Arena

by Simon Scarrow

  Murena studied him with his pale eyes. ‘Watch your tongue, Optio, or there may well be a future for you in the arena … a short future, that is.’

  Macro flushed with anger. Murena smiled mockingly at him and paced up and down beside the window as he went on. ‘Pallas suspects that Narcissus has persuaded Hermes to return by some other means.’

  ‘But how?’ Pavo asked blearily.

  ‘We’re not sure.’ Murena stopped pacing the room and shrugged as he looked at the young gladiator. ‘Narcissus is a slippery customer. He has turned scheming into an art form.’

  Macro raised an eyebrow sardonically. ‘Reminds me of someone, that. Can’t think who.’

  Murena ignored the jibe. ‘Claudius is predictably thrilled with Narcissus. By securing the return of the Emperor’s favourite gladiator, Narcissus is one step closer to winning his trust and estranging Pallas and myself. The games are our last opportunity to undermine him.’

  Pavo saw it all then. The imperial secretary’s grip on power was slipping from his tenuous grasp. Narcissus, for his part, would be unlikely to spare his rivals once he had won the Emperor’s trust. Pallas and Murena could expect exile to an impoverished province at best. If Narcissus was truly vindictive, they might be thrown to the beasts. Pavo smiled inwardly at the prospect of the freedmen suffering – as he had done ever since they had cast him into the ludus in Paestum.

  ‘That’s why you want to help us beat Hermes?’ Macro asked, rubbing his jaw. ‘So you can undermine this other freedman?’

  ‘Precisely, Optio. At the behest of Narcissus, Hermes is being publicly championed by Claudius. However, if Hermes loses, the Emperor will not be pleased. Narcissus will be held responsible – and will fall from favour.’

  ‘Tragic,’ Macro said. ‘But I don’t see why we should help dig you out of your hole.’

  There was a calculating gleam in the aide’s eyes, like a sword tip glinting in the sun. ‘You still want your promotion to centurion, don’t you, Optio? Pallas will be in no position to successfully petition the Emperor should Pavo lose.’

  Macro clenched his jaw. He missed life on the Rhine. The drills, the discipline, even the watered-down swill that passed for wine in the camps. He shrugged off all thoughts of his return to the army and frowned. ‘There’s one problem. Hermes is an absolute beast. I’ll push the lad as hard as I can, but there’s no guarantee he’ll win.’

  Murena grinned. ‘Ah, but I can give you a decisive advantage in your preparations.’

  ‘What kind of advantage?’ Pavo asked.

  Murena ignored the question and addressed Macro. ‘How is the boy faring, Optio?’

  Macro sucked in a lungful of air and thought for a moment. ‘Well enough. Once he’s recovered from his last fight, I’ll put him through a rigorous workout. We’ll have him fitter than ever before. Whether that’s enough to beat Hermes, only the gods know.’

  The aide stroked his chin. ‘As I thought. Well, I have good news for you both. Pallas and I have been giving the matter some thought, and we both agree that you could use a sparring partner.’

  ‘I selected Macro as my trainer,’ Pavo responded testily. ‘I don’t need anyone else.’

  Murena smiled patiently. ‘Macro may be able to teach you the tricks of the trade, but this sparring partner is one of the best in the business.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Macro asked.

  ‘Publius Didius Ruga. He’s a retired gladiator and bodyguard to the senatorial elite. He also happens to be the only man to have faced Hermes in the arena and lived to tell the tale.’

  Pavo looked bemused. ‘I wasn’t aware that anyone had survived against Hermes.’

  ‘Ruga competed as a gladiator during the reign of Emperor Tiberius. I understand his match against Hermes lasted so long that the Emperor gave him the thumb of mercy. His injuries were too severe to allow him to continue as a gladiator, so in an act of generosity one of the senators present appointed him as his bodyguard.’

  ‘Why would Ruga agree to help us?’ Macro cocked his head to the aide.

  ‘Ruga never recovered from the shame of his defeat by Hermes. He claimed the contest was rigged in Hermes’s favour. He burns with hatred towards Hermes almost as much as our young gladiator does.’ The aide paused and smiled slyly. ‘There is also the small matter of the fact that Ruga was recently relieved of his duties by the senator.’

