overtaken him. The legionaries were locking all the exits except the northern gate, the escape route for Bonosus and the guards once the bear was free. The only real cover he could use was the box. But it was a good thirty yards away.
The chain finally slid to the ground and the men pulled it free. Bonosus barked an order and they swung the door open, then hurried away. With one last jab, he turned and ran after them.
The animal swung a paw at the side of the cage, crushing one of the poles. It bucked backwards and then – realising it was free – half fell on to the sand.
Indavara backed away. He wanted the crowd as noisy as possible, but they had quietened so much that he could hear Bonosus still shouting orders as he neared the gate.
The bear righted itself, ran its nose into the dust, then looked up. Its beady eyes came to rest on Indavara. Then it ambled towards him, huge shoulders rolling above its head.
Indavara stayed absolutely still.
Teeth bared, lips trembling, the bear loosed a roar. Then it charged.
Indavara turned and bolted back across the second section as another wave of noise engulfed the arena. He had no idea how fast the bear was moving. He was aiming for the far corner of the box.
He saw his shadow flashing across the sand to his left.
Fifteen yards to the corner.
Arms and legs pumping, he sprinted along the side of the box.
Ten yards. Five.
The noise was deafening. He readied himself to cut right, then glanced left again. A massive dark shape bore down on his shadow. He would not make it.
Indavara brought his hands up over his head and dropped to the ground.
The animal couldn’t slow itself in time. One front paw struck Indavara and the bear tripped, flying over him, landing heavily in the sand, claws scraping the ground as it slid past the box.
Indavara was up quickly. He had taken a heavy impact on his back but felt only the sting of the trident wounds. Checking he still had the knife, he retreated back past the box, watching as the bear rolled over, shook itself down and got slowly to its feet. He looked inside the box to see if there was anything he might use as a weapon but there was nothing – not even a loose sword blade.
The bear sniffed its way over to where Spear had died.
Indavara glanced towards the northern end of the arena and realised instantly he had to get back there. He jogged backwards, eyes trained on the box; then crossed into the second section and moved left towards the eastern wall.
He was vaguely aware of people screaming his name, others shouting encouragements and suggestions, but this noise didn’t register. He knelt down in front of the deer carcass. He had seen enough dead animals to know there was something here he could use. Just as he grabbed one of the rear legs, the bear’s great head emerged from behind the box.
Looking down for as long as he dared, Indavara used the dagger to make an incision just above the deer’s ankle bone. He dug around until he could see the tendon. Then he made another deep cut just below the back of the knee.
The bear was lumbering towards him now, nose close to the ground.
Indavara gripped the tendon, cut it away from the flesh, and pulled the pale stringy length from the leg. Then he stood, and calmly sliced more skin and hair away as he backed towards the cage.
The bear changed direction to follow him. What he feared more than anything was another charge. There was nothing but open ground behind him; the cage was too far away.
But the beast had picked up the smell of the deer and it now lolloped towards the wall. With only a cursory glance at Indavara, it sniffed the leg, then licked at some blood.
Still moving backwards, Indavara finished stripping the tendon. It was eight inches long, not as strong as it would be after days of drying but strong enough, he hoped. He tucked it and the dagger into his tunic.
As the bear stuck its snout into the deer’s torn belly, Indavara reached the cage. The pole that the
Tuesday Embers, Mary E. Twomey
George Simpson, Neal Burger