Festus shook his head. ‘Marcus, it’s not as simple as that. If you had failed then you would have been defeated long before now. You would never have survived the gladiator school and that Celt, Ferax. Nor any of the other perils that you have faced, and triumphed over. No, you have held true to your course and your mother would be proud of you. Your father too, if he were alive.’ Festus smiled fondly. ‘If I’d had a son like you I would have been just as proud.’
‘What good is that to me now? It’s over, Festus.’
‘Not until you draw your last breath. That’s how it is for gladiators, of all people. And you, Marcus, are a gladiator through and through. Perhaps the finest I have ever known. If – when – you grow into a man, then you will become a legend. I am certain of it.’
Marcus turned to look at him, a faint spark of hope and determination rekindling in his heart. He forced himself to smile at his companion, and friend. ‘Thank you.’
‘Be strong, Marcus. Not just for yourself, but for Lupus too, and me.’
Marcus drew a deep, calming breath and nodded. ‘I will.’
The jailer returned for the tray and water jug late at dusk. He was not alone. Two soldiers came with him and stood, hands resting on the handles of their swords, as the door opened and the jailer pointed to Marcus.
‘You, pick up the tray and bring it here.’
Marcus did as he was told then crossed the cell and held the tray out. The jailer took it then stepped back into the passage. ‘Outside.’
Marcus hesitated and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘Do as you’re told and don’t cheek me. Not unless you want a hiding.’
‘Wait!’ Festus called out, rising to his feet. ‘What do you want with him?’
‘None of your business!’ the jailer snapped as he reached for Marcus’s shoulder and grabbed him firmly before wrenching him through the door. At once he slammed the door shut and slid the bolt back just before Festus reached the grille and clasped his fingers round the iron bars.
‘What’s going on?’
The jailer snatched the small club from his belt and held it up. ‘Back off! Or I’ll break your fingers.’
Festus released his grip and retreated. The two soldiers took Marcus firmly by the arms and led him down the passage towards the steps.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he demanded.
‘You’ll see,’ one of the soldiers replied. ‘Someone wants a word with you.’
They climbed the steps into the yard behind the palace and steered Marcus towards a stable where a figure stood in the shadowed interior. In the light from a small torch burning in a bracket Marcus recognized the man waiting for them.
‘Decimus.’
It was months since he had last seen the man, in the secret valley of the Apennines where they’d been held by the slave rebels led by Brixus. Decimus had been dishevelled and afraid then. Now his features were comfortably filled out, and he wore a neatly styled wig with oiled ringlets. The very picture of a rich and powerful man, his tunic was cut from expensive cloth and his boots were fine, soft calf’s leather. He smiled with satisfaction as Marcus stood before him, grasped on each side by the two soldiers.
‘I wondered if we would meet again, son of Titus.’
Now it seemed there was nothing to lose, Marcus was tempted to tell Decimus the truth about his father. But he realized that could worsen the situation for his mother, if she still lived. And there would be wider repercussions if it became known that Spartacus had fathered a son. It would send a shiver through the hearts of Roman slave owners, who would treat their slaves even more harshly.
‘It was always my intention to find you,’ Marcus answered coolly. ‘And to kill you once I had freed my mother.’
‘Well now, that’s not going to happen,’ Decimus chuckled. ‘In two days you will be dead. You and your friends. Torn to pieces. I’ll be there to enjoy the moment when my revenge against your father is complete. It’s been a long road since that day when he gave me this.’ Decimus patted his leg, wounded by Titus, which had led to Decimus being discharged from the legion where they had both served. ‘In a way, I should be grateful to your father. If I had stayed in the army I might have been dead by now. As it was, it opened up a new life for me. I made my fortune and found a way into the ranks of the most powerful men in Rome. Be that as it may, I still wanted revenge. And now I have it. Titus is dead, you are about to join him, and your mother will be left to eke out what is left of her life.’
‘Then she’s alive,’ said Marcus, a flush of relief surging through his heart.
‘Of course. I wouldn’t put an end to her suffering too soon. Right now, she languishes in chains on my estate in Laconia. I saw her when I was there a month ago.’ He pretended to look concerned. ‘She’s not doing well, alas. Thin, dirty, a mere shadow of the person you once knew. You would be hard pressed to recognize her. A pity, she was a fine-looking woman once, and I dare say, a loving mother, eh?’
Marcus tried to take a step towards Decimus as a savage growl rumbled in his throat, but the soldiers tightened their grip. Decimus regarded him with an amused expression and then continued. ‘I have to say, I am impressed by your persistence, young man. You’ve been something of a thorn in my side for a while now. Interfering with my schemes in Rome then coming here to hunt me down. I had no idea you were so close. Luckily, more than a few men on the governor’s staff are in my pay. It was simple enough to arrange your arrest once I connected you to the murder in Stratos. That was your work, I assume?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘We did not kill Pindarus. We are not murderers, like you.’
‘Murderer?’ Decimus made a hurt expression. ‘I am a simple businessman, Marcus. I make money, lots of money. If that means removing someone who stands in my way, then that’s too bad. It’s not personal, you understand. Just sound business practice. But it’s different for you and your family. Revenge is a very personal thing indeed. And I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me to see you suffer.’
