Arena

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A pair of guards escorted Macro down a series of corridors towards the infirmary. At this early hour the cots were empty. The medical orderlies diligently checked the equipment, preparing the stretchers and surgical instruments for the inevitable stream of patients that would follow. A strong scent of garlic lingered in the air as Macro entered the infirmary. He grimaced as he thought of the carnage that would soon overwhelm the orderlies. Memories rushed back to him of the field hospitals in battles along the Rhine, the stench of torn bowels, the rags soaked in fresh blood, the bodies piled high.

A wizened surgeon with grey eyes greeted Macro with a weary smile. ‘It seems we have our first patient of the day. Step forward, gladiator.’

Macro remained at the door. He didn’t like the tone of the surgeon’s voice. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.’

The surgeon craned his neck at Macro’s gashed thigh and clicked his tongue. ‘No such thing as flesh wounds when it comes to wild beasts, my boy. I’ve seen their cuts turn a gladiator half mad before he died. Allow me to have a closer look.’

Macro gritted his teeth as the surgeon prodded at his wound, inspecting it with his bony index finger. A wave of nausea washed over the optio. After what felt like a long time, the surgeon withdrew his finger and washed his hands in a bowl of water.

‘You should live, provided we clean it out and suture it,’ he announced, wiping his hands on a rag. ‘Otherwise you might die in a day or two. Come with me.’

Macro reluctantly followed the surgeon into an adjoining room. He hesitated in the doorway as he caught sight of several needles, scalpels and saws arranged on a wooden table, their pointed tips shining in the wan candlelight. The surgeon turned to him.

‘It won’t hurt. A little pain when the needle pricks the skin, that’s all.’

‘That’s what they tell you in the field hospitals.’

The surgeon smiled sagely as he drew up a wooden bench next to the operating table. Taking a deep breath, Macro sat down, his stomach churning as the surgeon prepared his instruments.

The surgeon cocked an eyebrow. ‘I assume that you were once a soldier.’

Macro was about to remind him that he was a serving optio in the Second Legion when he remembered that he was still in the role of Hilarus. He bit his tongue and nodded.

‘I’ve seen plenty of ex-soldiers grace my infirmary down the years. Some of them fallen into debt. Others discharged from the legions.’

‘How long have you worked at the arena?’

The surgeon was lost in thought for a moment. ‘Twenty years, give or take.’

Macro pulled a face. ‘I wonder how men like you sleep.’

‘Quite soundly, as a matter of fact. You get used to all the corpses and dismembered limbs after a while. The endless screams, too. The only problem is where to stock all the blood.’

Macro frowned at the surgeon as the latter cheerfully continued. ‘Oh yes, gladiator blood is in big demand these days. Weddings, healing potions, ointments. Personally I think it’s down to Pavo. After he defeated that barbaric Celt, Britomaris, children started playing at gladiators in the street. And the women.’ The surgeon grinned at the soldier. ‘They’re practically fighting over which ones to shag.’

‘Rome’s changed a lot while I’ve been away,’ Macro remarked with a rueful shake of the head. He reflected for a moment before continuing. ‘You must be in for a busy day, what with all the beast fights.’

‘I doubt it. In my experience, the beasts make quick work of the fighters. You should consider yourself fortunate to have survived. It’s an extremely rare occurrence. Once the beast fighters are done, all that’s left are the comedy interludes, followed by a few relatively minor bouts this afternoon. Tomorrow, however, we are expecting to be very busy.’

‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow is the day of the group fight.’

Macro looked up in puzzlement at the surgeon. He had heard of the relatively new notion of packs of doomed gladiators fighting one another until only one man was left standing. But he had never seen such a fight in the flesh.

‘Oh yes,’ the surgeon went on. ‘The group fight is very popular now, especially with the rising cost of the games. The men who compete naturally come very cheap, as they’re not professional gladiators but prisoners of war, murderers and thieves. Normally the sponsor would have to pay several thousand sestertii in compensation for a gladiator killed during the games. With the group fighters, it’s a fraction of that. But, of course, such men are not properly trained and lack the appropriate skill with the sword. You should see the way those idiots blindly hack at each other. The wounds on their bodies are frankly appalling. Limbs hanging off, mutilated genitalia, all sorts.’

An orderly removed Macro’s helmet, padding and leg greaves. He stared ahead as the surgeon tended to his wound, cleaning away the blood and sand with a damp rag before suturing the gash with a needle and twine. He was putting the finishing touches to the sutures when Murena appeared in the doorway.

