The captain lifted him up in both hands and held Marcus over the water. The boy glanced down and saw the milky blue sea churning along the side of the hull with a soft hiss. There was no sign of land anywhere and the prospect of being abandoned in the sea to die terrified Marcus. He clamped his spare hand into the folds of the captain’s tunic and clung on for his life.
‘Wait!’ a deep voice called out. ‘Captain, listen to me!’
Marcus looked over the captain’s shoulder and saw the man in the red tunic. The captain turned his head towards his passenger. ‘What? What is it?’
‘Spare the boy,’ the man said calmly. ‘You cannot leave him to drown.’
‘No?’ The captain smiled cruelly. ‘Why not? He’s a stowaway. A thief, and violent with it. I should have seen that when I first clapped eyes on him back in Dyrrhacium. Typical wharf rat. Those scum don’t deserve to live.’ He turned back towards Marcus and braced his muscles to hurl the boy out into the waves.
‘Let him live and I’ll buy him,’ the man added.
The captain paused, torn between the desire to avenge himself for the blow Marcus had inflicted on his pride and the chance to make some money. He cleared his throat. ‘How much?’
‘What’s your price?’
‘Huh?’ The captain frowned, not quite sure what to ask for. After a brief pause he edged back and dumped Marcus on the deck between himself and the man in the red tunic.
Marcus gasped with relief to feel the solid deck beneath his back. For the moment he had been spared and he felt a surge of hope as he stared up at the passenger who had offered to buy him. The man was powerfully built with neatly cut dark hair. He wore leather bracers around each of his hairy wrists. He stood with his hands on his hips and waited for the captain’s response.
‘Why do you want to buy the boy, Lucius Porcino? He’s just a little runt.’ The captain gestured towards the men in chains, sitting silently on the deck. ‘You trade in gladiators.’
The man looked down at Marcus and shrugged. ‘He shows spirit. Looks fit enough to last a few years. But I doubt he’ll ever amount to much more than a common kitchen slave. So, name your price. I’ll pay a fair sum.’
The captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Three hundred denarii.’
‘Three hundred?’ Porcino’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I could buy a full-grown man for that. It’ll be years before this one can earn his keep. Three hundred indeed!’ He shook his head and jerked his thumb over the side. ‘You’d better throw him in, then. I’m certainly not paying three hundred.’
He turned away and began to make his way back towards the hatch at the stern leading down to the cabins. Marcus stared after him in despair, his heart heavy in his breast, like a rock. The captain bit his lip and called after the man.
‘Two hundred!’
Porcino paused, mid-stride, and turned round slowly. He looked at Marcus again and rubbed his bristly chin thoughtfully. ‘I’ll give you one hundred. And I’m robbing myself at that price.’
The captain decided on one last try. ‘A hundred and fifty, then.’
‘Done.’ Porcino strode back to the captain, spat in his hand and held it out.
The captain took his hand and they shook to seal the deal. Marcus felt a surge of relief – he was almost grateful towards the man who had saved his life. He smiled faintly as Porcino looked down at him, but there was no friendship in his expression. No sense that he had saved Marcus out of some impulse to help another human being. Just the hard stare of a professional businessman.
‘Piso!’ He clicked his fingers.
A wiry man in a brown tunic pushed through the loose ring of sailors who had gathered to watch.
Porcino turned towards him. ‘Take the boy. Chain him up with the rest of them.’
‘Yes, master.’ Piso bowed his head.
The captain, meanwhile, turned to bellow at his men, ordering them to break up the crowd, and for those on watch to get back to their duties. As the men dispersed, he turned to Porcino. ‘I’ll have that money before we reach port, eh?’
Porcino nodded, and with a last cold look at Marcus the captain turned away and made his way aft, limping. Porcino could not help grinning briefly at the man’s discomfort. But his face hardened as he turned back towards Piso. ‘Make sure you chain the boy well. Don’t want him trying to give us the slip once we reach Brundisium.’
‘No, master.’
Porcino glanced at Marcus. ‘And find him something to eat and drink.’
‘Yes, master.’
