Roma Victrix (32 page)

‘Thanks. I've read the
graffiti
about yours.'

‘It's all true – I'm sure they are “gifts of Venus” or whatever it said.' She sobered then, resting her hands on Pyrrha's shoulders, looking her in the eyes. ‘
Fortitudo. Contemptio mortis. Cupido victo-riae.
'

Pyrrha nodded. ‘I will not let you – or myself – down, Illeana.

I swear by all the gods. I feel… like I am in the womb. And that when I step out there, I will be reborn.'

Illeana was about to respond when the cell door swung open, revealing the dark form of an arena slave. ‘It's nearly time.'

Illeana had been invited to sit in Vigilo's, the Capuan
lanista
's, box.

She was at the back of course, but it was an unexpected gesture and one she was grateful for even if the man was probably trying to sweeten a path to lucrative matches with Magnus fighters in the future. She would, she promised herself, say good things about him if Maro asked.

The Capuan arena was nowhere near the size and grandeur of the Flavian, but it was impressive and rustic enough for even the gentry to show their enthusiasm. In Rome, the games were something for many of the upper-class just to be seen at, but here it seemed that everyone in attendance was genuinely excited at the prospect of some quality blood-letting. Well, she thought, they would see quality today.

Illeana saw a slave gesture from the Gate of Life and Vigilo got to his feet. ‘Right then,' he said. ‘I'm on.' The sun gleaming on his bald pate, he made his way into the middle of the arena. At the sight of him the noise of the crowd rose to fever pitch. The heavy-set
lanista
basked in the attention for a moment before lifting the vine staff over his head. At this, roars and shouts dropped to a hubbub and Illeana was impressed. Unlike their unruly Roman counterparts, the Capuan folk had a respect for the poor man who was trying to announce the fighters.

‘Capuans!' he bellowed, the voice shockingly powerful even coming from his large frame. ‘You have seen criminals rightly executed! Beasts from all over the empire slain for your pleasure…' he trailed off as a wave of wholehearted applause washed over him.

‘Worthy entertainments for the noisiest… and best… crowd in the world!' More cheering. ‘Why, I could visit every arena from Judaea to Britannia and not hear a crowd like this one…'

Illeana grinned at this sycophantic hyperbole – she, like the mob, had heard it all before. But it was expected and added to the fun.

‘Now, my good people,' Vigilo went on, ‘one last appetizer before we begin our main course of the day. Like all of you, there's nothing I like more than to see two men fight, toe to toe, blade to blade.

It shows our Roman skill, our Roman courage, our Roman
virtus
!

But let me say, my friends, that as a man of huge appetites – if you know what I mean…' he was forced to pause as the mob threw good-natured jeers at him, many of them making obscene gestures,

‘…I like to see a hot, sweaty woman at her work – what do you say to that!'

The
lanista
got the reaction he wanted as the crowd screamed at him again, punching their fists in the air and hollering abuse and exhortation to begin the bout. He was an accomplished showman, eking out the introductions, building up anticipation till it was at breaking point. ‘What's that you say?' He cupped a hand to his ear.

‘
Get on with it, Vigilo? Let's see the fight, Vigilo?
Good people of Capua, I am yours to command! Citizens – I bring you a gladiatrix – trained by my own fair hand,
victrix
of two bouts... she is brave, she is strong, she is fearless… Capuans, I give you Audaciaaaa!'

He extended the end of her name, roaring it out till it was drowned by the din of applause.

The dark-haired Audacia strode out from the Gate of Life, her arms raised aloft. She was a
thraex
, armed with short sword and shield. Illeana studied her and was impressed. She was well-muscled and heavier than Pyrrha, her defined physique demonstrating hard training and her gait oozing confidence. The crowd hooted, always enthusiastic at the sight of female flesh – as she had said to Pyrrha, it was all part of the show.

Vigilo allowed his fighter to soak up the applause before he came in again. ‘And her opponent, trained in the great Ludus Magnus of Rome…fighting in her first bout, named for the offspring of Achilles, people of Capua… the beautiful… the deadly…Pyrrhaaaaa!'