‘At bloody last!’ Macro exclaimed. ‘I’ve fulfilled my side of the deal. Now get me out of here and back where I belong.’

The aide ignored Macro and waved at the surgeon.

‘Leave us,’ he ordered.

After tying the end of the stitches into a knot, the surgeon rose from the bench and hurried out of the room, wiping his bloodstained hands on his tunic. Murena waited for him to leave, then spun back to face Macro. He looked flustered.

‘How’s the injury?’ he asked.

Macro grunted. ‘I’ve had worse. You get plenty of injuries serving on the Rhine. Speaking of which, when do I get to leave Rome? I’ve had enough of this place. Too many crafty sorts for my liking.’

‘I presume you’re making a thinly veiled reference to me,’ Murena responded. ‘Subtlety is not one of your strong points, Macro. It requires a certain degree of wit to properly articulate.’

‘Articulate this. You’re a crooked shit, and the same goes for that snake Pallas. Now give me my travel authorisation. I’d best be on my way. If I stick around here much longer, I’ll end up punching you in the face.’

Murena pressed his lips together. ‘You can’t leave. Your services are still required here in Rome.’

Something snapped inside Macro. He shot to his feet and marched up to the aide, temporarily forgetting the dull ache in his thigh, his features dark with fury. ‘We had a deal. One fight, then I’d be free to go. You’d damn well better honour it, or else. I don’t give a shit how close you are to the Emperor.’

‘Calm down, Optio. Our deal stands, as soon as you have completed a final task — one of grave importance to the Empire.’

There was an anxious look on Murena’s face, and Macro was momentarily intrigued, wondering why he and Pallas were so eager to keep him in service. Then he came to his senses, recalling his disgraceful participation in the beast fight, and shook his head.

‘Forget it. I’m not interested. Rope some other poor bastard into your scheming.’

Murena moved to block his path as Macro headed for the doorway. The aide’s eyes were laced with menace and his lips twisted at the corners. ‘I’m afraid you can’t return to the Rhine until you have completed this task. Then you are free to go. You have my word.’

‘Your word is a load of crap. I trust you about as much as I trust a tart in the Subura.’

Murena stared back at Macro, his eyes twitching, nostrils flaring. He stepped aside from the door. ‘Have it your way then, Optio. You may leave of your own accord and return to the legion, though why you find that freezing wilderness on the Rhine so alluring is quite beyond me.’

‘Cold it may be, but at least it’s clear who your enemies are. You carry on butchering anyone who pisses off Claudius or whatever it is that scum like you do. I’m off.’

‘A final word of warning,’ Murena called out. ‘If you do decide to turn your back on me, I’ll see to it that word reaches your precious Second Legion about your activities in the arena.’

Macro slowly turned. A cold sensation travelled from his head to his toes. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Really? Then you underestimate me, Optio. Needless to say, once Vespasian learns of your secret, your service in the military will come to a swift end. Rome frowns on men disgracing themselves in the arena. If you’re lucky, some gang leader in the Subura might find you a place in his menagerie of thugs.’

Macro was torn. He desperately wanted to turn his back on Murena, but knowing that to do so would spell the end of his career in the Second Legion, and the loss of the hard-won respect of his comrades, appalled him.

‘Fine,’ he said finally through gritted teeth. ‘But this is the last thing I ever do for you and Pallas. After this, we’re finished. And if I never see another Greek for the rest of my life, it won’t be too soon.’

Murena looked relieved. ‘A wise choice, Optio. I knew you’d come round to our way of thinking eventually.’

He sat down at the wooden bench and planted his smooth hands on his knees, drumming his fingers as if deciding how best to proceed.

‘What do you know about the Liberators?’

Macro shrugged. ‘Sounds like the name of one of those fancy plays all the posh types go and watch.’

‘I thought as much. A common soldier such as yourself is interested only in getting outlandishly drunk on cheap wine and engaging in acts of mindless violence with his fellow creatures. The politics of Rome probably mean nothing to you.’

Macro glared at Murena, impatient at being detained by the freedman. ‘Get on with it.’

‘There are men in Rome, some of them quite senior officials in positions of power, who are desperate to eliminate Claudius and return Rome to a republic. It seems these individuals remain committed to their cause despite the fate suffered by others who harboured republican ambitions. I am talking of men like Scribonianus and, of course, Titus, Pavo’s father.’

