Arena

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The rain stopped a short while later. Puddles shone across the wet sand as Pavo and Hermes re-entered the arena. The spectators hurriedly resumed their seats, having sought refuge under the tall porticoes lining the Forum, and the Emperor and his entourage returned to the imperial box. There was no sign of Narcissus, Pavo noted. He turned to the umpire and watched him pacing impatiently up and down the sand while a pair of officials sprinkled chalk over the faintly visible marking. Wielding his shield and short sword, Pavo stepped inside the freshly drawn circle and prepared to face his opponent again, repeating to himself the plan Macro had explained to him in the tunnel. He closed his eyes and prayed to Jupiter that the soldier’s strategy would work.

Once the umpire had examined the chalk line, he paced back to the centre of the circle and gestured for the gladiators to approach and resume the bout. Hermes flexed his neck muscles and stared at Pavo as he warmed up.

‘The gods won’t save you a second time, traitor. It won’t matter where you fall, once I’ve buried my sword in your fucking neck.’

‘Go to Hades,’ Pavo said coldly.

Hermes held up his sword. The blade glinted under the clearing sky. He grunted. ‘Funny, that. Titus told me the same thing … right before I cut his head off.’

An almost inhuman anger took hold of Pavo. He saw red, his muscles twitching with hatred, his blood simmering as it ran hot through his veins. With steely resolve he took in a sharp draw of breath and firmed his core muscles as the umpire raised his stick and frenetic yells went up amid the crowd.

‘Fight!’ the umpire boomed.

There was a deafening roar from the crowd as Hermes sprang into a powerful attack, his sword point stabbing towards Pavo’s groin. But this time Pavo neatly thrust his shield out and deflected the tip, his heart beating wildly as he drew a lungful of air and lunged forward. Raising his right arm above his head, he twisted his wrist inward so that the tip of his sword was pointing down at the ground. In the blink of an eye he extended his sword arm beyond Hermes’s shield and stabbed at his opponent in a quick downward thrust, nicking him beneath the collarbone. Hermes howled in agony as the blade pierced his flesh. The champion responded by lifting up his shield to bat away Pavo’s sword and thrusting at his throat. Pavo instantly jerked his head to the side. A grating shriek filled the air as Hermes’s blade scraped along the surface of his helmet. The sound jarred shrilly between his ears and Pavo instantly jolted back from stabbing range and began manoeuvring round Hermes. The enraged champion pursued him round the circle, a bright red gash glistening on his neck.

Hermes went on the attack again, thrusting at Pavo as he drew within range. The young gladiator swung up his shield and deflected the blow, jabbing his sword at Hermes before the champion could recover to a defensive posture and nicking him on the shoulder. Pavo’s pulse quickened. The plan was working. He focused solely on his opponent, shutting out the noise of the crowd and ignoring the nerves jangling in his throat. His senses were heightened. He was keenly aware of his breathing and the dull weight of the sword and shield in his grip as he lunged at Hermes, feinting high this time. The champion raised his shield, enraged and bleeding. Pavo smashed his own shield down towards his opponent’s toes but Hermes nimbly backed off a pace and there was a muffled thump as the shield edge thwacked against the sand.

‘Is that the best you’ve got, traitor?’ Hermes sneered.

‘Why don’t you attack like a man?’ Pavo mocked. ‘Instead of hiding behind your shield like a coward.’

Hermes growled behind his visor. ‘I’ll cut you down now, scum! You’re going to lose.’

He charged at Pavo, muscles shaking with fury as he clattered into his opponent with his shield and launched a mad flurry of blows with his sword tip. Pavo spun round at the last moment. There was a shrill metallic ringing as Hermes’s sword repeatedly clashed against the shield boss. Adjusting his stance, Hermes instantly jabbed his sword low and slashed Pavo on the thigh. The younger gladiator dropped to his knee with a sharp cry of pain. Then Hermes thrust his shield out, smashing Pavo’s sword out of his hand. The weapon landed with a dull thud on the wet sand. Pavo crouched behind his shield, blood disgorging agonisingly from his thigh wound. He gripped the shield, which thrummed as Hermes battered and thwacked his sword against it relentlessly. Guttural shouts rang out through the crowd as they sensed the fight reaching its climax. Every nerve in Pavo’s body tensed with fear. With a fierce grunt Hermes kicked the bottom of Pavo’s shield, tipping the top edge towards him. Then he brought his sword arm hammering down like a fist, wrenching the shield free of Pavo’s weakening grip. It fell from his grasp. Hermes’s fans went wild as he kicked the shield away and Pavo sank to his knees at the edge of the circle. Now Hermes stood in front of his opponent, breathing hard. He chucked aside his own shield in a fit of arrogance and saluted his fans as Pavo knelt defenceless beneath him.

