‘Good grief, Caesar,’ Clodius exclaimed. ‘Your meat store is off.’
Caesar smiled grimly as he led the small party through a narrow arch into the second chamber. ‘There’s the meat.’
A large table stood against the far wall, and upon it lay the body of one of the men who had attacked Portia. The man’s skin was pale and mottled with livid blue patches. His jaw hung slackly and his eyes were wide open as they stared up at the bare bricks of the low vaulted ceiling. Close up, the cloying sweet smell was unbearable and Marcus had to clench his nostrils tightly to keep out the stench. Beside him, Festus also seemed to be struggling to control his stomach. Clodius had pulled up the hem of his cloak and pressed it over his mouth and nose. Only Caesar seemed unaffected as he stared coldly at the body for a moment. He turned to Clodius.
‘Well? Do you recognize him?’
Clodius leaned over the body and examined the face. ‘No. Can’t say I do. The fellow has a distastefully common look to him. Just another street thug, it would appear . . .’ He rolled up the tunic sleeve on the corpse, working it on to the shoulder. ‘But see here.’
Marcus and the others leaned forward for a closer look. There was tattoo on the dead man’s shoulder. Two crossed daggers.
Clodius straightened up, nodding in recognition. ‘That’s the mark of the Blades, one of the gangs from the Aventine district. Nasty bunch. Normally, they run protection rackets and, for the right fee, will bump off anyone in Rome, right up to the rank of senator. Of course, these days they are run by Milo, who has been hired by Bibulus, Cato and Cicero to use against your followers, though you could never prove it. Bibulus might be a fool, but he’s not so stupid as to leave any evidence of connections to Rome’s most notorious gangs in his wake. And if he’s prepared to deal with the Blades, then you and your friends are in danger, Caesar.’ He turned to Marcus with a curious look. ‘If you took on this man, and one of his fellow gang members, then you are brave indeed, young Marcus. And also very foolish. These men would not have hesitated to kill you. In fact, I’m sure they would have enjoyed doing so, and made it last as long as possible.’ He licked his lips at the thought.
Marcus fought the urge to shudder before he replied, ‘I did not doubt that at the time, master. But Mistress Portia was in danger. What else could I do?’
‘If it had been me, I would have gone for help.’
‘And my niece would be dead,’ Caesar cut in coldly. ‘None of us is safe now. Our enemies are more determined, and dangerous, than I thought.’
Clodius pursed his lips and nodded. ‘You’re right. So what are you going to do about it, Caesar? Strikes me that you could use some help.’
Marcus saw Caesar’s eyes narrow as he stared directly at Clodius.
‘I know. That’s why we sent for you.’
Clodius smiled faintly. ‘And what would you ask of me?’
‘If our enemies are using street gangs to intimidate and harm our supporters, then we must meet violence with violence. We know you have connections with some of the gangs and we want you to organize support for our side.’
Clodius considered this a moment before he replied. ‘I can do it. But there will be a price. These gangs are quite deadly, Caesar. They will go to any lengths to control their districts. Anyone who stands in their way is killed, often butchered in broad daylight to make sure everyone gets the message. If I am to take them on, then I’ll need to hire gangs of my own. And they won’t come cheap.’ His eyes glinted.
Caesar shrugged. ‘Whatever the price is, Crassus can afford the services of the scum in these street gangs of yours.’
‘I’m sure he can afford to pay them. But I’m talking about my price, Caesar.’
‘Your price? How much do you want?’
‘Nothing you can’t afford. I don’t want your gold or silver.’
‘Then what do you want?’ Caesar asked impatiently.
There was a pause.
‘I rather fancy the notion of becoming a tribune.’
Marcus remembered what Lupus had told him about the post of tribune, a position for those who were supposed to stand up for the rights of the common people.
Caesar’s eyes widened in surprise. He shook his head. ‘Impossible! That would give you power over the mob. Besides, you are a senator and the post of tribune is only open to people of common rank.’
