Chapter 28- Conflict

Ian squared up to his opponent. The man was nervous and his sword was trembling, he attacked with a sudden clumsy rush. Ian stepped aside and parried the blow easily, but didn't take advantage of the opening provided, it was just too easy. He felt suddenly angry, he knew what Poppaea was trying to do, trying to force him to kill and gain power over him with that lost life. He would not kill for her, he could not, not even if it cost him his life, but that didn't mean that he couldn't defend himself.

His fury settled over him like a cold blanket, focussing his attention down into a single point until nothing else existed for him except his opponent. He felt something stir inside him, a dark beast which whispered in the shadows of his mind, kill him, give in to your anger, kill him. Ruthlessly he pushed the voice away even as he blocked, parried and danced around the frightened man facing him.

The man swiped wildly at Ian who ducked and brought the flat of his blade up, through the man's pitiful guard and smacking it against his ribs, bruising but not breaking skin or bone. The man's panicked gaze met Ian's and Ian swore in the privacy of his own mind. This man was not here to try to kill him, he was here to die. With a flick of his blade he disarmed the man and kicked his feet out from under him. As he fell, Ian stepped up and pressed the point of the gladius against the man's throat. His focus expanded again, now that the danger was passed, and he was once again aware of the spectators around him. They were clapping. In disgust he threw down his sword and stalked away from the fallen man.

Poppaea was staring intently at him. "Kill him," she said softly.

"No."

"He's nothing more than a thief," she said, "A worthless animal who deserves to die."

"Then let him face a fair trial, if you are capable of that, and be judged in a court of law, not like this. I won't kill for your entertainment."

Poppaea looked like she was winding up for an argument, but stopped herself when she noted her guests watching her with interest. "He thinks he knows the law," she said with a light laugh, "He thinks we don't have the right to judge."

There was a smattering of laughter from around the room. Ian clenched his fists and focussed on that feeling instead of the desire to wipe the self satisfied smirks off the faces around him.

"Claudius, take the thief out and hang him," Poppaea instructed, "and find a more fitting opponent for our gladiator here."

"Your Highness, I think my man could challenge him," one of the guests called out as the thief was hauled away by two of Claudius' soldiers.

"Your body guard?" Poppaea asked, looking the large man standing behind her guest up and down with a speculative eye. "I hardly feel that would be a fair match."

"No, but one of my servants is a skilled swordsman," the noble patrician said, "I think he could provide us with more entertainment."

"Who is this man?" Poppaea asked, "Bring him forth."

The nobleman spoke briefly to the pretty boy who was waiting on him. The boy ran off quickly. "I have owned Demetrius since he was a child, he is a Greek from the island of Kérkira." (Footnote 1)

The man the boy came back with was lightly built and had a glint in his eye. There was a deep and abiding anger buried deep under the neutral expression. He would, Ian thought, be far more of a challenge that the thief had been.

"I will lay forth a challenge," the nobleman announced, "The man who wins here, to fight any man put forward by the noble assemblage, with your permission, my lady."

Poppaea nodded her agreement. "An admirable idea," she purred, carefully watching Ian's face as he blenched slightly, "I will look forward to the outcome. To make it more interesting I will lay a wager of 100 denarii on my Briton." (Footnote 2)

The bidding suddenly erupted as Ian and Demetrius examined each other. Both thought the other would be a tough opponent. Demetrius stepped up close to Ian. "I don't wish to hurt you," he said quietly.

"The feeling is mutual," Ian replied just as quietly.

"But I will kill you if I must."

"I know where I stand then."

"Begin!" Claudius shouted.

The two fighters stepped away from each other and saluted. Demetrius didn't rush in as the thief had, but started with a few exploratory jabs with his sword. Ian avoided these, dancing out of the way, but quickly realised the man was fast, very fast. When his attack came, it came swiftly and Ian had to move fast to avoid a sword between the ribs. He replied with an instinctive riposte and then stepped back again as they circled, regarding each other with new found respect. Fear triggered a surge of adrenaline through Ian's veins, this time he was fighting for his life, and he wasn't sure how well he would do.

Ian's focus tightened once again as he watched his opponents face and shoulders, not the blade he held expertly low and ready for either attack or defence. The beast inside was howling with delight as Ian took the offensive and feinted left before striking right. Demetrius blocked expertly, not falling for the ruse, and swung at Ian's head. Ian ducked and the swing whistled overhead, a bare inch from his scalp. They traded blows quickly, the blades clashing and their echoes ringing around the room and Ian soon found himself being forces backwards.

