Atticus was as shocked as the spectators, too shocked to react as Marcus rushed up to him, planted his boot down behind the other boy’s leg and thrust his staff hard into his midriff. Just like his stockier comrade, Atticus went flying, landing heavily on his back. At once Marcus punched his staff into the air and cried out.
‘Victory!’
‘No!’ Atticus gasped painfully and began to struggle up.
Marcus quickly lowered his staff and poked the end into the other boy’s chest, just below his throat, pressing him back. ‘A word of advice. When you are down, stay down. Or face the consequences.’ He gave the staff an extra nudge to emphasize his point. With a fierce scowl, Atticus nodded and raised his hands in defeat.
Marcus turned round to see how Festus was doing. He was squaring up to Andreas, and the Greek, in turn, was standing, legs braced as he held his staff in a firm two-handed grip, ready to counter any move that Festus made.
‘Need any help?’ asked Marcus.
‘No. This one’s all mine.’
Andreas snorted and shook his head. ‘By the Gods, you must fancy yourself! Typical bloody Roman.’ His chest was heaving as he gasped for breath. He was a big man, Marcus observed. But he was out of condition, unlike Festus who exercised every day and whose body was as quick as his mind. Festus shaped to make a fresh attack and lunged with his staff, aiming for the other man’s stomach. But Andreas, heavy and unfit as he was, had the reflexes of a cat and knocked the staff aside before countering with a jab at the Roman, which caught him a glancing blow off the ribs. Festus drew back and winced as he felt his side. He bowed a quick salute to his opponent, then took a long, deep breath and grasped his staff firmly again.
Marcus felt a stab of concern for his friend but knew better than to intervene. Festus was a proud man, and any attempt to help him would only incur his anger. So Marcus lowered his staff and stood aside. Since he was the first to complete his fight there was one other task that fell to him. He looked around for the merchant who had taken the bet but could not see him immediately. Then he noticed a flash of blue and saw him edging towards the rear of the crowd. Returning his staff to his pack, Marcus drew out a dagger and tucked it inside the wide leather belt fastened round his midriff. He took another glance at Festus and saw him moving forward to renew the fight. Andreas raised his staff high, aiming for the Roman’s face, but Festus did not flinch. He thrust at the Greek and as his opponent moved to parry the blow, Festus cut under his staff, angled his weapon down and jabbed it at the Greek’s foot, crushing his toes.
Andreas bellowed in pain and instinctively lifted his injured foot to hop back, while still keeping his staff held up to counter his Roman opponent. It was too much for the heavy-set man to coordinate and he stumbled and fell, grunting as the air was driven from his lungs. Festus whacked the staff out of his hands and then pressed the end into the other man’s guts. Many in the crowd let out whoops of laughter as they saw the tough’s clumsy fall and Andreas flushed angrily.
‘Yield,’ Festus demanded.
The Greek’s expression darkened and then he glanced quickly round the crowd and realized that most were cheering for Festus and laughing in good humour. He forced himself to smile as he struggled painfully to his feet and held out his hand.
‘You won fairly, Roman. Chalcis has rarely seen a fighter like you. It is no dishonour to be bested by a professional fighter. A gladiator, perhaps?’
‘Once,’ Festus conceded, shifting his staff to his left hand and cautiously clasping hands with the Greek. ‘Now, I am merely a traveller in your land.’
‘And the boy? Surely too young to be a gladiator as well?’
‘No. He was a gladiator before he won his freedom.’
‘Really?’ Andreas looked round, and frowned. ‘Now where in Hades has he got to?’