  ‘Relieved?’ Macro repeated with a frown.

  ‘Ruga is a drunk, Optio. I believe he started drinking heavily after his defeat by Hermes, to numb the almost constant pain he is in. I have spoken with him and promised to solicit the senator in question to help him get his old job back – on condition that he trains you.’

  Macro nodded at the news. Although he was skilled with a sword and could impart general combat strategies to Pavo, as a soldier he knew better than anyone that the best way to prepare for battle was to gain inside knowledge of the enemy. A gladiator who had come close to defeating Hermes sounded like the ideal sparring partner.

  Murena turned his gaze on Pavo and cleared his throat.

  ‘In the meantime, you will continue your training somewhere else.’

  ‘Why?’ Pavo asked.

  ‘I have no wish for a repeat of your fracas with Hermes outside the Circus Maximus. Besides, the lanista is a close acquaintance of Narcissus and it’s possible he might try to sabotage your training schedule. I have rented a room for you, Macro, in a tenement block on the Aventine Hill, next to the Drunken Goat tavern. There is a courtyard at the back. You and Ruga will train Pavo there.’ A wicked smile crossed his lips as he flicked his gaze over to Macro. ‘The streets are filled with drunks and degenerates. I’m sure you will feel at home.’

  Macro bit back on his anger as Pavo responded to the aide. ‘The Emperor has agreed to release me from the ludus?’ he asked, his voice fragile with hope at the prospect of escaping the confines of his rat-infested cell.

  ‘Under certain conditions. Pallas has convinced his imperial majesty that a death threat has been made against you by one of the other gladiators. Macro will escort you back to the ludus each evening. Try to escape and your son dies.’

  Pavo grimly resigned himself to the prospect of having to remain in his cell at night. He went quiet as Macro scratched his chin and frowned. ‘What about training equipment?’

  The aide pursed his lips. ‘I have sourced a few training swords and shields from the Praetorian Guard barracks, along with some weights. But by and large you will have to make do.’

  ‘Great,’ Macro grumbled. ‘So while Hermes gets to hone his strength at the imperial ludus, we’ll be slumming it in a courtyard, using whatever leftover equipment you can lay your bloody hands on.’

  ‘You will have to improvise,’ Murena responded haughtily. ‘Isn’t that what you soldiers are supposed to do best?’

  Macro gritted his teeth, a dark expression clouding his grizzled features.

  ‘There is, ah, one more problem.’ Murena hesitated. ‘I’m afraid the fight is going to be brought forward.’

  Pavo and Macro swapped a look.

  ‘How far forward exactly?’ Macro asked.

  ‘To next month, Optio. Starting today, you will have thirty days to prepare.’

  Macro sucked the air between his teeth. At his side, Pavo’s face turned pale, his shoulders sagging with despair.

  ‘That’s not enough time,’ Macro said. ‘In four weeks I’ll have put some muscle on the lad, but that’s your lot. We won’t have had a chance to properly study Hermes and prepare against him.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be done,’ Murena replied harshly. ‘Claudius has decided to undertake a tour of the public works being built around the Empire the following month. The decision is out of my hands. You will have to cope as best you can.’

  Macro managed to bite his tongue. In recent months he’d made a concerted effort to keep his temper in check, knowing that it had cost him promotion in the past. But being back in Rome and doing the bidding of
the imperial freedmen was sorely testing his patience. More than ever, he desired to leave the city. He made a solemn promise to himself never to return.

  ‘Even Britannia has got to be safer than this snakepit,’ he growled under his breath.

  Murena appeared not to hear him. ‘Any questions? Good. Then I suggest you go and meet Ruga. He’s waiting for you at the courtyard. I have already provided Cornicen with the necessary authorisation for your temporary removal from the ludus. He seems rather glad to see the back of you, Pavo.’

  The optio straightened his back. Both he and Pavo turned to leave. Murena raised a hand, gesturing for them to halt. He stared at the soldier. ‘I hope I do not need to warn you of the dire consequences of failure.’

  Macro snorted. ‘That old trick won’t work. You just said that Pallas will be stripped of his authority if Hermes is the victor. Without your power, you’re just a couple of spindly Greeks making empty threats.’

