‘Do you recognise these? You should.’
Mortiferum shook his head.
‘Why should I recognise some pair of swords I’ve never seen before?’
‘Because they used to be the property of one of the first families you and your fellow murderers destroyed in the name of imperial justice. And now here they are, hungry for your blood.’
Sannitus stalked up to the two men with a look of anger clouding his face.
‘Get on with the fight, or I’ll—’
Marcus’s voice was suddenly as cold as stone, as he overrode the lanista’s warning without turning his gaze from his opponent.
‘Get off the sand, Sannitus, or I’ll cut you down alongside this piece of shit.’
Julianus took one look at the Roman’s face and took a pace backwards with an eye on the door. He stopped abruptly as it opened in his face and a massive figure squeezed through the gap with a sword held in each hand.
‘Nobody leaves. Not until this fight is done.’
Cleander looked over at him with a beatific smile that made Julianus’s blood run cold.
‘Ah, there you are! There’s a sight to make a man proud to be a citizen of this great city. Greetings, champion, and welcome to the emperor’s blood match! You’re just in time, it seems …’
The big man nodded to him and then turned his attention to the sand.
‘Sannitus.’
The lanista was still staring at him, as if unable to believe the evidence of his eyes as his erstwhile nemesis walked forward, brushing past the gathered procurators as if they weren’t there.
‘Flamma … Of all the men I never expected to see in this ludus again.’
The big man shrugged.
‘Sometimes a man can’t ignore the things that need to be done. Even if I’ve managed to turn a blind eye for the last few years.’
He turned his attention to the two men crouched in their fighting stances.
‘Well then young Marcus, how much longer are you going to play with this fool? Didn’t I always tell you to get the job done as soon as you found your opening?’
Mortiferum shook his head, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.
‘Fuck you old man, whoever it is you think you are! This blood match is over! I’m going to carve this upstart into—’
He staggered backwards as Marcus launched himself bodily into a ferocious attack, frantically defending himself as the Roman remorselessly drove him back with a strength born of the fury that was pulsing through him. The rage that had festered inside him during the years of his exile was abruptly, terrifyingly free, unthinking, unquestioning, raving for the blood of the man who had slaughtered his family.
‘My sisters were raped and murdered, and left for the crows on a rubbish dump!’
He smashed through Mortiferum’s reeling defence, but rather than use his blades on the man he pivoted with the speed of a striking snake, hammering the point of his elbow into the gladiator’s face and punching him backwards.
‘My mother bled to death at the hands of men who called my father their friend until you did their dirty work for them!’
Mortiferum rallied, but his wits had been shaken by the blow, and Marcus’s swords were momentarily too fast for him to counter. He chopped at the gladiator’s sword hand, and Julianus shrieked in horror as three of his champion gladiator’s fingers dropped to the sand. Velox started forward, only to find himself looking down the blade of one of Flamma’s swords, the big man’s attention fixed on the fight but the sword’s point unwaveringly aimed at his throat.
‘One more step …’ He raked his gaze across the men lining the back wall, his face twisted in contempt. ‘Any of you who want to die here, try me!’
Frozen in place by the threat, the champion gladiator watched in horror as his brother, unable to hold the sword in his ruined hand, attempted to hurl it at his tormentor. The blade merely tumbled uselessly to the ground, and Marcus pushed it aside with his foot as he advanced upon his stricken enemy.
‘My brother was sold into slavery!’
He battered aside the remaining blade with one sword, then stabbed the other down into his opponent’s thigh, his long blade skewering through the muscles as it pierced the limb to protrude from between his hamstrings, a thin trickle of blood running from the point onto the sand. Mortiferum stared into Marcus’s face in hollow-eyed disbelief, and the Roman leaned in close, whispering in his ear as he twisted the blade, dragging a groan of agony from the gladiator.
‘My father was tortured until he confessed to a treason he had never committed. But he never gave up the secret of where he’d sent me, to escape you and your fellow scum.’
