The Enemy

‘He’s flesh and blood like anyone else,’ said Achilleus.

‘Don’t he scare you?’

‘Course he scares me,’ said Achilleus. ‘You think I’m nuts? He’s a hard-nosed son of a bitch. So I’m go

‘Not so hard-nosed now,’ said Big Mick. ‘You land him one in the middle of his face he’s go

‘Thanks,’ said Achilleus, shoving his arm through the strap. ‘Shame John’s got one of these too. But them knife blades of his aren’t going to be as strong as my spear. If I can get him to keep knocking them against my shield they’re go

‘Just make it quick,’ said Mick. ‘He’s taller than you, with a longer reach. He’ll be hard to get at.’

‘He’s full of it,’ said Achilleus.

‘Hey!’ John was yelling again. ‘Gay boy? You coming out to play?’

Achilleus sniffed, stepped away from the crowd and swung his own spear through a couple of gentle arcs.

‘Ready,’ he said, and strolled casually into the centre of the yard. He moved gracefully, like an athlete. Still holding it back. Unlike John who was pulsating with wired-up energy, his head bobbing, his muscles jittery.

‘I’ve never fought a gay before,’ he said and spat at Achilleus’ feet.

‘What’s with all the insults?’ said Achilleus.

‘Oh sorry,’ said John. ‘Am I upsetting you, darling?’

‘If you fancy me why don’t you just say?’ said Achilleus affably.

‘That the best you got?’ said John.

‘It’s all you deserve, loser. Now, are you going to talk or are you go

David pushed forward from behind his line of guards, chin up, a snooty expression on his pale freckled face.

‘When I give the word, the fight will begin,’ he said. ‘And let’s not forget that this contest will decide what –’

But Achilleus and John weren’t listening. Before David had finished speaking they ran at each other, roaring, spears at the ready.

55

‘Wait!’ David shouted. He was wasting his breath. John and Achilleus clashed together, their spears thudding into each other’s shields.

Achilleus looked at John’s spear. It was undamaged. The tip of his own weapon, however, had broken off. He had sharpened it too much. He wasn’t used to fighting someone with a shield. No matter. It would still do some damage if he made contact.

One–nil to John, though.

He didn’t have long to think about this as John launched a furious attack; evidently he had the same idea as Mick – go in hard and get it over quick.

He ran at Achilleus, driving him back with a series of short powerful thrusts. Achilleus used his shield to block the assault. He soon found that he didn’t have the muscles for it. Holding it up used a lot of energy. He held on, and in the end he saw a gap and managed to get in a counter-strike. Jabbing beneath John’s shield at his legs. John saw it coming and skipped out of the way, but it broke his rhythm, and he left off his assault. Achilleus grabbed the breathing space and moved away, dancing round the ring, loosening his muscles. He had tensed up under John’s attack and needed to work off any cramps before they took hold.

The attack had given John some encouragement. He strutted round the ring with a sneer on his face.

‘Had enough, batty boy?’

By way of a reply, Achilleus suddenly lunged at John, an overarm downwards stab that took John completely by surprise. He got his shield up only just in time and managed to knock the blow aside. Achilleus was left wide open and John came straight back at him, slicing his spear upwards. The triple blades slashed across Achilleus’ chest, ripping his T-shirt and drawing blood. Achilleus swore and spun away, but John didn’t leave him alone for one moment, following in hard with a wild low sweep that took Achilleus in the side of his shin and sent him tumbling to the gravel. John was on to him, thrusting quickly down, again and again, like someone trying to spear fish in a barrel. Achilleus rolled and squirmed on the ground so that the blades dug harmlessly into the dirt.

It wasn’t going well for Achilleus. John was good. He was constantly getting the upper hand. Achilleus was looking like a fool. Wriggling on the ground at John’s feet.

At last John came too close and Achilleus smashed the rim of his shield into his lower legs so that he too fell over. Landing heavily on his face. The two of them scrambled up. John’s bandage had come loose and there was blood dripping from his nose, but he barely seemed to notice it. For a while there was nothing in it. Nobody had the upper hand and they circled each other, panting and sweating. There was a wicked glint in John’s bruised eyes, however. He was enjoying himself. He had rattled Achilleus and they both knew it.

The crowd had become deathly quiet. Intent on the battle. Willing their champion to victory.

Achilleus’ T-shirt was drenched with blood and, although John’s mouth was bloody and he was limping slightly, there wasn’t a fresh scratch on him. Achilleus was wary. Not wanting to let John inside his defences again.

There began a long stretch of cautious fighting, as first one, then the other, would lunge forward and the blow would be blocked. Their grotesque distorted shadows fought around the walls of the palace like some violent puppet show. They were getting the measure of each other, checking out their fighting styles, their strengths and weaknesses. If they had wanted it to be over quickly they were disappointed.

There was no doubting that John’s reach was longer. Both his spear and his arm were longer than Achilleus’, and he was taller by a good three or four centimetres. More of his strikes were getting through. True, most of them clattered harmlessly off Achilleus’ shield, but one or two found their mark. Achilleus had a gash in his scalp and another on his shoulder. It was looking more and more like John’s size was going to win the day.

And he knew it. He just had to work away at Achilleus, wear him down, weaken him, then move in for the kill.

He nudged his assault up to the next level, attacking with such force that Achilleus’ shield rang out like a cracked bell.

Then John swore as one of his blades shattered and broke in half.

Achilleus smiled. Seeing that John was distracted he seized the moment, barged into him, pushing his shield aside and bringing his own shield up with a straight left punch to the side of John’s head.

John was tough.

He barely flinched, and shoved Achilleus away with his spear arm, too close to use the blades. He was wounded, though. His right eye was bleeding and swelling shut.

Lewis nudged Mick.

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘John can’t see so well now, he can’t judge distance with one eye. He’s blind on that side. Akkie needs to concentrate on his left. Keep on hitting him from there.’

That was easier said than done, though. The injury had made John furious and he was advancing on Achilleus like a berserker, knocking him back with a series of spear thrusts and smashes with his shield. Achilleus tried to hold his own, but he was tired. Finally John cracked him on the jaw with the shaft of his spear and Achilleus staggered across the yard, stu

‘He’s faking it,’ Lewis drawled.

‘You think so?’ said Mick, unconvinced.

‘Yeah,’ said Lewis. ‘He’s my dog! He’s leading him on, man, hoping John gets cocky and makes a mistake.’

If Achilleus was faking he was doing a very good job of it. He looked dazed, cross-eyed, unsteady on his feet. His spear wavered in the air and his shield was low.

‘Here it comes, gay boy,’ said John and he lifted his spear and drove it downwards from shoulder height, aiming above Achilleus’ lowered shield.