Legs.
Stomach.
Nazzareno was getting more hits in, but he was still taking his licks.
As time wore on, and both men were coated in sweat, cut down to bone and bloodied, and the crowd seemed like it wanted to rush the field for a taste of both, a sudden urge to scream, STOP!, rose up in me as strong as my next breath.
It wouldn’t have made a difference, though.
The fight was too intense, and the men who had turned into beasts around me were enjoying this play too much. They were shouting, cheering, even booing, depending on who they were rooting for.
It was hard to tell who had more support.
Nazzareno knocked the sword out of Renato’s hand, and instead of going in for the kill, he sheathed his sword and tackled him. They started fighting in the dust. Clouds of it were bursting in the air like dead flowers as they seemed to wrestle and punch.
Then Renato reached his weapon, Nazzareno was back on his feet before he could get a swipe in, and the clanging started up again.
Renato was tired, though. When Nazzareno made a step and surged forward, his sword went clean through Renato’s side, and the crowd went wild. Nazzareno stepped back, and Renato looked down, like he was in shock, and pulled back a hand slick with blood. He swayed like he’d drunk too much wine, and then fell to his knees before he fell to the dirt.
The man who had taken his robe ran to his side. It seemed like he was talking to Renato, or trying to, but it was impossible to hear over the roar of the crowd.
Nazzareno kept his sword in hand, but he was swaying too. His body was coated in dry mud and blood. It caked to his skin in some spots, maybe even staunching some of the wounds.
Then I thought about infection, and…
His eyes found mine and he stopped. A hard wind blew, and he seemed to follow its direction as his feet rocked.
I jumped to my knees, holding the dress, charging toward the steps leading down to the floor and thundered down them. Men were cheering in my direction,ah, ah, ah!, and clapping. No one tried to stop me from getting to him.
This amphitheater was different from the one in Rome. At the end step, there was a drop, but it wasn’t all that steep. Nazzareno met me, lifting his arms up for me, and I went into them like a bird being set free.
Once I was on my feet, he held my chin in his bloodied hand, and he stared into my eyes. “I unleashed hell for you, my wife, and now I have earned your heaven.” He smiled at me, and it was the brightest thing about him. His face was coated in dust, and his teeth were lined with blood. His lip was busted from the fight.
He removed his helmet and flung it to the ground.
Words wouldn’t even register, only action, and I flung myself in his arms, trembling and sobbing.
He groaned but didn’t rock on his feet. He held me steady as the crowd turned thunderous. Then I happened to open my eyes, and what I saw coming for us from behind froze me for a second.
Renato charging.
Nazzareno looked behind him, and as he turned to grab his sword, I had already pulled my gun and pulled the trigger.
FIFTY
NAZZARENO
One shotfrom thepistolamy wife held sent Renato back to the ground. He fell in a puff of dry dirt, and his sword landed next to him. His brother took off running and slid on the dirt beside him, falling next to him. It was his job to tend to him, checking his wounds, and if any last words were offered, he would repeat them back to the family.
I did not think my wife mortally wounded him. She had hit him in the arm.
In the eyes of the crowd, it did not matter the wound, only that she had intervened.
She did not put up a fight when I took the gun out of her frozen hand. Her eyes were distant, as if she was still seeing him charging me from behind.
The roar of the crowd died, and in its place, deafening silence.
ZioLuca rose from his seat slowly. He looked to his left and to his right, his eyes scanning over the entire crowd.