Pulling the sword from Mortiferum’s leg, he kicked the staggering gladiator’s feet from under him, whipping down the other blade to pin him to the ground and dimpling his bare chest with the weapon’s point.
‘And my name is not Corvus! My name is Marcus!’
He leaned on the blade, sinking the first inch of metal into his helpless opponent’s chest. Mortiferum stiffened, fighting the iron’s cold intrusion.
‘Valerius!’
Slowly, surely, Marcus pushed the sword’s blade deeper until it pierced his opponent’s heart, shouting the last word the doomed gladiator would ever hear.
‘AQUILA!’
The gladiator stiffened, his eyes rolling back as he lost consciousness, his back arching as Marcus thrust the sword through his body. He stared down at the dead man’s corpse for a moment before turning back to face the men staring at him, dropping the other sword.
‘My vengeance is complete.’
‘No. It isn’t …’
Velox stepped forward, glaring at Flamma as if daring him to use the swords that were still pointing at him. His voice was thick with hatred, his stare loaded with menace as Marcus turned to face him.
‘You’ve killed the wrong man, Marcus Valerius Aquila.’
Marcus shook his head.
‘Mortiferum was the last of the Emperor’s Knives, the men who destroyed my family. I have taken vengeance …’
Velox shook his head, his face contorted by a savage, distraught rictus of a grin.
‘Yes. You have your revenge. On the brother of the man who carried out the deeds you just described.’
Cleander stood, his voice matter of fact as he looked across the sand at Mortiferum’s blood-spattered corpse.
‘It’s true. I had the records of the whole matter of your family’s liquidation retrieved from Perennis’s private files, after your revelation with that stolen gold led the emperor to put the butt spike of a spear through the praetorian prefect’s guts, and ordered his sons to be murdered before they could mobilise their legions. It seems that on the night in question, Mortiferum was somewhat preoccupied with a more than usually shapely boy. He persuaded his brother here to take his place, and, it has to be said, the stand-in seems to have performed his duties with commendable vigour.’
He waved a finger, and the praetorians waiting behind him stepped forward, levelling their spears at Marcus and Flamma.
‘And now, I suppose you might be tempted to do something heroic, given that your revenge has been a little flawed in its execution, but I’d advise against it. I’m happy enough to pay Julianus here the blood price for Mortiferum, but his brother was never part of my plans …’ He smiled at the expression on Marcus’s face, as the realisation of exactly what it was that he was saying sank in. ‘When the Knives started dying, apparently for no reason other than either their own stupidity or weariness with the life that they had chosen, I thought it sensible to undertake a little recruitment of my own. These men may wear the praetorian uniform, but they’re mine, bought and paid for. And who knows, with the demise of the last of the originals, I may find it necessary to make use of them to fill the gap that’s been left by their loss. The only question now is what to do with you, now that your usefulness to me seems to have run to a natural conclusion?’
Velox stepped forward, growling ou
t a response to the question.
‘I treated this man as an arena brother, and he has repaid me with the death of all that was left of my family! Give him to me. I’ll rip out his spine and hang it from the ludus gates!’ He looked at Flamma with disdain. ‘Think you can get in my way, old man? One word from me and you’ll be arse-deep in gladiators, all of whom will be vying to be the man who kills you.’
Cleander pulled a thoughtful face.
‘It would make for a nice tidy end to this whole thing …’
Flamma shook his head and leaned closer to the chamberlain.
‘I’ll tell you what would be even neater. Imagine a fight between this boy and myself, eh? The reigning champion against a man who retired unbeaten as the darling of the crowd? Imagine being able to tell your gladiator-obsessed emperor that you’ve procured Flamma the Great for one last fight.’ He winked conspiratorially at Julianus. ‘And to sweeten the cake, what if I guarantee to take the fall? There’ll be a lot of money washing around for a fight like that, and there’ll be a lot of it on me, retired or not. I’ll even stay here in the ludus until the fight if you like, so that you’ll have no fear of me backing out. What do you say?’
‘No!’
