Page 44 of Taming the Eagle
However, The Wolf Cub ignored them.
Fenella’s brother Eogan stalked across the sand, helmet under one arm and a short sword in the other. Like his opponent, he also carried a shield slung over his back. The warrior stopped before the magistrates’ box, saluting them as his opponent had. His gaze, the same midnight-blue as his sister’s, swept the faces of the men in the box before it alighted upon Justin.
And for an instant, their gazes fused.
A look passed between them. The Wolf Cub’s expression was as hard as his gaze.
The crowd were throwing things at him now—not coins and favors but pebbles and rotten food. Yet Fenella’s brother continued to ignore them.
The trumpet sounded once more, silencing the mob, and Eogan turned away, taking his place opposite The Dacian. Although tall, The Wolf Cub stood at least a foot under his opponent’s height, and he lacked the man’s bulk.
Both men turned and lifted their blades high, saluting those sitting in the magistrates’ box one last time. They then jammed their helmets on their heads.
The fighters circled each other, blades and shields raised, while the baying of the excited crowd settled to an expectant rumble. Sunlight gleamed off The Dacian’s oiled muscles, and off both men’s helmets and blades.
The Dacian attacked first, moving forward with startling speed and grace for one so big. The Picti was ready for him, raising his shield to block the blow before dancing back out of range.
The crowd roared, the sound echoing high into the air.
A few yards from the magistrates’ box, a finely dressed woman—a merchant’s wife most likely—was on her feet shouting like a fishmonger. “Coward!” she screeched.
“They get excited about death matches, don’t they?” Marcus noted from next to Justin.
Nodding, Justin kept his attention on the two gladiators, who were circling each other once more. “Just as long as they’re not the ones in the ring, they do,” he replied.
XVI. BECAUSE YOU ASKED ME TO
THE DACIAN ATTACKED again, his short blade thudding against The Wolf Cub’s shield. However, this time, instead of dancing out of harm’s way, the warrior side-stepped and followed up with a swift counter-attack.
His sword clipped The Dacian’s shield arm, cutting through his leather bracer.
Dark blood dripped onto the sand, and the big man snarled a curse, backing off a few strides.
“I told you the lad was fast,” Marcus murmured.
“They all are,” Justin replied. “Even their women.”
He thought of Fenella then, his belly tightening. He’d sent her back to the fort, flanked by all four of their escort. He’d thought the tension between them would ease, now that he’d let her see her brother. But the vicious look she’d given him, before his men led her off, warned otherwise.
“I’ve never understood why the Picti teach their women to fight,” one of the magistrates piped up. He was licking sausage grease off his fingers as he watched The Dacian strike hard, his bellow thundering across the arena. “It’s a barbaric practice.”
Justin didn’t reply. He was too busy watching the fight unfold. Both men were skilled fighters, and despite the size difference, evenly matched. The Dacian struck boldly, using his bulk and strength to his advantage, while The Wolf Cub darted in like a striking serpent, slipping under the bigger man’s guard.
It wasn’t long before both men were bleeding heavily, blood dripping onto the churned-up sand. Yet neither of them slowed, and their attention never wavered from their opponent.
Eogan’s fighting style grew gradually more aggressive as the fight wore on. He parried less and went for his opponent in a series of vicious cuts that left dark scores in The Dacian’s shield.
The two men’s blades became a blur, the ringing sound of steel mingling with the bawling of spectators in the stands. Sweat gleamed off their faces, and the blue paint on the Picti’s face and chest became smeared with blood.
There was a moment when Justin thought Eogan might win—when he used a deception tactic against his opponent. The younger man lunged forward, gladius swinging in for a strike aimed at The Dacian’s head. The big warrior raised his blade to counter the blow, but instead of following through, the Picti kicked him in the groin.
His opponent bellowed and staggered backward. The crowd roared, insults raining down upon The Wolf Cub now. However, Eogan was lost in his own world. Eyes slitted, sweat pouring down his face, he lunged once more—clearly hoping to take advantage of this moment.
But The Dacian was not so easily defeated. Such a blow to the cods would have felled many men, but despite that he was doubled over, his tanned face twisted in pain, the big man managed to fend off his adversary’s blows.
And then, when he’d recovered, The Dacian went in for the kill.
Like everyone in the crowd, Justin watched the gladiator with awe. There was a reason The Dacian’s prowess in the ring was famed throughout Britannia and Caledonia. The man was a mountain.