Brutus shoved him towards the doorway. ‘Get in there.’
The two gladiators caught him. One flung a dirty look at Brutus, then called inside, ‘We have the prisoner you wanted to speak to.’
A voice trickled out. ‘Send him in.’
‘You heard Arctos,’ the gladiator told Flaminius, releasing him. ‘Go inside the hut.’
‘Thank you,’ said Flaminius, and he meant it. He ducked through the bead curtain.
The lamplit space beyond was empty of all furnishings, apart from two reed mats and a wooden coffer large enough to need two men to carry it. On one mat sat a lean, elderly man clad in a simple tunic of richly woven cloth and a gladiator helmet that covered his face. On a finger of his wrinkled right hand he wore a seal ring with a design Flaminius couldn’t make out from where he stood.
‘So you are the spy,’ Arctos said, voice muffled. ‘I recall seeing you before.’ It was the voice of an old man. Despite his Greek name, Arctos’ voice had a hint of an Iberian accent. Was he from Hispania?
He gestured to the reed mat and Flaminius sat down on it. ‘Such luxury,’ he said. ‘It’s just bare earth in my hut. You’ve seen me before? When?’
‘That I can’t say,’ replied Arctos. ‘It was some time ago, in another country.’
‘Britain?’ Flaminius suggested.
‘Hardly,’ said the man. ‘I’ve never been to such a barbarous backwoods province. Egypt is quite enough for me.’
Flaminius frowned. ‘It’s hard to guess where it was,’ he said, ‘without being able to see your face. Maybe we have met. But maybe if you could just lift that helmet a little.’
A laugh issued from the blank visor. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Tiro? You’re a spy. You’d like to learn my identity and then report me to your emperor.’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘You’ve got me right. I’m an imperial agent. A spy, if you like. But who are you? Despite a slight Iberian accent, which is all the rage these days, you speak Latin very well. Better than me, in fact, and I got a first-rate education in Italy…’
‘And now you squander it in this sordid business of spying for that upstart of an emperor,’ Arctos observed. ‘What a waste.’
Flaminius scratched his head. ‘I often feel that way myself,’ he confessed with a grin. ‘What I’ve seen and done over the last few years…I want nothing more than to settle down in some obscure part of the empire—that barbarous province about which you were so disparaging. But this line of work is hard to get away from.’
The visor did not move. ‘You don’t wish to work for your emperor? That sounds disloyal.’
‘I would like to retire,’ Flaminius confessed. ‘I’ve packed a lifetime’s work into the last few years. But you’re in a poor position to accuse me of disloyalty. I’m not the one who’s plotting against his imperial majesty.’
‘His imperial majesty,’ Arctos said sardonically. ‘You speak with such reverence. If you knew him as I do…’ He checked himself abruptly.
Flaminius gazed thoughtfully at him. ‘I’ve met the emperor,’ he said. ‘I know the kind of man he is.’ He folded his arms. ‘I take it you’ve met him too, from what you say.’
‘Well enough to know that he is unfit to rule,’ said Arctos. ‘It is my right, my destiny. And you? Are you backing the right chariot? Do you think this Greek obsessed pederast should wear the purple?’
‘If it wasn’t him,’ Flaminius said with a shrug, ‘it would be someone else. Hadrian’s rule has been tranquil enough, despite a few attempted coups. They’ve all been stillborn.’
‘Or stifled in their cradle,’ said Arctos. ‘And you’ve had a hand in that, haven’t you? Oh yes, I’ve got you placed now. Gaius Flaminius Drusus, late of the Ninth Legion.’
Despite the warmth of the August evening, Flaminius’s blood went cold at these words.
Who was this faceless enemy?
When Syphax beckoned from the trees Camilla was sparring with two gladiators. With an apology to her companions, she downed weapons and went to the Nubian.
‘Arctos is speaking to Tiro,’ Syphax told her. ‘They’ve been talking for some time.’
‘Brutus must be jealous,’ she said.
Syphax did not smile. ‘I’ve heard that you were in Tiro’s cell.’
Camilla growled. ‘Who said that? They must be mistaken.’
‘You told the guards that you had been sent to interrogate him,’ Syphax said flatly. ‘Now, why was that?’
