited his agonising death, awaited the moment when the champion of Rome would plunge his sword into the hollow between the base of his neck and his collarbone, piercing his heart. His only consolation was that he would join his parents and Sabina in the afterlife. To have come so close to revenge, only to fail at the last – it had all been for nothing, then. Dark droplets speckled the sand around Pavo as rain began to fall from the clouds hanging low above the arena.
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ he whispered inside his helmet.
‘Halt!’ a voice suddenly cried.
Both Pavo and Hermes looked towards the umpire. He was waving at Hermes, gesturing for the champion to step away from his opponent. Up in the imperial box, Pallas and Narcissus both stared intently at the umpire while Claudius consulted another member of his entourage.
‘Pavo has not crossed the line!’ the umpire exclaimed as loudly as possible, struggling to make himself heard over the competing yells of the crowd. ‘The fight is not over!’
Hermes stood his ground and cocked his head at the official. ‘Bollocks,’ he spat as he jabbed the scuffed chalk line with the bloodied tip of his sword. ‘This pathetic shit clearly crossed the line. Look at the chalk.’
The umpire shook his head stiffly. ‘The rules state that the whole body must be outside the circle in order for the fighter to forfeit the contest. Pavo’s leg was still inside. According to the rules, he is not out. He has not forfeited the bout.’
Hermes rounded on the umpire. ‘But that can’t be—’
The umpire cut him off with a raised hand. ‘I am the umpire, gladiator. My decision is final. Step back from your opponent and return to your position!’
Hermes towered over Pavo for a moment. After a pause he turned and paced sullenly back to the centre of the circle, fuming and shaking his head in disgust. The spectators closest to the action turned to their companions in the next row up and relayed the umpire’s decision. Soon the news had spread throughout the stands. Hermes’s fans, incensed by the verdict, loudly jeered the umpire and started pelting the arena with wine cups and cushions and anything else they could get their hands on. The guards around the exits set upon the offenders and hauled them out of their seats. Pavo’s supporters remained standing, cheering deliriously and urging their hero on. The young gladiator noticed Pallas closing his eyes as he breathed a sigh of relief. Narcissus stood on the other side of the Emperor, his face locked into a tight-lipped scowl. A moment later a servant hurried over to Narcissus and whispered into his ear. Nodding severely, the adviser turned his back on the arena and headed for the exit. Murena and Pallas exchanged a smug look. Pavo glanced back at Hermes.
‘An outrage!’ Hermes snarled inside his helmet, loud enough for his supporters to hear.
At that moment the skies opened up. The gentle pitter-patter quickly swelled to a deafening hiss and there were cries in the stands as the spectators were soaked through by the sudden downpour. The rain fell over the Forum in freezing, slanting torrents, spattering the grandstands and turning the white sand a dark brown. At once several sections of the crowd shot to their feet and hurried towards the nearest exits, raising their hands above their heads as they tried in vain to protect themselves from the driving rain. Others loudly cursed the gods as their togas were drenched. In mere moments large swathes of the grandstands had emptied. Pavo watched as the rain washed away the chalk line, blurring the circle and making it impossible to judge where the gladiators were permitted to fight. The scuff mark where his leg had trailed across the line was quickly obliterated.
‘Shit!’ the umpire cursed. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in the direction of the tunnel. ‘The fight is suspended! Clear away the weapons!’