Illeana had never before experienced the agony of a trainer.

Now, for the first time, she felt what her own instructors must have felt when sending her into the arena for her first bout.

It was easy for the fringe lunatics who criticised the games to generalise that all fighters were looked upon as mere kine by their owners, simple fodder for the arena. Nothing could be further from the truth of course: it was as ludicrous to assume that all
lanistas
and trainers were heartless sadists as it was to suppose that all fighters were criminals deserving of their lot. Ultimately, the bond forged in the sweat and toil of the
palaestra
was stronger than most friendships outside the
ludus.
After all – when a potter left the
caupona
for work, his friends did not wonder if they would see him alive again.

Pyrrha strode out from the Gate of Life, the twin blades of the
dimachaeria
held loosely in her hands. Opposed to the rapturous welcome for the local fighter, the crowd hurled abuse and curses at her, some going so far as to make the sign of the twin horns – probably those who had bet heavily against her. For her part, Pyrrha looked assured and calm, though Illeana knew well that her stomach would be full of butterflies: there was no way of knowing how the hostile crowd would affect her confidence.

As the thought occurred, Pyrrha answered the question. She stretched her neck from side to side and spun her swords in her hands as was her custom. But she did not stop there: she began to move, increasing the speed of the spinning weapons so they seemed to form a glittering web in the bright sun. Illeana raised an eyebrow as Pyrrha went through the basic advance and retreat drill taught to all
tiros
– but, with the added complexity of the
dimachaeria
weapons, she had turned the simple exercise into something of a display that all but silenced the crowd. All eyes in the arena – including her opponent's – were on her as she danced with the blades. Illeana noted that Pyrrha was adding more steps to the pattern, turning, twisting and finally leaping into the air with a shrill cry. As she landed side on to her opponent, Pyrrha sank down on her right leg, her left extended, one sword held over her head the other pointing straight at Audacia.

The crowd erupted in a spontaneous round of cheering as Pyrrha ended on this highly theatrical and utterly functionless stance. Illeana found herself joining in – clearly, nerves were going to be the least of Pyrrha's problems. Her dance was both impressive and highly dangerous: the display must have leached some confidence from the impressive-looking Audacia, but if Pyrrha had slipped or dropped a sword, the result would have reversed itself ten-fold. If things went well, Illeana would have to speak to her about it.
If
things went well: the Roman found herself whispering a silent prayer to Fortuna.

Vigilo called the fighters together, holding the vine staff out to separate them. Pyrrha rose into the classical guard of the
dimachaeria
as Audacia dropped back into her own stance. The audience began to clap – slowly at first but increasing in speed with each retort till reaching thunderous crescendo that filled the arena. Almost lost was the
lanista
's call.

‘
Pugnate!'

At once, Pyrrha leapt into the attack, trying to spear her foe straight in the face with the first blow, but Audacia was experienced enough to parry the attack and in doing so open the
dimachaeria
guard. Her short sword licked out, seeking the flesh of Pyrrha's belly only to be blocked. They disengaged, circling each other, shuffling backwards and forwards, both fighters looking for an angle of attack.

It was Audacia who moved first, stepping in and executing a horizontal cut to Pyrrha's ribs. Illeana rose to her feet, screaming for Pyrrha to see the move for what it was; but Pyrrha did not have her experience. The young fighter's sword blocked the cut just as Audacia rammed the hard metal of her buckler into Pyrrha's face.

Illeana's hands flew to her mouth as she imagined she could almost hear the dull ring of the blow landing.

Pyrrha staggered back, blood sheeting down her cheek from a cut somewhere high on the side of her head. At least, Illeana thought, she had turned her face aside, but the blow was a telling one.

Pyrrha's legs were not strong as the
thraex
rushed into the attack, sensing an early victory. The onslaught came as it must as Audacia rained blow after blow down on the weakened
tiro
, using both sword and shield as weapons. Pyrrha's responses were stiff and clumsy as she fell back in desperate retreat.

