Gladiator: Street fighter

by Simon Scarrow

  Lupus was not there and Marcus was relieved to be alone with his thoughts. He lay down on the bedroll and stared at the ceiling. Now he was resting, the aches and pain from his cuts made themselves felt and he winced at the throbbing in his knee. He found himself reliving the events of the previous night with the terror of being caught and tortured for information. He’d been so thankful to return to the safety of Caesar’s house, but Caesar had seen the mark of Spartacus and reminded him this was all an illusion. Once Caesar recalled what the mark meant, he would see Marcus’s connection to a sworn enemy. Then there would be no reward for Marcus. Both he and his mother would be killed.

  He heard a rustle of soft footsteps and looked towards the door. Portia stood in the threshold, her face ashen as she looked down at him.

  ‘By the gods, Marcus. What have they done to you?’

  Marcus reached for the worn blanket beside the bedroll and pulled it over his body. ‘I’m all right, mistress. Just tired.’

  ‘Where have you been? Festus said you were doing something for my uncle.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Have you been beaten for something? Was it Flaccus? Let me know and I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘No, mistress. I just had a fall.’

  ‘A fall?’ Portia arched an eyebrow. ‘Just the one?’

  Marcus laughed, and then winced from his bruises.

  Portia stepped closer and crouched at his side, tentatively resting her fingers on his shoulder. ‘You’re in pain. I should send for my uncle’s surgeon.’

  ‘No. I don’t need anything, apart from rest,’ Marcus replied. ‘You shouldn’t be here, mistress. If they found you -’

  ‘I would say I’m enquiring after the health of my bodyguard. Perfectly innocent.’ She smiled. ‘And stop calling me “mistress , please. We’re alone - probably for the last time. I’m to marry Pompeius’s nephew as soon as this business at the Senate is over. Uncle’s arranging a feast to celebrate his success, and my marriage, a few days from now.’

  ‘So soon? I thought the wedding was supposed to be late summer?’

  ‘It was. Pompeius asked to move it forward. Uncle thinks he wants to be sure the alliance between them is secure.’

  This was a bitter blow, thought Marcus. ‘And what about our plans for taking me with you as your bodyguard?’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘My uncle won’t let you go.’

  ‘You asked him?’

  ‘I did. He said you were far too valuable to him.’ She forced a smile. ‘It seems I’m not the only one who thinks highly of you.’

  Marcus let out a sigh. It was as he’d thought - everything depended on winning Caesar’s favour now. And Marcus would miss Portia’s friendship.

  Portia’s chin trembled. ‘It seems I must say goodbye to everything I have always known, and you. I owe you something I can never repay. You saved my life.’

  ‘I saved both our lives.’ Marcus smiled back.

  She stared at him a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him. ‘I shall never forget you, Marcus.’

  Marcus held up his hand to still her tongue. ‘Nor I you. Goodbye, Portia.’

  She smiled, then turned away and left the room. Marcus heard her foodsteps fade and then the house was quiet again. Only the distant sounds of other slaves talking as they worked in the garden came to Marcus’s ears, above the faint hum of the city. He lay back on his bedroll and stared at the ceiling again, his heart weighed down by yet another burden. Despite all his training, Marcus was suddenly struck with as deep a grief as he had ever known. He realized there was something worse than fear - worse than the terror of facing an opponent in a fight, worse than being hunted through the streets of Rome by a bloodthirsty gang - and that was the knowledge you are alone in the world.

  Easing himself on to his side, he curled up into a ball, no longer able to fight the sorrow that had been building up in him for so long.

  25

  ‘At least I won’t be alone in this,’ Caesar announced confidently as they set off from the house in the Subura. Ahead strode ten of Festus’s men, while around him marched the twelve lictors who made up the consul’s honorary guard. Another ten bodyguards took up the rear. At his side paced Festus and Marcus, each armed to the teeth with concealed weapons. Lupus strode a few paces behind his master, weighed down by his satchel.

