Well Rinklos of the Ducks had broken his sword hand, right, nasty
boxer's fracture right across the little finger, so he could hold a
shield but couldn't swing a sword. And it's all looking a bit tits-up
to be honest, the Cruentes are already down a couple and if their
warleader can't fight... till someone has the bright idea that if all
he needs is a sword hand, why not stick the slave in? So having
already got kicked in by a minotaur earlier in the annual, I'm bundled
into someone's spare armour and they shove this
philosophical-alchemical fuck-knows-what down my throat so I can hold
a sword properly without jabbing myself in the foot. Lovely. Fucking
brilliant. Just what I always wanted, a glorious death on the sands a
million fucking miles from Ostia, I don't think so. I want to die old
and fat in bed surrounded by hundreds of ungrateful grandchildren
loudly plotting to poison each other for my massive inheritance.

Next thing I know I'm on Rinklos' right with an arm round his
shoulders and he's moving the shield, I'm hacking away with the sword
and get a decent few jabs, have some of that! We're in the reserve,
only well it's not much of a reserve because there are quite frankly
hundreds of the trapezunts, scuse my language dominus, and it's not
ten seconds before they've dogpiled one of the big auxiliaries -
actually "dogpile" is a good word, I was thinking the other day, those
Carthagos remind me of nothing quite so much as those little
sandwich-sized dogs you get, you know the ones, "yip yip" *STAMP* -
anyway, he's down so there's a dirty great gap in the wall so next
thing you know we're in it, quick as you like, off we go, hack stab
hack stab Roma Victrix!

Then someone manages to push a spear through a gap and jab me in the
ribs, bastard, only the fucking spear's enchanted or something because
in addition to pissing blood out between the plates of the segmentata
I'm being thrown backwards, nothing I can do, trying to get back to
Rinklos but I'm being hurled away towards the arena edge. And I'm just
turning around so I can see where I'm fucking going rather than just
leaping back, I'm worried about fouling one of our archers and Craigus
has a lot of fucking momentum in that lorica of his at the speed he
flies around at the back, not particularly interested in ending my
illustrious career being trampled to death by the golden boy of the
Republic's archers in his Mithras-blessed boots, when this panormous
Carthaginian fucker with blood and shit all over his face, greasy
hair, big black shield with two white dolphins, he leaps up and comes
down sword-first into my face, I try to parry but he's too fucking
fast, lays me right open and the next thing I know I'm up against the
arena wall trying to get some air in and seeing stars and there's an
awful lot of fucking blood all over this nice borrowed armour of mine.
Fucking headwounds.

So I stay there until it's all over - not much choice really on
account of how my legs are currently committing gross fucking
insubordination every time I tell them to move - and it really is all
over, they've filled us the fuck in so there's Palma, sorry Neptune,
we threw everything we had at it but that wasn't good enough, hope you
like fishmen boss! And up come the physicians, Cato first, I tell him
to trapezunt off and see to the Tribunes priority like, but I'm not
sure he hears me. I think it's going to be all right for a minute, I'm
swearing away, calling him seven kinds of cunt as he gets in with
those butcher's fingers of his, cutting the armour open, not the first
fucking time I've had a doctor wrists-deep in my guts this weekend and
I try and grin and bear it but fuck me it hurts, only then he stops
telling me I'm going to be okay like they always do and makes that
noise with his teeth, you know the one builders make, "Ooh Dominus, I
dunno, twenty foot of marble cladding? You seen the price of Aventine
marble this winter? It'll cost yer" and I'm asking him what the fuck's
happening only I can't say much because I'm not really breathing much
any more, trying to suck air in but nothing's happening and I can
taste blood in my throat, lots of blood and swearing, and it's all
going a bit fucking dark and I can hear someone calling my name but
the last thing I'm thinking is <i>you keep that cunting pomegranate
away from me</i>