Pavo relaxed a little. Britomaris was straining with effort and working himself into a frenzy, exactly as he and Macro had planned.

Then Britomaris surged forward with astonishing speed and slashed his spear in a downward arc at Pavo’s legs, as if meaning to sever his feet. The low attack caught Pavo by surprise, his shield raised high to protect his chest. In a heartbeat he corrected his stance by ramming the shield down. The metal trim smacked into the sand an inch ahead of his feet and there was a dull clunk as the spear struck the lower half. Britomaris bared his teeth in anger and with a brief flick of the wrist jabbed his spear up at Pavo’s upper torso. The recruit frantically jacked his shield up again and deflected the attack. The spear continued thrusting upwards above Pavo. Britomaris lurched forward as his spear-arm rose high above his head, putting him off-balance. With a rush of blood to his head, Pavo saw an opportunity for a counter-attack. He jerked his sword in a sharp upward thrust as he aimed for the barbarian’s neck. But Britomaris bewildered the recruit a second time with his reflexes, leaning back from the blow and withdrawing his spear arm while, in the same giddy motion, slamming his narrow shield into Pavo and catching him square in the face. His helmet clanged. The noise of the crowd dampened. A tinny, high-pitched note squealed between his temples. His world blurred for a moment. Then he saw the iron tangs of the spear rushing towards him. Pavo yanked his head back and to the side just in time, the tip of the spear screeching across the metal plate of his helmet.

Pavo backed away from Britomaris in a daze. A groggy fog settled behind his eyelids as the enormity of the task in front of him finally began to set in. Macro had been correct in his tactical assessment, but Pavo knew from his days as a military tribune that there was a world of difference between giving orders and having the blood, sweat and toil to physically carry them out. Britomaris bided his time several paces away from Pavo, a thirsty grin visible under his beard. He was happy to let Pavo retreat, comfortable in the knowledge that he had the upper hand. The crowd implored Pavo to attack the barbarian again. A feeling of outrage welled up inside him as he observed the thousands of faces lining the galleries. They had come here to see blood. To them it didn’t matter whose blood was spilled. Pavo searched the crowd for Macro. He couldn’t see the optio anywhere.

Where is he? Pavo thought. Then he looked ahead as the barbarian clumped towards him once more.