It went on for some minutes, then Jorax slipped and fell to the coals. He rolled across them, the skin of his arms, back and legs blistering badly. Then he scrambled clear. Rage leapt from the platform, clearing the coals. He charged at the stricken man. Jorax defended brilliantly for a little while, then Rage’s gladius slipped under his guard, cutting through his right bicep. Jorax dropped his sword, tried to retrieve it with his left hand, but was then punched in the jaw. He fell heavily. Rage’s sword touched the base of his opponent’s throat, and Jorax lay very still.
The crowd began to bay for the finish, including Persis. ‘Death, death, death!’ they cried.
Rage had stood for a moment, then he plunged his sword into the sand and strode across the arena.
The crowd erupted in fury, hurling seat cushions at the departing gladiator. He had made a mockery of the fight! The stadium authorities had withheld his purse – six thousand in gold – and all bets were cancelled, while an inquiry was launched. The inquiry found that Rage had besmirched the integrity of gladiatorial combat, and he was fined ten thousand in gold. He paid the fine and announced his retirement from Circus Palantes and the arena.
A year later Jorax was proclaimed Gladiator One, a title he held for three years, before being cut to pieces and killed by Voltan. Rage was offered fabulous sums to return to the arena, and fight the new champion, but he declined them all.
But Rage had returned to the arena several years later, to fight in what were termed Exhibitions of Swordplay and Martial Skills, and for a number of years pulled in good crowds for Circus Crises. Even now several hundred would turn up, just to glimpse Rage in full battle armour.
Persis waved as Rage approached. The tall warrior removed his cloak and eased himself into the seat opposite. Persis looked into his night-dark eyes. ‘How are you feeling after your bout? No pulled muscles, I hope?’
‘No. No problems.’ Rage’s voice was deep, and almost musical.
The serving wench returned, bringing a platter of bread and a slab of salted butter. Persis ordered the game platter: wood pigeon, duck and goose, prepared with a raspberry sauce. Rage asked for a rare steak, accompanied by uncooked vegetables.
‘What was it you wanted to discuss?’ asked Rage, as the girl moved away.
‘We have had an offer from Circus Palantes.’
‘No death bouts,’ said Rage.
Persis fell silent for a moment. ‘Circus Crises is almost bankrupt,’ he said. ‘I do not like the idea of death bouts myself, but I thought I would at least put it to you. You have a one-fifth stake in the circus, and if we do not find a way to draw the crowds that stake will be worthless. How is your farm prospering?’
‘It has been a bad year,’ said Rage.
‘One big crowd – say five thousand or more – and we would clear all debts and make a strong profit. Then I could buy out your stake for a reasonable sum.’
‘Some of the others might be interested,’ said Rage.
Persis looked away. They could not draw the crowds as well as you.’ Steeling himself he looked again into the dark eyes. ‘I understand your moral objections to killing, but—’
‘You do not understand me at all,’ said Rage, without a hint of anger. ‘And I do not need your understanding. What have Palantes offered?’
‘Five thousand in gold as an agreement fee, but they receive two-thirds of all receipts from the crowd.’
‘And the named gladiators?’
‘They say they will use only new fighters, no Names – and none of the bouts to figure in the Championship.’
Rage considered the information. ‘They seek to blood new talent,’ he said at last. ‘They don’t want to risk putting poor performers into a major arena. So they will bring them out here to the arse end of the empire, to practise upon ageing fighters no-one cares about.’ Rage shook his head. ‘Nothing changes. I will put it to the others.’
‘They have asked for you, Rage. You are an integral part of the offer,’ said Persis. They will not bring their fighters unless you agree to take part.’