Gladiator

by Simon Scarrow

  Looking from wolf to wolf, Marcus backed away, edging towards the side of the arena below the spectators. His skin had grown cold with sweat and he dared not blink as he moved slowly and steadily, crouching low and holding out the blade as he moved. Every so often one of the wolves would rise slightly, make a short run towards him and stop. Soon he sensed the stockade close behind him and halted, knowing that they would spring on him at any moment.

  ‘He’s afraid!’ a young boy’s voice called down, close by.

  ‘Of course he is,’ replied the girl. ‘I think you would be too, if you were in his boots.’

  Marcus glanced up briefly and met the girl’s eyes, and saw pity there.

  ‘What’s there to be afraid of?’ said the boy. ‘They’re only like dogs. You have only to speak commandingly and those wolves would roll over like puppies.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ a man’s voice responded, and Marcus recognized it as the leader of the party. The man who called himself Caesar. ‘They’re quite wild. Quite lethal.’

  ‘I can’t see properly!’ the other boy’s voice piped up. ‘Tell him to move out where we can see him, Uncle Julius.’

  The man ignored the boy and there was silence as the spectators lined the rail and leaned forward to view the boy facing the two wolves. Marcus could only wait for them to make a move. All was still and silent, except for the pounding of blood in his ears. Then there was a blur of motion as one of the wolves leapt at him. Marcus ducked down as the creature slammed into the stockade and twisted to snap at him, its claws gouging. He cried out as his wounded arm burned in agony and thrust his dagger. He missed, struck again and was rewarded with a yelp. Far from discouraging the wolf, the wound only seemed to enrage the beast and it lunged, clamping its teeth round the leather armour covering Marcus’s shoulders. It began to crush the joint between its powerful jaws.

  Marcus stabbed again and again, feeling a warm gush over his hand. Still the wolf held on to his shoulder, shaking and worrying it now, as the other wolf braced itself to leap at Marcus from the side.

  There was a gasp from above, then the girl cried out, ‘They’re going to eat him! Someone help! Please!’

  ‘Portia! Get back from the rail!’

  Marcus heard a shrill cry and then the girl’s body tumbled on to the sand beside him. In an instant the other wolf swerved towards her. Portia threw up her arm. The wolf’s jaws opened and snapped round her elbow. She screamed in pain.

  Marcus had to help her. He stabbed and stabbed in a blind frenzy at the wolf that was still attacking his shoulder. Finally, with a gurgling growl it released its grip on him and collapsed, dragging the knife from his hand. Without thinking, Marcus sprang towards the other wolf, clamping his hands round the beast’s throat, crushing his fingers into its windpipe. The wolf snarled and shook its head, causing the girl to scream again in agony as the teeth tore into her flesh. Marcus released his grip, balled a hand into a fist and struck the animal’s snout as hard as he could. The wolf released Portia and backed off a few paces, before turning and bracing its powerful legs for another attack.

  ‘Behind me!’ Marcus shouted, thrusting himself between the girl and the wolf. ‘Stay behind me.’

  As he stared at the wolf, time seemed to slow and Marcus was aware of many things at once. The panicked cries from the spectators. Taurus clambering down from the stockade wall. Porcino standing frozen in horror. The agony in his arm and the terror in his heart. The wolf readying itself to leap. And the glint of the dagger in the sand, no more than six feet to his right. Marcus braced his legs, raised his hands and, as the wolf came towards him, he jumped to his right, colliding with it in mid-air and knocking them both to the ground. There was a writhing mass of fur, claws and teeth snapping viciously, right in front of his face. Wincing, Marcus grabbed the wolf’s lower jaw with his left hand and thrust it up, away, with all his might. At the same time his right hand groped frantically across the sand. His fingers grazed the blade of the dagger, felt for the handle and then closed round it, just as the wolf tore free of his left hand. The shaggy head drew back, the jaws opened, hot breath closed over his face like a warm cloth and the wolf lunged for his throat.