‘Very well, I lied,’ she said. ‘There’s something I must say. But only if you swear to keep it to yourself.’
Syphax made no such vow, and did not speak. He continued to gaze at her. ‘I don’t want Brutus to hear this,’ she went on. ‘But you know that Tiro and I came here together.’
‘Did you know he was a spy?’ Syphax asked.
‘I was told to keep an eye on him, looking out for signs that he was working for the authorities. We spent time together, even when we were still in the city…’
‘And?’ Syphax said. ‘You’re not saying that he made you his agent?’
She hung her head. ‘Worse than that. This is why I don’t want Brutus to hear about it. He’ll skin me alive.’
‘Why?’ Syphax was urgent. ‘Have you betrayed us?’
She shook her head. ‘No. But Tiro and I… on the journey we became lovers.’
Syphax stared at her in shock. Then he grinned like a jackal. ‘Lovers?’ he said with a laugh. ‘This is rich. You’re right, Brutus would flay you if he heard about this.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘You won’t tell him,’ she said anxiously. ‘Will you?’
Syphax’s lip curled. ‘I don’t care about Brutus.’ He took her face in his hands and looked fiercely into her eyes. ‘I’ll keep your secret, woman,’ he promised her. ‘But from now on, you’re mine. You do my bidding. Understood? Otherwise, Brutus gets to hear about you and Tiro.’ She nodded dumbly.
He gave her a disgusted look. ‘Is that what you were up to in his hut?’ he panted. ‘You whore!’ Savagely, he kissed her, then flung her from him so she fell to her knees. He pointed at her. ‘You’re mine now,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t forget that!’
He stalked from the clearing.
Camilla got to her feet, dusting herself down. She gave a slight smile. Fooling Syphax had not been difficult. Now he would make demands on her whenever he thought he could get away with it, he would blackmail her. But in his eagerness to assert his dominance, he had forgotten that she had been speaking with Tiro.
She considered her own lies. They had not become lovers during the journey; it would have been difficult with Maccabeus’ presence. But she had felt something stirring in her brutalised heart. The thought of him made her pulse quicken.
She wondered if he felt the same.
‘You put me at a disadvantage,’ Flaminius was saying. ‘Everyone else knows me as Tiro, the inept apprentice gladiator. I’m inoffensive. Girl gladiators feel oddly enamoured. Male gladiators feel a manly contempt. You, on the other hand, know me to be an imperial agent. But all I know about you is that you want to make yourself emperor. And…’ He paused. ‘Forgive me, but aren’t you a little old?’
‘Old?’ Arctos was incensed. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘I can’t see your snowy locks or your timeworn features,’ said Flaminius, grinning affably. ‘But those hands are wrinkled and liver spotted. The emperor may be a Greek loving, boy loving provincial, but he’s not yet fifty, and he keeps himself fit. Plenty of exercise, good food, but no luxuries; a healthy mind, a healthy body. You, however, “Arctos”, seem to lack both those attributes.’
‘Would you care to elaborate?’ Arctos hissed.
‘You’re old,’ Flaminius said bluntly. ‘And going by your plots and conspiracies, and the people you’ve surrounded yourself with; well, you’re not impressing me with the healthiness of your mind, either.’
‘You feel contempt for me,’ Arctos complained. ‘Very well: I am not as y
oung as you. But my age has brought me wisdom. I know the right man for the job. You, despite your insults, strike me as a very capable youth, by no means the novice you pose as, though that pose itself is a tribute to your abilities.’
Flaminius waved a hand. ‘Is there a point to all this flattery?’
‘I would like to offer you a future,’ Arctos told him. ‘A position in my army as coordinator of my intelligence network, with perhaps promotion to prefect of my Praetorian Guard.’
‘You’re trying to corrupt me,’ Flaminius said with a laugh. ‘You think all these offers will persuade me to join your rebellion?’
‘Why not?’ said Arctos. ‘Can you anticipate any such honours in your current position? You’re nothing more than a spy.’
‘I’m a spy,’ Flaminius acknowledged. ‘An imperial agent. That’s no small matter, though you seem to think so. I’m a direct representative of the emperor. Which is quite an honour. And quite a privileged position.’