‘It’s over,’ Hermes gloated as he turned back to Pavo, a slight rasp to his voice. He tilted his head at the umpire. ‘That cheating bastard can’t save you now. You’re mine.’

Pavo coughed up blood and slowly raised his gaze to Hermes.

‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ he said weakly.

Hermes chuckled harshly. ‘What’s that, traitor?’

‘You dropped your shield.’

Hermes immediately froze in horror as he realised his mistake. Macro had anticipated that the champion would cast aside his shield only when he believed the fight was already won — just as he had done in his sparring match with Criton. Pavo rolled to his left, scooping up his discarded sword and springing up on his toes as he pointed the tip at the champion’s groin. Hermes’s swift reflexes allowed him to swivel towards the tip and bring his own weapon down across his chest. A faint metallic ring sounded as he parried the thrust. Pavo dug deep and summoned one last ounce of strength, swiping aside his opponent’s sword and shooting bolt upright before Hermes could recover, driving his sword tip at his opponent’s neck. There was a brief glimmer as the tip caught the glare of the sun breaking through the clouds, followed by an explosive gasp of air as the sword punctured Hermes’s throat and punched out of the nape of his neck. Hermes spasmed as Pavo drove the sword on until the pommel was almost touching his opponent’s helmet.

The champion of Rome swayed on the spot for a long moment. The crowd gasped in disbelief as he pawed at the blade jutting out of his neck and made a strange gurgling noise. Then Pavo wrenched the blade free. Hot blood gushed out of the wound, splashing down Hermes’s chest and staining the glittering belt wrapped round his waist. Hermes gave out a final wheezing grunt. Then he collapsed.

A stunned silence hung over the arena. Pavo looked on numbly for a moment, struggling to grasp that he had won. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and watched Hermes die, the wound in his neck disgorging a steady pump of blood that spilled on to the sand and formed a wide pool beneath his sprawled body. Then it hit him. The enormity of his achievement. He was overcome by waves of ecstasy and relief.

‘By the gods, I’ve done it,’ he whispered to himself, as if he could barely believe it was true. He closed his eyes and saw an image of his father flash in front of him. ‘I have avenged you, Father …’

He let his sword fall from his grasp to the sand. There was no hot pounding in his veins as he’d experienced in the wake of previous fights. He felt only immense satisfaction that he had accomplished what he had set out to achieve many months ago. All the depredations he had been forced to endure, the deep humiliations he had suffered, the narrow escapes in the arena against some of the most feared fighters in Rome — he had met them all. He didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be cast into a ludus, fight as a gladiator and return to Rome to defeat the great Hermes, he would have mocked them. Now, as he made a silent prayer to Fortuna and Mars, he was simply grateful that he was still alive.

Every muscle in his body throbbed with exhaustion and pain. He could hardly stand upright. The crowd erupted into a full-throated cheer. Even Hermes’s fans joined in in recognition of the stunning display of power, skill and determination from the victor. Soon every spectator was roaring his name. Pavo was indifferent to the praise of the mob. Tomorrow, he knew, they would be in awe of another gladiator.

There was a tumult in the mouth of the tunnel. Pavo turned and saw Murena striding out of the shadows accompanied by a large detachment of Praetorian Guards. The imperial aide pointed to the victorious gladiator.

‘Guards!’ he shouted, his smooth voice cracking with anger. ‘Arrest this man!’

Pavo was dumbfounded. Murena had betrayed him. A hot rage swept through his veins as the guards pushed forward, two of them grabbing him by the arms. Boos immediately chorused around the stands. Pavo was too weak to break free of the guards’ grip. He cast a panicked glance across the arena, looking for Macro. He glimpsed him in the tunnel, where a handful of Praetorians were struggling to restrain the optio from entering the arena. One of the guards lifted the helmet from Pavo’s head and the harsh light stung his eyes. He turned to face Murena. The aide to the imperial secretary approached him, an amused expression on his face. Pavo took a deep breath to compose himself.

‘Release me at once!’ he stuttered.

