Arena

by Simon Scarrow

  Macro chuckled drily. ‘There’s one or two men I could describe that way.’

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth as his thoughts turned to Pallas and Murena. The imperial secretary and his aide would surely make him pay a heavy price for the gladiator rebellion. He quickly shook his head clear. There would be plenty of time to worry about the Greeks later. First he had to put a stop to Bato.

  ‘Sir!’ Bassus exclaimed. ‘Look …’

  The guard pointed to the dormitory. Two gladiators were dangling a guard from a window on the first floor, gripping him by his feet. The guard was still alive. The gladiators began hacking through his ankles with a pair of saws. The guard howled in agony, thrashing wildly as the saw teeth sliced through bone, before he fell to earth with a thud. Another guard had been set alight and pushed from a window. He landed not far from his stricken comrade and rolled desperately on the ground in a futile attempt to put out the flames.

  ‘Good gods,’ Bassus said with a shiver.

  Macro turned away from the terrifying spectacle. ‘Back to the lanista’s quarters. Now!’

  They raced across the training ground to the sounds of shrieks and moans as the freed gladiators exacted revenge on the remaining guards inside the dormitory. In the shadow of the porticoes at the northern end of the training ground Macro caught sight of Bato emerging from the dormitory block. Freed gladiators poured out after the Thracian. Bato made a lewd gesture at Macro with his hands and crotch, while around him rampant gladiators uprooted the paluses and overturned the stone sundial.

  ‘Sir,’ Bassus said. ‘We have to go!’

  Macro ground his teeth at the sight of the mutinous gladiators, then hurried on to the lanista’s quarters in the gathering dusk, muttering under his breath.

  ‘I swear to the gods, Bato will pay for this.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Macro raced down a wide corridor alongside Bassus, away from the ludus training ground. At the end of the corridor the two men scrambled up a set of marble steps and stopped in front of a solid double wooden door fitted with ornate bronze doorknobs. Macro clasped the knocker, a bronze ring running through the mouth of a wolf’s head, and rapped three times on the door.

  ‘Who’s there?’ a muffled voice asked from the other side.

  ‘It’s Macro! For fuck’s sake, open up!’

  There was a brief pause, followed by a series of metallic clanks and groans as someone fiddled with the heavy lock. Then the door creaked open to reveal Glabrio, breathing a sigh of immense relief.

  ‘Thank Fortuna!’ He smiled uncertainly. ‘Thought you might have been done for, sir.’

  Macro brushed past the young soldier. ‘It’ll take more than a few barbarians to cut me down, lad. I’ve been sending men like Bato over to the afterlife for thirteen years.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Glabrio shivered as he slammed the door shut and secured the lock. ‘I used to be with the urban watch here in Capua, sir. Putting out fires and breaking up fights outside the taverns, that sort of thing. Never thought I’d be fighting for my life against a mob of fanatical gladiators.’

  A depressing sight greeted the optio in the lanista’s quarters. The few surviving guards from the skirmish huddled in a group in the middle of the room. Among them was Macer. They were in a state of shock, drenched with sweat and blood. The orderlies and household slaves stood further back, their wretched faces stitched with anxiety at the sudden outbreak of violence, their eyes collectively focused on Macro for reassurance that their miserable lives were not in immediate danger.

  Macro noticed a dishevelled figure pinned down under a guard, who pressed down on the man’s back with his knees. The figure rocked his shoulders, trying to shake the guard off. His legs and arms were purpled with bruises and his curly hair was matted with blood.

  ‘Got one of the bastards, sir!’ the guard declared proudly. ‘The slaves found him hiding in one of the side rooms and alerted us when we got here. He was clearly intending to ambush us, sir.’

  ‘Urghhh,’ the figure croaked.

  Macro thought he recognised the groan. He approached the man, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell coming off his filthy skin and hair. At the optio’s instruction, the guard reluctantly slid off the man’s back and Macro lifted the figure by his chin to get a better look at him.

  ‘Pavo!’ he exclaimed. ‘What in Hades happened to you?’

