Death Of A Gladiator

Death of A Gladiator Part 8

CHAPTER 8

"Damn!" I crashed my fist down on the table. "If it was Gaius, how will I convince Miletus? I lose Cinxor, and now I'm about to lose Gordius. And I won't be compensated for either. And I have two days to find the real murderer. And I don't even know where to start looking. Or for what."

"Start where you'd normally start," said Samus. "At the beginning. Work outward from there as far as you can. Who knows? You might be lucky. You might just trip over something."

"I've already started by searching his room," I said. "Nothing except the cup, an old coin and some personal belongings."

"Well, the, you haven't started at the beginning, after all," said Samus. "Go back and start again with your mind. Open it up, let it relax. Go for a walk. Night time is best. Something may come to you."

******

Back in my quarters, I washed and ate. A small meal .... I wasn't particularly hungry. I drank a little more wine than I should have.

The night was cooler. Stifling puffs of dry, dusty winds, blowing off the plains, had stopped, and I hoped a night breeze might follow soon.

A silver quarter moon gave some faint light.

I walked into the arena and looked around. What I expected to think of, I didn't know. Only that I was at my wits end, and any suggestion was worth following up.

I stood in the middle, and thought of the men who had fought here, those who had died here. How brief was life!

How cruel and yet, how magnificent!

And how noble the sacrifice made by these gladiators, considered by many Romans lower than dogs........ who had much more dignity and more honour than those people who themselves lived like insects and cockroaches in the cities.

I stood there, on the arena sands, in front of the Emperor's booth. Once again, I heard the crowds roars, curses and cheers. Once again, I saw the mighty Cinxor stride into the arena, raise his sword and shield.............

Better to die in the arena, to go down with a sword in one's hand, than to live like a slug or an ant. The ghosts of the men who had died were here ......

And then, the ghost of a thought began to form in the back of my mind.....

.... as if mirroring my thought, I seemed to see a shadow move along the wall of the arena.

I turned quickly but it was already at the corner of my eye and vanished again. I turned a full half circle but it ran faster. I wasn't sure, but it seemed to run bent double. Was it a ghost? Black and formless, its shape pulsed, becoming first bigger, then smaller in the moonlight.

I kept turning and it kept moving out of my sight.

A chill went up and down my back.

It was circling me!

Closing in for the kill?

******

I had no sword, no dagger. I could call the guards, but the apparition would be on me before they could get here.

Only one thing to do.

I stopped dead in my tracks and waited ... just as the form rushed past me and out of my sight. It was getting closer and closer.

I waited.

I heard a flap and flutter of clothing behind me.

I took one step sideways, stuck out my left foot, pushed in with my left hand and swung my right arm.

It worked. It tripped on my outstretched foot .... I heard a muffled cry. At the same time I felt a pain shoot across my left arm as it hit something hard.

There was a grunt and it slipped and fell backwards.

I tried to jump on it but it kicked up. A boot hit my face. It slid and scrabbled on the sand, out of my reach. Desperately, I grabbed the cloak. It came off in my hand. I saw the flash of a silver blade in an arc, inches from my throat, then heard a grunt and a curse.

I kicked again. Harder.

I wrapped the cloak around his neck and pulled it tight. But some he wriggled out of it.

The figure jumped off and ran into the blackness dropping two knives as it ran.

"Guards!" I yelled.

To be continued next week............