Macro shrugged. ‘So Claudius has a few enemies in the Senate. Even I know that’s nothing new, and I couldn’t give a shit about politics. Besides, when did Claudius start giving a toss about a bunch of old farts in togas?’

‘Eloquently put, Macro. However, the Liberators are not to be taken lightly. They’re highly organised, secretive and enjoy a significant level of support among the senators and dissenters opposed to the Emperor. We believe they are planning a fresh conspiracy.’

‘Bloody Greeks,’ the optio grumbled. ‘Have to see a conspiracy in everything.’

Murena did not appear to hear him. He brushed a smudge of dirt off his tunic and said, ‘Claudius is not short of enemies, both here and beyond the frontiers. It’s the nature of the job. But information has come to the attention of the imperial secretary, and as loyal servants of the Emperor, we must act on it.’

‘What sort of information?’

Murena pursed his lips. ‘We fear that the Liberators plan to assassinate the Emperor at the games.’

At first Macro was too stunned to reply. Then he puffed out his cheeks, releasing all the pent-up tension in his muscles. ‘There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of idiots talking about having a pop at Claudius. I’m no expert, but planning to give the Emperor the good news in front of the mob is about the stupidest plan I ever heard.’

‘This plan is no idle threat, Macro.’

‘Really? How do you know? Got some poor sod tied up and being tortured in the Mamertine, have you?’

Murena flashed a dark look at the optio. ‘You’re probably aware that we tried to enlist Pavo to help undermine the Liberators. We made him an offer in Capua. In exchange for bowing before Claudius in a public display of support for the new Emperor, we would spare his son. Pavo, of course, declined. He’s quite the petulant brat, that one. Inherited his father’s anti-authoritarian streak.’

‘Get to your point,’ Macro replied, injustice surging in his chest.

‘After Pavo refused our offer, Pallas and myself had to resort to other means to move against the Liberators. Unfortunately, we can’t detain every senator in Rome and torture the truth out of them, much as we would like to. It would not go down well with the mob. However, Fortuna has blessed us in the shape of a defector from the Liberators’ ranks.’

‘And why would such a man come over to you?’

Murena smiled thinly. ‘We made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. The defector, a trivial local magistrate, told us of the plan to assassinate Claudius at the games.’

‘Sounds unlikely, if you ask me,’ Macro responded tartly.

‘The plan is certainly bold. But considering the success they have had so far in evading capture and undermining the Emperor’s authority, we must presume that the threat is genuine.’

A distant cheer erupted above the infirmary. The ceiling shook, the walls groaning under the sheer mass of humanity bearing down on top of the arena. Murena frowned upwards.

‘This place is falling apart,’ he observed.

‘Build a new one, then,’ Macro responded gruffly.

‘Oh, we shall. Perhaps not for a few years … but in time we’ll build an arena like no other. We’ll hold gladiator spectacles on an unimaginable scale, and our grip over the mob will be complete.’ The aide stopped frowning and looked down at his feet. ‘It’s the most remarkable thing. Pallas and I were quite indifferent to the gladiator games at first. But now we see that they are truly a blessing from Jupiter. We’ll have to host more of them in the future to keep the mob content and, more to the point, on our side.’

‘Can’t wait. Next time you arrange one of these fucking events, leave me out of it.’

The aide lifted his gaze to Macro. A hostile look flared in his eyes. ‘According to the magistrate, the attempt on Claudius’s life will take place tomorrow. And you are going to help us foil the plot.’

‘How?’

‘By stopping the assassin before he can kill the Emperor.’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Claudius have bodyguards for that sort of thing?’

Murena made a pained expression. ‘The loyalty of his German knuckle-draggers is not in question. But they’re likely to cut the would-be assassin to pieces, and it is essential that we take him alive. Capturing the traitor is our best chance of uncovering the names of the rest of the Liberators. If we get their names, we put an end to that nest of vipers at one stroke.’

Macro nodded in agreement. The German bodyguards were ferociously loyal to the Emperor and unlikely to show mercy to anyone who dared make an attempt on his life.

‘At any rate, we could do with an extra pair of hands. The Germans sustained a significant number of casualties quashing the mutiny at the ludus in Capua, leaving the unit thinly stretched. There’s also the fact that Claudius can’t be seen to have too many bodyguards around him during the games. We’re striving to portray the Emperor as a strong, fearless leader. It would not look good to have him seen in public hiding behind a mass of Germans.’

‘Obviously,’ Macro replied drily.