‘You won’t get away with this. Caesar knows we are here. If he finds out what you have done then you’re finished.’
‘But he won’t find out. As far as he will know you travelled to Greece and disappeared. And what the beasts leave will be thrown into a mass grave. Your belongings will be disposed of, starting with this.’
Decimus reached into his tunic and pulled out a scrolled document. He unrolled it so Marcus could see the signature and seal of Caesar. ‘My friend, Euraeus, took the precaution of removing this from your room after you were arrested. Now it’s time to destroy the evidence that gives your story any credibility.’
Decimus rolled the document up and moved towards the torch. As he held the scroll to the flames Marcus could not help gasping. ‘No …’
The end of the letter caught fire and Decimus held it in front of Marcus as the yellow tongues of flame lapped up the side of the letter, scorching it. The papyrus crackled briefly and turned black then started to crumble. Decimus released it just as the flames came near the tips of his fingers and it dropped to the floor where it burned out.
Marcus lifted his eyes from the small pile of blackened ashes and met Decimus’s mocking smile. Something snapped inside him and released a torrent of pure rage. He let out a savage snarl and at the same time lifted his right boot and slammed it down on the toes at the end of the sandal of the man next to him. The soldier let out a gasp of pain and momentarily slackened his grip. Marcus wrenched his arm free and swung his fist round and struck the other man in the groin as hard as he could. The soldier doubled over with a groan and Marcus leapt at Decimus, fingers curved like claws. The man had no time to react, except to open his mouth to let out a cry, but it never came as Marcus piled into him, clamping his hands round Decimus’s throat and squeezing with all his might. Decimus staggered back and caught his heel on the edge of a flagstone and fell on to his back. Marcus went with him, teeth bared, as he tried to throttle the life out of the man
who had tormented him the last two years of his life.
Decimus recovered quickly from his shock and grabbed the boy’s wrists, straining to pull them away from his throat as he gasped. ‘For the Gods’ sake, get this fiend off me!’
The first soldier limped over and bunched his hand into a fist. He raised it high, but Marcus was oblivious to the danger. His mad, glaring eyes were fixed rigidly on the face of the man beneath him. Then he felt a mighty blow to his temple and everything went white. But he still clung to his enemy. He never felt the second blow, only another blinding flash of light and then darkness and oblivion.
17
Marcus was still feeling groggy when the palace guards came to take the prisoners to the holding cage beneath the arena early the next morning. Festus and Lupus supported their friend between them and half carried, half dragged him out of the cell, up the stairs and out of the palace. The streets were packed with people making for the arena, eager to witness the first day of the spectacle. Families clutched little baskets of food and waterskins to see them through the day’s entertainment. Groups of loud young men compared the merits of the gladiators who would take part in the contests in the last stage of the event. The guards and their prisoners passed a handful of philosophers standing on steps along the route, imploring local people not to sully themselves by surrendering to the uncivilized barbarity of the Roman appetite for displays of violence. Few people paid any attention to them.
Outside the city gate a sea of people stretched down to the vast wooden structure constructed to stage the governor’s spectacle. Masts rose up around the oval with bright red banners that wafted out in the light breeze. The holding cages for the condemned prisoners were beneath the seating under the arena. There were more cages for the animals that had been bought to take part in the entertainment and as Marcus and the others were thrust into their new prison they could hear the roar of bears, with the barks and howls of dogs, above the din of the crowd. Festus and Lupus eased Marcus down against the iron bars of the cage and the bodyguard conducted a brief examination of its structure but there were no weak points and he slumped down beside the boys in frustration.
The cage was twice the size of the cell at the palace but just as uncomfortable in its own way. Above them the timber framework of the supports stretched up and then there were the raked rows of seating, and dust kept dropping down from above as the stands filled up. There was little air movement beneath the arena and the stench of the animals, mingled with the human waste of the prisoners made the air foetid and unpleasant to breathe. There was one slight advantage, though. A gap beneath the lowest tier of seating provided a limited view of the arena and by standing up in the cage the prisoners could follow proceedings.
Around the cages, crammed beneath the seating, were many of the props and piles of equipment to be used in the spectacle. Aside from the gladiator fights scheduled for the last three days as the high point of the show, there were acrobats, comedy mime shows, animal hunts, beast fights, boxing and wrestling, as well as the public execution of criminals. As Marcus recalled from his days in Rome, the latter usually took place at noon when the audience settled down for their midday snack.
His head cleared as the morning wore on and he touched the side of his skull where the soldier had hit him, wincing at the tenderness of the bruised area.
‘You’re a real sight,’ Festus mused. ‘Looks like your face was hit with a hammer.’
‘That’s what it feels like,’ Marcus replied. ‘But other than that I’m all right.’
‘So what happened? They brought you back unconscious. You stirred a bit during the night and yelled that you would choke the life out of Decimus, then went out again. Can you remember what happened?’
Marcus concentrated and it all flooded back in a rush of images and emotions. He forced himself to organize his thoughts and explained to the others what had happened.