‘I’ve thought of that. There is a way round that obstacle. I can be adopted by a commoner, a plebian, and you have the power to authorize my adoption. Once that’s done I am free to stand for the office of tribune. And then, when I am a tribune, I can make sure the mob stays on your side.’
While Caesar considered the proposal, Festus and Marcus stood in silence. Marcus couldn’t help wondering how these two powerful men could make their devious plans in front of their slaves, as if they were not present - as if they were just part of the furniture.
‘Very well, we are agreed.’ Caesar nodded, holding his hand out to Clodius.
After shaking hands, Clodius nodded towards the corpse. ‘Now the business is concluded, might we move away from our malodorous companion? A cup of wine should be enough to remove the rather nasty taste that death tends to leave in one’s mouth.’
‘Yes . . . Yes, of course. Festus, we no longer have need of the body. You and the boy can dispose of it.’
Caesar put his hand on the shoulder of his guest and guided him back to the stairs into the more wholesome air of the house. As the steps faded Festus turned towards the body and puffed out his cheeks.
‘Right then, Marcus, I’ll take him under the shoulders, and you take his feet.’
Marcus did not move. He stared down at the corpse with a sick feeling. This was not the first body he had seen close up, but he had never handled a corpse and the idea revolted him. And more than that, Marcus was responsible for the man’s death. Flashes of the terrifying fight in the storeroom filled Marcus’s mind and made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.
‘He won’t bite, lad,’ Festus said gently. ‘Just try not to think of it as a person. It’s just a lump of rancid meat we’re disposing of. That’s all.’
Marcus turned his gaze away from the body. ‘Rancid meat? Thanks, that makes it so much easier.’
Festus chuckled harshly and stood at the end of the table. He slipped his hands under the corpse’s shoulders and heaved the body on to the floor. It landed with a soft thud and he dragged it into the other room towards the steps. Marcus followed reluctantly. As they reached the stairs, Festus nodded. ‘Take his feet.’
Marcus gritted his teeth and fought down his nausea as he picked up the man’s cold calf, just above the boot. The skin was cold and clammy and he flinched, forcing himself to grip firmly.
With much grunting and cursing from Festus, they heaved the body up the stairs, then dragged it down the short corridor that led to the yard.
‘On to the cart with him,’ Festus ordered.
Once the body had been heaved into the small cart, Festus covered it with a length of old sacking. ‘It’s daylight, so we can’t hitch up the mule. No animal-drawn carts are allowed on the streets during the day. If we pull it ourselves we should get round the regulations.’
‘Where are we taking it . . . him?’ asked Marcus. ‘Out to where we held Corvus’s funeral?’
‘No chance. We’ll drop him into the first sewer opening we come across. There’s one at the end of the street. Just need to wait until we’re alone before we do the deed.’
With one of them pulling each of the yokes, the cart trundled into the narrow street outside. Few people paid much attention other than to grumble as they moved aside to let the cart pass. Festus steered the cart into a dead-end alley leading off a small square and stopped beside an iron grating two feet across. They set the yokes down and waited for a break in the steady flow of human traffic through the square.
Festus glanced from side to side, then pulled the sacking off. ‘Quickly - shift the grating!’
The iro
n grille was heavy and Marcus strained his muscles to raise it, letting it fall on the cobbles with a clatter. They eased the body into the drain, hearing it splash as it dropped into the sewage.
Festus let out a weary sigh. ‘Dangerous times ahead of us, Marcus . . . It’s bad enough that Milo’s lot are stirring up trouble. If Clodius and his thugs are unleashed on the streets there’ll be plenty of fighting, and deaths. The streets will run with blood, I tell you.’
‘You really think so?’ Marcus said. ‘Isn’t it better that the gangs fight each other? Might mean they leave the rest of us alone
‘Oh, the gangs will fight, to be sure. But the rest of the time they’ll be on to the common people - breaking up meetings and doing their best to intimidate the other side into silence. It’s bullies’ work, and I wouldn’t thank you for it. Slave or not, we’re part of Caesar’s household, so we’re targets too. Same’s true for Bibulus and his cronies once Clodius intervenes. We’re in for a bad time. You’d better watch your back, Marcus.’
