Marcus pushed through the crowd in the gallery and left the Senate. He hurried through the Forum towards the edge of the Subura district. When he reached the inns lining the road to the Forum, he saw groups of tough-looking men sitting on the benches outside, while others squatted against the cracked plaster of the walls. Marcus made to enter the courtyard of the largest inn, the Blue Dolphin, but a huge man with a thick stave barred his way.
‘What’s your business here?’ he growled.
‘I’m on Caesar’s business. I need to speak to Clodius.’
The man eyed him warily, then nodded. ‘Follow me.’
He led the way down a narrow passage into the courtyard. Marcus instantly recognized Clodius at the head of a long table with burly-looking men on either side. They were dressed somewhat more finely than the men in the street and many had gold bracelets and chains round their necks. Some were scarred, and they had the broken noses of men brought up to use their fists. Marcus realized these must be the leaders of the street gangs that Clodius had recruited.
‘This one claims he’s been sent by Caesar.’ The man jerked his thumb at Marcus.
Clodius looked up and nodded. ‘It’s all right, I know him.’
The guard nodded and turned away. Marcus took a deep breath and moistened his lips.
‘My master needs you and your men at once.’
‘Where?’
‘At the Forum. Cato is trying to force Caesar to campaign against the brigands next year. Caesar’s furious. He wants you to rough up Cato’s supporters. Make sure they understand what will happen if they vote with Cato when the Senate is reconvened later today. ’
Clodius nodded. ‘Did Caesar give any specific instructions?’
Marcus lowered his voice and spoke deliberately. ‘Anything short of murder.’
Clodius raised his eyebrows. ‘I see.’
He stood up and looked down the table at the cruel faces of the gang leaders. ‘You heard the boy. Gather your men. Make for the Senate and let’s show Milo and his political cronies that the gangs from the Subura are the real power in Rome!’
As the men scrambled up from their benches and hurried out into the street to summon their gangs, Clodius turned to Marcus. ‘You’d better stay with me until this is over. Might as well have every fighting man I can find at my side. That is, if you have the stomach for it, young Marcus.’
Marcus drew himself up to his full height. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Courage is one thing. The right tools for the job are quite another. Are you armed?’
Marcus let the club slip down his tunic sleeve, caught it in his hand and held it up.
Clodius smiled. ‘Hope you know how to use it.’
‘I do, master. Besides, that’s not all I have.’ Marcus quickly switched the club into his left hand and reached with his right to pull out one of the throwing knives. There was a blur of movement, a sharp crack, and Clodius looked down the table to the chair at the far end. The knife was stuck fast in the chair back, its handle quivering.
He chuckled, then patted Marcus on the shoulder. ‘You’ll do nicely. Let’s go.’
16
It didn’t take long to reach the Forum. Fright and panic surged through the crowd as they caught sight of the huge men armed with clubs and staves. Marcus watched as mothers snatched up their children and stallholders packed their wares, hurriedly piling them on to handcarts before trundling away to safety. By the time Clodius and Marcus, near the head of the gangs, had reached the crowd outside the Senate, the Forum was starting to empty.
Scrambling on to a pediment, Marcus saw Festus and his men pressing forward against the entrance of the Senate House, where angry senators were demanding to be let through. As soon as he saw Clodius and the first of his gang members, Festus shouted an order and his men fell back. The senators pressed forward down the steps, a steady stream of clean white togas amid the brown and grey tunics and cloaks of the common people. The faces of senators who supported Caesar were well known and they were allowed to pass unhindered as they glanced nervously at the hordes of fierce-looking fighters surrounding them. The other senators were blocked. Clodius’s men pushed them back roughly, jeering and shouting insults into their faces.
Clodius gestured to Marcus to follow him and pushed through his men until he stood in the front rank of those opposing the senators. He scanned the faces before him until he caught sight of the man he wanted, then cupped a hand to his mouth and called out.
‘Cato! Hey, Cato! Over here!’
