Claudia couldn’t understand what was happening. It looked as if Murranus was weakening, his body coated in a sheen of sweat, while the bull was as impetuous and aggressive as ever. The only thing she did notice was that the bull no longer withdrew, but circled the cochlea before breaking into a thundering charge, almost crashing into the barrier, or turning to gore the battered shield which Murranus dropped now and again. On occasions Murranus didn’t move swiftly enough; once he stumbled, rolling in the sand to avoid the hoofs and slashing horns.

The fight wore on. People were jeering but also mystified. The bull began to show signs of exhaustion and baffled fury. Its charges became shorter but were still as vigorous. Then it happened. Murranus, once again armed with shield and sword, stood in front of the cochlea, baiting the animal to charge him again. Hoofs pawing the ground, the bull tossed its great black head and broke into a charge as fast as an arrow leaving a bow. This time Murranus did not retreat. In fact he dropped his shield and ran to face the bull. The crowd gasped and shrieked. The bull tried to slow. Murranus, like a dancer, like an athlete clearing a gate, leapt in the air, a graceful somersault which took him over the bull. The animal, disconcerted, could not stop, but crashed into the wooden platform supporting the cochlea. The blow seemed to stun it; it staggered, attempted to turn. Murranus moved in fast, at a half-crouch. He brought back his sword and sliced at the animal’s left leg, cutting muscle and sinew. Moving swiftly away, he inflicted a second cut on the other leg, though not as deep or dangerous. The bull, roaring in pain, turned, but now it was slowed, dangerously impaired. It appeared unaware of the injury until it tried to break into a charge, and bellowed as its rear legs buckled. Again Murranus moved in, stabbing and cutting, this time slicing at one of the front legs just above the hoof. The bull, seriously injured, staggered and swayed. The crowd was roaring, praising Murranus’s skill and bravery. The gladiator brought his sword up, pressing the flat of the blade against his face as if saluting his opponent. The bull staggered forward and sank to its knees. Murranus slipped to one side and drove the sword deep into the back of the bull’s neck. Blood sprayed out of the wound. The bull coughed, roared and slumped, even as the crowd rose and gave vent to its approval.

Chapter 13

‘I didn’t know you were a bull leaper!’ Claudia hoped she could disguise her trembling as she sat on the bench in the small cell-like tavern off the main tunnel beneath the amphitheatre.

‘Neither did I.’ Murranus grinned and, at Polybius’s request, stretched out his arms so both the tavern keeper and Oceanus could dry his sweat and oil his body. They took off his loincloth. Claudia, embarrassed, glanced towards the entrance, where two burly mercenaries kept away sightseers and well-wishers.

The tunnel was dimly lit; a place of flickering shadow and dancing flame, echoing ghostly with the sound of distant voices, the roars from the animal pens, and the shouting of the crowd now waiting for the high point of the day. The clamour from the tunnel grew abruptly louder. Claudia walked to the doorway. The arena was being cleaned, the bull’s corpse dragged out to the slaughter yard.

Claudia returned to her seat. She felt weak with relief, yet fearful at the imminent confrontation with Meleager, now arming in a chamber further down the tunnel. The crowd had been ecstatic over Murranus’s performance, truly astonished by his cunning tactics and the skill of that leap. Of course, others had seen the bull dancers of Crete, but very rarely had such prowess been shown in the arenas of Rome. Even the Emperor had risen in acclamation. Claudia had jumped up and down and it took some time for Uncle Polybius to calm her and whisper the message that Murranus wanted to see her.

‘There.’ Claudia looked round. Murranus patted the new loincloth. ‘As neat and tidy,’ he winked at Claudia, ‘as a bridegroom on his wedding day.’

Polybius and Oceanus now began to arrange the armour piled on the floor, the silver filigreed breastplate, the leather kilt, the oblong shield, the embroidered sword belt, leg greaves, and a shimmering arm guard.

‘Wasn’t that Spicerius’s?’ Claudia asked.

‘It was,’ Murranus murmured. ‘Today I’ll wear it in his honour.’

He picked the arm guard up. Oceanus hurried to tie the straps.

‘You seem little interested in the gossip.’ Polybius lifted up the ornate Thracian helmet, with its broad brim and heavy face guard. He used his fingers to brush the gorgeous scarlet horsehair plume. ‘I mean, don’t you want to know,’ Polybius thrust the helmet into Oceanus’s hand, ‘what they’re saying about Meleager?’

‘I’m not interested.’ Murranus was staring at Claudia. ‘I don’t give a damn about tittle-tattle. What does it matter, if I’m killed in the next hour?’

‘Don’t say that,’ Polybius urged.

‘I said if.’ Murranus patted him on the shoulder. ‘I have sacrificed the bull. Now I’ll go out and defeat Meleager, but, gentlemen, I thank you for your care and attention.’ He gestured at the entrance. ‘In ancient Greece the heroes of Homer always armed for battle with the help of a beautiful maiden.’

Polybius and Oceanus took the hint, clasped his hand, embraced him, wished him good luck and left. Outside, the tunnel echoed with the sound of voices. The herald shouted that Meleager was ready. Murranus walked over to Claudia, embraced her gently and kissed her on the forehead.

‘Bull leaper,’ she whispered as she leaned against him.

‘I didn’t want to tell you.’ Murranus kissed her again. ‘I was practising. I didn’t know whether such a trick would work. I couldn’t see you beforehand, I didn’t want to alarm you.’

‘You must not die,’ she whispered.

‘Pray to whatever god you desire, Claudia. I’ll call on the ghost of Spicerius and all the dead to be with me. At a time like this you can feel your dead thronging about you.’

‘There are other ghosts.’ Claudia had made a decision. She pushed herself away and walked back to the bench, patting it for Murranus to sit next to her.

‘What is it, Claudia?’

‘There are ghosts here,’ Claudia declared. ‘My father and my mother and, above all, little Felix. Murranus, I’m going to tell you something about which I’m certain I have not made a mistake.’

She grasped his callused hand. At first she spoke haltingly, but eventually the words came hot and fast. She described her meeting with Meleager, his friendship with Dacius and her unshakeable belief that he was the man who had raped her and killed her brother.

Murranus listened intently. Only a muscle twitching high in his cheek and the cold, dead look in his eyes betrayed the anger seething within him. When Claudia had finished he gathered her in his arms, pushing her head against his chest whilst stroking her hair. She wished she could stay there but she had spoken enough.

‘Murranus, are you ready?’

The herald, dressed like the god Mercury, stood in the doorway, his white wand beating the air.

‘Murranus,’ the messenger’s voice sounded hollow behind the grotesque mask, ‘the Emperor awaits, the people of Rome are waiting.’

Murranus gently pushed Claudia away and stood up. She helped him arm, fastening the straps. Once finished, he stretched and flexed his muscles, then he kissed her once more, put on the helmet, picked up the sword and shield and walked out into the passageway. Meleager, similarly armed, his breastplate gleaming, was already waiting, helmet crooked under his arm. As Murranus approached, Meleager put his helmet on. Claudia noticed how the great horsehair plume seemed like a spray of blood above his head. Meleager went to grasp Murranus’s hand, but the other gladiator just brushed by him, sending officials and servants scattering out of his way as he walked into the glare of the arena. Meleager had no choice but to follow, as the trumpeters, caught off cue, brayed their salutation. The crowd sprang to its feet and roared in acknowledgement that the height of the games was about to begin.