He turned and looked at Marcus, who was staring at him with a look of desolation, then back at Cleander.
‘Do we have a deal?’
The chamberlain nodded, his eyes alive with the profit to be had from the veteran gladiator’s offer of self-sacrifice. Flamma bowed.
‘Very well. And now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, Chamberlain, I think I can make the lad see sense. It would be better if he were to leave here quietly, I presume?’
He walked slowly across the sand to where the younger man stood shaking his head.
‘There’s no other way, you can see that?’ Marcus opened his mouth to retort, but Flamma shook his head with a sad smile. ‘There’s that look I never thought I’d see again. Every time I used to put you on your arse as a twelve-year-old you’d give me that same stare, as if you were working out how to fuck me up, given half a chance. And look at you now …’ He smiled apologetically at Marcus. ‘I owe you this, Marcus, you, and your family. I should have done something when they were taken, but to my shame I kept my head down. This way I can get you out of here and find some peace for my conscience. And trust me, that little shit Velox won’t be walking out of the arena unscarred.’
Marcus shook his head in bafflement.
‘But if you think you can beat him, why offer to let him kill you?’
The big man smiled, putting a hand on his former pupil’s shoulder and leaning in close. He spoke into his dejected friend’s ear for a moment or so, until Marcus nodded slowly with a look of resignation on his face. Flamma turned back to Cleander with his hands spread wide.
‘See, I told you I could persuade him. He leaves, with his brothers in arms, and I stay, to fight just as soon as you like. Tomorrow might be best, to give the gamblers the least amount of time to brood on this unexpected match.’
‘Eager to die, are you old man?’
Flamma smiled into the face of Velox’s obduracy.
‘Eager to put your skills to the test, more like. You’re a dancer, boy, I’ve seen you fight, and all you do is jump around and wave your swords about like the womanising lightweight you so clearly are. I come from a different school. And I will educate you, before I die, I promise you that.’
Marcus stalked up to Velox, his body stiff with unresolved rage.
‘You crave revenge for your brother. I will have revenge for my family. We will meet again …’
The gladiator nodded tersely.
‘And when you least expect it.’ He tossed a trinket onto the floor between them, a panther’s tooth on a fine gold chain, pointing to an identical pendant around his own neck. ‘I had that made to offer as some form of consolation for your defeat this evening. Take it, and wear it for the rest of your life, Aquila, to match the one round my neck. Every time you touch it remember that I’ll be hunting you down. You’re marked for death at my hands.’
Marcus knelt, picking up the pendant.
‘I’ll wear it. Feel free to come and test your desire for revenge against mine, if you can get past Flamma.’
Cleander spoke before the gladiator could make any further retort.
‘And if we’re done with these slightly tiresome demonstrations of undying enmity, I think it’s time for the emperor to have an opinion on the matter of this proposed death match. I would ask Procurator Julianus what he thinks, but he is after all an employee of the state, and I can assure you that the state very much likes the sound of what’s on offer. Your proposal is accepted Flamma, and you’ll be accommodated in the imperial palace until the time comes for the fight. I’d imagine that Commodus will be keen to meet you in the morning, given his penchant for your trade. Which means it’s time for us all to be on our way.’
Dubnus and Horatius stepped out of the shadows, and Marcus realised that his fellow Tungrian was wearing a look verging on distress. He turned to the procurator, putting a hint of iron into his voice.
‘Julianus!’
The procurator turned to him, clearly affronted at being addressed in so pre-emptory a manner by a man he had considered to be his property until a moment before.
‘Corv—.’ He corrected himself. ‘Aquila. What more do you want from me, having murdered my champion?’
‘There is a woman, a slave girl, called Calistra, who has formed an association with my brother here. He will not leave her behind to face a life of abuse at the hands of your men.’
Flamma nodded.
‘Call her a down payment on my cooperation if you like.’
Julianus looked at Sannitus, who shrugged, his bafflement with the turn of events evident from his nonplussed expression.
‘She’s no loss.’
