‘You were attacked by Romans?’
Horatius snorted a humourless laugh, raising an eyebrow at Marcus, who was staring at him with a look of incredulity at the revelation.
‘Yes, by Romans. Is that shocking to you, friend? A praetorian centurion came to the Vindobona fortress, you see, with orders from the emperor. The Legatus was to ride south to Rome immediately, and there was an escort “waiting for us just down the road”, so he decided that he only needed a few of his own men for the sake of appearances, me and a half-dozen of my lads that could ride to act as bodyguards. When I asked the praetorian why he’d not brought his own men to the fortress with him, he told me that it was to avoid any unnecessary delay, and that there was “no time to lose”. The bastard was right though …’ The soldier’s eyes were cold as he recalled the moment. ‘His men were waiting for us alright, they waited at the top of a hill between two steep verges and then, once we were halfway up, they came down the road towards us four abreast and at the gallop, calling out to each other with the excitement of getting to kill a senator. I shouted to the Legatus to ride for his life but he was too slow getting his horse turned about, and they ran him down like a dog. I took my men into them, but there were too many of them for us to do anything but die gloriously.’
He drank from the scoop again, shaking his head in disgust.
‘I managed to put my blade’s point into a face, punched the man clean off his horse, only to find myself on my back in the road beside him. His spear had caught me in the arm and snagged one of the joints of my manica.’ He grunted a mirthless laugh. ‘That metal sleeve probably saved my bloody life. I staggered back onto my feet between a pair of horsemen, both of them trying to get their spears lined up on me, and that gave me time to put my swordpoint up into the jaw of the man on my left. Then I slipped on the road’s surface, probably from the blood that was running down it in rivulets, and lost my grip on the sword. I knew if I bent down to find it I’d never come back up again, so I drew my dagger and pulled the man on my right out of his saddle.’ His eyes closed, and a satisfied smile played across his face for a moment. ‘I’ve always liked my knives long enough to be of some use in a fight, and I hit him so hard that it went right through his neck and stuck out of the other side. And then it happened …’
He paused again and shook his head, the disgusted expression twisting his lips.
‘I pulled his sword from its scabbard and rolled under his horse. There were four of them surrounding the last of my men, just playing with him before the kill, and as I got to my feet it came over me, the sudden realisation that I could either stand and fight with him, and die with some pride, or run for my life. And I ran, brothers …’ He lowered his head, rubbing at his eyes with a big calloused hand. ‘May Our Lord Mithras forgive me, I ran. Coward though I was, Our Lord was still watching me that day, and both of the spears that were thrown at me as I ran missed, one landing so close that I was able to grab it as I jumped the ditch and went for the trees like … well, like a man running for his worthless rotten life. I heard a voice shouting orders behind me, whoever was in command of that rabble, “Get after him! There are to be no survivors!”, and my hope that it was all some horrible mistake went out like a snuffed lamp.
‘Those bastards killed the last of my men as I ran from them up the hill beyond the ditch. I heard the scream as one of them put iron into him, and then again as another man finished him. They were after me quickly enough, of course, and I could hear them calling out to me that if I came out nice and meek, and made it easy for them then they wouldn’t torment me before the kill, but if I made them wait they’d make me pay for the pleasure, you know the sort of thing.’
Dubnus nodded.
‘And that made you angry, right?’
Horatius smiled grimly.
‘Angry? I was already angry, I was raging! With myself mainly, but it was more than that. They were assuming that I was already a beaten man, because of the way I’d run from them, and until they started shouting for me to come out and die like a man, they weren’t far from wrong. No, it wasn’t anger, it was fury! It was the need to murder them all to make amends for my own cowardice. There were four of them, laughing and joking to each other as they came up the hill in a line, full of that confidence that a man can’t help but feel when he’s killed another, whether it’s justified or not …’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I just thought “fuck you” and stepped out from behind the tree I was using for cover and gave them a moment to realise what they were facing before I threw the spear. I wanted them to know that I was alone, and to come to me.’
He smiled at the memory.
‘I always was good with a spear, but I’ll tell you this, I’ve never slung any better than that in all my life. One moment it was in my hand, the point tickling my ear, the next I was looking down my outstretched arm at the closest of them with the bloody thing spitted through him front and back, armour and all. He staggered and fell backwards while the other three just stared at me, come out of nowhere and covered in other men’s blood, my teeth bared and my eyes like dinner plates, and I think they knew right then that they were already dead. One of them had a spear, but he was so terrified that he threw it wide of me, and I was into them before they knew what was happening.’
Horatius stared across the ludus’s training hall at the men rehearsing their cuts and strokes, and Marcus knew that he was replaying the moment in his head.
‘I put the spear man down before the fool even had the chance to pull his own blade free. He was no more than a child, and as I opened his throat I knew I’d made a mistake in attacking him first, but then I had to run straight at him to be able to dodge the spear, if he could have thrown it straight …’ He shrugged. ‘Mistakes we make, eh? Not that the other two were any more of a threat. The man on the right might as well have been trying to fight me with a sausage, for all the good he was with a sword, and in the instant that I looked into his eyes I knew that I was invincible against men like these. I stabbed down with my blade, putting it through his thigh and then ripped it free to open the artery. Gods, you should have seen the blood. So much blood …’
He grimaced.