‘I will,’ said Marcus as he stared down at the grille. If Festus was right, the man they’d just disposed of would be the first of many. It seemed as if Caesar and his enemies were embarking on a war that would rage through the streets of Rome. And Marcus might be fighting for his life just as he had in the arena at Porcino’s gladiator school. Only then, his enemy had faced him. Now enemies could strike without warning in a crowded street. Never mind the problem of escaping his situation or saving his mother; it seemed he would need all his wits, and every skill Festus had taught him, if he was to survive in the streets of Rome.
15
Spring had given way to summer and the temperature in the city was climbing. The cold clammy air that filled the narrow alleys and streets was replaced by a smothering heat that steadily increased the stench of rubbish and sewage. The rains of spring had passed and few torrents gushed down the streets to wash away the filth. Flies and mosquitoes swirled in the still air and added to the discomfort of Rome’s inhabitants.
At the same time the temperature of the people was also rising. Since Caesar’s meeting with Clodius, hardly a day had passed without news of a clash between Milo’s and Clodius’s gangs, often escalating into full-scale riots in the district surrounding the Forum and spilling over into the very heart of the Forum itself. Hundreds had been beaten or stabbed and many had died, each death provoking further rage and revenge attacks. Marcus had witnessed a few riots when he escorted Caesar and his men to the Senate House. In normal times, Festus explained to Marcus, the procession was to display the influence of the politician at its head. Now a small band of tough men walked in front of Caesar, clearing the way and looking for danger, while the rest of his followers were there for protection.
Marcus wore his thick leather skullcap to protect his head. It was uncomfortable and made his head sweat in the close heat of the city’s streets, but Festus insisted he keep it on, joking that it was there to protect ‘Caesar’s investment’. He also carried a dagger tucked into the wide belt under his cloak, and a stout club slipped up his sleeve, ready to drop into his hand the instant it was needed. So far no one had dared attack the consul or his entourage. But Marcus didn’t think that would last much longer. As the procession crossed the Forum, insults were hurled at Caesar from the safety of the crowd. Soon, Marcus feared, the insults would be accompanied by lumps of filth, or rotten vegetables, then stones and bricks, before order disintegrated into a bloody struggle amid the screams of those running away.
On this particular day, an ominous mood permeated the Senate House as Marcus and Lupus watched Caesar take his seat. A group of senators clustered about Cato, muttering in low tones as they waited for proceedings to begin. Not until the benches of the Senate were almost filled did Caesar nod to the chief clerk. The man stepped forward, cracking his staff on the flagstone floor to command silence.
‘In the name of the consul, Gaius Julius Caesar, the daily proceedings of the Senate are declared open. The consul invites the first item of business for the day.’
At once Cato was on his feet, his arm raised, a scroll held high. ‘I have a Bill to present!’
Cato saw the weary look in Caesar’s face as he gestured towards Cato. ‘Proceed.’
Cato nodded, then paused to stare around the chamber, building up a tense air of expectation. Before he could speak, Caesar coughed and addressed the house first.
‘If you don’t mind, my dear Cato, we don’t have all day for your theatrical tricks. Please spit it out.’
At the ripple of light laughter around the Senate, Marcus turned to Lupus with a questioning look. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Our master has ruffled Cato’s feathers,’ Lupus smiled. ‘Actors are the lowest of the low in Rome. For a snob like Cato that’s a painful comparison. Look at him! The man’s furious.’
Marcus saw that Cato’s brows had knitted together in a deep frown as he glared at the consul. He waited until the last of the laughter had died away before speaking in a bitter tone.
‘I shall come to the point. Caesar has requested that he shall be given command over our Celtic provinces this side of the Alps when his consulship comes to an end. It would be a fair reward for a consul as obviously capable as Caesar. He has already proved himself as a fine commander in Spain and I am certain he would be most effective in countering the threats to our interests in Gaul. However . . .’ Cato paused and waited for complete silence before he continued. ‘However, we have more pressing need of Caesar’s military skills. You all know of the continuing raids on isolated villas and farming estates by large bands of brigands hiding in the hills and mountains down the spine of Italia. Many of these bands comprise the remnants of the rebel army of Spartacus - runaway slaves who continue to terrorize their masters, and defy the authority of Rome. While they live, the spirit of Spartacus himself lives on!’ Cato jabbed a finger into the air. ‘Even now, there are reports that a new leader has emerged. Some scoundrel by the name of Brixus . . .’