The procurator shook his head, then closed his eyes and waved a hand in apparent surrender.
‘Fetch the woman.’
An awkward silence fell on the group, and Horatius walked across the sand to where Marcus had dropped one of his swords. Stooping, he picked the weapon up and stood for a moment looking down at the dead gladiator before turning away with an unreadable expression. As he walked back across the arena Dubnus caught his eye momentarily, frowning at the unexpected look of hatred his comrade shot at him. Opening his mouth to say something, he realised that his friend’s stare was focused on the back of Marcus’s neck as the sword’s blade slowly rose from its place at his side. Before he could react Horatius was upon his erstwhile brother in arms, wrapping his arm around Marcus’s face as he put the sword’s point under his chin, the weapon’s shining iron length laid against the Roman’s chest, ready to thrust up into his jaw.
‘What …?’ Flamma reacted first, raising his own sword to strike at the former centurion, but Horatius swivelled, pulling his helpless victim with him. ‘I’ll have your liver out for this!’
Marcus’s captor sneered over his victim’s shoulder, pushing the sword’s point up into the Roman’s throat until the skin around it was white.
‘All in good time. First I have a score to settle with this bastard!’
A tiny movement to Dubnus’s left caught his eye, an almost imperceptible movement by the guardsman closest to him. He caught the man’s eye, frowning as he realised that the soldier was smiling faintly as he edged away from his fellows. Flamma raised his sword, clearly calculating whether he could kill Marcus’s captor without condemning his friend to death as well.
‘What score would that be, Horatius?’
Horatius snarled at Cleander’s question.
‘I think you know, Chamberlain! It was you who ordered the murder of Legatus Perennis!’
The older man nodded.
‘In point of fact, it was the emperor who ordered your commanding officer’s execution, but yes, I gave the detailed orders. It comes as something of a disappointment to discover that you managed to make it all the way to Rome, de
spite my having ordered that you were to be hunted down and killed.’
Horatius laughed tersely.
‘Your men were looking for a military officer, not a shit-encrusted farm worker. I stole a horse and took my chances, riding by night for the most part, and then when I was close enough to Rome I swapped it for a ride into the city with a farmer delivering his crop. Just another thick bastard brought along for his muscle, or at least that’s what the men on duty at the gate saw.’
The praetorian to Dubnus’s left took another slow, sliding step, his movement barely discernible, reversing his hold on the spear at his side from the underhanded carry to an awkward overhanded grip. Cleander shook his head, waving a hand at Marcus.
‘And now you intend to murder this man, for no apparent reason?’
‘I heard what you said! It was this man that condemned my legatus to death!’
Horatius bristled, scowling at the chamberlain and, with another slow, stealthy movement, the praetorian next to Dubnus slid his booted foot forward, easing his body back and tensing the muscles of his shoulder in readiness to throw the spear. The soldier tightened his grip on the helpless Marcus’s throat, his scowl daring any of the men around him to make a move. Dubnus stepped forward, crossing his meaty arms.
‘Before you kill my friend, know two things. Your legatus wasn’t the first of Perennis’s sons to die at our hands. His older brother was a fucking traitor too, he betrayed an entire legion in Britannia and we made him pay the price. I put an axe through his spine, and stamped on his head while I tore it free. I left him twitching and drooling blood, so I doubt his death was a quick one. And when you’ve killed my brother, I’m going to do the same to you, only this time I’ll do the job with my bare fucking hands!’
In the instant that Horatius turned to snarl defiance at the big Briton, Cleander nodded smartly at the praetorian, and the soldier took one quick pace forward to hurl his spear at Horatius with nerveless accuracy. The weapon’s long iron shaft penetrated the soldier’s neck right up to the point where it flared to join with the thick wooden shaft, its impact snapping him away from Marcus with the abrupt force of a brutally delivered punch. Choking and spitting blood he sank to the floor, dragged down by the spear’s weight and his grievous wound.
The Emperor's Knives: Empire VII (Empire 7) Page 33
