roughly twelve hours and make his adjustments accordingly.' He walked a few steps and turned. 'The playing-off of pirates and Rhodians is over now. You are all my captains, and I expect you to spend the next week learning the signal book and the tactics we'll use when we find Eumeles at sea.'
Demostrate shook his head. 'That's not for my boys, lad-' He stopped.
Satyrus walked over. 'Strip,' he said.
Demostrate narrowed his eyes. 'If I sail away, you have no fleet,' he said.
'I have no fleet anyway,' Satyrus said. 'Your precious pirates proved it just now, when they couldn't form a line of battle. Strip.'
Demostrate shook his head. 'I'll apologize,' he said softly. 'But if you make me fight, you'll have to kill me. Lord.'
Satyrus nodded curtly. 'Apologize then.'
Demostrate nodded. 'I apologize, lord,' he said. 'I'll not slip again.'
'Fuck him,' Manes said. 'Fuck him and fuck all this pansy shit. I say we kill the Rhodians and sack Sinope and stop playing at kings.'
Satyrus had been so busy plotting the rise of his kingship that he had all but forgotten Manes.
A foolish mistake. The sort of mistake that could cost you your kingdom.
Time to correct that right now. He took a deep breath, crossed the circle of officers as fast as the ripple of comments spread and stood in front of Manes.
'Get a sword and a shield. We fight. Now. And when you are dead, I claim all your ships and men as mine.' Satyrus was so angry he had no trouble meeting the bestial glare. 'You heard me – or are you the same chicken-shit who ducked fighting me in Byzantium?'
Manes bellowed.
Satyrus turned his back and walked towards Helios – watching his squire for a sign. Helios gave him his aspis and his sword. Satyrus fitted the shield snugly on his arm, gripped the antilabe in his left hand and drew his father's long kopis so that the blue blade glittered in the last sunlight. Then he turned.
'Ready?' he asked and began walking across the now silent circle of officers towards Manes.
Manes turned to Ganymede, who handed him his shield. His sword was immense – longer and broader than a Keltoi cavalry sword.
Crax stepped in front of Satyrus, with Carlus at his shoulder. 'Let one of us do this,' he said. 'Carlus could put him down in a heartbeat.'
Satyrus shook his head. 'This is for me, friend. I need the pirates to fight. I need them to drill and cooperate. When I kill him,' he pointed the tip of the kopis at Manes, 'they're mine.'
'And if you die?' Crax asked quietly.
'Then kill him, take the fleet and make Melitta queen of the Bosporus.'
Crax shook his head and stepped back.
Manes stepped out from the circle.
Satyrus lowered his shield and charged him.
Around him, he heard the crowd roar, but then all he heard was his own footsteps on the sand. Manes stood rooted to the spot for too long, clearly unable to believe that a smaller man was charging him.
Satyrus didn't hesitate. He ran right in and slammed his aspis against the face of Manes' shield even as the man bellowed like a bull, hoping to frighten him. Then Satyrus rolled to the right, using the centre of his shield against the rim of Manes' shield. He cut under with the kopis, and the long blade scored immediately on Manes' leg.
Satyrus stepped back, so that Manes' counter-blow swished through the air without even cutting his shield.
Satyrus saw that he'd cut the pirate chief deeply. He wanted to let him bleed and he backed a step. Manes took this for weakness, leaped forward and struck fast, landing two more blows on his shield. They were powerful blows that took chunks from the face of Satyrus's shield and hurt his arm, and Satyrus realized with a sudden prickle of fear that his arm couldn't take many more like that. He retreated and Manes advanced, bellowing, striking out again with the great sword like the claw of a giant lobster – Slam! Slam! – into the face of his shield, no effort at swordsmanship at all, just simple, overwhelming strength.
Satyrus struggled with his own fear of the man – a fear now reinforced by feeling his physical power.
He had to stop retreating.
Manes stumbled, a reminder that he, too, was hurt – that Satyrus had cut his leg. Satyrus shook his head and the giant blade slammed into the face of his shield again – Bam! Bam! – and he felt a scream of pain that shot up his arm and through his body, and he went forward into the pain, his arm barely able to support the shield slammed into Manes' chest. Satyrus was a hand's breadth shorter than the pirate, and his shield rush was a puny thing, except that his sword arm shot out in a long overhand cut – past Manes' blade raised in desperate parry – then rolled and snapped, so that the blade of the Aegyptian sword cut back into the base of Manes' skull. It was a perfect cut, and the unsharpened back edge of the kopis smashed into the heavy muscles at the base of the pirate's neck and his left arm dropped nerveless, his shield falling off his arm.
Manes roared with pain and stumbled back.
Satyrus had moments – only moments – before the tide of pain from his arm killed his ability to fight. He changed feet, lunging forward with his right leg and cutting down, so that his blade severed Manes' right hand at the wrist.
'ArrGGH!' the beast screamed, and suddenly they were down on the sand together, and Manes' blood was everywhere, and the man was kicking, hammering his mangled right arm and his uninjured left at Satyrus – his own wounded arm as loud in his head as the pirate's rage, even as his helmeted head was snapped back by a blow from the blunt end of Manes' maimed limb and his helmet filled with Manes' blood.
Satyrus had not fought pankration for eight years without learning to channel pain – and to grapple, even injured, even covered in blood and badly hurt. He dropped his sword, got his thighs locked on the other man's waist and rose over him, even as that right arm clubbed him again – but his helmet held the blow and he was on Manes like a rider on an unbroken stallion. Even a flailing blow into his arm didn't end his bid – his body was running through the winning moves of a domination hold without him, and he seemed to be watching from a distance as his thighs clamped the bleeding pirate's body, pinning him so that he could do less harm. Then Satyrus's swordless right hand slammed down, breaking his adversary's nose and slamming the broken bone into his head – and still Manes fought him, his spasming arms somehow inflicting pain.
Then Satyrus felt Philokles, the Spartan, take control of his hand in the forbidden strikes that the Spartans taught and that were forbidden in the games. His strong right hand reversed and he drove his thumb into Manes' left eye, the soft matter exploding outward.
Satyrus never quite lost consciousness. He rose shakily, with no sense of how much time might have passed since Manes' body ceased moving. His shield slipped off his right arm, which was bent at a bad angle, and rang as it hit a stone.
Theron was there. He put a hand on Satyrus's shoulder.
'I killed him three times,' Satyrus breathed.
Theron didn't answer. In a quick motion, he wrenched the arm – putting it back in its socket – and Satyrus was gone. When he came to, he was on the sand.
'He's still dead,' Theron said, following Satyrus's eyes.
'Zeus Soter,' Satyrus said. 'I'll never fear a man that much again. I killed him three times.'
'Your men were watching,' Theron said. 'That was a fight they will long remember.'
'Get me up,' Satyrus said. 'And – get Manes' head.'
'His head?' Theron asked.
'I'll do it,' Abraham said. 'By all that is holy, sir, that was the most – amazing – fight.' His voice was hoarse.
Sir. Abraham called me sir. Satyrus wanted to laugh, but lacked the ability. 'Get me up,' he said.
He heard the meaty sound as Abraham's sword bit into Manes' neck, and he had to watch – worried, at some animal level, that the man would yet rise up and fight him.
He did not.
Satyrus got to his feet. He picked up his father's sword and cleaned it on Manes' tunic, wiping carefully. Then
