The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,10
so easily. We are racehorses, you see, if the metaphor is not immediately clear.’
‘Shall we test your speed against my strength?’ Agrippa asked, smiling unpleasantly.
Maecenas eyed the heavy training sword Agrippa was swishing through the air.
‘You battered me near senseless last time, which was not sporting. In a real duel, I would cut you up, my friend, but these wooden swords filled with lead? They are clubs for peasants and you swing yours with abandon. The idea is not appealing.’ His closed eye opened and he squinted against the sunlight. ‘Still, I have been giving it some thought, since your last instruction.’
‘I meant you to learn a lesson, so I am pleased,’ Agrippa replied.
There was a growing tension on the sandy yard. Maecenas did not enjoy being bested in anything and Octavian knew it had rankled with him to be knocked around like a child. For one of Agrippa’s bulk and strength, the wooden swords could be almost ignored, allowing him to land a punch or a blow that sent Maecenas reeling. He opened his mouth to distract them, but Maecenas had spotted a rack of throwing spears along a wall, long Roman weapons with iron tips and a wooden shaft. His face lit up.
‘A different weapon might allow me to demonstrate a few points to you, perhaps,’ Maecenas said.
Agrippa snorted. ‘So I should let you have three feet of reach over me?’ His eyes glinted, though whether it was anger or amusement, it was impossible to tell.
‘If you are afraid, I will understand,’ Maecenas said. ‘No? Excellent.’ He walked to the rack and removed one of the long weapons, feeling the heft of it.
Agrippa brought his wooden sword up across his body. He wore only leggings, sandals and a loose tunic and did not enjoy Maecenas gesturing with a throwing spear near him.
‘Come, Maecenas,’ Octavian said uncomfortably. ‘We will find something good to do today.’
‘I have already found something good to do,’ Maecenas replied. He closed the distance quickly, jerking his arm back to make Agrippa flinch. The big man shook his head.
‘Are you sure? That is a weapon for soldiers, not noblemen.’
‘It will do, I think,’ Maecenas replied. As he spoke, he jabbed the point at Agrippa’s broad chest, then back and again at his groin. ‘Oh yes, it will do very well indeed. Defend yourself, ape.’
Agrippa watched Maecenas closely, reading his footwork and stance as well as his eyes. They had sparred many times before and both men knew the other’s style. Octavian found himself a bench and sat down, knowing from experience that he would not be able to drag them away until they’d finished. Though they were friends, both men were used to winning and could not resist challenging each other. Octavian settled himself.
At first, Agrippa merely stepped back from the jabbing point that struck out at him. He frowned as it came close to his eyes, but slid away from it, raising his training gladius to block. Maecenas was enjoying having the big man on the defensive and began to show off a little, his feet quick on the sandy ground.
The end, when it came, was so sudden that Octavian almost missed it. Maecenas lunged fast and hard enough to score a wound. Agrippa blocked with the edge of his sword, then turned from the hip and smacked his left forearm into the spear. It snapped cleanly and Maecenas gaped at it. Agrippa laid his sword along Maecenas’ throat and grunted a laugh.
‘A victory,’ Agrippa said.
Without a word, Maecenas pushed the wooden sword away and reached down, picking up the broken half of his spear. It had been sawn almost through, the cut hidden with brown wax. His eyes widened and he strode back to the row of spears. He cursed as he examined the rest, snapping them one by one over his thigh. Agrippa began to laugh at his thunderous expression.
‘You did this?’ Maecenas demanded. ‘How long did it take you to prepare every spear? What sort of a man goes to such lengths? Gods, how did you even know I would choose one of them? You are a madman, Agrippa.’
‘I am a strategist, is what I am,’ Agrippa said, wiping tears from his right eye. ‘Oh, your face. I wish you could have seen it.’
‘This is not honourable behaviour,’ Maecenas muttered. To his irritation, Agrippa just laughed again.
‘I would rather be a peasant and win than be noble and lose. It is as simple as that, my friend.’