Read Online Arena by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page A

head to toe, the way an officer instructor inspects his men on parade.
    ‘Your face is covered in bruises,’ he said. ‘A bit of advice for you, Pavo. Next time you’re trading punches with someone much bigger than you, learn how to block.’ The officer caught sight of the recruit’s right hand and gestured towards it. ‘What in Hades’ name happened there?’
    Pavo glanced down. His fingers had swollen to twice their size and his palm was badly purpled. He hadn’t noticed the injury last night. He’d gone to sleep with his mind reeling at the idea of saving the reputation of the very man who’d ordered his father to fight in the arena. But when he had woken up, he’d felt a dull ache spreading up his forearm, and at breakfast he could barely flex his fingers.
    ‘That rat Amadocus did it,’ he said with a snarl, ‘when he cornered me last night in the canteen. Can’t hold a sword, thanks to that bastard.’
    Macro shook his head. ‘Never mind. You’re not going to be using a sword much.’
    ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ said Pavo.
    Macro grinned. ‘You’re not going to fight like a gladiator, boy. Capito has tried that against Britomaris already and you know the result. Trading blows with that barbarian is suicide. You’re bound to lose.’
    Pavo huffed. ‘You’re implying that I’ve agreed to fight Britomaris.’
    ‘You don’t have a choice,’ said Macro. ‘You’re a trainee gladiator now, not a citizen.’
    ‘I could lose. Heap further shame on the Emperor. I’m sentenced to die anyway in this bloody ludus. I’ve nothing to lose by letting Britomaris kill me. My old life has been taken away.’
    ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ The officer met the trainee’s eye. ‘You do have something to lose.’
    Pavo cocked his head at Macro. ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘You have a son, yes?’
    ‘Appius.’ Pavo nodded. ‘He’s almost two. His mother died during childbirth. My father Titus and mother Drusilla raised him.’ He swallowed. ‘Until they were murdered.’
    ‘I have good news for you. Well, good and bad,’ Macro said, weighing up the thoughts in his head. ‘Appius is alive. He’s being held at the imperial palace. If you win, the Emperor has promised to release him.’
    A tingle of cold dread flared at the back of Pavo’s scalp. His muscles went numb with rage and shock. His son. Alive. At the mercy of that snake Pallas and his lackey Murena. Pavo booted the foot of the palus and belted out an explosive roar of anger. Macro backed off a step.
    ‘Is there no end to Pallas and his cruelty?’ Pavo growled bitterly. ‘First he takes my father away from me. Then he dangles my only son before me like a carrot in front of a donkey.’
    Macro watched Pavo wrestle with his rage. Taming this lad would be tricky, he thought to himself. The trainee paced up and down the ground furiously, his muscles trembling, his fists clenched, a ball of uncontrollable rage. Then he stopped, took a deep breath and glanced at Macro.
    ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll fight Britomaris. But I don’t need advice from a mere optio. I’m good with a sword. I can take that barbarian perfectly well on my own. Be on your way.’
    Macro folded his arms across his barrel-like chest. ‘Have you seen Britomaris fight?’
    ‘No … sir,’ Pavo said hesitantly.
    ‘Well, it just so happens that I have. And I can tell you a couple of things about our barbarian friend. One: he’s big. Much bigger than you. Two: he’s bloody strong. Same as any barbarian. They grow up in a cruel world. There are none of life’s little luxuries for these monsters. You could be Hercules himself with a sword, it wouldn’t matter. He’d knock you down just by breathing on you.’
    Pavo visibly deflated. He felt a cold knot of fear in the pit of his stomach as the scale of the task in front of him grew more ominous. He’d been cocky about his chances against Hermes in a fight. Perhaps too cocky, he reflected. Now, as he was