  ‘But we still know your secret. After all, who could forget your appearance in the arena? And we will not hesitate to share it with Vespasian should you let us down.’

  A hot rage swirled inside Macro. He clenched his hands into fists, the indignity of appearing in the beast fight burning like a hot coal in his chest. He stared at Murena. The aide nodded at the door.

  ‘You may wait for Pavo at the main gates. I have something to discuss with him … in private.’

  Macro turned to Pavo in surprise. The latter merely shrugged at his mentor, a blank look on his face. Shaking his head, Macro marched out of the office, taking one last glance at the aide before he closed the door. Murena sighed.

  ‘Now that we are alone, I have something I would like to show you.’

  ‘Appius?’ Pavo asked hopefully. ‘Do I get to see him at last?’

  Murena answered with a note of pity. ‘Not yet, young man. Claudius promised to spare your son a gruesome death. He said nothing of releasing him from custody. However, should you defeat Hermes, I can personally assure you that Appius will be freed.’ There was a feverish glow to his eyes as he went on. ‘What I am going to show you will give you, shall we say, a little extra motivation for your fight. Follow me.’

  Pavo frowned suspiciously as Murena paced round the desk and led him out into the corridor. Macro had already departed for the main gates and the clerk was still busy making notes on his tablet as Pavo followed Murena down the corridor. At the end, they descended several flights of stairs until they reached a narrow passageway at the bottom. Two Praetorians guarded the entrance to the passageway, the light from oil lamps dimly illuminating their features. Murena nodded at them and the guard on the left promptly stood aside while his comrade ushered them down the passageway. It was cold and clammy and dark, and the young gladiator shivered, a sinister chill sweeping through him. They were entering the underground tunnels built beneath the foundations of the imperial palace complex, he realised. He’d heard of the existence of such tunnels, used by the Emperor and his entourage to move between the palace complex and his other estates without risk of being assassinated on the streets of Rome. Caligula had been murdered in one such tunnel by several conspirators. A sudden fear gripped Pavo. Perhaps Murena intended to kill him after all, he thought. His legs trembled as he followed the Praetorian and Murena down the tunnel. They passed several cell doors. At length the guard stopped in front of one and unlocked it.

  ‘Leave us,’ Murena ordered the guard.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Pavo asked, panic creeping into his voice as he hesitated in the doorway.

  Murena stared at him for a moment. His eyes smiled with intent. ‘Enter, young man. There’s a friend of yours in here.’

  Something cold and sickening stirred inside Pavo. Reluctantly he stepped into the cell, anxiety tying knots in his stomach. Murena stood to one side. The cell was cramped – smaller than his own billeting at the imperial ludus, Pavo thought – and the instantly recognisable stench of blood and faecal matter lingered in the air. The flicker of oil lamps in the passageway cast a gloomy red hue. A series of torture instruments were laid out on the floor next to the door. Pavo felt his stomach churn as he spotted a patch of blood glistening on the stone next to his feet. Then he heard a timid groaning and his eyes were drawn to a crumpled figure slumped against the back wall. Manacles were clamped round his wrists and ankles. The man had been stripped down to his loincloth and on closer inspection Pavo realised that his fingernails and toenails had been ripped out. His torso was covered with burn marks and bruises. Murena clicked his fingers. The man wearily lifted his head and his dull eyes rested on Pavo. Blood dripped from his chin. His lips were purpled. The gladiator felt his entire body jolt.

  ‘Dear gods …’ he started.

  ‘Senator Numerius Porcius Lanatus,’ Murena cut in almost cheerfully, suppressing a smile. He glanced at Pavo. ‘An old friend of your father’s, I believe, in the days when Lanatus was the proconsular governor in Africa. Senator Lanatus also happens to be a Liberator. One of the leaders behind that shadowy network, no less.’ He stooped down beside the elderly senator and grinned. ‘Isn’t that right, Lanatus?’

  The senator stared back defiantly.

  ‘Go to Hades, Murena,’ he croaked. Pavo recoiled in horror as he saw that Lanatus’s teeth had been ripped out of his mouth.