  Marcus decided that any assassin making an attempt on Caesar’s life would have his work cut out for him. Even so, Marcus was tired. He had not slept well, troubled by Portia’s news and his fear that Caesar might discover the secret of his brand. There had been no mention of it since, and Marcus prayed to the gods that Caesar would not consider it significant enough to investigate further.

  The small procession made its way through the narrow streets of the Subura before emerging into the Forum. It was mid-morning and the centre of the city was filled with people. Most were shopping from the stalls lining the main thoroughfares and public buildings, but many men were clustered in loose groups, watching the passers-by as they talked and joked among themselves. Marcus wondered how many of them belonged to the rival street gangs and how many had turned up in the hope of watching a fight.

  The largest crowd had gathered around the Senate House and there was an air of expectation as Caesar and his men approached the steps to the entrance. Marcus had been assigned to watch to the left while Festus kept his gaze to the right. The faces surrounding Caesar and his men had mixed expressions. Most were cheering his name and waving. But others were booing and shaking their fists, and Marcus watched closely, looking for the glint of a blade.

  The crowd slowed the pace of the small column and it seemed a long time before Caesar and his entourage reached the entrance to the building, away from the danger of the gangs outside. Most of the bodyguards and lictors waited outside the entrance, but Marcus, Festus and Lupus joined the small body of clerks behind the dais upon which the consuls’ chairs stood. While the clerks sat on stools and prepared their waxed slates and pens to record the proceedings, Festus and Marcus watched the senators for any sign of the red cloth that the plotters had agreed as the signal for their assassin. Most of the senators had already taken their places on the benches that arced round the dais. While many wore fine togas of white, a few of their number, mostly the younger senators, wore bright colours. Some, like Cato, wore plain brown togas, deliberately chosen to make them appear in keeping with Rome’s strait-laced traditions.

  As had been the case since earlier that year, Bibulus’s chair was empty, and Caesar ignored it as he took his own seat and called the house to order. Marcus took little interest in the usual rituals of prayers and announcement of the agenda. Only when the debate began did he pay close attention to the contributions and reactions of the senators. While Caesar’s followers and those of Pompeius and Crassus gave their backing to Caesar’s amendment to the Land Bill, the other senators listened in stony silence. At last, Cato raised his hand to request permission to speak. Caesar regarded him coldly and then nodded his assent. ‘Be sure not to talk at too much length,’ he warned Cato.

  Cato rose to his feet and adjusted his toga, looking around at the expectant faces in the chamber. Then he began.

  ‘Those in this House represent the will of the Roman people. But they do more. It is their sacred duty to uphold the traditions that have kept our great republic free from the tyranny of kings, and those men who would be kings. Therefore it is the duty of every man here to vote against the proposal put forward by Caesar. His amendment will make it a crime for any of us to oppose the Land Bill. It would seem that the choice open to us today is to either support Caesar or be declared an enemy of Rome . . .’

  Marcus knew that Cato and his allies were fighting to preserve the rights of the rich and powerful, but he couldn’t help wondering if Cato was right to warn his audience about Caesar’s ambitions. He himself knew that Caesar would stop at nothing to get his own way.

  There were angry mutters from the men on the benches surrounding Cato. He let their comments die
down before he continued. ‘This measure is an insult to everything that this House holds dear. It is worse than an insult. It is a direct attack on the freedom of every one of us. Since when has it been a crime to disagree with the consul of the day? When was it ever a crime to vote against a measure you disagreed with? I tell you now, if we give way to Caesar today, then we pave the way for tyranny tomorrow. It may not be Caesar who presses his boot on our throats, but it will be a man like him. The choice before us is simple. If we value our freedom we will vote against Caesar. If we are little more than craven dogs to sniff at his heels and beg for scraps, then we will vote for Caesar.’ He turned to the consul and arched an eyebrow. ‘I trust that was brief enough for you. It may well be the last free speech anyone ever hears in this House

  Cato sat down and those around him cheered loudly as they tried to drown out the jeers and howls of protest from Caesar’s supporters. Marcus scanned the faces of the senators, but could see no glimpse of the red cloth that was the sign at which Caesar’s enemies had agreed to strike. It seemed the attempt would not take place within the Senate House itself, Marcus decided.