Marcus saw the thin man in his plain toga turn towards the shout and slowly descend the steps until he stood a short distance in front of Clodius. He stopped one step from the bottom so that he could see, and be seen, over the crowd gathered before him.
‘Clodius . . .’ He spat the word out with contempt. ‘I might have guessed you’d be leading this rabble. Are there no depths to which you won’t sink? You and your kind make me sick.’ He drew himself up proudly. ‘Tell your scum to get out of our way. They have no right to block the path of their betters. Move aside!’
There was a shrill catcall from the crowd, and a boo, then more joined in to create a mocking din. Marcus could feel the tension rising, waiting to explode into violence, and he was afraid. This was not like the fear of standing in front of another fighter. It was quite different. The crowd felt like a force of nature, out of control and dangerous - a storm waiting to break.
Clodius stepped forward, raised his hand and shoved Cato back. ‘Make me!’
A huge cheer erupted from the crowd at his insolence. Cato was furious. He stepped forward and slapped Clodius across the face. The sharp sound of the blow silenced the tongues of those watching, but Clodius merely reached up to his mouth and touched his lip. His finger came away stained with a small red smear. He smiled.
‘It would appear that you have drawn first blood, Cato. Whatever happens now, it is on your head.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous -’ was all Cato managed in reply before Clodius smashed his fist into the other senator’s jaw. Cato fell back with a grunt, into the ranks of his followers.
‘Now!’ Clodius yelled. ‘Teach ’em a lesson!’
With a roar, the surrounding men hurled handfuls of filth, rotten vegetables and any other missiles they had gathered. The white togas of the senators were quickly stained brown and green, and they raised their arms to protect their heads from the stones and bits of wood raining down on them. The senators began to retreat up the steps, towards the entrance of the Senate House.
Marcus had not moved, however - he was frozen before the spectacle. Clodius looked at him in surprise and leaned down to speak to him. ‘What are you waiting for, Marcus? An invitation? Join in.’
‘I - I can’t,’ Marcus stammered.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m a slave, master. If I was caught injuring a free citizen . . .’
‘You won’t be. And why not take advantage of the situation, eh? Surely a slave cannot resist the chance to get his own back? Go on, throw something. Do it on behalf of all the slaves who are owned by senators. Do it for them. Do it for yourself.’ He giggled. ‘And do it for Spartacus. No one will ever know. ’
Caught up by the mob’s frenzy and frustrated by his situation, the mention of his father stirred Marcus’s heart. A seething whirlpool of indignation, rage and hatred for every wrong he had suffered since being wrenched from his home flowed into his limbs. Before he was aware of it Marcus had snatched a pebble the size of a quail’s egg from the flagstones at his feet. His arm swept back, throwing it hard into the writhing mass of men and togas struggling towards the shelter of the Senate House. He did not see where the pebble went, but couldn’t have missed at that range. He felt a burst of elation.
Clodius laughed as he too threw a stone. ‘Go on, Marcus! Again!’
Marcus was ready to find another missile, or to smash his club on the nearest senator. But looking up, he saw a mad gleam in the man’s eyes as his lips curled in cr
uel pleasure. Clodius was giggling like a child as he stooped and threw, again and again. Marcus felt the fire inside him fade, and a chill took over. There was something frightening about Clodius. He no longer seemed in control of himself.
Marcus’s thoughts were interrupted by a cry close at hand.
‘Watch out! Milo’s here!’
The warning was taken up and Clodius’s men looked round. The senators took advantage of the break in the bombardment to stagger into the Senate House. A moment later the doors swung closed with a deep thud. Marcus, shorter than the surrounding men, felt hemmed in. He needed to see what was going on. He ran up the first steps and turned to look over the Forum. Clodius’s men had turned to face the figures spilling into the Forum from the direction of the Aventine Hill. The ground between the two sides was empty, aside from the handful of statues above, casting long shadows over them. Milo’s men had come armed with clubs, cleavers, axes, knives and a variety of other deadly-looking weapons.
