The Song of the Gladiator Read Online Free Page B

already armed, resplendent in his silver loincloth with his gold-embroidered belt, a wickedly pointed dagger pushed through a ring just near the buckle. Gold-coloured padding protected his legs and left arm; an ornamented arm guard on his right displayed a snarling lion on the front with bulls’ heads around the rim. He wore a silver cord about his neck from which hung a lion’s tooth. Spicerius claimed to have killed its owner with his bare hands. As soon as he deigned to notice Murranus, he lifted the pointed trident and dangled the net tied to his left hand.
    ‘Come on, Murranus, come and get it.’
    Murranus put his helmet down and walked over. He scrutinised the net man carefully, those quickly darting close-set eyes, that smirking mouth. He noticed how Spicerius, as was his custom, had painted his face and drawn deep-green kohl rings around his eyes. His lips were carmined and he stank of some expensive perfume. Spicerius thrust his face closer, eyes fluttering.
    ‘Kiss, kiss, Murranus?’
    The young woman on Spicerius’s left shrieked with laughter, so loud Murranus suspected she was drunk.
    ‘This is Agrippina.’ Spicerius introduced her. ‘A noble daughter of a noble family.’
    Agrippina was tall and willowy, her black hair tied up in a net, a gesture of comradeship with her boyfriend. The snow-white linen wrap around her shoulders did little to hide the plunging neckline of her gown. She wore mullet-red shoes, and earrings, bracelets and bangles of the same colour, as if proclaiming her love for the colour of blood.
    ‘I’ve come to kiss Spicerius goodbye,’ she announced pertly. ‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘on second thoughts, just to wish him well. I’ll proudly kiss him on his return!’
    ‘Kiss my arse!’ Oceanus bellowed from where he stood behind Murranus. Spicerius moved to confront him but Murranus blocked his way.
    ‘There’ll be time soon enough,’ he murmured.
    ‘Aye,’ the net man replied, lowering his trident to rest under his arm, ‘there’ll soon be time for everything.’
    The Director of the Games, all flustered and sweaty, came forward, gesturing at a tray bearing a flagon of wine and two cups on the shabby table against the wall. He beckoned the gladiators forward and filled the earthenware cups. Each took one and toasted his opponent.
    ‘ Usque ad mortem ,’ Murranus declared.
    ‘ Usque ad mortem ,’ Spicerius replied. ‘To the death.’
    They drained their cups and returned to their entourages for the final preparations. The Director was standing at the Gate of Life, gesturing with his hands. A strident blast of trumpets silenced the crowd, and both gladiators returned for one more drink. Spicerius checked the net tied to his wrist whilst Murranus lowered his helmet on his head.
    ‘Now,’ a voice bellowed.
    They walked out of the darkness into the blazing light. Trumpets shrilled, cymbals clashed, the crowd thundered its applause whilst the heat caught them like a blast from a fiery oven. The musicians, sand-rakers and cleaners had disappeared. Murranus walked carefully across the sand, Spicerius keeping pace. They stopped before the imperial box and gave the salute, and a figure high above them lifted his hand in languid reply. Both gladiators turned, saluted each other and quickly drew apart. The clamour of the crowd subsided into a whispering chatter as so-called experts delivered their judgements on the combatants.
    Murranus tried not to be distracted. Claudia was in the imperial box; he wished she wasn’t. He did not feel good and tried to shake off his fears. He had visited a magician, who had sacrificed a dove in a pool of water and prayed that all the gods would assist Murranus. Murranus did not want to die. He had to be Victor Ludorum and receive the gladiator’s crown. Spicerius was still moving away, drawing free of the wall, which could impede his net. Murranus followed slowly. Spicerius began that strange dance all net men did, moving swiftly to the