Already halfway through the crowd, most of whom ignored him as their attention was occupied by Festus, Marcus was heading steadily in the direction of the blue tunic he had seen a moment earlier. The crowd began to thin out as he reached the rows of stalls and he saw the merchant walking quickly towards a street that led away from the market. Marcus ducked into a parallel street a short distance away and broke into a run. When he reached the first junction, he turned towards the street the merchant had gone down, then sprinted down a narrow alley towards the next corner where he stopped and pressed himself against the rough plaster of the wall. He drew his dagger from his belt and tried to breathe as quietly as possible when he heard the soft slap of sandals approaching. A moment later the merchant passed by him and Marcus stepped out, pressing the point of his knife into the small of the man’s back.
The merchant let out a yelp of surprise and turned as he backed against the building opposite.
‘You have a wager to honour, if I’m not mistaken,’ Marcus smiled. ‘Now let’s go back to the market to settle the matter. Ten pieces of silver. You’d better be good for it or my friend Festus is going to be unhappy.’
The merchant swiftly recovered from his surprise and his lips curled in contempt as he stared at Marcus. ‘You’re nothing more than a boy. Get out of my way.’
Marcus stepped to the side to block his path. ‘I’m the boy who just beat two of your street thugs in a fight. I’m also the boy who is holding a knife no more than a foot from your stomach. Now, you have a debt to pay. Back to the market. Move.’
‘That’s nine … Ten.’ The merchant counted the silver coins into Festus’s palm.
‘I thank you,’ Festus smiled. ‘And next time it might be an idea not to try and slip away.’
‘There won’t be a next time, I trust,’ the merchant replied sourly. ‘I hope I never set eyes on you, or your nasty little sidekick, ever again.’
‘You’d better hope that you don’t.’ Festus rested his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Or next time I think my friend Marcus might not feel so willing to hold back with his dagger.’
‘He wouldn’t dare!’ The merchant spat in contempt.
Marcus tilted his head to the side. ‘No? Want to put it to the test?’
The merchant retreated and then hurriedly recovered his composure. ‘Bah! A bunch of petty con men, the pair of you. I’ve a good mind to report you to the town magistrates.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Festus dared him. ‘I’m sure they’d be interested in a man who tried to avoid paying a bet he made witnessed by everyone in the market of Chalcis.’
The merchant let out a hiss of bitter frustration and turned to hurry across the market square. The crowd that had gathered to watch the fight had dispersed and Marcus, Festus and Lupus packed away the remaining staffs. Andreas, sitting on the steps of the fountain to nurse his foot, chuckled as the merchant strode away.
‘Ah, forget him. There are plenty of men like Clysto around. They deserve what’s coming to them.’ The Greek stood up slowly to test his weight on his foot and winced.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Festus. ‘But I had to put you down quickly after that blow to the ribs.’
‘On another day I’d have knocked you down, Roman.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do … You and your boys thirsty?’
Festus glanced round and both Lupus and Marcus nodded.
‘Good!’ Andreas approached and rested his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘And as for you, boy, you are just as fierce as your friend Festus. By the Gods, if I had ten of you in my gang I’d rule the streets of this town. Come with me. I know a good place to drink. And I’m paying.’
3
‘How’s the foot?’ asked Festus as he set his cup down with a sharp rap on the table.
‘Sore.’ Andreas replied and then grinned. ‘How’s your side?’
‘Sore.’
They both laughed and Andreas reached for the jug to top up their cups, and then after a moment’s thought, poured a little more of the watered wine into the cups of Marcus and Lupus. The inn the Greek had chosen had been up a steep side street that led to a small plateau. Built on
the edge of a cliff, it overlooked the town and the sparkling sea beyond. A light breeze cooled them after the hot confines of the market and there was a faint rustling from the branches of a cedar tree that provided shade for the customers.
‘You, boy.’ Andreas looked squarely at Marcus. ‘You fight like a demon. I only saw snatches of it while I was dealing with your friend here, but what I saw was impressive. Your gladiator school must have been one of the best. I’ve seen a few fights in the theatre here, but it was rough stuff compared to the show you two put on. Where are you from, exactly?’
Marcus raised his cup in thanks and took a sip of the vinegary brew before he replied. ‘I was trained at a school near Capua. And then by Festus when I was bought by a new master and taken to Rome.’