Marcus felt an icy shiver ripple down his spine. Could this be the same Brixus he had known at the gladiator school? He had told Marcus he’d fight slavery until his dying breath, and urged Marcus to join him. ‘Until the last supporters of Spartacus are eliminated, we face the very real prospect of a new revolt flaring up in our faces!’ Cato exclaimed. ‘The consequences of this will be even more dire than was the case in the previous uprising. To that end, I move that the Senate reassign Caesar to hunt down and eliminate every last rebel and brigand operating in Italia. Only then can decent Romans afford to sleep at night, untroubled by fears of being murdered in their beds by those who still follow in the footsteps of Spartacus.’
Cato sat down abruptly and folded his arms as his followers cheered loudly. Marcus saw the smirk on Cato’s face and turned his gaze to Caesar who was sitting quite still on his ornate chair, glaring at his political opponent. Despite his stillness, Marcus could see that the blood had drained from his master’s face and the tightly clenched jaw confirmed the rage seething within. Marcus understood his master’s anger. Far from letting him continue to build his military reputation, Cato was attempting to divert Caesar into policing the troubled countryside. If Caesar’s enemies didn’t succeed through the Senate, what would they resort to? Marcus and Lupus had heard the threats from Portia’s kidnappers - Caesar’s life was in danger, and Cato had just upped the stakes.
The clerk rapped his staff for silence. Caesar paused a moment before standing to reply.
‘Senator Cato’s proposal comes as something of a surprise, since the area of my responsibilities when I step down as consul has already been defined. I shall have to consult with the clerks to see if there is a precedent for such a change. The house will adjourn while I investigate the matter.’
Cato was instantly on his feet again. ‘There is a precedent. I checked. All that remains is to put it to the vote.’
His supporters shouted their support until the clerk rapped his rod again, and turned to Caesar.
‘I will look into it myself, and the Senate will resume its consideration of the motion this afternoon.’
The consul’s words were greeted with howls of protest from Cato and his supporters, but he ignored them as the clerks packed up their writing materials. Caesar left the chamber and climbed the stairs to join Lupus and Marcus, watching from the public gallery. When he reached them, his words were harsh and clipped. Marcus hadn’t seen his master this serious before. He almost didn’t recognize the emotion on his face. But then he realized - Caesar was afraid.
‘Lupus, go outside and find Festus. Tell him to ready his men and wait outside the Senate House. He is to do what he can to delay any senators from slipping away before I can teach Cato a lesson. Then get yourself home, before the trouble starts.’
‘Yes, master!’ Lupus bowed his head and scurried away as Caesar turned to Marcus. ‘I want you to find Clodius. He’s most likely to be at the Blue Dolphin Inn, at the far end of the Forum. Do you know it?’
‘Yes, master. I went there once with Festus.’
‘Good. Then tell Clodius to have his men gather outside the Senate as soon as possible. I want Cato and every one of his supporters to know they have stepped over the line. I’ll make sure I leave before Clodius’s thugs arrive. Tell Clodius to keep an eye out for Milo’s gangs. There are bound to be some nearby, waiting for an order to come to Cato’s aid.’
Marcus glanced round to make sure they weren’t overheard, then lowered his voice. ‘What do you want Clodius to do, master?’
Caesar closed his eyes an instant as he replied, ‘Tell him to go in hard. They can do anything, short of killing anyone. Understood?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Then go.’ Caesar turned swiftly and made his way back down the stairs to join the huddle of senators who supported him, as well as Pompeius and Crassus. Marcus saw that they looked anxious. But Caesar approached them with a wide smile and open arms, exuding calm and confidence.
Gladiator: Street fighter Page 10