‘But I offer you even greater honour and privilege,’ Arctos argued. ‘Simply join with me, aid me in my endeavours, and one day you will be my right-hand man, my Praetorian Prefect. The second most powerful man in the empire. Or would you rather be prefect of Egypt? Of course, you’ll have to persuade me that you’re trustworthy before I grant you either position. But I will trust you, when you see reason.’
Flaminius sighed. ‘Haterius Nepos lives like a king. And during my stint in the Praetorians, I saw how well its prefect lived. These are the highest posts open to a man of my social rank. But who’s to say I’ll never achieve them, without your help? I’m twenty-four, and already I control the commissary of the Twenty Second Legion. The legate Avidius Pollio trusts me implicitly. Where my career will take me from, well, who knows? One day I may be a prefect. But I don’t know if I want that yet.’
Arctos had been paying little attention to Flaminius’ last words. ‘You’re Pollio’s chief commissary officer?’
‘Of course,’ said Flaminius, laughing. ‘Did you think I was just any old agent? I’m young, yes, but I’m privy to a lot of important information.’
Arctos’ voice was soft and gentle. ‘Then you can confirm the rumours that have reached my ears that Egypt is soon to receive a visit from the highest quarters?’
Flaminius started. Had his boasting led him astray? ‘A visit from the emperor? No, I’ve heard nothing.’
Arctos laughed. ‘Rumour, messenger of Jupiter! You fool, I said nothing about a visit from the emperor. Your own denial confirms it. And now, since you are party to so many secrets, you can tell me when Hadrian is scheduled to arrive in Alexandria.’
Flaminius shook his head. ‘How about I remove that helmet of yours and see who exactly you are?’ He reached forwards.
Too late, Flaminius heard the pad of sandaled feet behind him. Still reaching out, he turned. Something connected with his skull and his consciousness fled him in a trail of sparks and exploding stars…
Arctos stared down at the fallen form, then at the gladiator guard who had struck him with the pommel of his sword. ‘You’d better not have killed him,’ he said churlishly. He checked for a pulse, then sat back, satisfied. ‘And you’d better not have damaged his brain. There are secrets in there that will be mine—whatever it takes.’
Brutus appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the other gladiator. ‘What happened?’ he asked tensely. ‘Did he attack you? I said we shouldn’t leave you with him.’
Arctos shook his head. ‘It was a success. He knows all that I wish to know. Now wake up this paragon of virtue and make him talk!’
—32—
Flaminius returned to consciousness, his mind a whirl of confusion. Who was he? Where was he? What was he doing in this bare, empty, shadow hung reed hut? He tried to move and surprised himself by vomiting until it hurt his chest to breathe.
Once the heaving was done, he hauled himself up from the stinking puddle of vomit. On the far side of the packed earth floor was a curtain of beads. From outside came distant voices and the staccato ring of steel on steel. Weakly he attempted to call for help, but the pale shadow of a voice that came from his mouth served only to embarrass him.
On hands and knees, pausing every now and then when the pounding in his head grew unbearable, he crossed over towards the curtain. Less than halfway, the hut spun round his head and the floor came up to meet him and…
Out of the endless darkness, rough, callused hands grabbed him. Something cold and wet struck him in the face. Snorting and gasping for breath, he opened his eyes. Two gladiators had dragged him up onto his knees and a third had thrown the contents of a leather bucket of water at him. Filthy water dripped on the packed earth. The one with the bucket said, ‘Take him to Arctos.’ It was Syphax. The other two took Flaminius outside.
The blue of the evening sky stood out against the black silhouettes of palm trees. They dragged him across the bustling encampment to Arctos’ hut. Syphax followed, but halted outside the hut. The two gladiators pushed Flaminius through the reed curtain and followed closely. Flaminius sprawled on the floor.
A pair of sandaled feet came into sight. Looking up, he saw the massive form of Brutus, face in shadow, standing over him holding a terracotta lamp in one hand. The lamp illuminated Flaminius but plunged much of the hut into darkness. All he could make out was a brazier in which glowed reddish embers.