Porcino puffed out his cheeks. ‘I hope you’re worth the money, boy.’
Marcus swallowed and responded quietly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you?’ Porcino laughed. ‘I’ve made you into a slave, boy, not a friend. Never forget it.’
Piso leaned down and plucked Marcus off the deck. As he was led towards the silent figures of the chained slaves, Marcus realized he had cheated death only to end up a slave yet again.
12
The Fair Wind reached Brundisium at first light two days later. As the sun slanted across the deck, the captain gave the order to reduce sail and the ship ghosted between the vessels lying at anchor. The steersman carefully set a course towards an empty berth alongside the quay as several sailors stood by with mooring ropes, ready to sling the tarred loops to men waiting on the quay.
Marcus struggled to his feet and leaned on the side-rail as he looked around. Brundisium was much bigger than the port they had left back in Graecia. A huge citadel, built on a rock that jutted into the harbour, was linked to the mainland by a narrow causeway. Shipping crowded the water on either side of the citadel and a squadron of sleek warships rode at anchor near the harbour entrance. Ashore, the warehouses, temples, civic buildings and crowded tenement blocks sprawled inland, oppressed by a haze of sooty smoke that hung over the port.
The urban stench of sewage, sweat and decaying food that had assaulted Marcus’s nose at Dyrrhacium was even more potent here. Looking down into the calm water of the harbour, Marcus saw that it was covered with rubbish and dead fish, and the bloated corpse of a dog bobbed near the surface close to the ship. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he wondered how anyone could bear living in the towns and ports that he had seen since leaving the farm. He felt a pang as he recalled the clean, pine-scented air of the mountains of home.
Marcus turned his mind away from such memories and instead he considered his new companions. As well as Marcus, there were six men chained together. They were young and fit and all of them bought by Porcino in slave markets across Graecia. Three of the men were from Thrace and they kept to themselves, adopting a haughty attitude towards the other slaves. Two of the others were from Athens and the last man was from Sparta.
At first they had ignored him when Piso had fastened the shackles round his ankles and then run the end of the chain through the ring bolt on Marcus’s right ankle. But once Piso had finished his work and sauntered off to have his morning meal of bread dipped in fish sauce, the nearest man, an Athenian with a flattened nose, nudged Marcus.
‘You showed that sailor up nicely. The captain too.’ He smiled at Marcus. ‘I’m Pelleneus, from Athens.’ He nodded towards the man next to him, a heavily bearded giant. ‘This is Phyrus. He’s from Athens as well.’
‘Rhodes,’ the giant mumbled. ‘Told you, I was from Rhodes. Until I was sold to that damned Athenian woman.’ He cast his eyes down and continued mumbling, but Marcus could not catch any of the words.
Pelleneus winked. ‘Don’t mind him. He has his happy moments. Which is more than I can say for some.’ He leaned closer to Marcus and continued quietly, ‘The Spartan doesn’t speak a word, though Piso reckons his name is Patroclus. As for the Thracians …’ He shrugged. ‘They keep to themselves. Won’t even talk to me or Phyrus. What about you, boy? What’s your name?’
‘Marcus Cornelius Primus.’
‘A Roman name?’
Marcus nodded. ‘My father was a centurion.’
‘I s
ee.’ Pelleneus nodded archly. ‘So what is the son of a Roman centurion doing skulking in the bottom of a cargo ship?’
Marcus wondered how much he should say. He was not sure what would happen if it was discovered that Decimus had claimed him as his property. Until he knew better it would be best to be tight-lipped about some details of his past, he decided. ‘My father was killed – murdered – by a moneylender. My mother was kidnapped. I escaped. Now I’m looking for my father’s old commander to see if he can help my mother and me get justice.’
Pelleneus nodded sympathetically. ‘And who might this commander be?’
‘General Pompeius.’
‘Pompeius?’ Pelleneus raised his eyebrows. ‘As in Pompeius the Great?’
‘Yes, that’s what father called him. You know of him, then?’