  ‘I rather think that is what you will soon be doing, my dear friend,’ Murena sneered. He ruffled the senator’s thin grey hair and turned back to Pavo. ‘One of the duty guards at the imperial ludus was exposed as a friend of the Liberators. We tortured him and he gave up the name of Lanatus easily enough.’

  The senator winced, his chest heaving with pain. Standing upright, Murena turned to Pavo. ‘Do you know why I have brought you here?’ he asked evenly.

  Pavo shook his head. The blood ran cold in his veins. Murena took a step closer to him and said softly, ‘We solicited a confession from Lanatus. The palace interrogators tortured the old fool to within a hair’s breadth of his life, but he eventually told us everything. They always do.’

  The gladiator tried to feign ignorance. ‘What does any of this have to do with me?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Pavo. Lanatus confessed to his role in the conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor. He told us about the plan to slip you a weapon in the aftermath of your victory in the group fight. How you were supposed to slit the Emperor’s throat when you entered the imperial box to receive your award. I must admit, it was certainly an audacious plan.’

  ‘I had no choice! Lanatus told me that unless I helped, Appius would die—’

  Murena raised a hand. ‘I’m not interested in your pathetic excuses,’ he snapped. ‘The only reason you’re not being nailed to a cross at this moment is because Pallas and I need you to win. The very fact that you chose not to go through with the conspiracy suggests you at least had some doubts about the wisdom of committing such a heinous act.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Pavo asked warily.

  ‘Victory, of course. I will not tolerate your defeat by Hermes.’

  Pavo threw up his arms. ‘Hermes is the greatest gladiator who ever lived. Even at my best, I might lose.’

  ‘Then you will have to train harder. Win your fight, and no one else need ever learn of your part in the Liberators’ conspiracy. Lose, and I will make sure that all of Rome is made aware of your treachery. The mob will ridicule you as a Liberator, Pavo. Your family name will be irreparably sullied. And poor little Appius will suffer a fate worse than death: he’ll grow up as the disgraced son of a traitor.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  ‘What was all that about?’ Macro growled irritably. Pavo had left Murena at the entrance to the underground tunnel and rejoined Macro outside the main gates of the imperial palace where he was pacing impatiently up and down. A chill wind picked up and fluttered through the alley.

  ‘Sir?’ Pavo said absently. His mind was still shaken by the sight of Lanatus in the cell. He shuddered at the thought of the unimaginable horrors the senator
must have suffered at the hands of the imperial interrogators. Only the political aspirations of the imperial secretary and his aide had spared Pavo the same fate. But if there was one thing worse than death for a high-born Roman, it was the loss of prestige, and he felt his blood boil at the prospect of being exposed as a traitor. Murena was right. Appius would grow up in disgrace, the Valerius family name stained by his actions. Now, more than ever, he needed to win.

  Macro frowned. ‘You look like you’ve just seen a cheap tart without her make-up on, lad. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Pavo replied. He looked carefully at his mentor, studying his face. He quickly decided that Macro was in the dark about his involvement in the conspiracy to assassinate Claudius. He breathed a sharp sigh of relief and forced a smile. ‘Murena merely wanted to remind me of the importance of the fight.’

  ‘Eh?’ Macro sputtered. He went on, ‘What’s with the long face, then? You should be kissing Fortuna’s arse, lad. Those bloody Greeks are on our side … for once.’

  Pavo shrugged wearily. ‘Perhaps we’ve made a mistake.’

  Macro grunted. He was still in a foul mood from the encounter with Murena and the painful reminder of his appearance in the beast fights. ‘You think too much. That’s what reading all those books does to you.’

  Pavo pushed aside the appalling mental image of Lanatus in his cell and cocked his head at his mentor. ‘It doesn’t strike you as odd that Murena and Pallas are offering to help, sir?’

  ‘Gods know. They’re Greeks, after all. Buggers are raised at birth to be slippery. Right now they see Narcissus as the greater threat. That means they’re willing to work with you. My enemy’s enemy, as the saying goes.’

  Pavo tilted his head to the side, conceding the point. ‘But they have spent the past several months trying to kill me. Surely they’d rather work with someone – anyone – else?’