  ‘Sir …’

  Macro ordered one of the household slaves to fetch a cup of wine. A few moments later the slave returned and passed the cup to the young gladiator. Pavo downed the wine in one gulp while an orderly who had experience of working in the infirmary examined his injuries. The sutured wound on Pavo’s shoulder had been ripped open and resembled a pair of puckered lips. His jaw was swollen and his lips were distended. The orderly applied a new gauze dressing to his shoulder wound while Pavo sat gingerly upright.

  ‘You’re covered in shit,’ Macro observed drily.

  ‘I know, sir.’

  ‘And you smell like Gallic cunny.’

  ‘I seem to remember it was you who allowed Aculeo to put me on latrine duty.’

  ‘Just saying.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Seems to happen to you a lot.’

  The young gladiator groaned. ‘This is no time for humour … sir. I am in rather a lot of pain.’

  ‘That’s your problem, Pavo. Always bloody complaining. Now, what happened?’

  The young gladiator glared at Macro through his puffed-up eyes. ‘They ambushed me, sir. In the baths. I overheard them plotting the rebellion. Then they left for me dead. I managed to escape when they went to begin the uprising. I came here to warn you. But it was too late.’

  ‘Bato’s thugs?’

  Pavo nodded and swallowed hard. ‘They’re planning to escape the ludus, sir. Make their way to the hills and set up as a brigand outfit.’

  ‘Shit.’ Macro rubbed his jaw.

  ‘Why didn’t they all make a run for it back there when they had the chance, sir?’ Bassus asked. ‘Only a few tried to escape, rather than the entire mob. It doesn’t make sense.’

  The optio considered the guard’s words for a moment before tightening his gaze at the sealed door. ‘If Bato is planning a new career in brigandage, he needs men – and plenty of them. There’d be no point in escaping with only a handful of gladiators. That’s why he ambushed us rather than flee the ludus immediately. He needed the keys to the dormitory block in order to release all his mates. Someone was kind enough to let him get his hands on them.’

  Macro turned to look at Macer as he spoke and he saw the commander slipping away from the crowd in the middle of the room towards the door. Anger surged in Macro’s heart and he leapt towards the man and clamped his hand round his wrist.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Macer yelped. He tried wrenching his wrist free of Macro’s firm grip. ‘Release me at once! I wish to leave. I have no desire to die because of your foolishness.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere,’ Macro snapped. ‘Everyone is to stay here until the rebels have been crushed.’ Even in the dim glow of the candles, the expression on his face must have been visible to Macer, because he shifted awkwardly on his feet and swallowed hard.

  ‘This is all your fault,’ he said waspishly.

  ‘That’s rich, coming from the coward who dropped the keys to the cells.’

  Macer narrowed his eyes at Macro until they were slits as thin as his lips. ‘Your stubbornness has led us down a path of destruction, Optio. I warned you that Bato commands a loyal following. I implored you not to aggravate the man. Corvus at least heeded my advice. He knew it was best to keep Bato under control with the odd indulgence. If only you had listened to me, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘I was doing my job. It’s not my fault you let Bato have the run of the place.’

  ‘I’m sick of being lectured by a common soldier,’ Macer sneered. ‘You may have been decorated by the Emperor, but I served in the P
raetorian Guard. I don’t have to listen to your tirade, Macro.’

  ‘You’re a failed Praetorian. Worse, you’re a fucking disgrace.’

  Macer stiffened. ‘Several of my men are dead. The blame for that lies squarely with you. Thanks to your incompetence and your refusal to heed my repeated warnings, a dozen or more gladiators are also dead – each worth thousands of sestertii, I might add, and the personal property of his imperial majesty. I shall write this incident up and present my report to Pallas at the first opportunity.’

  ‘By all means. Then I’ll explain to Pallas how you ran away and left your men to fend for themselves. Even those sly Greeks take a pretty dim view of cowardice.’

  Macer pressed his lips together.

  ‘Glabrio!’ Macro yelled.

  ‘Sir?’ the guard answered.

  ‘Take this man down to the basement and chain him up.’

  The guard approached Macer and seized his upper arm.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ the officer protested.

