The First Blade of Ostia by Duncan M. Hamilton

which in that plush arena was extortionately high.
    He could feel Amero’s tension from several feet away. There were two small areas where the swordsmen sat in wait for their duels, the opponents being separated. It was in marked contrast to the arena that Bryn had fought in, where he had to wait for his duel in the stands with the rest of the crowd.
    The quality of the swordsmanship on display was the other remarkable factor of that small arena. It was exceptional. The first duel was over quickly, the speed and precision with which the swordsmen fought doing good service to the reputation of all that held a sword.
    Amero was to fight in the third duel of the evening. Each duel that preceded his had been a model of gentlemanly conduct, a factor that attracted the polite appreciation of the equally genteel crowd. As a child and youth, Bryn had attended the Amphitheatre many times. It was the largest of the arenas in the city and was famed for the heights of passion that the audiences reached. Raucous shouts and jeers occasionally made themselves heard over the general noise of a crowd of tens of thousands and it had an atmosphere so pronounced that it was almost palpable.
    The citizens reached such fervour that fights were known to break out within the audience. The most famed swordsmen attracted devoted followings and their legions of fans occasionally boiled over in their enthusiasm to the point of riot.
    Here the atmosphere was significantly more subdued. Muted applause with the occasional hushed comment of appreciation was all that a swordsman could expect from a crowd such as this. The contrast amused Bryn. It seemed more like a library than a duelling arena.
    Amero’s duel finally came around and he walked from the waiting area out onto the perfectly manicured sand. Between each duel, several men rushed out to rake smooth any of the imperfections that had been caused by the previous fight, ensuring it was pristine for each subsequent match.
    Amero’s opponent was called Arno Banda. He had graduated from the Academy five years before they entered, so he was something of an unknown. He was coming into what many would consider the prime years for a swordsman and would have to be taken seriously.
    Amero looked incredibly alone as he walked out to the black line in the centre of the arena. Whereas Bryn had been able to fight his first duel in relative anonymity against a swordsman that he knew to be inferior, with no pressure other than his own expectations, Amero carried the weight of his family name out onto the sand and every eye in the arena was fixed on him.
    Up until that moment, Bryn hadn’t fully considered the effect all that additional pressure must have. He thought of his own nerves in the lead up to his first duel, and he wondered if he wasn’t the luckier of the two. A great many of those in the audience would probably be known to Amero’s family and those that were not would know who he was. This was confirmed by the whispers that Bryn could hear being exchanged among the crowd behind him. None of them were kind. That it was a small arena with only a few dozen spectators must have been little comfort for Amero.
    As if all this were not enough of a burden, Amero didn’t have the advantage of crossing blades with an inferior swordsman. His opponent had a solid record and a respectable ranking that was testimony to his ability. He would be a hard challenge and would not give up touches without a fight. Bryn pitied Amero his position.
    Amero took his place at the black mark and Banda did the same. The Master of Arms gave his instructions, inaudible to those in the audience and the duellists saluted one another.
    ‘Ready? Duel!’
    Amero danced back several paces quickly, causing Banda’s initial attack to meet nothing but thin air. Undeterred, Banda pressed forward until the blade of his rapier connected with steel. There was a flurry of clashing metal, none of it dictated by Amero. Bryn could feel his