“It was so quick,” she murmured. One moment the Thracian had been valiantly defending himself, and in the next instant he was dead. He had not even cried out.
“Gladiators are not usually cruel to one another,” Aspar said gently to her. “They are generally friends or acquaintances, for they live together, eat, sleep, and whore together. Death matches are rare today, and Justin Gabras must have paid well for them. Or perhaps these gladiators are just desperate men who do not care. Some are like that.”
“I want to go home,” Cailin said quietly.
“You cannot go now!” Casia cried. “The last match of the day is about to begin, and it is the champion himself. The Hun is an amateur compared to the Saxon. If it becomes too bloody, you need not look, and we will just gossip, but you must see him without his helmet. He is a god, I tell you!” Casia enthused.
Aspar laughed, and turning to Basilicus, said, “I think I should be worried about Casia, my old friend, if I were you. She is obviously quite taken, nay, fascinated I think a better word, by this gladiator.”
“He is beautiful to look at,” Casia replied before the prince might say anything, “but I have usually found that beautiful faces and bodies are all men like the Saxon can offer. There is nothing else, neither wit, nor culture. After one has enjoyed a good romp in Cupid’s grove, it is nice to lie back and chatter, is it not, my lord?”
Basilicus nodded silently, but his eyes were twinkling.
“Ohh, look!” Casia said. “Here are the combatants. I should hate to be the poor fellow fighting with the Saxon. He must know he has no chance.”
“How sad for him,” Cailin answered her friend. “How terrible to know that he is facing his death on this beautiful bright day.”
Casia looked discomfited, but then she said brightly, “Well, there is always the chance that he just might get lucky and beat the champion. Wouldn’t that be exciting? At any rate, they will put on a good show for us, you may be certain.”
The Saxon and his opponent were both armed in the Samnite fashion. Each man wore a helmet with a visor. Each had a thick sleeve on the right arm and a greave on the left leg only. The men’s waists were encircled with a belt. They carried long shields and short swords. Their combat would be a very close encounter. Saluting the emperor and their patron, they immediately began to fight. In spite of herself, Cailin was fascinated, for this match seemed more even than the previous one.
Metal clanged upon metal as the two men thrust and parried with their weapons. Cailin soon realized that the battle was not so evenly matched after all. The Saxon’s antagonist was not his equal in skill. The champion jumped and twirled in a series of maneuvers deliberately executed to please the crowd. Twice the other man left himself open to attack, but the Saxon feinted to distract attention. Finally the crowd began to catch on, and they screamed with outrage.
“There’s few his match,” Basilicus noted. “He’s but tried to give them a good show, but they want blood. Well, they’ll get it now, I think. The Saxon should have been saved for the final day instead of having him fight two days. Gabras obviously wanted his money’s worth.”
The combat took a different turn now, with the Saxon attacking his opponent vigorously while the other man fought desperately to save his life. The champion, however, refused to draw it out any further. Relentlessly he drove the other Samnite across the ring, his opponent getting few blows in and striving to protect himself with his shield. The Saxon rained blow after blow upon it, until finally the man fell back, exhausted, his defense falling from his hand. The Saxon swiftly and mercifully pierced the other gladiator’s heart with his sword. Then he walked across the ring to the cheers of the spectators and saluted the emperor with the bloodied weapon.
“Remove your helmet, Saxon,” Justin Gabras said loftily, “that the emperor may see your face when he congratulates you on your victory.”
The Saxon removed his helmet and said, “There is no victory against a weaker man, lord. In two days’ time, however, I will fight the Hun. I will bring you his head upon a silver salver, and then I will accept your congratulations for a battle well fought.”
“You do not fear death?” the emperor said quietly.