FORTY-SEVEN: THE RING
“Insult has been given and recompense has been demanded!” The [Praetorian’s] voice boomed across the crowd, fully silencing it as she stood resplendent under the attention of the army. Senatorial guardsmen stamped their feet every time she stopped speaking, their number were too few to do anything but seem pitiful.
“Hostus Vigilans is an honored member of the [Varangian] guard and is the one who has given offense to the honored Thirteenth Legion. Their champion to guard their honor is [Legionnaire] Cassius Null. This is a fight of honor to be decided by fist and grit, no skill or steel is allowed.”
Cassius let [Unyielding Spirit] fade away and felt the weight of the day, of the weeks, crash into him. He froze, body locked as all the pains he had been ignoring made themselves present, crushing him down as he tried to breathe, tried to do anything that would allow him to move.
“Honored [Observer] Basilides shall watch this match and alert us if any skill is used.”
“None are active, Captain,” Basilides rich voice came from somewhere in the crowd as Cassius slowly drew a breath in, forcing his lungs to expand as he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball on the hard ground. He was tired in a way he didn’t know about before, something that transcended anything he’d ever felt.
“Come, cur, let me show you the strength of a true warrior,” Hostus sneered as he lifted his bare fists up into a guard position as he glided forward, lithe grace on display. Cassius felt his lungs finish expanding, stretching his ribs out as he forced his mind to move.
He’d been hurt before, hungry, tired, broken, desperate. Most of his life had been perched upon that edge, looking at death with a familiar gaze. This was just one more time he had to push through the pain and exhaustion.
Hostus threw the first punch, a sharp jab at the full extent of his range. Cassius watched the blow come toward him with detached attention. It wasn’t that the senatorial guard was slow, but it was apparent to Cassius the man was outclassed. Leaning back was all that was required to let the man’s knuckles touch nothing but air.
It felt like he stood over his own shoulder, his body moving in slow motion as Cassius threw a counter hook, sliding the punch above the man’s extended arm, his longer arms letting him reach out and hit Hostus with ease. Hostus’ head snapped to the side and he staggered away as the crowd roared its approval, thousands of legionnaires stamping their fists to armor.
“You hit hard,” Hostus admitted, blood running from a split lip as he spat to the ground. The earlier sneer had been erased as the man hunched his shoulders up and dipped his chin to his chest as he came forward more cautiously.
Cassius lifted his own clenched fists into a mimicry of the same guard position, but it felt strange to him. Fights in alleys ended in short, frenetic, bloody violence. There was no calculation to it, just figures throwing blows until one succeeded or they failed.
“No one has taught you pugilism,” Hostus said with a snort, shaking his head as he slowly circled around Cassius.
“I am not the one bleeding,” the words came before he could stop them, tired brain speaking before he could stop himself.
“Yet.” Hostus lunged forward and dropped into a low stance, throwing a flurry of attacks at Cassius’ body and head. Each beat of the fists hurt, but was manageable. It was not something that was pleasant, but Cassius didn’t feel in danger as he blocked the blows with his forearms as he watched Hostus with clinical eyes.
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Cassius snapped a jab out, his body reacting before his brain could fully comprehend it. Hostus didn’t have time to defend as the jab crashed into his nose, cartilage breaking with the blow in an audible crunch. Hostus’ head rocked back as he staggered several steps, shaking his head as tears and blood mingled.
“What was that?” Hostus spat out, his voice nasally as he looked around. The roar of the crowd rose higher, drowning out the question as Cassius walked forward slowly, fists slowly lowering as he glared at the senatorial guard.
The man had insulted Cassius. Had insulted Vira, legionnaires, and the honored dead. Without the calming presence of his skill he felt that kernel of rage slowly start to expand outward into a stomach churning hatred. It boiled in him, washing away the exhaustion in a fiery burst of rage.
Something leaked through as Hostus froze, his confusion melted away as fear started to form beneath the arrogance. Cassius felt a smile creak across his face, spreading like splintering ice as he enjoyed seeing the fear in Hostus’ face.
Cassius darted forward, moving with the speed his body could fully utilize and threw a hard right cross, twisting at the hips as he did so. Hostus lifted his arm to guard the block, but Cassius was too powerful, striking through the [Varagian’s] guard and connecting with his chin. Blood and teeth flew as Hostus’ head snapped to the side, legs going limp instantly.
Hostus slammed into the ground and didn’t stir, body lax as his consciousness had been stripped from him. The crowd stopped in their chants, frozen momentarily as eyes landed on Cassius, some curious, others proud, and more than a few confused and scared.
“[Observer]! What skill was that!” The captain’s voice rang out in the stunned silence as the [Praetorian] leapt over the side of the rings ropes to land before Cassius in a clatter of metal on metal. Thunder was quiet in comparison to her voice, wrath thick as her gauntleted hand reached down for her sword hilt.
A flicker of fear hit Cassius as he stared at the woman, one of the few tier twos in the camp. She was stronger than he was without a doubt, but in his current addled state he couldn’t be bothered to let the fear take root as he stared down at the woman unrepentant.
“None! Cassius Null fought with honor and skill!” Basilides cried out, voice loud enough to be easily heard by all. A shocked second and then the crowd erupted into a cacophony of howls and shouting, legionnaires beating on the breasts and stamping their feet.
“Impossible, unless…” the captain stared at him and then understanding bloomed in her eyes. Her mouth twisted into a snarl of distaste as she spat to the side.
“You have a tier advantage and still fought! That is like striking down a child!”
“It is a parent's job to ensure their child does not dishonor them. I would advise you to tell your children that the legion's honor is mine to guard!” Cassius spoke loudly, voice filled with conviction as his anger drove his body. The roar of the crowd increasing was the only thing that let him know that his fellows had heard him.
“Pick him up!” the captain said, spinning on her heel and pointing to several of her men and the unconscious Hostus. Cassius watched them carefully as they pulled the man to their shoulders and began to drag him out of the ring.
Pius’s face filled Cassius' vision and the rage piloting him dispersed, leaving him hollow as he felt his knees begin to tremble. With only a moment’s thought he activated [Unyielding Spirit] banishing the weakness from his body. Cassius straightened until he stood tall and unbowed, looking over the cheering faces of his fellow legionnaires.
“It was good to watch that arrogant ass be humbled. These senatorial guards have more pride than sense and they have not been kind in their expression of it!” Pius said with a wide smile, strange to see upon the normally stern man’s face.
“It was a privilege to teach him humility,” Cassius answered honestly as Pius steered him out of the ring and into the waiting crowds.
“The [Medicus] will be busy fixing his jaw and teeth, that is for certain!” Pius yelled into his ear as hands began to pound on Cassius’ back and shoulders, men and women decades older than him exuberant at his showing.
“There is extra rations of beer tonight, I can feel it!” Pius said in a loud voice which was met with another cheer as people clustered closer.
“I just wish to sleep for a day or three,” Cassius pleaded but the men refused his denial, laughing as they wrapped him up, taking him from Pius’ embrace. Hands grabbed at his legs and for a moment Cassius tried to fight, but then he was hoisted upward, carried on shoulders and hands as the legionnaires took up a chant, part celebration, part challenge.
“Cassius of the Thirteenth! Cassius of the Thirteenth! Cassius of the Thirteenth!” The cries rang out, building up as even those who hadn’t watched the quick fight joined in, a mood of celebration breaking through as the legionnaires carried him to the camp cooks and where the casks of beer were kept under stern care of the quartermaster.
