‘Do you know who you’ll be fighting?’ he asked.
Bane shrugged. ‘They told me a name. It means nothing to me.’
‘What name?’
‘Someone called Falco.’
‘Three fights,’ said Kail. ‘Never been cut.’
Bane seemed uninterested. Then he leaned in towards Kail. ‘Why are we meeting them today?’ he asked. ‘And why are we dressed for battle?’
‘Did Rage not tell you?’
‘He said we were to share the Warriors’ Cup. That we were to drink with our opponents. Why should we drink with people we are going to kill?’
‘It is a ritual,’ said Kail. ‘It shows the crowds that we honour each other, and that there is no hatred in our hearts.’ He smiled. ‘It also helps sell tickets.’
‘Ah,’ said Bane. ‘That I understand.’
Together the two men walked back to the tent. Out on the Field a trumpet sounded and the crowd fell silent. Two men climbed to the back of a wagon. The first man’s voice boomed out, in Turgon, welcoming the citizens. The second spoke moments later, in Keltoi, repeating the message. Then they introduced the first gladiator from Circus Palantes. The warrior, in magnificent armour, strode from the Palantes tent, to stand before a long table upon which were set sixteen golden goblets, filled to the brim with watered wine. Then Polon’s name was called out.
The sandy-haired warrior, holding his helm under his arm, stepped up to the table, waving to the crowd.
One by one the names were called. Kail felt a second wave of relief that he was not among them. Falco was called. Kail glanced across the field and saw a tall man stride forward. He moved well. Then came the shout: ‘And his opponent, Bane of the Rigante.’ A mighty roar went up from the Keltoi section of the crowd. Bane waved to them, then walked across to the table.
Then Vorkas was summoned. Kail felt a ripple of fear as he saw the man. Vorkas was impressive, broad-shouldered and well over six feet tall.
Lastly came Rage. Once again the crowd cheered, but Rage did not acknowledge them. He moved to the table, to stand opposite Vorkas, then each of the warriors raised their goblets, offering a toast to their opponents.
Kail turned away, and trudged back into the Armour Tent.
For Bane the ritual at the Field was baffling almost beyond belief. Enemies were people who sought your death. They were not men you drank a toast to, or shook hands with. He looked at the man opposite him. Falco was lithe and lean, the bones of his face flat, his mouth a thin, tight line. The eyes were light blue, and no fear showed in them. He met Bane’s gaze, and seemed about to speak. Then the gladiators around him raised their goblets. ‘To valour!’ they shouted. Applause rippled from the crowd. Bane tasted the wine. It was sour upon the tongue.
Bane glanced to his right, and saw the mightily muscled Vorkas lean forward. ‘By the Stone, you look old and tired,’ he told Rage. ‘I shall take no joy in killing you. It will be like killing my grandfather.’ Rage smiled and said nothing. He sipped his wine, then placed his goblet back on the table. ‘And I can see the fear in your eyes,’ continued Vorkas.
The toast over, the gladiators moved away from the table. Bane walked alongside Rage. ‘You should have broken his face,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘He insulted you.’
‘He was trying to intimidate me. Tell me, what did you notice about your opponent?’
Bane thought about the question. ‘He had blue eyes,’ he said.
‘He was left-handed,’ snapped Rage. ‘Now let’s get out of this armour and go home. There is work to do.’
‘I thought we were supposed to walk among the crowds, and let people see us.’
‘They have seen us,’ said Rage. ‘And we have no time for this foolishness.’
An hour later, back at the farmhouse, Rage, carrying two wooden short swords, led Bane out into the training area. Tossing one weapon to Bane he took up a fighting position, feet well apart.
They had practised in this way for some days now, and Bane had learned many secrets. The first was – as Rage explained some days before – that all gladiators have their own rhythms and mannerisms. The longer a fight went on the more of these would be revealed to the man with a keen eye. ‘Some men’, Rage said, ‘will narrow their eyes just before they attack, others will drop a shoulder or lick their lips. These actions are unconscious, but if you read them they will give you a heartbeat’s advantage. All the best gladiators take a little time at the start of a bout to learn their opponent’s moves.’