Demetrius was better than him, but he fought in recognizable sequences and cleanly, as though he had trained with a sword for pleasure, not to guard his life. Ian broke the pattern and tried some of the dirtier tricks he had learned while fighting for his life in other times and places. He didn't want to fight dirty, but at the moment he had little choice. Deep inside the beast was revelling in his decision. He brought his foot up, preparing to kick the man in the knee when Demetrius gave an evil grin. Ian swore at himself again, the man had been playing with him and he had left himself vulnerable. He felt a moment of rising panic and tried to regain his balance as quickly as he could.

Demetrius broke through his guard, spinning on one foot and slamming the other into Ian's stomach. Ian's breath whooshed from his body as he fell back. He slammed against a pillar instead of falling to the floor and ducked aside as Demetrius' sword smashed into the stone where his head had been. He back quickly into the middle of the Impluvium, taking the opportunity to regain his breath. His side ached where Demetrius had kicked him and he was running out of energy. He watched Demetrius carefully, his left arm wrapped around his aching torso as he gasped for air. Sweat running from his brow was getting into his eyes, but he couldn't afford to take his eyes off Demetrius for the moment to wipe away the sweat.

Demetrius closed in, advancing aggressively. Ian knew he couldn't last much longer so opted for attack. Every trick of sword, fist or foot he knew was met, although sometimes at the last minute, and once or twice a punch or a kick hit home, blood was soon running down Demetrius' arm from a shallow gash Ian had managed to inflict, matched by the itching trickle of blood Ian felt running along his ribs from a glancing blow he had barely felt. Despite the tactics, Ian soon faltered as fatigue set in and Demetrius charged at Ian's left flank, forcing him to block, then spun around and smashed the hilt of his sword into Ian's right temple. Ian fell, stunned.

Demetrius stepped in and grabbed Ian by the hair, hauling him to knees. He put his sword blade to Ian's throat and looked to Poppaea for instructions. Around them people were clapping and cheering and money was changing hands. Poppaea was leaning forward, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Let him live," someone shouted.

"He fought well," another called.

Ian tried to shake his head clear, but Demetrius leaned down and spoke quietly in his ear, "Pretend you're hurt, you may yet get a chance to escape."

Ian was surprised, but slumped in his grip, letting his head hang. While he did so he listened carefully to Poppaea, his life was in her hands, and it would take only two words for him to find his throat cut and gasping his last few seconds of life out on the polished marble floor.

"Your man has potential, your highness," Demetrius' master said, "My man was hard pressed to beat him. With a little more training and practise he will be a force to be reckoned with. Keep him alive for now."

Poppaea was silent for a few moments, weighing up the pros and cons of keeping her Britannic slave alive. On one hand he was trouble, always challenging her and her views and making her feel inadequate, one the other hand, he was a good fighter and in time could make her famous. On the other hand, she had to keep him secret from her husband, so she couldn't show him off to any one but her close friends. On the other hand, he was extremely attractive and she still harboured a hope that he would see reason and serve her as she wished to be served. Finally, she threw up her metaphorical hands. "Let him live," she said, "Take him away. Now, Auralias, is there a challenger for your man?"

Demetrius let Ian go and Ian theatrically collapsed to the floor. Two burly servants took him under the arms and hauled him bodily out of the villa, his feet trailing behind. He risked opening his eyes a little and watching what was going on around him. There were more people in the compound than usual, servants of Poppaea's guests. They would make excellent cover when he made a break for it. The servants dragged Ian to his cell and dropped him on the straw. What they didn't do was chain him to the wall. He moaned a couple of times for the look of it, and when they had shut the door, he rolled to his feet. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, the blow hadn't been a light one, and once he had regained his balance, padded quietly to the door and pressed his ear to the wood.

Aren't you proud, I resisted the urge to add a Gladiator like yell of "Are you not entertained!?"

Footnote 1: Kérkira is the Greek name for Corfu in modern times, I don't know what it was called during the Roman Empire.

Footnote 2: A denarius was a silver coin worth 16 asses (donkeys), so Poppaea was betting 1600 donkeys on Ian, well, she should be able to afford it.