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edge by lead weights or, as in this case, polished stones. Indavara had seen them ensnare swords, trip a man from twenty yards, even take out an eye. He wondered what inadequate weapon Capito would provide this time. Any type of spear or sword would do; the longer the better.
    Auctus had just noticed the female attention. He wandered towards the enclave and swung his net languidly above his shoulder, as if to catch the women. This was too much for one young girl who flung herself at the parapet and had to be restrained by her friends. With a slight grin, the northerner strode back across the rope and back into the second section.
    Indavara reached the second barrel. This one was not shaded from the sun and he could easily see the bottom. He realised he had fundamentally underestimated Capito’s determination to see him die. The barrel was empty.
    Maesa took up a position midway between the fighters. He watched Indavara turn away from the barrel and stare down at the tiny dagger.
    ‘There’s nothing inside!’ announced the centurion. ‘A cruel twist of fate!’
    ‘Cruel! Cruel!’ thousands of voices replied. Others hissed at Capito, outraged that their hopeful wagers now seemed so unlikely to pay off. Capito waved away the noise and insults and dodged a bunch of grapes aimed at his head. As the barracking died down, he noted something an untrained ear would miss. Beneath the seething indignation was the buzz of animated conversation. Deep down, the mob wanted to see Indavara tested; to see if he could survive this.
    Maesa conducted a cursory examination of Auctus’s equipment, then hurried over to Indavara. There was only the knife to check. The centurion lifted Indavara’s wrist to show the dagger once more to the crowd, prompting more boos. Auctus walked slowly towards Indavara, narrowing the gap to about five yards, then stopped.
    ‘And now our warrior must face the second of his three tests. Who will triumph? Who will be defeated? Indavara against Auctus! Let the battle begin!’
    The northerner held the trident level with his waist, grip about halfway down the pole. Indavara noted the thick, gnarled veins that chased up his forearm. Holding the heavy weapon up with one hand was difficult, and wielding it in battle for any length of time required great strength. The German gathered the ropes of the net together in his right hand and cast a professional’s glance at the tiny knife, its blade barely visible above his opponent’s fist.
    They circled each other until Indavara was facing the podium. He darted forward, prompting Auctus to take a pace back and loosen his grip on the net, ready to use it if his opponent charged.
    But when the attack never came, the German took his turn to advance. Indavara held his ground, settling into a low, fighting stance, ready for a move from either hand. Auctus centred the trident and stepped forward again, training the three spikes on his enemy’s neck. Indavara still didn’t move, even as the northerner released the folds of the net.
    Just three yards separated them when Auctus made his first lunge with the trident. Indavara took a step left and ducked below the high thrust. He saw the net swing but was caught out by Auctus’s speed. A stone caught the front of his shin; a stinging blow that would have halted a man unused to ignoring pain.
    Auctus recovered the net and instantly closed the space again. Indavara was next to the rope – the limit of the fighting area. If he crossed it Bonosus was sure to poke him back into the second section with his spear. So he scuttled right, then backed towards the centre, the German following warily. Indavara could see he would be difficult to unsettle. He executed the basics well and always kept his body and weapons correctly aligned.
    Aside from a few loudmouths, the crowd was quiet, expectant. This clash of champions was one for enthusiasts.
    Auctus took the initiative again, eyeballing his foe as he strode towards him. Indavara