Arena

by Simon Scarrow

  Macro slapped Pavo heartily on the back. ‘Did you hear that, lad? Four of us against one beast! That shouldn’t be too hard.’

  Nerva chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up. You’re fighting a lion.’

  Macro and Pavo both froze.

  ‘And not any old lion, but one specially trained for the arena,’ Nerva went on. ‘The handlers starve them for two days beforehand, then they’re branded with hot irons to make them really vicious. I’ve seen one of these lions rip half a dozen veteran gladiators limb from limb. Four of you won’t last long. Just try not to get too much blood over the place, eh? We’re low on fresh sand as it is.’

  ‘The men we’re fighting with,’ Pavo asked. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘What does it matter? You’ll die all the same.’

  ‘I want to know if they’re skilled with a sword.’

  Nerva consulted his tablet again and hummed. ‘Late entrants, it says here. They’re in the holding cell at the moment. Probably a couple of murderers who are for the chop. Doubt they’ll increase your chances against the lion.’

  He tucked his tablet under his arm and spun away down the passageway, whistling a tune to himself. Macro watched him depart.

  ‘Bastard!’ he growled, banging his fist against the wall in frustration.

  ‘Ah, Optio!’ a shrill voice cried from the shadows. ‘Getting used to your new surroundings, I see.’

  Macro looked up as Murena descended a set of stone steps leading up to the galleries and approached the two men. The imperial aide stopped in front of the gladiators, a slight grin snaking across his thin lips. His eyes glowed like polished metal.

  ‘Cheer up, boy,’ he said to Pavo. ‘You’re about to join your father in the afterlife.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ Macro thundered at the aide.

  ‘Why, I’ve come to offer my wishes for your forthcoming bout, Optio,’ Murena replied in his arrogant voice. He paused before adding, ‘Or should I say … Hilarus.’

  ‘You’ll never get away with this!’

  ‘But we already have. Speaking of which, how do you like your new name? Hilarus has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

  Macro seethed behind his visor. A chorus of angry snarls emanated from further down the passageway, where the wild beasts were kept in cages ahead of their scheduled appearances in the arena. Macro and Pavo had passed the chambers earlier, and the stench of fear and shit filled the air.

  ‘Once the Emperor has finished addressing his loyal subjects,’ Murena continued, ‘the games will formally begin. Then you’re on. Of course, you are featuring in the beast fight, not the animal hunts. Cavorting after antelopes and chasing donkeys hardly befits two such talented swordsmen.’

  ‘This is a bloody insult!’ Macro thundered.

  Murena laughed. Footsteps trampled towards the exit located on the other side of the arena as the acrobats, dwarves and gladiators retreated from public view.

  He turned to Pavo. ‘As for you, gladiator – you will die. In this fight, or the next. Or the one after that. It makes no difference, I won’t make the same mistake twice. Your luck has run its course.’

  ‘You can’t kill me. Not in front of the mob. I’m a hero in their eyes. If they see me die at the hands of a wild beast, they’ll turn on Claudius.’

  Murena chuckled harshly. ‘I don’t think so. You see, the mutiny in Capua has turned the mob against the gladiators. Nothing agitates them as much as fear of another Spartacus-style uprising.’ The aide looked casually at his manicured fingernails. ‘You were at Capua at the time of the mutiny, which marks you out for special treatment. Now every drunken fool in the Subura believes that you are a traitorous wretch. They’ll cheer your death.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ Pavo bristled with rage. ‘The mutiny had nothing to do with me. The Thracians were to blame.’

  ‘Try explaining that to the mob. As far as they’re concerned, gladiators are all the same. Scum.’ There was a sinister gleam in the aide’s eyes as he went on. ‘Why else do you think we allowed you to fight under your own name? The mob has turned against you.’

  Macro narrowed his eyes. ‘You bastard! You’ll pay for this.’

  Murena laughed stolidly. ‘It’s a little late in the day for empty threats, Optio. Besides, should you ever dare to speak the truth about what happened in Capua, I’m afraid we will have to inform your superiors in the Second Legion that you participated in a beast fight. You don’t need me to remind you of the consequences should they learn of your scandalous participation in the gladiator trade.’

