and Decidus entered the training hall to more cheering from the men. There was now no question where their support lay.
Both men were wearing only a tight-fitting cloth wrapped around their groins and upper thighs, held by a wide belt. Decidus had the sort of shoulders and physique usually seen on the statues of the forum. Gaius watched him closely, but there were no obvious weaknesses. Fulvio did not wave to the crowd. His nose was bound with a strip of cloth tied at the back of his head and his lips were swollen and angry-looking.
Gaius nudged Marcus. ‘Looks like you broke his nose with that butt earlier on. He’ll be expecting you to hit it again, you realise. Wait for a good opportunity.’
Marcus nodded, engrossed as Gaius had been with his study of the man and his movements.
Marius raised his hands again to be heard over the lively soldiers.
‘Marcus and Fulvio will fight the first bout. No time limits, but a round ends when one man has a knee or more on the ground. When one is unable to rise, the bout is over and the other will begin. Come to your marks.’
Fulvio and Marcus came to stand on either side of the general.
‘When the horn is blown, you begin. Good luck.’
Marius walked sedately to the sidelines with the men and signalled to one to sound the horn usually used in battle. A hush fell and the blare resonated as a pure note.
Marcus loosened his shoulders, rocked his head from side to side and stepped forward. He held his hands high as he had been taught by Renius, but Fulvio kept his fists relaxed, his arms only slightly bent. He swayed as Marcus jabbed with his left and the blows went by harmlessly. One fist shot out and thumped into Marcus’ chest, over the heart. He gasped in pain and backed away, then set his teeth and came in again. He launched a fast jab followed immediately by a straight right, but, again, Fulvio moved out of the way with a single step and hammered the same spot with his gloved right hand. Marcus felt the air explode out of him with the pain.
The men had begun cheering and only Gaius, Tubruk and Cabera cheered for the younger fighter. Fulvio was smiling and Marcus began to think. The man was fast and difficult to hit. At present, Marcus was doing all the work, winning nothing for his efforts. He growled in rage and surged forward, his right arm cocked. He saw Fulvio steady himself and then pulled up suddenly, letting the blow that should have knocked him out go past his chin. Marcus punched fast and hard at Fulvio’s nose and was gratified at the crunch of bones he felt. At that second, a cross caught him on the side of his head and he went down hard on the wooden floor, dazed and winded.
He panted as he came up onto one knee and looked up at Fulvio standing a couple of paces away. Blood streamed from his nose again and he looked murderous.
Marcus got up into a flurry of blows. He tried to stay away and fend off the worst of them, but Fulvio was all over him, thumping fists into his stomach and kidneys from all angles, chopping him to pieces, and when the pain made him hunch, catching Marcus with swift uppercuts to the head, rocking him back. He fell again and lay there, his chest heaving painfully. He tasted blood in his mouth and his left eye was swelling shut under the assault of Fulvio’s straight right.
This time he rose and took three quick steps backwards to give him time to compose himself. Fulvio came with him remorselessly, moving his head and body from side to side as he looked for the best place to hit. The man resembled a snake about to bite and Marcus knew the next time he went down he was unlikely to get up. Anger flooded him and he ducked the first punch on sheer reflexes, batting the follow-through away with his arm. He felt Fulvio’s forearm slide under his fingers and suddenly gripped the wrist. His right fist came into the man’s stomach with all the power of his shoulders behind it and he was rewarded with a slight whoosh of pain.
Still holding the arm, he tried to repeat the punch, but Fulvio brought his left over and clipped him hard on the jaw. The world went black and he fell down, barely feeling the hard, wooden boards underneath him. His legs seemed to have lost all strength and he could only manage to get himself up onto all fours, panting like a beast.
Fulvio waved a glove at him to get up, still unsatisfied. Marcus looked down at the floor and wondered if he should. Blood dribbled from between his lips and he watched it spatter into a small pool.
Ah well, he thought. One more try.
This time Fulvio didn’t rush him. He was grinning again and beckoned with his hands for Marcus to come on. Marcus tightened his jaw. He was going to put the man on his back one more time if it killed him. He imagined each of Fulvio’s fists held a dagger, so that any contact would mean death. He felt his spirits rise. He knew how to fight with swords and knives, so why was this so different? He let himself sway a little, wanting Fulvio to come in. Most of his knife training had revolved around counter-strikes and he wanted the boxer to throw another punch. Fulvio quickly lost patience and came in fast, fists bobbing.
Marcus watched the fists and when one exploded towards him, he blocked, lifting it with his forearm and counter-punched into Fulvio’s abdomen. Fulvio grunted and the left came over the top again in reflex, but this time Marcus dropped his head and the blow skidded over him, leaving Fulvio open for a split second. Marcus hammered everything into a straight left stopper, wishing it were his right. Fulvio’s head rocked back and, when it came level, the right was ready and Marcus smacked it into the boxer’s broken nose again. Fulvio took a sudden seat and fresh blood poured from his battered nose.
Before Marcus could feel any pleasure, the man leapt up and poured out a string of blows, seeming to move twice as fast as he had before. Marcus went down after the first two and caught two more as he fell. This time he didn’t get up and didn’t hear the cheers or the horn as Marius nodded to end the match.
Fulvio raised his hands in triumph and Marius ruefully signalled the first fifty of the hundred gold coins to be given back to the men. They gathered together in a momentary huddle and then, when silence had fallen, one of them offered the bag back to Marius.
‘We’ll let the win ride for the next one, sir, if you’re willing,’ he said.
Marius grimaced in mock horror, but nodded and said he would cover the bet. The men cheered again.
Marcus woke up as Tubruk threw a cup of wine in his face.
‘Did I win?’ he said through smashed lips.
Tubruk chuckled and wiped some of the blood and wine off his face.
‘Not even close, but you were still astonishing. You shouldn’t have been able to touch him.’
‘Touched him properly though,’ he mumbled, smiling and wincing as his lips cracked. ‘Knocked him on his arse.’
Marcus looked around for somewhere to spit and, finding nothing handy, swallowed a gummy mixture of phlegm and blood.
Every part of him hurt, worse than it had when he’d been tied up by Suetonius years before. He wondered if he’d be as good-looking when he’d healed, but his thoughts were interrupted by Fulvio coming over, taking off his gloves as he walked.
‘Good fight. I had three gold pieces on me, myself. You’re very fast – in a few years, you could be seriously dangerous.’
Marcus nodded and put out his hand. Fulvio looked at it and then shook it briefly and walked back to the men, who cheered him all over again.
‘Take the cloth and keep dabbing as the blood drips,’