‘I thought it might be Euraeus,’ said Festus. ‘I didn’t trust him from the outset.’
Lupus shot him a withering look. ‘Bit late to say that now.’
Festus shrugged. ‘It was very neatly worked. You have to hand it to Decimus, he runs a competent organization. It’s a damned shame that he was working against Caesar. We could have made good use of him back in Rome.’
Marcus was surprised. ‘You seem to admire him.’
‘Why not? Just because he is my enemy does not mean I can’t appreciate his abilities. Politics, business, the arena – it all boils down to the same thing in the end. Either you become good at your trade, or you get crushed by someone else. All the same,’ he reflected, ‘it’s a damned shame that you didn’t kill him last night when you had the chance, Marcus.’
‘I tried, believe me. Maybe next time …’
Festus let out a deep laugh as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit! Never say die.’
‘Except that we are going to die,’ Lupus interrupted bitterly as he thrust his hand out and pointed through the gap. ‘Right there in the arena. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. They’re going to drag me across the sand and tie me to a post and then wild animals are going to maul me. They’re going to rip me to shreds … shreds …’ His face screwed up and he clenched his lips together tightly as he tried not to cry. Marcus could only watch, not knowing how to comfort his friend. What comfort was there? Everything that Lupus said was true. It was Festus who broke the awkward tension in the end. He cleared his throat.
‘Lupus. I won’t lie to you. That is almost certainly going to happen. I’m not saying that there is absolutely no chance of us being saved …’
Lupus shook his head. ‘Don’t! Don’t say it. I don’t want any false hopes.’
‘Very well.’ Festus chewed his lip as he made an awkward decision. ‘If you can’t face what’s coming, then there is another way.’
Marcus frowned. ‘Another way?’
Festus nodded. ‘We don’t have to die out there in the arena. We still have the choice in how we die. We have that at least.’
Marcus understood at once. But he shook his head. ‘That’s not for me.’
‘It doesn’t have to be you. I can do it for you, and Lupus. I can make it quick and relatively painless. Then I can see to myself.’
‘What?’ Lupus stared at the bodyguard as if he were mad. ‘You’re offering to kill Marcus and me?’
‘Kill? Yes. But at least you would be spared what the governor has in mind for you.’
Lupus shook his head and backed away, holding his hands out. ‘No. No. Stay away from me.’
Festus could not hide his anguish any longer. ‘Listen, boy! Have you ever seen how a man dies when he’s been condemned to the beasts?’
Lupus shook his head.
‘It’s a bad death, Lupus. One of the worst. You need to know that. Do you think I make this offer easily?’ His voice caught as he tried to contain his emotion. ‘You two boys are the closest thing I have to family. It would break my heart to see you suffer a cruel death in the arena. A humiliating death. I can give you a different ending. But it’s your choice. It has to be. Think it over. If that’s what you want then I can help you. If not, then say nothing and I won’t mention it again. We’ll face what comes together.’
Before Lupus could respond there was a shrill blare of trumpets and the crowd let out a great roar as they drummed their feet. To the ears of those held in the cages, the sound was deafening.
‘It’s beginning!’ Festus cupped a hand and shouted to be heard above the din. They lined the side of the cage nearest the sand of the arena and stared out through the gap. Gradually the crowd quietened down and there was near silence before a voice rang out. Marcus recognized it at once: Euraeus.
‘Citizens of Athens! Romans! Honoured travellers from further afield, you are welcome to this great event in the name of Governor Caius Servillus and the people of Rome. For the next five days you will witness one of the greatest spectacles ever to be provided in these lands. You will bear
witness to the best entertainment in the known world! For years to come, when people hear you talk of the spectacle provided by his excellency, Caius Servillus, they will curse themselves that they were not here to share the experience, to share the privilege of seeing the finest gladiators compete for the title of champion of the games. You will count yourselves blessed that you were here. That you saw it with your own eyes. Heard it with your own ears. Felt it with your own heart! Without more ado … Let the games begin!’
The crowd let out another roar and pounded their feet on the boards beneath their seating, and Marcus wondered if the arena might collapse under the barrage of boots. But it held up and the trumpets sounded again as the priests emerged from an entrance on the far side of the arena, three austere figures in hooded white gowns. Behind them came several junior priests carrying a small brazier, which was already alight, while others led the sacrificial goat, its white hide gleaming brightly as it bleated anxiously.
The priests raised their arms in a quick supplication to the gods before their leader drew a knife and cut the throat of the goat. It kicked with all its strength as it bled out on the sand and then lay still. The priest cut open its chest and removed its heart, then examined it closely. An expectant hush fell over the crowd until the priest raised his head and announced that the omens were favourable. The Gods had blessed the games and the event could continue. There was more cheering as the priest tossed the heart into the flames of the brazier so that they could consume the heart and let the smoke carry the offering up to the Gods.
‘Well, there’s a surprise,’ Festus commented wryly. ‘Good omens. Fancy that.’
Marcus looked at him. ‘Have you ever known the omens to be unfavourable?’
Gladiator: Vengeance Page 13