‘Tell us what you know of troop movements in the province,’ came Arctos’ muffled voice. Flaminius craned his neck round in an effort to locate the rebel leader, but one of the gladiators seized his head and forced him to look at Brutus. The Sicanian now stood by the brazier, checking several irons that lay in the fire. One of them glowed white hot.
‘Tell us what we want to know,’ Arctos’ voice came again.
‘And what do I get in return?’ Flaminius asked.
A gladiator struck him across his face, so hard his head rang with the blow. As the echoes died away in his skull, he heard Arctos saying, ‘When does the emperor intend to visit Egypt?’ but even as he did, the roaring in his mind grew and he tumbled backwards down a never-ending shaft of blackness.
He was lying on a packed earth floor. It must be the hut, his prison. He lay there for what seemed like a very long time. He was too weak to move, but he began to wonder if he would ever see anyone again, or had they left him here to starve? He tried to sit up, but the effort was too great.
Footsteps woke him from a sleep that had stolen up on him. It was pitch black now, apart from a dim glimmer from the doorway, and very cold. Someone crouched beside him. He knew that scent, a mixture of sweat and leather combined with something else, something indefinably feminine.
‘Tiro?’ It was Camilla.
‘Can’t keep away from me, can you?’ he muttered weakly. ‘How did you get in?’
She was silent for a moment. ‘The guards were looking the other way,’ she said at last. ‘Have they hurt you?’
Flaminius allowed her to help him sit up. ‘No, not that much,’ he said, remembering Brutus and the hot irons in the brazier. ‘I think they mean to, though.’
‘They will do,’ she assured him, ‘if you don’t tell them what they want to know.’
Flaminius could see nothing of her face in this darkness. ‘Whose side are you on, anyway?’
‘I don’t want them to hurt you,’ she said. ‘Arctos is willing to give you a place at his right hand, but he says you refused his offer.’
‘I get the distinct impression,’ said Flaminius slowly and painfully, ‘that you received a similar offer. And you didn’t turn it down.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Camilla, her voice faint.
‘Of course,’ Flaminius said, ‘you were always working for Arctos, weren’t you? Or maybe I should say Brutus.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ve been working for them for a while now. But I…I care about you, Tiro. I don’t want to see you hurt.’
Flaminius leant against the rough, dried mud wall. ‘Did Ar
ctos send you to tell me that?’
‘I told you,’ she said, ‘I sneaked in when the guards were distracted.’
‘I know that’s not true and so do you,’ said Flaminius. ‘So let’s not waste time. Tell Arctos I’m willing to do a deal. I’ll tell him what I know about the legion’s movements in the Thebaid if he agrees to take off that melodramatic mask and let me see him for who he really is.’
Camilla grunted. ‘He won’t accept this.’
‘He’ll have to accept it,’ Flaminius said, ‘because it’s the only way he’ll get that information.’
‘He really wants to know when Hadrian is coming here,’ she said. ‘If it’s true that the emperor means to visit Egypt.’
‘Maybe I don’t know that. Or maybe I’ll tell him in return for my freedom.’
There was a rustle from beside him. Something moved across the dim light, then the beads clattered and the light oozed back. Camilla was gone, leaving only a smell of sweat and leather.
Flaminius curled up beside the wall and tried to get some sleep. He didn’t know what day it was. For all he knew, Hadrian’s arrival was imminent. Or maybe it was the night of the same day.
Running footsteps woke him next. Figures blundered into the hut. Hands seized him. A voice he recognised as Syphax’s hissed, ‘You’re free. We’re setting you free.’ He was lifted to his feet and hurried from the hut.
It was dark outside. The stars shone down brightly. The figures hustled him across the empty clearing. Then he found himself thrust into the lamplight of Arctos’ hut.
Brutus stood there. Flaminius’ escort forced him into a kneeling position. The Sicanian loomed over him. He lifted his gauntleted fist and brought it smashing down…
Flaminius woke again. This time nothing had changed. Shadows pooled in Arctos’ hut, the lamp flickered. He tried to look around—he could see no one—but hands seized his head and forced him to look forwards. Someone else held his hands behind his back. He heard a third person moving behind him.
‘You hope to make a deal with us?’ It was Arctos again. ‘In return for your freedom?’
The Gladiator Gambit Page 21