‘How can you not know of him?’ The Athenian smiled and then shook his head. ‘Well, young Marcus, if you really think someone like Pompeius the Great would stir himself to come to the rescue of the family of one of his former junior officers … then you have a lot more faith in Roman justice than I have.’
‘Father was one of his bravest men.’ Marcus frowned, his pride hurt. ‘One of his most trusted soldiers. Pompeius even gave him a special sword as a gift when he retired from the legion. Of course Pompeius will help us.’ Marcus looked down at his feet. ‘All I have to do is find him.’
‘Huh,’ Phyrus interrupted without looking round. ‘And how are you going to do that, young ’un?’ He shuffled his foot so that the chain clattered on the deck. ‘You’re a slave now.’
‘No,’ Marcus said fiercely. ‘Your master, Porcino, had no right to buy me. I’ll wait until we’re off this ship, then explain everything to him. Maybe there could be a reward in it for him if he helps me find Pompeius,’ Marcus added hopefully.
Pelleneus laughed. ‘You’d better come to know Porcino, before you get your hopes up. Somehow, I’m not sure he will be very interested in your story.’
‘I’m a Roman citizen,’ Marcus replied. ‘This can’t happen to me.’
The Athenian looked at him with pity in his eyes. ‘It already has. You’d better get used to it, lad.’
Marcus fell into a sullen silence for a while before he spoke again. ‘This man, Porcino. Is he a slave dealer?’
Pelleneus shook his head. ‘No, he’s not a dealer. Porcino is a lanista.’
‘Lanista?’ Marcus wondered.
‘A gladiator trainer,’ Pelleneus explained. ‘He runs a school for gladiators near Capua. According to Piso, he is one of the best trainers in the business. For that, I suppose, you should be grateful at least.’
‘Grateful?’ Marcus could hardly believe his ears. He had heard of gladiators from his father and knew of the terrible danger they faced every time they stepped in front of a crowd to entertain them with a bloody fight to the death. ‘Why should I be grateful? I’ve been saved from drowning only to be enslaved in a gladiator school. I don’t want to die on the sand of some arena.’ He shuddered at the thought.
‘Look at it this way: if you have to be trained as a gladiator, then you might as well be trained by the best. It might give a man the advantage when the time comes for him to fight.’
The Athenian might have a point, but Marcus had no intention of being owned by the lanista long enough to find out. He would have to speak to Porcino as soon as he could and explain the injustices that had been heaped on him and his family. But before he spoke with the lanista, it would be wise to see what kind of a man Porcino was.
‘What’s he like?’ Marcus asked.
‘Porcino?’ Pelleneus pursed his lips. ‘He’s a hard man. Bound to be after having survived in the arena long enough to win his freedom. But he’s a fair sort. If you do as you are told and do it quickly, he’ll treat you well.’
A shadow fell over them and Marcus looked up to see Piso. The man dropped a stale loaf and a hunk of dried meat on to Marcus’s lap.
‘Eat,’ he said simply, then turned to walk away.
Marcus hurriedly tore into the bread, desperate to feed his hunger. As he chewed, he glanced sidelong at his companions and prayed that Pelleneus was wrong. He had to convince Porcino to set him free. His mother’s life depended on it. Only he could save her from a lingering death on Decimus’s slave estate.
Once the ship had been securely moored alongside the quay, the captain gave the order for the gangway to be lowered and for the cargo hold to be opened up. While the captain made a deal with one of the port’s gang masters to unload the cargo, Piso came and changed their shackles, swapping their ankle rings for large iron hoops that fastened round the neck. The collar felt heavy and uncomfortable on Marcus’s shoulders but he knew better than to complain while Piso stood over them with a heavy wooden club. Porcino had already gone ashore to make arrangements for the provisions needed for the journey to Capua. When he returned, Piso gestured to the chained prisoners. ‘On your feet! Move yourselves!’
Marcus responded quickly and obediently, and the others shuffled on to their feet behind him. Once they were all up, Piso shoved Marcus towards the gangway, causing him to stumble as the chain became taut between him and the others. Pelleneus stepped forward just in time to save Marcus from falling headlong. With a steady chink, chinkle, chink from the chains, the seven prisoners shuffled across the gangway and on to the quay. Porcino was waiting for them. He sat in the saddle of a small horse and was leading a string of three mules loaded down with nets of bread and crudely cut chunks of salted meat. He had a sword-belt fastened round his middle and a club hung from his saddle horn.