  The blade flashed through the air, the point smashing into the wolf’s ear, shattering the skull and piercing the animal’s brain. Its body jerked and it collapsed on top of Marcus, where it trembled for a moment before it was still. The hot musky smell of the animal filled his nostrils as the fur smothered his face. He struggled to free himself but the pain in his left arm was unbearable and the loss of blood was making him feel dizzy. Hands pulled the dead wolf away and several faces swam overhead.

  ‘The – the girl – is she safe?’ Marcus muttered.

  Then he passed out.

  26

  Marcus dreamt he was at home on the farm. It was a bright day in late spring, the land was alive with the fresh buds of flowers and leaves gleamed on the trees. The sun bathed him in its warm embrace and butterflies flitted through the air as other insects buzzed drowsily. He had been out hunting but had failed to catch anything. Nevertheless, he was happy and filled with contentment as he started down the track between the olive groves that led to the gate. His heart lifted as he saw his mother and father waiting for him there, smiling as they beckoned to him. Marcus broke into a run as he went towards them, arms outstretched.

  Then, when he was no more than twenty paces from them, his parents began to fade away, to become like shadows.

  ‘No …’ Marcus moaned, shifting.

  As they dissolved into nothing, the farm too began to disappear and darkness thickened in the air around him, blotting out the landscape. He cried out in despair, ‘Mother! Father! Don’t leave me!’

  Then there was a sharp pain that burned down his side and his eyes opened a crack as he woke. He was in a plain whitewashed room. A door gave out on to a colonnade, overlooking a neat courtyard garden. He recognized it at once and realized that he was in Porcino’s villa. There was a scraping sound close to his side and he turned his head to see a man sitting on a stool.

  ‘I am not your father, alas.’ The man smiled. ‘Although I have known a few women in my time and it’s possible.’

  He laughed. A warm, hearty laugh.

  Marcus stared at him. ‘I know you. I think. I recognize your face.’ Then it struck him. This was the leader of the party who had come to see the gladiator show.

  ‘We haven’t been formally introduced, my boy. My name is Gaius Julius Caesar.’ He spoke as though the name should mean something to Marcus and his smile faded a little when it provoked no reaction. ‘Anyway, I wanted to be here when you regained consciousness. I wanted to thank you for saving the life of my niece, Portia.’

  Marcus closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to concentrate. ‘The girl who fell into the arena?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s unhurt?’

  ‘Yes. Quite safe. Porcino’s surgeon has dressed her wound and says she will recover well enough. Thanks to you.’ Caesar leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He was wearing a richly embroidered red tunic. ‘This time it was an accident.’ He mused. ‘Next time, who knows?’

  ‘Next time?’

  Caesar stared at Marcus for a moment in silence. ‘I think I may have stayed away from Rome too long. You don’t seem to have heard of me, young man.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Marcus admitted. A thought struck him and he felt a sudden surge of hope. ‘Do you know General Pompeius?’

  ‘How could one not know Pompeius? The greatest man in Rome!’

  ‘Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘Pompeius the Great?’ Caesar thought a moment and shrugged. ‘I doubt whether any truly great man can ever have real friends. Enemies, yes.’

  Marcus felt the hope drain from his body. ‘Then you are his enemy.’

  ‘No. It’s just that I do not aspire to be the friend of so great a man. Not yet.’ Caesar eased himself back and sat erect, as if seated on a throne. ‘You
have done me a great service, Marcus. Yet I have more use for you. Though you have not heard of me, I have some influence in Rome, and soon I will have far more power. Naturally, that means I will have a growing number of enemies – I and my family. Today’s events have helped me to make a decision. I need a bodyguard for Portia. Someone tough, skilled with weapons and brave – and someone unobtrusive. It would not do to show my enemies that I am afraid of them. No one will pay much attention to a boy your age. That’s why I have decided to make you Portia’s bodyguard. That will be your job, from now on, or until I find other duties for you.’

  Marcus’s eyes widened. ‘Me? But, sir, I already have a master. I am owned by Porcino.’

