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,’ Tubruk continued cheerfully. ‘You'll need stitches over your eye. We'll have to cut it to get the swelling down as well.’
‘Not yet. I'll watch Gaius first.’
‘Of course.’ Tubruk walked away, still chuckling, and Marcus squinted at him through his one good eye.
Gaius clenched his fists and waited for Tubruk to reach him. His opponent had already taken the floor and was limbering up, stretching his muscular shoulders and legs.
‘He's a big brute,’ he muttered as Tubruk came alongside.
‘True, but he's not a boxer. You have a reasonable chance against this one, as long as you don't get in the way of one of his big punches. He'll put you out like snuffing a candle if he catches you. Stay back and use your feet to move around him.’
Gaius looked at him quizzically. ‘Anything else?’
‘If you can, punch him in the testicles. He'll watch for it, but it isn't strictly speaking against the rules.’
‘Tubruk, you do not have the heart of a decent man.’
‘No, I have the heart of a slave and a gladiator. I have two gold pieces on you for this one and I want to win.’
‘Did you bet on Marcus?’ he asked.
‘Of course not. Unlike Marius, I don't throw money away.’
Marius came to the centre and signalled for silence once again.
‘After that disappointing loss, the money rides on the next bout. Decidus and Gaius, take your marks. Same rules. When you hear the horn, begin.’ He waited until both stood eyeing each other and walked to the wall, folding his great arms over his chest.
As the horn sounded, Gaius stepped in and slammed his fist up into Decidus' throat. The bigger man gave out a choked groan and raised both his hands to his neck, in agony. Gaius threw a scything uppercut that caught Decidus on the chin. He went down onto his knees and then toppled forward, his eyes glassy and blank. Gaius walked slowly back to his stool and sat down. He smiled silently and Renius, watching, remembered the same smile on a younger boy's face as he'd lifted him from the icy waters of a river pool. Renius nodded sharply in approval, his eyes bright, but Gaius did not see it.
The silence roared for a second, then the men released the breath they'd been holding and a rabble of voices broke out – mostly questions and spiced with a few choice swearwords as they realised the bets were all lost.
Marius walked over to the prostrate figure and felt his neck for a second. Silence fell again. Finally, he nodded.
‘His heart beats. He'll live. Should have kept his chin down.’
The men gave a half-hearted cheer for the winner, though their spirits weren't really in it.
Marius addressed the crowd, grinning.
‘If you have an appetite, there's a feast waiting for you in the dining hall. We'll make a night of it, for tomorrow it's back to planning and work.’
Decidus was revived and taken out, shaking his head groggily. The rest trooped after him, leaving Marcus and Gaius alone with the general. Renius never left his seat and Cabera stayed back as well, his face alive with interest.
‘Well, boys, you've made me a lot of money today!’ Marius boomed, starting to laugh. He had to lean against a wall for support as the laughter shook his frame.
‘Their faces! Two beardless boys and one puts Fulvio on his backside …’ The laughter overtook him and he wiped his eyes as they streamed over his red face.
Renius stood up, swaying a little. He walked over to Marcus and Gaius and clapped a hand on each shoulder.
‘You've started making your names,’ he said quietly.
On the night before the Triumph the First-Born camp was anything but peaceful. Gaius sat around one of the campfires and sharpened a dagger that had belonged to his father. All around, the fires and noise of seven thousand soldiers and camp followers made the darkness busy and cheerful. They were camped in open country, less than five miles from the gates of the city. For the last week, armour had been polished, leather waxed, tears in cloth stitched. Horses were groomed until they shone like chestnuts. Marching drills had become tense affairs; mistakes were not tolerated and no one wanted to be left behind when they marched into Rome.
The men were all proud of Marius and themselves. There was no false modesty in the camp; they knew they and he deserved the honour.
Gaius stopped sharpening as Marcus came into the firelight and took a seat on a bench. Gaius looked into the flames and didn't smile.
‘What's the word?’ he said, angrily, without turning his head.
‘I leave at dawn tomorrow,’ Marcus replied. He too looked into the fire as he continued speaking. ‘This is for the best, you know. Marius has written a letter for me to take to my new century. Would you like to see it?’
Gaius nodded and Marcus