  ‘I already am.’ Macro raised his sword and pointed the tip at Macer’s soft chin, drawing a panicked look from the commander. ‘Now don’t make any noise down there. I don’t want to have to come down and convince you to shut up.’

  Glabrio bundled Macer towards the steps leading down to the cellar. ‘You’ll pay for this, Optio, I swear!’

  Macro watched the commander depart. Beside him Bassus clicked his tongue.

  ‘What’s the plan now, sir?’

  Macro pursed his lips as he considered his options. ‘We’re low on numbers. Apart from the guards, we’ve only got a bunch of orderlies and household slaves, and none of them has a hope in Hades of wielding a sword. We’re no match for our enemy. The odds don’t favour us.’

  He felt a leaden weight descend on his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he thought for a moment before continuing.

  ‘We can only hope to crush the rebellion by regaining control of the ludus. The main entrance is reasonably secure. Even if Bato and his men manage to lever up the portcullis, that outer door won’t budge. But sooner or later the gladiators will figure out that they can break through this door without any great difficulty. Then the lot of us are done for.’

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ Bassus said. ‘Let’s take the fight to ’em, sir!’

  Macro shook his head bitterly. ‘As I said, we don’t have the numbers to take the dormitory by force. There are about a hundred remaining gladiators versus only a few of us. As things stand, we have no way of retaking the ludus. The best we can hope to achieve is to contain the gladiators within these walls. But that’s a temporary measure. It’s only a matter of time before Bato forces the issue and attacks us with everything he’s got. We’d be able to hold out for a short while, but sooner or later that Thracian pig and his men would overrun us.’

  ‘What about asking the nearest ludus for help?’ Bassus enquired.

  Macro grimaced in frustration. ‘I’ve thought about that already. But it’s a non-starter. The closest one is half a day’s travel. It’s too far. By the time any reinforcements arrived, Bato would have barged his way through here and left us all for dead.’

  ‘So that’s it, sir? We’re done for?’ Pavo asked softly.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Macro answered tersely. He turned to Pavo. There was a glint in his eye as he smiled at the badly bruised gladiator. ‘You’re forgetting that the Emperor is en route to Capua from Puteoli.’

  Pavo nodded. ‘Murena mentioned it at our meeting last week. Told me the old fool wants to cast his eye over the imperial gladiators ahead of next month’s games.’

  ‘The Emperor travels with a large retinue. Pallas will be with him, of course. And the other freedmen Claudius insists on surrounding himself with.’ Macro flashed a wide grin at Pavo. ‘But more importantly, he’ll be accompanied by his German guards.’

  Pavo slapped his hand against his thigh. ‘By the gods, you’re right! I’ve seen the Germans at the imperial palace. There’s got to be at least two hundred of them in Claudius’s personal bodyguard. Even with half their number, we could soon put an end to Bato and his rebellion.’

  ‘The Emperor was due to arrive in Capua today, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Pavo answered eagerly. ‘At a villa on the hills above Capua. I’ve been there. It’s not far by foot. If we send a messenger now, the Germans could reach us by nightfall, sir.’ He paused, his brow furrowed. ‘But what if Murena refuses to come to our rescue? Knowing that Greek snake, nothing would please him more than to see the pair of us get slaughtered by a mob of rabid Thracians.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘He’s not in a position to refuse to help us, lad. This is the imperial ludus, the property of the Emperor. Once Murena gets word of the rebellion, he’ll shit himself at the thought of the gladiators tearing the place down. That conniving Greek and his master Pallas will have no choice but to send out a full complement of Germans. Then we can take back the ludus.’ Macro’s expression suddenly soured. ‘The only downside is it means having to grovel to Murena. He and Pallas will bloody love it. They’ll have me by the balls. I’ll be indebted to both of them. Worse, they might very well blame me for the rebellion in the first place.’

  ‘There is no other way, sir,’ Bassus said, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation. ‘You said so yourself. The private ludi are all too far away. Murena is close by. He’s the only chance we have to save this place … and ourselves. Besides, if you don’t ask him for help and Bato’s men overrun us, the Emperor will demand your head for losing his gladiators and his ludus.’