  A shrill note pierced the air, signalling the start of the beast fight. Macro looked round briefly as a leopard clawed viciously at a wild bull. The two creatures were tied together by means of a chain wrapped around their torsos, forcing them to enter into a violent confrontation. The leopard clawed again. Now the bull scrabbled back to the arena wall, sounding ghastly bellows of pain as blood fountained out of a glistening wound on its flank.

  ‘Where’s my son?’ Pavo asked Murena.

  ‘Appius? At the imperial palace. He won’t live to see his third birthday.’

  ‘You mean—’

  Murena nodded. ‘Your son is to be killed tomorrow.’

  Pavo stepped back from the aide. His flesh crawled with abject terror. ‘He’s just a child … an innocent child.’

  The aide waved a hand. ‘I’m simply honouring the promise I made to you in Capua. You foolishly declined our offer and now Appius will be flung to the beasts. This time tomorrow, the entire Valerius family will be dead.’

  Pavo was aghast. Tears welled in his eyes. Macro felt a stab of pity for the gladiator. The punishment might be excessive, he mused, but anyone who threatened the Empire had to suffer the consequences. Punishing a child, though? That was a step too far. He turned back to the aide. Pavo was speechless, overwhelmed with shock.

  ‘What about our weapons?’ Macro asked.

  ‘Ah, yes, about that.’ Murena shifted awkwardly. ‘There has been a slight change to the details of your bout … You will be entering the arena unarmed.’

  Macro’s features darkened behind his visor. ‘That’s not a beast fight! That’s how condemned criminals are sent to die. We’re beast fighters. We should be equipped with spears and swords.’

  The aide twitched with discomfort. ‘And you shall have them, Optio. Just not at the start of your bout. I have seen to it that weapons will be distributed around the arena.’

  ‘But that’s not on!’ Macro protested. ‘The lion will cut us down before we have a chance to arm ourselves.’

  Murena frowned. ‘I don’t appreciate your tone of voice. The mob is bored of ordinary gladiator fights. They want something new. As the sponsor, Claudius is under tremendous pressure to conjure up new methods of killing. Death being the only sure way of keeping the mob entertained. We must satisfy their barbarous urges if we are to hold a successful games and shore up support for Claudius. Otherwise all the hard work we have put into enhancing the Emperor’s reputation will be wasted.’

  ‘Tragic,’ Macro replied sharply.

  The aide appeared not to hear the optio. ‘Besides, you’re both wearing a full complement of armour rather than the standard tunic worn by the beast fighters. That should afford you plenty of protection.’

  A roar sounded in the arena as the leopard finally overwhelmed the bull.

  ‘This can’t be happening,’ Pavo murmured, his voice stricken with grief.

  ‘Oh, but it is. Good luck,’ Murena replied. A cynical grin creased his face. ‘Or not.’

  Pavo stared despondently at Murena as the aide turned his back on the two men and headed up the stone steps. A moment later two manacled beast fighters were herded towards Macro and Pavo by a handful of Praetorian Guards. Both fighters wore similar heavy armour and helmets. An excited murmur rippled through the crowd as the announcer dashed off the formalities ahead of the next bout. The guards grabbed Pavo and Macro by an arm each
and shoved them towards the gate with the other pair of beast fighters.

  An attendant gazed out across the arena, watching attentively for the signal from the umpire to usher the men on to the sand. The beast fighters huddled tightly together while one of the Praetorians unlocked their chains under the watchful eye of his comrades.

  ‘That Greek snake,’ Macro spat, soothing his reddened wrists once his chains were released. ‘And this bloody armour doesn’t help. I can hardly move.’

  ‘I suspect there’s a good reason for that,’ Pavo responded sourly. ‘Murena wants to get us both killed.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Macro was incredulous. ‘I’m a decorated soldier, lad, personally awarded my medal by Emperor Claudius himself. The pride of the Second Legion. They’ve got no reason to want to kill me.’

  Pavo considered. ‘You’re the only other credible witness to what really happened at Capua. The only one who can prove we’re both innocent. Murena said so himself. Could they trust you to hold your tongue?’

