Read Online Gladiator: Vengeance by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online

thrusts, Marcus could only wonder at Lupus’s poor technique. Then he relented. It was not fair to pass judgement so easily. After all, Marcus had spent most of the last two years training to fight and only that had made fighting techniques second nature to him. Before that he had been no more aware of the art than Lupus. There had been no call for it in the peaceful farm where he grew up.
    Recalling his childhood, Marcus felt a deep, wounding senseof loss. He had been raised in a loving home, and ranged freely over the surrounding farm as he played sometimes with the children from the nearest village. At the end of the day he would return home, with Cerberus panting at his heels, and the smell of woodsmoke and food from the kitchen would waft across the small courtyard. Invariably Titus would be sitting on the small stone bench, greeting him with a smile on his craggy face as he ruffled his hair and asked what his little soldier had been up to that day. Then they would go in to eat and later, as night fell over the farm, Marcus would go to bed where his mother told him a story while lightly stroking his brow, and sometimes sang to him –
    ‘Marcus!’ Festus called from the side of the clearing where he sat, rubbing linseed oil into the Parthian bow he had taken out of his weapons pack. ‘You can’t leave him to wave the sword around like that forever. You’re supposed to be teaching him. Not daydreaming.’
    ‘Sorry.’ Marcus stepped forward as Lupus lowered his wooden sword. His face was beaded with sweat and he was breathing hard.
    ‘Heavier than … I thought.’
    Marcus nodded. ‘The training weapons are designed that way. Helps build muscle and confidence for when you moveon to a real weapon. Right then, we’ll start working on your technique. Let’s go over here.’
    He led Lupus to the trunk of a pine tree he had chosen earlier. There were no branches for the first eight feet of its height and the trunk was about the thickness of a man’s torso.
    ‘In gladiator school we practise against stakes. This will have to do. I want you to imagine that this is a man. Try and picture a face at the same height as yours. Think of it as a man desperate to kill you. But you have to kill him first. That means that you must strike hard and strike quickly. Understand?’
    Lupus nodded and made to strike.
    ‘Stop!’ Marcus commanded. ‘You wait until I give the word. I want you like this.’
    He stood a sword’s length away from the tree and lowered himself into a half-crouch with his weight distributed evenly over his boots. ‘Keep balanced on the balls of your feet and your toes so you can move quickly in whichever direction you need to.’
    Marcus demonstrated with a few springs to the side, as well as forward and back, each time returning to the same position in front of the trunk. Then he gestured to Lupus to give it a try. The scribe did his best but was not nearly as agile and swift as his friend. But Marcus nodded encouragingly and then tookthe training sword and lowered himself in front of the trunk, making ready to strike.
    ‘There are three basic blows. The thrust, and then cut to the left and to the right.’
    He sprang at the trunk and hit it in the centre, withdrew, attacked again, both sides with sharp cracks as the wooden weapon struck the bark. He repeated the moves and handed the sword back to Lupus.
    ‘You try.’
    Lupus settled himself into place and then tried to do as Marcus had shown him. The blows were roughly on target but did not land heavily and the sound of the impacts was merely a muffled thud.
    ‘No!’ Marcus snapped at him. ‘That won’t do. This isn’t a bloody game, Lupus. You’re learning how to fight for your life. A sword is not a toy. You can’t break it. You must treat it like an extension of your arm. When you strike, you are the one making the blow and you’ll throw all your weight behind it. If not, then you’ll barely scratch your opponent. And he will kill you.