But he only had a moment to examine the battleground before Clodius called him to his side, then pushed through the mob to the far side, facing the oncoming horde. Pulling his skullcap down tightly over his head, Marcus’s blood froze at the line of fighters opposite him. He suddenly felt trapped, young and very small. At least in the arena a fighter had room to move. This was different. Terrifying.
The cries of Clodius’s men had died away as Milo’s followers approached. A hush descended on the Forum, broken only by the grating rumble of nailed boots. At the head of the rival gangs marched a tall, broad man with a wide leather belt. He wore a plain black tunic and thick leather boots that extended halfway up his thick calves. In his hands he carried a heavy club, studded with the heads of iron nails. His dark hair was cropped short and a livid white scar cut across his brow, nose and cheek.
Clodius smiled as he muttered, ‘Milo, magnificent as ever.’
Around him, Clodius’s men were brandishing their weapons, ready for use. Marcus let his own club slip down into his left hand.
When Milo was no more than twenty paces away he raised his hand to signal his followers to halt. He nodded at Clodius.
‘I got word that you were causing trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ Clodius pretended to look offended. ‘Me? Not a bit of it. Me and the lads here were just speaking up for the people. The trouble is, some of the senators don’t want to listen.’
Milo laughed. ‘It’s hard to listen when you’re being stoned by a bunch of low-life, cowardly thugs from the sewers of the Subura.’
A wave of angry muttering swept through the ranks. Clodius cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Quiet! Let the loudmouth speak his mind, what there is of it!’
The grumbles turned to laughter and a scowl twisted Milo’s craggy face.
‘That’s enough!’ he bellowed. ‘Get your men out of the Forum, Clodius. Before I make you.’
‘Pffftt!’ Clodius sneered, drawing his cloak aside to pull out a short sword, and raising the tip to point directly at Milo. ‘Make me! You don’t own the streets any more.’ Clodius held his arms wide. ‘We do! The streets of Rome belong to Clodius and the gangs of the Subura!’
His men greeted this with a roar of approval.
Milo punched his club into the air and bellowed, ‘Get stuck into ’em, lads!’
He charged across the Forum, hordes of his men following. Marcus switched his club to his right hand and raised it ready to strike as he took his stand beside Clodius. His heart was beating wildly, but he didn’t have long to feel afraid. The charge struck home with a deafening series of thuds and cracks as weapon met weapon. A tall man with a badly trimmed beard rushed towards Marcus, a thick club raised above his head, feral grin widening as he saw what he took to be easy prey.
Marcus sidestepped as the man’s club swished down and struck the cobbles with a loud crash. At once he punched his club into the man’s side with all his strength, driving the air from his lungs and cracking a rib. The man slumped down and gasped for air. . Marcus heard a wet crunch behind and turned to see that Clodius had buried his sword in the top of the man’s skull.
‘Nice work, Marcus!’ He laughed as he pulled the blade free and kicked the body over, then leapt forward to stab another man in the guts. Marcus was crushed by the bodies pressing in, surrounded by violent tussles. Some men were locked in an embrace as they tried to wrestle for advantage. Others were crushed together tightly, clawing at their opponents’ faces or headbutting each other. Marcus lost sight of Clodius and was jostled by the other men from the Suburan gangs as they pressed forward.
He found himself a short distance behind the men locked in combat and paused, wondering what to do. His instinct was to fight, but as he caught his breath, the excitement gave way to clear thought. He was too small for this. He was trained to fight in individual combat, not in a violent mob. The most likely outcome would be that his skull would be smashed in or his bones shattered and then he would be finished, a cripple for the rest of his life, if he survived. Any hope of freeing his mother would die with him. He needed to prove himself to Caesar and Pompeius, but this was not the way.
‘Marcus!’ A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him round. He looked up and saw Festus.
‘Marcus, we have to leave. It’s for Clodius and his gangs. Not us. Come on!’ He turned Marcus away, pushing him to the back of the mob, along the Senate steps towards the side of the Forum, well away from the battle around the front of the Senate House. Looking back, Marcus caught one last glimpse of Clodius, standing on a pediment to urge his men on, waving his bloodied blade and laughing like a maniac.