  The chief clerk rose from his seat and banged his staff on the marble floor to restore order. When the senators were quiet he turned and bowed to Caesar. Marcus saw his master compose himself before he responded.

  ‘My thanks to Senator Cato for sparing us his usual tactic of boring us to death before a vote. His newfound brevity is a welcome relief. ’

  Caesar’s supporters laughed and he smiled as he waved a hand to quieten them. ‘I would not need to include such an amendment if there were not so many members of this House who are prepared to oppose a perfectly reasonable, fair and necessary proposal to provide our soldiers, to whom we owe so much, with a decent reward for their efforts. Why should those who have shed their blood for us be denied a small plot of land on which to farm and raise a family? Are we so ungrateful that we would deny them this? We all know why Senator Cato and his companions are opposed to the Bill. They have fine estates built up from the cheap land they purchased when those families the soldiers left behind could no longer work their farms and were forced to sell them.’ He paused and his expression became cold. ‘That, I find objectionable. I wonder how those who oppose this proposal can sleep at night? But since they can, and I have exhausted every avenue of reasonable debate I am left with only one means of ensuring that our veterans have the meagre reward they deserve. I move that we call a vote at once.’ Caesar turned in his chair. ‘Clerks, prepare to take the tally.’

  There was uproar as the senators realized there would be no further debate, and it took a while before they calmed down sufficiently for the vote to be called.

  ‘Those in favour of Caesar’s proposal?’ the senior clerk intoned, and his assistants counted the hands raised and agreed the total.

  ‘Those against?’

  The number was taken and the clerks conferred before the chief clerk stepped forward to give the result.

  ‘Those in favour of the amendment, two hundred and eighty-five. Those against . . . two hundred and eighty-one. The amendment has passed.’

  At once there was a deafening cheer from Caesar’s supporters. Caesar stood and stretched his arms out to draw the attention of the senators. Cato and his companions looked on, furious.

  ‘That concludes proceedings for today. The Senate will meet again in two days’ time to vote on the Land Bill. Good day to you, and I thank you on behalf of our brave veterans.’

  As Caesar turned away, Marcus saw him smile with cool satisfaction. Around him, the scribes and clerks scrambled to their feet. Marcus felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to see Lupus, grinning. ‘It’s over then. The master has got his way.’

  ‘Not yet. There’s the other vote.’

  Lupus shook his head. ‘That’s a formality. If they passed this proposal, then they’ll pass the Land Bill. Then it will be over. The street gangs won’t have anything to fight about, at least not for a while. We’ll have peace on the streets.’

  Marcus turned his gaze towards Cato again. There was no disguising the hatred in the senator’s eyes. Marcus couldn’t believe Caesar’s opponents would give up so easily.

  ‘Come on,’ said Festus. ‘We must escort the master back home.’

  As Caesar emerged from the entrance to the Senate House there was a thunderous explosion of applause and cheering from the crowd outside. Many of the people supporting Caesar were clearly veterans themselves, judging from their grizzled expressions and the scars on their face and arms. For many others, the vote represented a victory for the poor and down-trodden over the aristocrats who had grown rich from the spoils of the campaigns fought by General Pompeius’s soldiers. Caesar paused to bask in their acclaim.

  ‘Keep your eyes open,’ Festus instructed.

  ‘I will,’ Marcus replied, cupping a hand to his mouth to be heard over the din. He was determined not to let his guard slip for an instant. He knew that Milo and Bibulus would stop at nothing to see their plan through. ‘I’m ready.’

  They waited while Caesar’s lictors took up their formation around him and Festus waved his bodyguards into position. Marcus saw Clodius near the bottom of the steps, raising his arm in a circling motion above his head. At the gesture, small groups of men forced their way to the front and cleared a path into the Forum, linking their arms to form a chain that held the crowd back.