‘And you?’ Andreas turned to Lupus. ‘What’s your story? You don’t look the kind of lad who should be in the company of two trained killers.’
‘We’re not killers,’ Festus said evenly. ‘Our job was to protect our master.’
‘Master? I thought you said that you had been freed? Marcus at least.’
Festus smiled thinly. ‘Force of habit. I was set free some years ago and stayed with my … employer. Marcus was given his liberty several months back. A reward for good service. Lupus too.’
‘Then he’s a fighter as well?’ Andreas looked doubtful as he ran his eyes over Lupus’s slight physique. ‘I can’t see it. He wouldn’t last a moment in a fight.’
‘I can fight!’ Lupus shot back defiantly. ‘When I have to.’
The Greek chuckled and held up one of his big hands to pacify the smaller boy. ‘I meant no offence, my little friend. Just an observation. Unless my eyes are deceived your skills lie outside the art of fighting. Am I right?’
Lupus flushed and raised his chin proudly. ‘I am a scribe, by training. I can read, write and do calculations. As good as any man.’
Andreas laughed. ‘I am sure. But outside of a merchant’s house, or in the service of some aristocrat, your usefulness is, er, somewhat limited.’
Marcus leaned forward. ‘Lupus is my friend. I trust him with my life. That is all that you need to know about him.’
It was true. Marcus did indeed trust him with his life. Lupus knew the secret of his birth and the meaning of the scar on his shoulder where he had been branded as an infant to show that he was the son of Spartacus. Lupus had given his most sacred promise to keep it to himself. But Festus did not know. Nor could he ever know, Marcus decided. However close the bond between them, Festus had been with Caesar long before Marcus had entered his life. It would be dangerous to test his loyalty to his former master. Festus was a man of honour and unbending in the principles he believed in. He had been ordered by Caesar to accompany Marcus on his quest to find and save his mother. If he discovered that Marcus was the son of Spartacus, one of the most dangerous enemies ever to have threatened Rome, then he would feel duty-bound to inform Caesar and obey any instructions that Caesar gave to decide the fate of Marcus.
Andreas leaned back from the table and cast a sympathetic look at Festus. ‘A touchy pair, these two. How do you put up with them? If they were in my charge, I’d give ’em a good clip round the ear if they opened their mouths like that.’
‘They’re not in my charge,’ Festus replied. ‘They are my companions. My comrades in arms. My friends.’
It was the first time that Festus had used the word and both Marcus and Lupus looked at him in surprise. Marcus felt a surge of pride that this man he admired and respected should regard him as a friend. Despite all the dangers and hardships they had shared, Festus had never revealed his feelings.
‘Friends, eh?’ Andreas cocked an eyebrow. ‘So what are you and your friends doing here, far from Rome? I assume there’s more to it than wandering from town to town, earning a pittance from your fights.’
‘It pays for food and lodging,’ Festus countered. ‘What more do we need?’
‘What indeed?’ Andreas took a gulp of wine and ran his eyes over each of them in turn before he continued. ‘So, what’s the real story?’
Marcus knew that if they were to succeed in their quest then they would need information. He exchanged a quick look with Festus and nodded subtly.
‘We’re looking for someone,’ said Festus. ‘Maybe you can help us.’
‘Oh? Who’s that then?’
Festus nodded at Marcus. ‘His mother. She was kidnapped into slavery two years ago. His father was killed and Marcus escaped, only to be taken by a gladiator trainer. All quite illegal, you understand. They were Roman citizens and our former employer takes a dim view of fellow citizens being treated this way. He wants Marcus’s mother found and released. If the man responsible for it can be found and made to pay for his crime then so much the better.’
Andreas glanced at Marcus. ‘That’s tough. I’m sorry for your loss, boy. Sounds like you’ve had a hard time of it.’
Marcus nodded, fighting back the emotions that had been awoken by revisiting his past.
‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’ Andreas asked. ‘You think I know where to find every slave in Greece?’
‘No,’ Marcus replied, clearing his throat as he suppressed his feelings. ‘But you can help us find the man who destroyed my family. His name is Decimus. He was a magistrate in Stratos at the time, and he owned land in the Peloponnese. He’s bald and has a limp.’
Andreas nodded and scratched his chin. ‘Can’t say I know the man. I’ve been to Stratos a few times and never come across him. But there is a Decimus who is a tax collector. He has the contract for most of the towns in this part of the province. He comes to Chalcis twice a year to oversee the process.’
Marcus leaned forward. ‘When is that?’
The Greek clicked his tongue. ‘You just missed him. He passed through the area a few days ago. Won’t be seeing him again until the end of the year.’
Marcus let out a frustrated sigh and clenched his fists.
‘Do you know anything else about Decimus?’ Festus intervened.
‘No.’
‘All right then, we’d be grateful if you kept this all to yourself. Is there anyone else you know of who might give us some information?’
‘Not here in Chalcis. But there’s a big slave market at Stratos. There are plenty of traders passing through. If anyone can help you locate the boy’s mother, then they’ll be able to.’
Marcus felt his blood go cold as he recalled the slave market and the night when he and his mother had been visited by Decimus who had gloated over their suffering. His stomach knotted painfully and he renewed his vow to make Decimus suffer when the time came for his revenge. A simple death would be too good for the man.
‘Stratos, then.’ Festus broke into his bitter thoughts. ‘That’s where we’re headed. We’ll try the slave market like you suggest, and see if anyone has information. We’d better make plans for the night and set off early in the morning. We thank you, Andreas. For your help. And the drink.’
‘You’re welcome. And thank you for the lesson. I’ll think twice before I step up to fight any strangers passing through Chalcis again.’ He drained his cup and peered into the jug, frowning when he saw that it was empty. ‘Then I’ll leave you to discover what pleasures the port has to offer.’
He rose from the bench and belched loudly before turning to Marcus. ‘Good luck, lad. I hope you find what you are looking for.’
Marcus nodded his thanks and the Greek turned away, heading down a narrow alley towards the sunlit street that led back into the heart of the town. When he was gone Festus shook his head.
‘I think it will be harder to find our man than we thought.’
‘But we must find Decimus!’ Marcus said urgently. ‘We need to find out exactly where he sent my mother.’
‘We know she’s somewhere in the Peloponnese,’ Lupus intervened. ‘At an estate owned by Decimus. Perhaps it would be better if we started there.’
‘Lupus is right.’ Festus nodded. ‘It makes more sense.’<
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‘No,’ Marcus responded firmly. ‘We stick to my plan. We find Decimus and force him to tell us where he is keeping my mother, then we rescue her.’
Lupus pursed his lips. ‘Why bother with Decimus? We’ve got just as much chance of finding the estate as we have of finding him. More, in fact, since estates are not in the habit of travelling around, as Decimus seems to be.’
His attempt at lightening the mood fell flat and Lupus folded his hands together and puffed his cheeks. ‘Just saying …’
There was a brief silence as they looked out to sea. In the distance, across the blue water dotted with the square sails of merchant ships and the smaller triangular sails of fishing boats, lay the northern coast of the Peloponnese. The region’s mountains towered up, grey and daunting in the distance. Somewhere in that direction lay his mother, and Marcus found it hard to be heading in the opposite direction for the present. But he had to pick up Decimus’s trail first if he was to be led directly to his mother, he told himself.
‘We could spend months searching the Peloponnese,’ Marcus said quietly. ‘We can’t afford to waste any time. If Decimus hears we’ve been snooping around estates in the area, then he’ll have my mother killed to destroy the evidence of his crime. We need to be careful and take one step at a time. First, we track down Decimus. That’s my decision.’
Gladiator: Vengeance Page 2