  ‘Not any more. I bought you this afternoon, while you were asleep. I paid Porcino as good a price as he would get for a fully trained gladiator, so he’s more than happy with the deal. Oh, and from now on, you call me master and not sir. Understand?’

  ‘Yes … master.’

  ‘Good!’ Caesar clapped his hands together. ‘That’s dealt with, then. You will rest here until your wounds have healed enough for one of Porcino’s men to escort you to join my household in Rome. Your duties will be explained to you then. How does that sound, Marcus?’

  He lowered his gaze from the man and thought for a moment. He would be leaving his few friends behind. The three men in his stall were the closest of his companions and he would miss them, but that was a small price to pay for being brought much closer to Pompeius and what he hoped would be the end of his quest. Marcus looked up at Caesar and nodded. ‘I am honoured, master.’

  The man rose to his feet and his expression hardened. ‘I have stated my thanks to you. That is enough. We will not mention the matter again. From this moment never forget that I am your master and you are my slave. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘When we next meet, it will be in Rome. I wish you a swift recovery.’

  Without waiting for a reply, Caesar turned and walked out of the room, leaving Marcus to his thoughts. The footsteps receded into the distance and there was silence, apart from the birdsong from the nearby vegetable garden. Marcus was alone. He stared up at the ceiling and felt more hopeful than he had for a long time. Only that morning he had been afraid that he would not live to see another day. Even though he had defeated Ferax, he would have been condemned to continue training as a gladiator, facing the peril of many more fights before he had the chance to win his freedom. Now he would be the guardian of a pampered Roman aristocrat, living in the heart of Rome, with good prospects of finding General Pompeius and presenting his case to him. Yes, he sighed peacefully, life had taken a turn for the better.

  ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’

  Marcus quickly turned his head towards the voice and winced as a burning twinge shot through his shoulder.

  ‘Oh!’ Portia looked at him anxiously from just inside the doorway. ‘I didn’t mean to surprise you. I’m sorry, I should have knocked. Only I didn’t because I don’t think I should be here. Father would disapprove. He’s a friend of Uncle Julius and spends most of his time worrying about appearances.’

  As Marcus gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to pass, she came to the side of the bed and stared down at him. ‘You look … dreadful. All covered with bruises and cuts, and your arm in bandages.’

  Marcus raised his right hand and gestured towards her. ‘You don’t look too good yourself.’

  Besides the dressing on her elbow she had some scratches and grazes on her pale cheeks.

  Portia ignored the comment and frowned slightly. ‘Does it hurt much?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ She looked over him and then met his gaze again. ‘I wish I hadn’t fallen over the rail. I wish that you didn’t have to get hurt on my account. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I would have had to fight the wolves in any case.’ Marcus smiled faintly. ‘I was bound to get injured. In fact, I’m lucky to be alive.’

  ‘You were very brave,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I did what I had to.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ She cocked her head slightly to one side. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

  Marcus pursed his lips. ‘No. What is it?’

  ‘I was wondering, why didn’t you kill that other boy when you had the chance? I could see he hated you. He would not have spared you if the positions had been reversed.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ Marcus reflected.

  ‘So why didn’t you do it?’

  ‘He was beaten. There was no sense to it. The fight was over. It seemed like a waste to kill him …’ Marcus tried to remember the moment more clearly. ‘I don’t know. I can’t recall it very well. It just didn’t seem … right.’

  Portia stared at him and then laughed. ‘You don’t sound like any gladiator I have ever met.’

  ‘And you’ve met quite a few, then?’ Marcus responded drily.

  She stopped laughing. ‘Yes, actually.’

  There was a difficult silence and then she continued in a more even tone. ‘It seems that you are to be my bodyguard. Uncle Julius thinks you will be quite formidable. For my part I have only one question to ask of you. Are you prepared to kill anyone who endangers me?’

  Marcus thought a moment and nodded. ‘If I have to.’

  ‘Very well. Then I shall see you later, in Rome, Marcus.’ A smile flickered on her lips as she spoke his name. Then she patted his good arm and hurried to the door. With a furtive look both ways, she stealthily emerged from the room and crept away.