  Caesar gave a final wave and began to descend the steps. The senators and their supporters moved aside for Caesar and his entourage. This was the moment, Marcus told himself. The assassin would be in the crowd, hand clutched round the handle of his knife as he waited for the signal. Even so, Marcus couldn’t believe the killer would get through. Caesar was surrounded by armed men. Clodius’s gang members were holding back the public. They had all the angles covered, Marcus decided as he scanned the crowd once again.

  Cheering faces, a handful of scowling faces. A few children on their father’s shoulders, cheering as they held on tight, a veiled woman standing on the pediment of a statue as she waved, a cripple with withered legs on crutches who had dragged himself to the front to shout his support for Caesar.

  Caesar reached the bottom of the stairs and began making his way through the Forum. Just then Marcus spotted a flash of red at the foot of the stairs, among the senators. He snapped his head round to see better. The colour had gone and he found himself staring at the group of men surrounding Crassus. Among them was the tax collector, Decimus. Only he wasn’t interested in the discussion of the men around him. He stared at Caesar, or rather past Caesar . . . Marcus followed Decimus’s line of sight and his blood froze. The woman clinging to the statue reached an arm behind her back and Marcus saw the glint of a blade. She drew back the knife and took aim.

  Marcus didn’t stop to think. He darted forward and snatched up one of the cripple’s crutches, thrusting it above his head and between Caesar and the woman on the pediment. At that instant there was a splintering crack and the crutch lurched in his hand, almost knocked from his grasp.

  ‘Marcus, what the -?’ Festus shouted.

  Caesar was facing in the other direction and had not seen anything. Marcus lowered the crutch and saw the handle of a heavy throwing knife, vibrating where it had struck and splintered the solid support at the top of the crutch. Now Festus saw it too and his eyes widened in alarm. ‘Who?’

  ‘A woman, over there on the pediment!’ Marcus turned to point but she had gone. ‘She was there an instant ago. I saw her throw the knife.’

  ‘Come with me!’ Festus ordered.

  Marcus snatched the knife from the support and thrust the stick back at its owner who cursed him for playing a stupid prank. Festus forced his way between two of Clodius’s men and plunged into the crowd, oblivious to the angry shouts of those he thrust aside. Marcus ran in his wake, knife point held low where it would not harm anyone. They reached the pediment and looked around for any sign of the woman. Marcus grabbed the man nearest him and nodded up a
t the statue.

  ‘The woman who was there a moment ago - where did she go?’

  ‘What woman?’ the man replied. ‘Watch that knife, boy! You’ll do someone an injury!’

  Marcus and Festus asked a handful of other people, some of whom remembered seeing the woman jump down, but that was all.

  ‘She’s close, Marcus, I know it,’ said Festus as he frantically scanned the crowd. Just then Marcus felt something underfoot. He looked down. A woman’s cloak and a veil lay close to the base of the pediment.

  ‘Festus! Look here.’ Marcus bent down to show him. ‘I don’t think we’re looking for a woman.’

  Festus looked around, but the crowd was too dense to see anyone escaping. In any case, they had no idea who they were looking for. He gritted his teeth in frustration. ‘Too late. We’d better get back to Caesar, in case there’s another attempt.’

  They fought their way through the crowd and Clodius’s cordon to resume their position close to their master. Caesar shot them a questioning look, but said nothing as he continued waving at the crowd. It took the party a long time to move through the Forum and it was noon before they entered the narrow streets of the Subura and left the crowds behind.

  ‘What happened back there?’ asked Caesar as the hum of the Forum faded behind them. ‘I turned away for a moment and you had both vanished.’

  ‘There was an incident, master,’ Marcus replied and held up the knife. Caesar took the weapon and examined it.

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘It was aimed at your throat, master,’ Marcus explained.

  ‘Marcus blocked it,’ said Festus. ‘Otherwise .. .’