Murena cleared his throat. ‘Your orders are to patrol the galleries and observe the spectators. Once the assassin reveals himself, apprehend him and take him to the imperial palace for questioning.’ The aide’s lips curled at the edges as he forced a smile. ‘Then you will be free to go.’

Macro touched the stitches on his thigh. ‘How do you know the attack is taking place tomorrow?’

Murena picked dirt off his shoulder. ‘The magistrate told us.’

‘He could be lying.’

‘Unlikely. The imperial interrogators know what they’re about. If he’s lying, he’ll be for the chop. But he had only limited involvement with the conspiracy. We don’t know who else is involved, or for that matter who intends to strike the blow. And as I said earlier, it’s politically impractical to round up every high-ranking public official and question them.’

‘Why do you need me?’ Macro asked, a deep frown weighing on his grizzled features. ‘Why not use one of those lackeys in the Praetorian Guard?’

It was Murena’s turn to frown now. ‘We suspect that some of the Praetorians are part of the Liberators’ conspiracy,’ he said. He began pacing up and down the room. ‘If you haven’t already noticed, the guards have been relegated to arena duty. They are being kept as far away from the Emperor as possible without arousing suspicion in their ranks.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ Macro remarked in a low voice. ‘Not that they’d be much use in any event. Bunch of overpaid amateurs playing at soldiers.’

Murena appeared not to hear him. ‘This task requires someone with a good eye for danger and whose loyalty to Rome is unswerving. You have both qualities in abundance. The fact that you are a decorated soldier has persuaded Pallas that you are the ideal man for the task.’

Macro shook his head. ‘It’s an impossible job. There are more than twenty thousand spectators in the arena. How the hell am I going to keep an eye on all of them?’

‘You won’t have to,’ Murena responded coolly. ‘Pallas and I have given the matter some thought. We can rule out the assassin coming from the mob.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘He must come from the higher ranks because they are the ones seated closest to the imperial box. It’s plausible that one of the senators might thrust a blade at the Emperor and strike a decisive blow before anyone could intervene. Any attempt on the Emperor’s life from further away is laden with difficulties. One of the guards stationed at the exits would intervene before the killer had a chance to strike.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about the conspiracy earlier?’

‘The magistrate only spoke up this morning.’

Macro took a deep breath and fought a compulsive urge to snap the aide’s neck.

‘I’ll do it,’ he said after a pause. ‘But after this, I’m pissing off back to the Second. No ifs or buts.’

‘Agreed.’ Murena nodded. ‘This is your big chance to impress the Emperor. After the mutiny in Capua, he was inclined to have you crucified for carelessly destroying his personal property. You’re highly fortunate that he has decided to place his faith in you.’

Macro was about to protest. But he reminded himself that the sooner he completed his task, the sooner he could return to the legion. He swallowed, pushing his rising anger into the pit of his stomach. ‘When do I start?’

‘Straight away.’ The aide hesitated and stared intently at Macro. ‘There is one more thing. It’s vital that your presence around the Emperor is discreet. A Roman soldier by the Emperor’s side might dissuade the assassin. Thankfully, I have the perfect cover for you.’

‘A guard?’ Macro asked.

Murena shook his head. ‘As I mentioned, the guards are being kept at a safe distance from Claudius. No, you will pass yourself off as a freedman clerk working for me.’

‘A bloody freedman!’

‘It’s the only convenient way of getting you close to the Emperor without arousing suspicion.’ Murena narrowed his gaze. ‘If you prefer, you can rejoin the beast fights.’

Macro clenched his jaw, bristling at the thought of having to endure further disgrace in the arena. His return to the Second Legion seemed more distant than ever.

Murena patted him on the shoulder. ‘Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. One of the other clerks will be along shortly to furnish you with the appropriate outfit. If you need me, I’ll be in the imperial box.’

He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway and turned back to Macro, a cold look in his eyes.

‘Don’t let us down,’ he warned. ‘I’m relying on you to help me crush the Liberators once and for all. They may believe that by removing Claudius they’ll usher in a brave new era of republicanism. They couldn’t be more wrong. It is known that the legates of several of the legions are already positioning themselves to seize the throne should Claudius die. If the Liberators succeed, there won’t be peace, but a bloodthirsty struggle for power.’

‘Politicians stabbing each other in the back and seizing what they can?’ Macro couldn’t help sneering. ‘If you ask me, that sounds exactly how things are now.’

Murena looked sternly at him. ‘You may find the present situation in Rome disagreeable, but I assure you it would be far worse without the Emperor to maintain the status quo. If Claudius falls, Rome will descend into chaos.’