  He fell asleep again soon after and woke the next morning with his muscles feeling stiff and bruised. The wound to his arm and the crushing bite from the wolf caused him a great deal of pain and he groaned as he tried to get out of bed. A moment later the gladiator school’s surgeon, Apocrites, hurried into the room.

  ‘What do you think you are doing? Lie back down, at once. Before you reopen those wounds.’

  Marcus did as he was told, and the surgeon quickly inspected his wounds and changed the dressing on his arm. The bites and minor cuts he left uncovered.

  ‘Best let some fresh air get to them. They’ll heal quickly enough. The arm will take a bit longer. I’ve stitched the wound together. In eight to ten days the stitches can be extracted. Tell that to the surgeon in your new master’s household, assuming there is a surgeon, that is.’

  Marcus nodded, then cleared his throat. ‘How is Ferax?’

  ‘The other boy? He’ll recover. You knocked him silly, of course, and he’s still a bit dazed. That thick Celtic skull of his saved his head from being caved in. I understand he’s something of a laughing-stock among the rest of his class. He’s even got a new nickname. They’re calling him “Mousebait”. You, on the other hand, are something of a hero.’

  ‘A hero?’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I’ve never been more scared in my life.’

  ‘Oh, and what did you expect?’ Apocrites sighed wearily. ‘That’s what it is to be a gladiator. Always. Anyway, that’s all behind you now. You’re off to Rome, I hear.’

  ‘I’m to be a bodyguard to Caesar’s niece.’

  ‘Well, that should be safe enough. I doubt you’ll ever have to do anything more dangerous than prevent your charge from choking on some sweet delicacy.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ Marcus eased himself into a more comfortable position. ‘When will I be ready to travel?’

  Apocrites straightened up and scratched his cheek. ‘Two, maybe three days from now. The master is sending one of his carts to Rome to collect some armour he has ordered. You’re to travel in the cart. Just think, boy – in a few days you’ll be in Rome. That’ll be quite an experience.’ Apocrites’ eyes glittered.

  ‘Yes. I hope it will,’ Marcus agreed. He was already thinking how he would set about finding General Pompeius.

  27

  Marcus’s wounded arm was in a sling and he supported it as carefully as he could as the cart lumbered up to a hole in the road and lurched to o
ne side. Ahead lay the small town of Sinuessa, where they were to stop for the night in one of the inns. With winter over and the first days of spring imminent, the roads were busy with traders and other travellers making use of the good weather. There were carts piled with all kinds of goods heading in both directions, and groups of people on foot as well as a handful of loners. As the cart trundled past a chain-gang heading in the opposite direction, Marcus regarded them with pity. Most were in ragged tunics and barefoot, and their sullen downcast expressions told of their inner despair as they dwelt on the prospect of a life of slavery. He turned round to watch them for a moment, angered. To see such abject creatures cut him deeply. Yet, he reminded himself, there had been slaves on his father’s farm. Marcus had accepted the fact as he had grown up alongside them, and had been inclined to see them as family and friends, and assumed that they were content with their lot. Now he knew differently. He had lived as a slave and carried the burden of that condition with him every day. He longed to taste freedom again and to be master of his own destiny.

  He watched the chain-gang for a moment longer, as it passed a single figure in a long hooded cloak making for Sinuessa, fifty or so paces behind the wagon. The man had a staff and a begging bowl, and he paused to request a few coins from the guard in charge of the chain-gang. The guard cuffed the man aside and strode on. Perhaps there were worse things than being a slave, Marcus thought as he turned away. But unlike slaves, even beggars could choose their path in life.

  The cart driver clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, urging the mule team on. Marcus shot him an irritated look. The bouncing of the cart made his arm hurt badly enough as it was without going any faster. However, he stilled his tongue. Brutus, the driver, was a heavily built freedman who begrudged the fact that he was as poor free as he had been as a slave. They had hardly exchanged a word since leaving the gladiator school and Marcus was not looking forward to spending several more days in the man’s company while they travelled to Rome.