‘You killed them all?’
The legion man shook his head at the big Briton’s question.
‘The last of them ran for his life away down the hill screaming for help, and for a moment I considered chasing him down, putting my iron through his spine and then charging into the rest of them to sell my life dearly, but …’
He shrugged, and Marcus found the words for him.
‘You chose life instead.’
Horatius nodded.
‘I chose to make my escape, and ran across the farmland to the next line of trees before they could get their horses onto the open ground. After that I knew that there was only one purpose left for me in life, to discover the reason why my legatus died and to take a cold and bitter revenge for him. It may take me years, or I may never manage it, but this new life will provide me with shelter until that time comes.’
He looked at Marcus and Dubnus with fresh calculation.
‘And you?’
The pair looked at each other before Marcus replied.
‘Our quest is much the same as yours. We—’
He was interrupted by a shout from across the ludus.
‘You three, over here!’
Sannitus was beckoning them over, a toga-clad man with sparse hair the colour of polished iron standing beside him. Disquietingly, several armed men were arrayed behind them, and as the three soldiers approached, the lanista held up a hand in warning.
‘Bow your heads in respect, candidates, if you wish to be considered for this school. This man is my master, Tettius Julianus, the man responsible for the Dacian Ludus.’
They stopped and bowed, keeping their heads down as the sword-armed bodyguards fanned out to either side in a protective half-circle about their master that Marcus fervently hoped was routine. With a clear sense for the theatricalit
y of the moment, Julianus waited until his men were in position before breaking the silence.
‘Well then, gentlemen …’ He waited until all three of them had raised their heads. ‘Look at you. It’s my experience that men like you hardly ever drop into a lanista’s hands. We get soldiers, of course, but usually time-expired veterans who can’t face the thought of fending for themselves and don’t want to sign up again. And now, suddenly, here you are, three of you on the same day, a gift from Fortuna or so it seems.’ He looked at the three before him with a wry smile. ‘You’ll understand then why it was that I wanted to check your bona fides with a little more care than would be the case with the usual class of candidate. Horatius …’
The legion centurion snapped to attention.
‘Sir!’
Julianus shook his head.
‘Don’t call me sir, Horatius. That would tend to imply that I have the sort of power that the empire invests in its military officers, and believe me when I tell you this, as far as you’re concerned, once you’ve taken the oath, I’ll have far more power over your fate than any officer would ever be likely to exercise. The correct address for you to use for me is “Master”. And as for your bona fides, I’ve done some asking around and, somewhat to my surprise, all seems to be in order. You are indeed, as far as the army’s record keepers are concerned, a dead man. I don’t know how you achieved such a neat trick and I’m not going to ask, since it’s enough for me that I can swear you in to the school legally. So, Centurion, do you still want to join the ludus?’
‘Yes, Master!’
Julianus nodded, gesturing to the men closest to the soldier, who ushered him away from Dubnus and Marcus. He stared hard at them both in turn.
‘And now for you two gentlemen. I went to visit your tribune this morning with the intention of confirming your freedom from imperial service. Obviously the only acceptable proof of this status was for him to produce the diplomas of your honourable discharge, which you told Sannitus would be in his possession.’ He looked at them both in turn again, his expression unfathomable. ‘And to be frank, gentlemen, my expectation was that he would flatly contradict your story, and demand that I return you to him in chains. And my expectations in such matters, gentlemen, rarely prove to be misjudged.’
Marcus, risking a sidelong glance at Dubnus, saw that his friend’s gaze was fixed on a point over the procurator’s shoulder, his expression one of supreme confidence. The guards clustered tightly about them shuffled slightly, feet moving to find the best grip on the training hall’s floor. Julianus looked at Sannitus with a knowing smile.
‘So imagine my surprise when he produced your diplomas from his desk without even a flicker of concern. You, are, it seems legally and honourably discharged from the service of Rome and therefore, without any doubt whatsoever, free to enter this training school. So, gentlemen …’
He paused, and Sannitus gestured for them to come to attention.
‘The offer on the table before you is this. I will sign you up for a period of five years, no more and no less. I will pay you each five thousand sestertii, half now and half in the event of your death or on completing your term. At the end of your term, if you have risen to the ranks of those men who are celebrated by the crowds and achieve high status within our small world here, you will be able to negotiate a far larger sum for your next period of service. So, do you still wish to swear the sacramentum gladiatorum, and in doing so enter the Dacian Ludus?’
The two men answered together, barking out their answers like soldiers on parade.
‘Yes, Master!’
Julianus stepped back, gesturing expansively for Sannitus to come forward and perform his traditional role in swearing in the new men. The lanista motioned Horatius forward to rejoin the other two, and spoke to them in a fierce tone that was loaded with significance.
‘The only acceptable answer to the three questions I am about to ask you is ‘Yes, Master!’, and I want the men brushing out the sand over there in the Flavian Arena to hear you. Do you understand?’
