The Forgotten Legion - Kane Ben (читать книги онлайн полностью без сокращений txt) 📗

Memor led his fighters towards a small doorway to one side of the main entrance. Four heavily armed slaves stood guard outside.

'State your business,' the largest said arrogantly.

'What does it look like?' snapped Memor. 'Here are fifty of the finest gladiators in Rome.'

'The lanista of the Dacicus might disagree.'

Memor whipped up his staff, catching the man off guard.

'I meant no harm, Master,' he stammered, the sharp metal hook pricking the back of his neck.

Memor pulled him closer, drawing blood. 'Like to join the combat today?'

'No, Master.' Beads of sweat sprang out on the guard's brow.

'Then open the fucking door!'

One of his companions swiftly pulled back a heavy iron bolt. Memor released the slave, allowing him to guide them inside. As the fighters passed into the darkness below the stands, the din made by shouts and drumming of spectators' feet filled their ears. It was a sound Romulus had heard before, something that quickened the pulse of even the most hardened gladiator.

Brennus cocked his head and listened. 'The crowd's excited. Something, or someone, is about to die.'

There was a lull in the cacophony. In the momentary silence they heard the distinctive snarl of a large beast.

The hairs on Romulus' neck stood up. 'What's that?'

'A lion. Angry too, by the sound.'

People above reacted with alarm as the big cat roared again. A man started screaming and the audience responded with jeers and boos.

'What happened?'

'He probably missed with his spear or trident.' Brennus grimaced. 'A goner.'

The cries outside intensified, then suddenly fell silent.

'Poor bastard,' said Romulus, even more glad that Cotta had chosen him.

Inured to the suffering, the guard sullenly brought the fighters along a narrow corridor with a dirt floor. Large empty iron cages stood on each side. There was little light apart from what filtered through gaps in the wooden planks around them. Memor stopped by the open door of the cell nearest the arena. It was marginally brighter than those at the back. He gestured at the empty space and laughed. 'Luxury accommodation.'

The gladiators trudged in, followed by the lanista's guards, who struck off the neck chains then beat a hasty retreat.

'We got the best spot!' Memor jerked his head opposite. 'The boys from the Dacicus have been left that one.' The cage across the corridor lay empty, floor covered in bloodstained bandages and damaged armour.

'No one's cleaned it since the last fight,' Brennus said. There was little surprise in his voice. 'Put them on the back foot having to sit in that.'

'When it starts, you know what to do.' Memor's fierce eyes bored into each man. 'Stick together. Fight bravely. Kill every last one of those bastards! And remember – a bag of gold if you survive unhurt!'

'Lu-dus Mag-nus!' A retiarius started the shout. Instantly it was taken up by the rest. 'Ludus Magnus! Ludus Magnus!'

The lanista grinned, clenching a fist and thumping it off his chest in salute.

Even Brennus responded to the gesture.

'He's sending us out there to be killed!' Romulus hissed as Memor turned and left.

The Gaul was confused. 'That's his job.'

'So why acknowledge him?'

'Memor was a gladiator once,' Brennus replied lamely. 'He deserves respect for that.'

'And now he grows rich while men die.'

Unsettled by the comment, Brennus looked away.

Forget Memor, thought Romulus. Focus on the fight instead. Survive.

Most fighters quickly found a spot on the floor to sit and began talking with each other, sharpening weapons or tightening straps on armour. Two Thracians were wrestling, watched idly by a dozen men. A few knelt in one corner, praying to their favourite gods for protection. Anything that whiled away the long hours before combat was a good idea. Figulus and his cronies were deep in conversation and Romulus felt safe enough to wander away from the Gaul.

Beyond the bars were horizontal wooden planks making up the enclosure 's main wall. Above were the seats of the rich and famous. Romulus smiled at the possibility of Gemellus' backside being so close to his sword. The merchant was an enthusiastic supporter of gladiatorial contests.

Romulus stared through a gap in the timbers. The lowest rows of benches were only a man's height from the ground and the spectators could almost reach out to touch the fighters and animals on the hot sand. 'Isn't it dangerous?' he asked.

'Look.' Brennus pointed at regularly placed archers with drawn bows round the perimeter. 'They can usually pick off anything that jumps out.'

'Usually?'

'Occasionally someone gets killed,' said Brennus. 'The people love it!'

'Apart from the poor bastard who gets mauled to death.'

'They want to watch the fight . . .'

'So why should we be the only ones to die in there?'

'Exactly,' smiled Brennus.

Romulus nodded, familiar with the citizens' huge thirst for blood. He shivered as he took in the slaughterhouse outside. The fight between man and beast they had heard was nearly over. Bloody corpses were scattered across the sand like rag dolls, limbs at awkward angles. Three lions and two leopards lay dead among the bodies, spears protruding from their chests and bellies.

'Gods above, help me!' The plaintive cry echoed around the open space. 'I have killed one cat. Is that not enough?'

Romulus stared in horror at the hunter who was limping round the arena, pleading with the people above. All his comrades had been slain and he was unarmed, with only a shield as protection. The young man's wellmuscled torso was covered in deep, bleeding scratches and his right arm hung uselessly. Jagged shards of bone protruded from the gaping wound in it, clear evidence of the animals' terrible power.

'Behind you!' Spectators above Romulus sniggered as the last remaining lion padded after the injured venator.

'Help me!'

'Help yourself, scum!'

'Die like a man! Entertain us!'

Insults and pieces of bread and fruit rained down. He would get nothing from the crowd.

They wanted more blood.

Romulus' knuckles turned white as he gripped the bars, wishing he could do something. Anything.

The venator's dilemma was immediate. With the scutum on his good arm, he might hold off the lion for some time, but could not hope to injure it.

The continuing blood loss from his injuries would eventually allow the lion to overcome him. With a weapon, he might have had a small chance of killing it, but now there would be no protection from the powerful claws that had ripped apart his companions.

Indecision played across the hunter's features. Then the survival instinct surfaced and he trotted to the nearest body, putting a little distance between himself and the lion. Discarding his shield, he picked up a heavy spear lying beside its dead owner.

'Roman savages.' Brennus materialised beside Romulus, watching the drama unfold. 'That's a good move, though. He wouldn't have enough reach with a sword.'

'What about a trident?'

'Too unwieldy. A spear has more length anyway.'

'Now what?'

'Wait until the beast tries to jump. Shove the butt into the sand and let it run on to the tip,' Brennus said softly. 'That's his only chance.'

Closing his eyes, Romulus asked Jupiter to help the wounded fighter.

With morbid fascination, they watched the newly armed venator back away. The big cat seemed content to follow, the only sign of impatience its twitching tail. Every so often it would lash out at the spear, but each time the man retreated, biding his time.

Soon the crowd began to grow bored and taunts filled the air. Coins and clay cups were thrown to encourage an attack. The lion grew noticeably angry, growling and lashing its tail from side to side.