  Macro snorted and snapped his gaze ahead as the attendants opened the gate. Nerva clapped impatiently at Macro and Pavo and the other beast fighters.

  ‘We’ve got a big crowd today and every single one of ’em wants to see some blood. So give them what they want. And remember, the Emperor has paid good money to put on this show. Don’t let him down by getting killed right away.’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ Pavo muttered drily.

  Macro gripped Pavo by the arm. ‘Do me a favour, lad.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If by some fucking miracle we make it out of here alive, don’t ever tell anyone I had to fight as a bloody gladiator. It’ll be the ruin of me.’

  Pavo nodded. Then the guards shoved the fighters in the back, thrusting them through the open gates and into the arena.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The beast fighters stepped out on to the sand. Grey clouds pressed low in the sky, carrying the threat of rain. Pavo glanced at the scene in front of him. Exotic trees and shrubs had been planted around the arena to recreate the look of a forest during an animal hunt. Several sword points and spear tips glinted amid the foliage close to the gate at the opposite end of the arena. Attendants frantically cleared up the mess from the animal fight, four of them dragging out the disembowelled bull while another pair hurriedly tended to the blood splatters, one sprinkling fresh sand over the blood and the second spraying rosewater on top. Two animal handlers had snared the leopard in a net and now dragged the beast back to the opened gate at the opposite side of the arena. Pavo glimpsed the lion in a steel cage in the mouth of the tunnel, its eyes glowing menacingly in the gloom. Once the leopard had been removed from the arena, the guards slammed the gate shut.

  The four beast fighters were ushered towards the middle of the arena by the Praetorians, who accompanied them to make sure they didn’t rush for the scattered weapons before the lion was released into the arena. Pavo winced with pain. The wound on his left shoulder had formed a pinkish scar and had failed to heal properly in the weeks after the mutiny in Capua. His shoulder felt stiff and heavy. A cool breeze fluttered over the arena. Macro stared at the galleries through the eyeholes on his helmet.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he sputtered. ‘I’ve never seen this place so full.’

  Pavo raised his eyes. The optio was right, he conceded. The official capacity of the arena stood at twenty thousand, but many more spectators appeared to have crammed into the galleries for the opening of the games. Each of the four levels was packed, and even the walkways leading to the various exits were heaving with people eager for a glimpse of the fighters. The fifth tier of spectators was by far the most tightly packed, crammed shoulder to shoulder on the crumbling terraces above the more spacious galleries below. The mob swigged from jugs of wine which they passed to one another, their cheeks red from the close heat of so many bodies crammed together. The air was filled with the din of the crowd as they chanted about the sexual persuasions of the gladiators, to the mild irritation of the more privileged citizens seated on the lower tiers. The lowest was filled with magistrates and imperial high priests, with a parapet separating the spectators from the arena floor.

  Above the gallery was the imperial box. Pavo spotted the Emperor seated in his ornately decorated chair, flanked by his German bodyguards, his distinctive purple toga draped across his frail shoulders. Pallas stood to the right of the Emperor and gazed down, grinning smugly. Murena stood at his side. He was frowning at the row of senators seated in the gallery above the imperial box. Pavo followed the direction of his gaze. One of the seats was unoccupied, he noticed. He spied the object of Murena’s irritation at the entrance to the gallery. A grey-haired figure strode gracefully towards the empty seat, his piercing gaze fixed ahead, seemingly oblivious of his fellow spectators, the stripes on his fine tunic distinguishing him as a senator. His companions stood up obediently to make way for him, and as he took up his seat, he turned and stared down at Pavo. There was a glint in his eyes that stayed with the young gladiator.

  Pavo quickly forgot about the man as a hail of boos and jeers rained down from the crowd.

  ‘Die, you Thracian shit!’ a spectator taunted Macro above the din.

  ‘Fucking traitors!’ another screamed.

  ‘Shit,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Looks like Murena was right. The mob’s turned against anyone associated with Capua.’