The crowd, encouraged by first blood, roared on the home fighter, screaming for the kill. They roared again as the gladiatrices' blades locked, Audacia's diagonal cut blocked by Pyrrha ; but the Capuan's strength was greater and she pushed hard. Forcing the issue, her blade scraped upwards and came free, cutting into Pyrrha's collar-bone. So near the bone, the flesh parted easily and the sands drank more Roman blood. With a strength that must have been born of desperation, Pyrrha shoved the bigger woman away and scampered back. Illeana knew she was trying to buy time to clear her head.

The cut on her chest was nothing: it was the near knockout first blow that was troubling her.

Audacia had a decision to make: she could continue to press and try to overwhelm her opponent or she could stay back and pick her attacks, eating the younger fighter a morsel at a time, hoping that the damage already done would be telling. Illeana would have opted for the former: Audacia did not.

It was here that the hard hours of conditioning and training came to the fore. The endless miles run on the steps of the Flavian, the days spent toiling to exhaustion on the
palaestra,
thousands upon thousands of strikes to the wooden
pallus
would all now come into play.

Given a few moments respite, Illeana could see the strength returning to Pyrrha's legs. The crowd could see it too and urged on their champion: it was, Illeana realised, so much easier to be an expert when you were safe in the audience. These things were harder to see on the sands, but Audacia realised soon enough when the spring suddenly returned to Pyrrha's step and she, in a display of cheek, spun her swords again. Despite their preference for the local girl, the crowd appreciated this piece of grandstanding and applauded politely.

Pyrrha's footwork became more assured as she opted to advance on Audacia using the circle-step, which allowed a fighter to move in and out with speed and power and added the advantage of a firm base. Her blades lashed out in a straight, three-strike combination, but these were deflected by the Capuan who then came back with a cut of her own. Pyrrha leapt back, wary now of the devastating shield punch. Both women stalked each other, but this let-up in the intense action soon caused the spectators to show their displeasure.

They wanted more – they always wanted more, especially from female fighters. They would appreciate a
Latrunculi
match between two gladiators, but women were expected to bare all and give all.

But it was apparent to Illeana that Pyrrha and Audacia were evenly matched, despite the bigger woman's early success. Now they attacked each other in sporadic mêlées that seemed designed only to feel each other out and not do any real damage. ‘Come on, Pyrrha!' Illeana called, wary that, should things go against her, the
missio
would not be granted after such a tepid affair.

As though she heard her, Pyrrha rolled her shoulders and began to move, this time lightly on her feet, making the choice to sacrifice solidity for speed. She made to attack but it was merely a feint, causing Audacia to react. Pyrrha, however, made no attempt to follow up, content to merely make the other woman move. Clearly annoyed, the Capuan launched a thrust of her own and this time Pyrrha reacted, spinning away and cutting out at Audacia's extended arm. The crowd hissed as the sharp iron tip of Pyrrha's weapon sliced into their gladiatrix's bicep making crimson fly in bright droplets.

‘Good,' Illeana clapped her hands. ‘Good!' The wound would be painful and – more importantly – debilitating: it would slow Audacia down and continue to worsen as the bout went on. Audacia knew it too and she cried out in defiance and laid in, cutting and hacking at her elusive enemy in fury. The sound of iron against iron rang out and then Pyrrha spun away once more, ducking low and dragging her blade across Audacia's ribs. The Capuan yelped in pain but, as Pyrrha whirled past, she swung her blade, nicking the soft flesh of the Roman's shoulder. It was hard to see from where she was standing, but Illeana did not think she had hit the critical tendons. She was proven right as Pyrrha showed no signs of severe hurt.

Both fighters redoubled their efforts now, skin slick with sweat, oil and blood, their legs caked in arena sand. The crowd roared encouragement as the women tore into each other with fury. Illeana had seen it before – she had been there herself. No one, no matter how fit or strong, could fight at length without a break. The constant movement, the pain, the inner rush of blood, all conspired to sap energy from the body and instinct drove one on to finish before all strength had fled. In a drawn out contest such as this had become, it was all about will and conditioning. Pyrrha had trained hard but Audacia had the bigger frame, the stronger constitution – she could not know if Audacia had put in all the hours that she needed to.