All three of them bellowed their response at the tops of their voices.
‘Yes, Master!’
He looked at them for a moment before raising a single finger.
‘Will you swear to give your bodies over to the ludus, to be marked with hot iron if necessary?’
‘Yes, Master!’
He raised a second finger alongside the first.
‘Will you submit to being flogged, or beaten, by any member of the ludus’s staff, for any reason they deem appropriate?’
‘Yes, Master!’
A third finger rose up.
‘And will you commit yourself to the service of your master Julianus, and any man who may come after him in the role of procurator of this ludus, and vow to meet your fate by cold steel if he decrees it fit?’
‘Yes, Master!’
The lanista slapped his fingers into the palm of his other hand with a loud crack, shaking his scarred head in amusement.
‘Done! You are now officially the property of the ludus, from this day until the day that you earn your release from its service, and more than that, you are now officially gladiators. Think about that oath you just swore, by the way. I really can order any of you to be branded, or flogged, or beaten, and as to cold steel, I can put you to death simply by pairing you with the best men from the other schools when your time comes in the arena, and ensuring your bloody and painful demise. You will have no choice as to who you fight, gentlemen, none at all. We don’t usually go to the trouble of branding volunteers, that’s for the men who’ve been condemned to the arena in place of criminal justice, but I’ve been known to burn the mark onto volunteers who manage to piss me off as a means of making sure they’ll never knowingly do it again.’
He looked at them with a pitying smile.
‘As of this moment you have the status of infamis, the lowest of the low. Every man in Rome will look down on you, unless of course you rise to the status of demi-gods through your exploits in the arena, and even then they will still count themselves as better than you. So welcome to the ludus, gentlemen. Congratulations are definitely not in order.’
Felicia and Annia spent a quiet morning in the house, the former’s mood too dark for her to do anything much apart from sit and stare at the wall opposite while Appius played with his toys at her feet. Annia bought her a cup of herbal tea sweetened with honey, which she accepted with grace but little enthusiasm, sipping at the drink while her friend fussed around the room tidying what she’d tidied only an hour before.
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. After all, he is the fastest man with a sword Julius has ever met, and my man’s no slouch when it comes to fighting …’
Felicia looked up at her with a weak smile.
‘Thank you, Annia. And you’re right, of course. He’ll beat any man in the city in a straight fight, but then once he’s killed this Mortiferum, what’s to stop a crowd of angry supporters mobbing Marcus and tearing him to pieces. He’s not coming back, and I’ve no choice but to reconcile myself to that reality.’
Annia looked at her in silence, unable to find any words of comfort in the face of her implacable logic. After a moment her attention was caught by the dog, busy snuffling around the floor in the dining room.
‘Come here, Centurion!’
She whistled, and the animal came scampering over to play for a moment before scrabbling away across the tiles again, yapping brightly as he snuffled across the floor around the dining couches.
‘Time you went outside, I’d say, since the last time you were sniffing around like that you dropped the contents of your bowels a moment later!’
She scooped up the dog, taking him to the door, but as she opened it Julius was striding up the garden path.
‘If I might come in?’
He kissed his wife dutifully, and bowed to Felicia.
‘I have news of your husband, Domina. He has been accepted by the Dacian Ludus, and will shortly be fighting in the
arena. The school’s procurator came to see the tribune this morning to get proof of Marcus and Dubnus’s diplomas—’
‘Diplomas?’
He nodded.
‘When a man leaves the service, he receives a bronze tablet stating that he has served with honour. We had one prepared for each of them when it became clear to the tribune that your husband wouldn’t be dissuaded from seeking this one last act of revenge, whatever the cost.’
She stared at him for a moment.
‘You knew he was going to do this? And you did nothing?’
The first spear met her gaze.
‘We did. And what should we have done? Locked him up?’
After a moment’s thought Felicia shook her head.
‘I suppose not. If I couldn’t forbid him to go into the ludus, then I can’t criticise you for doing much the same. The insult to his honour would have been too much for him to have borne. So now what?’
The first spear rubbed a hand through his hair.
‘Now? Now we’ll have to wait and see how he does in the arena. Apparently he’ll be fighting tomorrow. After all, it’s not as if he needs much training …’ He frowned across the room at Centurion, who was once more snuffling around beneath the table. ‘You’d better get that animal outside, before he sh— empties his bowels on your floor.’
One Eyed Maximus strolled into the barber’s shop just after lunch, taking a seat against the cool rear wall and leaning back.
‘That’s better. It’s too fucking hot out there, and that’s a fact.’
His two companions who, Morban had already noted, usually kept their opinions to themselves, stood on either side of him and glared balefully at the customers having their hair cut, one of whom promptly decided that he had better places to be and left with the job incomplete.
‘Think I’ll get a haircut, since I’m here.’
One of his minions raised a hand to forestall the next customer who, it had to be admitted, had already looked more than a little hesitant in his approach to the vacant chair. Maximus laughed, grinning at the man as he too decided to pursue interests other than getting his hair cut.
The Emperor's Knives: Empire VII (Empire 7) Page 24