  ‘Saved by a couple of Greeks.’ Macro shook his head. The thought rankled.

  ‘We don’t have any choice.’

  Macro bit his tongue as he wrestled with the dilemma. Begging for help from the aide to the imperial secretary offended his principles. He was a resourceful soldier, with a proud record of overcoming desperate odds on the field of battle. But even he could see no way out of their predicament without calling on outside support. Swallowing his pride, he thumped his fist on the desk.

  ‘Bollocks!’ He swung his gaze towards the door as Glabrio returned from the cellar. ‘Glabrio!’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ the guard replied.

  Macro gestured to the front door. ‘I want you to leave immediately for the Emperor’s villa. Pavo will provide you with the precise directions. Get there as soon as possible. When you reach the villa, tell Murena it’s an emergency. Make sure he understands that the safety of not only the ludus but all of Capua is at stake. We need every German guard he can spare.’

  Glabrio nodded dutifully. After being given directions by Pavo, the guard hurried out of the ludus. Macro watched him leave, a sense of excitement building in his chest at the thought of the impending reinforcements.

  ‘Now all we have to do is hold our position until the Germans arrive.’

  A thought clouded Pavo’s mind. He bit his lip as the door closed behind the guard. Macro noticed the unease written into the young gladiator’s features.

  ‘What’s bothering you, boy?’

  Pavo pursed his lips. ‘It’s something that Bato’s followers said in the baths, right before they set on me. About their plan, sir.’

  Macro frowned. Pavo did not appear to like what he had heard. ‘Well, what is it?’

  Pavo closed his eyes as a wave of hot pain shrieked in his ribs. ‘According to his thugs, Bato and his men only plan to escape once they’ve freed their comrades and ransacked the ludus.’

  ‘The money raised from the gladiator sales,’ Macro acknowledged gruffly. ‘Bato got wind of it and demanded I hand it over. Go on.’

  ‘A successful brigand outfit needs weapons, sir. That’s what I overheard in the baths.’ Pavo stared at the optio and gulped loudly. ‘His men were discussing the possibility of acquiring some proper weaponry.’

  Macro looked wide-eyed with horror at the gladiator.

  ‘Oh shit. The armoury.’

  CHAPTER TWENT
Y-SIX

  Pavo regarded the optio with a look of deep concern. Faint screams emanated from the dormitory block on the other side of the ludus as the gladiators continued to riot and murder indiscriminately. Bassus and the other guards tightened their gazes on Macro. In the background the slaves stood still and silent, listening in to the conversation.

  ‘Aren’t the weapons locked up?’ Pavo asked.

  Macro laughed in his throat. ‘That’s a generous way of putting it. The gate protecting the weapons is rustier than my Greek. Your son could break it open, let alone Bato and his mob.’

  ‘That’s if they haven’t already done so,’ Bassus cut in. ‘We may be too late.’

  Pavo shook his head. The effort made him wince. Every muscle in his body ached horribly. He bit back on the pain, swallowed it into the pit of his stomach, remembering the stoic resilience of Titus and his forebears, drawing strength from their bravery in the face of adversity.

  ‘Bato won’t have got to the armoury yet.’

  Macro rubbed his heavily furrowed brow. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I overheard him saying that he plans to execute the Celts in their cells first.’

  ‘Makes sense, sir,’ Bassus said with a curt nod. ‘One of the Celts killed Bato’s brother in a training-ground bout. The Celt was punished, but Bato has hungered for revenge ever since.’

  ‘What about the other Thracians?’ Macro asked. ‘Do they hate the Celts too?’

  Bassus nodded. ‘The killing of the tribal chief’s brother is a matter of honour among the men of Thrace, sir. Bato’s men crave the shedding of Celtic blood as much as Bato himself.’

  Macro thumped his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘We have to do something about the armoury before Murena sends us reinforcements. The Germans would make simple work of a mob of unarmed Thracians. But fighting heavily armed gladiators is a different prospect. These men are highly trained killers. They’d certainly put up stiff resistance. We’d suffer heavy losses. Some of them might even escape to the hills.’