Arena by Simon Scarrow Read Free Book Online

barely disguised contempt. ‘Don’t just stand there gawping at the sword like it’s a bit of posh cunny. Pick it up.’
    Bucco tentatively picked up the sword. His shoulder sagged as he struggled with the weight of it. Lifting it in a two-handed grip, he puffed out his cheeks as he aimed at a low point on the post, swiping the sword in a wide arc from his side rather than bringing it over his head with a reckless slashing motion. The point of the sword clattered meekly into the post four feet off the ground. It was an almost apologetic thrust. Pavo winced as the doctore looked on in disgust.
    ‘Gods below,’ Calamus fumed. ‘You’re trying to slay a man, not touch him up.’ He snatched the sword back from Bucco. ‘Maybe tomorrow you can show me how to dress like a Greek as well as fight like one.’
    Pavo watched Bucco sink back into line. He looked crestfallen. Calamus cast his eyes over the rest of the recruits. ‘Who wants to see if they can do better than the toga-lifter, then?’
    No one spoke up. The doctore settled his cold grey gaze on Pavo. ‘Rich boy! Get your arse over here.’
    A tense atmosphere fell over the recruits as Pavo stepped forward and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the grip. The training sword was surprisingly heavy. Much heavier than a real blade, he thought. He stood level with the palus, his feet planted shoulder-width apart. He took a deep breath. He felt a heft in his arm muscles as he lifted the sword. In the same breath he felt his heart burn with resentment at the humiliation that had been inflicted upon his family since Claudius had come to the throne. He grasped the sword so tightly his knuckles whitened. The palus disappeared. Instead Pavo saw the figure of Hermes standing in front of him. An uncontrollable frenzy washed over the recruit as he suddenly dropped his right shoulder and twisted his torso, thrusting the sword against the palus with such force that both post and weapon shuddered. In the same blur of motion Pavo retracted his arm, angling his wrist so that his thumb was perpendicular to the ground, and thrust near the top of the palus at the point of an imaginary neck. There was a crack as the post shuddered. Pavo quickly launched a third attack lower down, driving the point of the sword into the groin area. Calamus waved for him to stop. The son of the legate took a step back from the post, his muscles inflamed as he stared coldly at three coin-sized divots on the post.
    A bout of silence swept like the shadow of a cloud across the training ground. His veins pulsing, Pavo retreated a couple more steps from the palus and let the sword clatter to the ground.
    ‘Well, that wasn’t completely shit.’ The doctore pursed his lips. He made a point of not looking at Pavo. ‘Right, I’ve seen enough for one day. It’s fair to say none of you will be giving me nightmares about my own proud record in the arena. Remove yourselves to the barracks. We resume tomorrow at dawn. Anyone late to roll call will be flogged and given half-rations for the day. Dismissed!’

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    ‘A bout bloody time!’ Bucco announced to Pavo as half a dozen lightly armoured guards ushered the new recruits under the east-facing portico and down a gloomy corridor. From a room up ahead to the left, Pavo could hear the crackle of meat sizzling on a grill. Bucco patted his belly in anticipation and beamed at Pavo. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
    Bucco licked his lips as he drew near to the cookhouse entrance. Pavo peered inside and looked on longingly as several slaves toiled over a side of pork hanging above a large grill. He feasted his eyes on bowls of sweet figs, grilled mushrooms layered with cheese, and a mouth-watering assortment of pickled fruit, all carefully arranged on silver trays, together with cakes dripping with honey and a large bunch of freshly picked grapes. His empty belly rumbled with hunger.
    ‘Let’s get stuck in,’ Bucco