With Porcino at the front and Piso bringing up the rear, the small column of prisoners wound its way along the quay to the main street leading through the port. No one spared Marcus a second look as he passed by and he felt his heart sink as he realized that these people were going to see that he had been wronged. To their eyes he was just another slave, one of the vast number who landed in Brundisium over the course of a year. He wondered if he should call out for help – if he should shout about all the wrongs that had been done to him. The moment he slowed down, however, steeling himself to cry out that he had been kidnapped, Piso strode along the line and prodded him with the end of his club.
‘Keep the pace up, boy! No slacking.’
Marcus stumbled on a short distance and then settled into the rhythm that the other prisoners also fell into as they passed through the city gates. After leaving Brundisium, Porcino followed the coast road, heading north. To their right, the sea sparkled invitingly now that they were safely ashore. To the left the landscape rolled gently towards a distant line of hills. Farms and some large agricultural estates lined the road. Close to the port there was a constant stream of traffic: carts large and small carrying goods to be exported, or piled high with imports from across the empire.
By the time evening came, they had passed fifteen of the milestones and Marcus was exhausted. His feet burned from the steady pace he had been forced to endure along the hard surface of the road. Porcino led them a short distance off the road to the edge of a small pine forest.
‘We’ll stay here for the night. Piso, settle them down and feed ’em.’
‘Yes, master.’
Marcus and the others slumped to the ground. Unlacing his boots, Marcus examined his feet and winced as his fingers found a burst blister. If they marched the same distance tomorrow and the day after, he knew he was going to be in agony.
Pelleneus and the other slaves stretched out on the ground and rested briefly, until Piso approached them with a basket he had taken off the back of one of the mules. He moved down the line, giving each of them some bread, a lump of cheese and some dried meat. Marcus was the last to be fed and he nodded a brief thanks before he spoke to Piso in a low voice.
‘I want to speak to Porcino.’
Piso glanced at him in surprise. ‘You what?’
‘I said I want to talk to Porcino.’
‘Slaves don’t give orders. So you keep quiet an
d eat up, eh?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m not a slave. I shouldn’t be here. I have to speak to Porcino and explain the situation.’
Piso looked round at his master. The lanista was building a fire a short distance away, his powerful frame hunched over the kindling he was breaking up and arranging into a compact bundle. Piso smiled to himself and turned back to Marcus.
‘Well, if you insist, I’ll fetch him.’
‘Thank you.’ Marcus smiled.
He sat and watched as Piso approached his master, bowed his head and mumbled a few words that Marcus did not catch. Porcino looked past Piso towards Marcus and nodded. Then he stood up, stretched his back and strolled over to the chained prisoners.
‘You, boy. On your feet,’ Porcino said evenly. ‘Piso tells me you want a word.’
‘That’s right.’ Marcus nodded, his hopes rising at the chance to explain his predicament finally. ‘You see, I was kidnapped and –’
Porcino’s hand whipped out and slapped Marcus hard on the side of the head. His vision exploded into a brilliant white cloud of sparks. He staggered back, reeling from the blow. Porcino hit him again and Marcus collapsed on to his backside with a grunt. A fist clenched in his hair and shook him painfully.
‘When you speak to me,’ Porcino growled in his ear, ‘you call me “master”. If you fail to do that next time, then I’ll knock your teeth out. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ Marcus replied, still dazed by the blows.
The hand twisted his hair violently. ‘Say that again!’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Louder, boy!’
‘YES, MASTER!’
At once he was released and Marcus fell on to his back, gasping at the pain in his head. Porcino loomed over him, hands bunched into fists as he glared at Marcus.
‘That’ll be the last time I show you any mercy. Whatever you were before, now you are my slave. My property, to do with as I want. You will call me master and you will do whatever I say at once, without question. Is that clear?’
Gladiator Page 9
