Hurek dragged himself to his rest bench with legs wavering and ragged breaths that sounded like a wounded lion on the edge of death. As soon as he went out of view, I left the peephole and crawled to the other side. I might have been just as tired as the large man and hesitated... I could really use a moment or two of rest, I thought.

But the break was only for a minute, and so with dirt clogging my nostrils, I inched my way forward until my head slipped out of the platform side, and looked up to find a full view of Hurek's bloody arse.

"Hurek!" I croaked, cleared my throat, "Hurek, you oaf!" I cried a little louder.

Hurek looked to his side, searching, confusion lining his tired face. "Down here!" I said and the large man almost jumped in surprise.

"Priest!"

"Quiet," I hissed.

I wondered if there were any rules against talking to a bald head sticking out from the ground in between the rounds. "Listen, this is what you have to do..." my voice drifted away as I saw Hurek's face this close. It was a mess.

Coagulated blood collected on his thick eyebrows, occasionally dripping into his eyes which he wiped with his torn bracers. Cheeks scratched and bruised, the side of his lip torn and hanging loose. Baba Haza was mutilating him blow by blow. A death with a thousand cuts. I wasn't so sure Hurek would last the next round.

"Look, Hurek, you have to listen to me," I said, making sure he had my attention as his eyes seemed to blink in and out of awareness.

"I listen," he replied.

With all the notes in my journal from earlier, there was only one that mattered now. "You have to circle when he lunges. Make him attack you in many steps, understand? Then step right when he lunges, and use the book as you would your fist."

Hurek nodded slowly, wiping a stream of blood down the side of his head and making it seem as if he was wearing red war-paint around his eyes.

"Do you understand?" I asked. Baba Haza would not let Hurek circle, and his careless lunging was the only chance Hurek truly had to side-step the lanky warrior and cut close enough to land a blow. And that blow would have to be the most critical of the entire fight. There was only one shot at this.

"Back-wards... side-ways... book," Hurek repeated.

I sighed, figuring this was the best response I'd get given his condition. "Alright, and-"

Horns blasted across the field and the crowd awakened, adding their own stomping and scattered chants that drowned out my voice. With a heavy groan, Hurek lifted himself off the bench, tightened the chained book-shield on his arm and marched away. Out of sight.

"Be careful," I whispered after him.

Baaba Haaza! Baaba Haaza! Give us some fortune, Baaba Haaza!

What a stupid chant. I pulled myself back into the platform and began my embarrassing crawl to the peephole.

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I was a man who'd had a long, distinguished career as a biographer of the Roman senate. My lovely wife had been of the Gens Aemilii. My son was an Optio for the Praetorian guard for heaven's sake! And here I was, crawling through the mud in a foreign land... a rat scurrying beneath the floorboards while drunkards spilled wine and breadcrumbs above me. How had it come to this? I could have packed my things and be on the road back to Rome while everyone was busy. Atia clearly didn't give a ram's ass of my whereabouts.

I paused, seriously thinking about my options. It wasn't too late; I could turn around this minute, collect my belongings and be out of the city within the hour. Hurek's bruised and battered face kept me still, though. His potential death twisting my insides with guilt.

Did I care for him? As much as Layla cared for her husband Baba Haza? One of them had to fall in the next few minutes... And I'd be damned if it was Hurek, I thought with gritted teeth.

With some new-found determination, I forced my way back to the peephole, and it took a moment for me to realize what I was looking at.

Baba Haza had marched on the field in a completely different gear than the first round. He'd ditched his two-handed sword and instead carried a circular, bronze shield and a short-sword. Shit, shit, shit, by Mars' nutsack... Hurek was finished. Baba Haza had chosen to cover himself properly.

Hurek didn't to seem to care though, as he began the round with stepping in and out of Haza's range, feinting and baiting an onslaught. The Persian also didn't play defensive, despite his shield. In fact, the man felt confident enough to use both the sword and shield in aggressive, sweeping arcs. Perhaps there was something there?

I saw Hurek inch to the right as Haza approached, a flick of his ankle, the tiniest signal that I recognized and hoped the Persian wouldn't notice. It wasn't the right moment though, and so thankfully Hurek didn't commit to the maneuver.

He was getting tired though as the round went on, his chest heaving and his book-arm lowering after every blow from Haza. It may come to a point where Hurek would no longer have the strength to raise his arm again.

And then there was the time, which was close to running out. If the round ended with both undefeated, the crowd would surely choose Haza.

I felt something crawl up legs and pulled away from the hole and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Ants! Large, red ants crawled up my legs and into my robes. Not now, oh Jupiter! Please, not now! I rolled around viciously, shedding my robes and slapping every inch of my body.

Completely naked, I balled up my clothes and used them to swipe all around me, creating what I hoped was enough of a dusty barrier to the insects. I didn't bother dressing up again and went back to the sunny hole.

Haza was charging. Hurek on his back-foot, preparing to swing right, and it all happened with frightening speed. Every muscle in Hurek's body clenched as he pivoted like an expert boxer, stepping outside Haza's lunge, into the right, rotating his hips... and blasted Haza with a powerful left-hook.

The Daylamite was too quick.

The bronze shield rose to meet the chained book, the loud smack echoing around the field and sending the crowd into a frenzy. They stomped wildly as Haza stumbled, legs wobbling under the heavy strike.

My mind was blank, my eyes dared not blink...

Hurek, in the same maneuver, launched into a tackle while Haza was stunned, and drove his shoulder into the man's belly. They both fell in a violent scramble. Hurek had full control, though, as he tore Haza's shield and sword away with unrelenting strength, posted himself up and drove an elbow straight into Haza's mouth.

Again and again Hurek pounded the fallen warrior's face; the third blow made the Daylamite drop his sword. The fourth made him go limp and I wondered if he'd actually killed him. Baba Haza's face was a bloody mess when Hurek finally stood, turning to the shocked crowd.

Had he really killed him, though? I saw Baba Haza still breathing... which meant his fate could still be decided by the crowd.

Hurek stepped over him, chest glistening red, face darkened and twisted with feral rage. It was... disturbing to see the gentle giant in this state. And before the crowd could react, Hurek roared at them, spittle flying, his booming voice sending a noticeable tremor in the wooden pillars all around me.

***