  The attendants promptly exited the arena. In their hurry to keep the games on track, they had left some of the bull’s innards on the sand, along with the lead chain that had bound the two beasts together. Pavo watched them depart. At the same time the umpire gave the signal to the animal handler positioned behind the opposite gate to release the lion from its cage. The gladiator felt his neck hairs stand on end as the Praetorians and the umpire scurried for the same exit as the arena attendants. Now Pavo was alone with Macro and the two other beast fighters. No sooner had the gate slammed shut than one of the fighters broke away from the group and ran towards the scattered weapons, stumbling along, burdened down by the heavy armour over his burly frame. Turning his head slightly, Pavo focused his gaze on the gate opposite. A cavernous roar echoed from the dark passageway beyond. Macro turned to follow the fighter, but Pavo slapped a hand around his thick wrist and held the optio back.

  ‘Get off me, lad! The weapons are over there, we need to grab them!’

  ‘Wait!’ Pavo hissed. ‘Look.’

  The gladiator nodded at the lion encased in the steel cage. A moment later the animal handler slid the locking bar loose. The gate sprang open and the lion bolted out of the shadows into the arena. A roar went up in the crowd as the lion pounced on the beast fighter who had sprinted towards the weapons scattered across the opposite side of the arena from Pavo and Macro. The speed and ferocity of the attack drew a breathless cheer. Pavo stood his ground with Macro and the third fighter, his chest muscles tightening in fear as the lion pinned the fighter to the sand under its paws and started mauling his arm. The man let out a muffled howl as blood squirted out of a fresh wound and gushed over the sand. The lion yanked its head furiously from side to side, tearing at strips of flesh.

  Screaming in pain, the trapped beast fighter tried prising apart the lion’s jaws in a frantic effort to pull his arm free. The lion clawed at his hand, gashing his forearm. The man immediately clasped his other hand over the wound, lowering both hands from his face. In the blink of an eye the beast lunged forward and sank its teeth into his neck. Blood flowed freely out of the wound and spilled to the ground. The beast fighter’s cries were mercifully choked off as the crowd screamed at the lion, imploring it to rip the face off its victim. Even Macro felt his iron resolve falter at the spectacle. Up in the imperial box, the Emperor jumped to his feet, clapping wildly as the lion disembowelled the fighter and began tearing at the entrails.

  ‘If only we could somehow get past that monster and grab the weapons,’ Macro said, staring forlornly at the swords and spears lying out of reach. ‘Then we’d soo
n gut it like a bloody fish.’

  Pavo turned to his former mentor. ‘Macro … I mean, Hilarus,’ he corrected himself quickly, remembering that they were not alone. ‘I know how to defeat the lion. Just follow my orders.’

  ‘You? Order me about? Piss off! Taking your advice was what landed me in this bloody mess in the first place.’

  ‘My father had an estate in Antium,’ the young gladiator began.

  ‘This is no time for stories about your childhood, lad.’

  ‘Listen to me! My father used to take me game hunting. He was an enthusiastic collector of wild animals. He brought many species back from his travels. Deer, ostriches, even the odd hyena. I know how to fight these beasts. How to trap and kill them.’

  Macro nodded at the lion feasting on the beast fighter’s guts. ‘In case it escaped your attention, Pavo, we’re not fighting hyenas. This is a fucking lion.’

  ‘The same principles apply. The only way to survive is if we work together.’

  ‘The Roman is right,’ the third fighter cut in. He spoke in heavily accented Latin. ‘That beast just cut Cygnus to pieces. It’ll kill us too, unless we do something.’

  Pavo glanced at the third fighter. The voice sounded oddly familiar to him but he couldn’t quite place it.

  ‘All right, lad,’ Macro said grudgingly. ‘You’re in charge … for once. What’s the plan?’ He hated the idea of taking orders from a high-born brat. But he had no experience of killing wild beasts. He knew he had little choice but to place his faith in the young gladiator.

  Pavo thought for a moment.

  ‘The lion is faster and stronger than us. We’ll never beat it in a straight fight. We need to lead it into a trap. I’ll distract the beast. That should give you both a chance to grab the weapons. Then I’ll lure it towards you. As soon as it’s in range, you spike it.’