17
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Caesar said through clenched teeth as he addressed Clodius, Festus and Marcus in his study later that day. ‘Over a hundred men killed, and at least three times that number injured. By Jupiter, the Forum was running with blood by the time you’d finished. You were only supposed to put pressure on the senators, and make them change their mind about supporting Cato.’ He shook his head and waved a hand as if trying to brush something aside. ‘Not this . . . this bloodbath.’
‘Oh, tush! You wanted to step up the conflict, Caesar. Now that both sides are using the street gangs, violence was inevitable. In any case, my instructions were that I could do anything short of murder,’ Clodius responded with a shrug. He turned to Marcus who was standing quietly to one side of the study. ‘Isn’t that right, boy? That’s what Caesar told you to tell me?’
Marcus nodded and shot a quick glance at Caesar before he replied, ‘Yes, master.’
‘See?’ Clodius smiled as he turned back to Caesar. ‘Besides, only a handful of senators came to any actual harm. Not anyone who would be missed.’
‘Twenty of them were injured. One seriously. His skull was shattered when he slipped on the stairs.’
‘Not my fault then,’ Clodius responded dismissively.
‘Whatever you might think, the damage is done,’ Caesar countered. ‘You’ve caused a bloody battle right outside the Senate House, and now Cato will milk it for all it’s worth. He’ll be calling me a tyrant in front of everyone when the Senate meets tomorrow. The last thing I need is more people against me - they’re voting on whether to send me back to the middle of nowhere. I haven’t done all this for Rome just to end up in the mountains fighting slaves.’
While Clodius and Caesar argued, Marcus’s mind was turning over an idea. The conflict between Caesar and Bibulus had reached a deadly stage. First the attempt on Portia’s life, then the vote to oust Caesar from Rome, and now the street gangs spilling blood in the heart of the city. Caesar’s life was in danger, and there was only one way of uncovering any plot against his life, Marcus decided. The real battle wouldn’t be won in fist-to-fist combat in the city streets, he was sure of it. A plan was forming in his mind. If it succeeded, then Caesar would be further in Marcus’s debt. He couldn’t rely on his original plans for Pompeius’s help, but this might be a way to prove himself to both of them and obtain the one rew
ard he really wanted.
‘He can try it on,’ Clodius was replying, ‘but since Milo played his part in things, neither side looks good. Besides, enough senators were so badly shaken up that I doubt they’ll show their faces in the Senate House until long after the year is over, when you and Bibulus have handed over to the next pair of consuls. Not that anyone will be aware Bibulus was ever consul since he’s refused to take his place in the Senate.’
‘Very funny.’ Caesar frowned. ‘But Cato’s effort today has made my life more difficult, and today’s skirmish, as you describe it, will have strengthened the hand of my opponents in the Senate. Now I’ll have to force the Senate back into line and find a way of countering Cato’s scheme. I need some legislation that will force the Senate to follow my will. But that will raise the stakes and increase the danger to me and to Portia. ’
‘Then we must guard against it, Caesar,’ said Clodius.
‘How can we do that without knowing where or when they intend to strike?’
Marcus had thought quickly as he listened to their exchange. Now he cleared his throat, building up his nerve to intervene. The sound caused Caesar to turn towards him, arching an eyebrow.
‘You have something to say, Marcus?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Then spit it out, before you choke on it.’
Marcus glanced nervously at the two men. His idea might be far-fetched but it seemed the only way forward.
‘Master, there is no question about it. Your enemies intend to kill you. I heard it straight from one of the men sent to kill your niece. I think they will be planning another attempt on her life, and yours. You could stay safe within the walls of your house, like Bibulus, but the people would think you a coward.’ A dark look flitted across his master’s face and Marcus continued hurriedly. ‘Naturally, you will continue as normal and show no fear. But they will still be plotting against you. This gang war isn’t helping. You need to discover what their plans are and be ready to act against them.’
Gladiator: Street fighter Page 11