‘Not likely,’ Murena sneered, pulling a sour face at Hermes’s sprawled body. ‘Beating the colossus of Rhodes. I must say, that’s quite the achievement. I had my doubts. But once again you have proved us wrong. Sadly for you, instead of the Emperor proclaiming you Champion of the Arena, you’ll be hanging from a crucifix.’

Pavo felt the blood freeze in his veins. ‘We had a deal.’

Murena smiled and took a step closer to the young gladiator. ‘A deal?’ he said in a low, mocking voice, barely audible above the chorus of disapproval showering down from the stands. ‘Did you honestly think I would let you walk free, hailed as a champion, after you so nearly killed the Emperor? Of course not. You’re a traitor, Pavo. Just like your father. The mob may love you now, but once they hear the truth, your disgrace will be complete. The Emperor may have spared Appius, but I will make sure he grows up as lowly scum.’

Pavo convulsed with anger. ‘You bastard!’

Murena laughed. ‘Rant all you want, my dear boy. Now we will make you pay.’ He waved to the guards. ‘Get this miserable traitor out of my sight.’

Pavo resisted, digging his feet into the sand despite his sapped strength. ‘You can’t do this!’ he protested.

‘Oh, but I can.’ Murena laughed cruelly, his eyes narrow with cunning. ‘I must say, this has all worked out rather nicely. Hermes is dead, Pallas and I retain our influence within the imperial palace and you are to be nailed to a cross. A fitting fate for the son of a treasonous general, no?’

Pavo clenched his jaws shut as black rage pounded viciously inside his skull. He was consumed by an urge to snap the neck of the imperial aide. Murena smiled gleefully at him.

‘Send my regards to Titus in the afterlife,’ he mocked as he turned to leave.

‘That’s the culprit!’ a voice thundered from across the arena.

Murena halted and turned back round. Pavo looked towards the entrance at the opposite end of the arena and spotted Narcissus storming out of the tunnel, accompanied by Emperor Claudius and several of his German bodyguards. Narcissus appeared flushed with anger. He sidestepped Hermes’s bloodied corpse and pointed an accusing finger at Murena.

Claudius frowned sharply.

‘Are y-you quite s-s-sure of this, Narcissus?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely certain, your majesty,’ the freedman replied brusquely.

Murena shifted uneasily on the spot, his face shading white with fear as he looked at Narcissus and the Emperor in turn. He smiled weakly. ‘Is there a problem, your majesty?’

Claudius flashed a look of cold anger at the aide, his lips quivering with outrage. ‘N-Narcissus tells me that you hired s-s-several thugs — retired g-gladiators, no less! — to kill him.’

Murena was momentarily flustered. Murmurs erupted in the stands. The aide briefly lost his composure and something like panic flashed in his pale eyes. Pallas paced sheepishly behind Claudius. The imperial secretary did not even glance at his aide, Pavo noted. The two Praetorian Guards still held the gladiator by the arms and they glanced from Murena to Claudius, uncertain as to their orders.

‘Is s-s-such a thing t-true?’ Claudius asked after a pause, his temper rising.

‘Of course not, your majesty!’ Murena spluttered. ‘I would never dream of conspiring against a fellow freedman. Narcissus is clearly mistaken.’

Narcissus glared at him. ‘I don’t think so, Murena.’

The aide shook his head. ‘You have no proof to support this preposterous claim, Narcissus. Indeed, your very presence here exposes your lies. If I had paid some retired thugs to dispose of you, then why are you standing here before us?’

‘Oh, but I have proof.’ Narcissus folded his arms smugly across his chest and nodded to a figure standing amid the throng of German bodyguards. Ruga stepped forward and stood beside him. Pavo looked at Murena. There was a definite flicker of fear in the aide’s eyes, he thought. Murena swallowed hard and glared at the retired gladiator.

‘You …’ he hissed.

‘Publius Didius Ruga is not the one to blame here, your majesty,’ Narcissus went on in a measured, calculating tone of voice. ‘Ruga was bribed by Murena into taking part in a despicable plot with several of his retired gladiator comrades to kill me if Pavo lost his fight against Hermes.’

Murena countered frantically, ‘These men are telling lies, your majesty!’

Claudius kept his gaze on Murena as Narcissus spoke. ‘I am telling the truth. And Ruga here can confirm what I have to say. Murena ordered Ruga and his comrades to lie in wait in one of the alleys near the imperial palace. When he believed that Pavo was losing the fight, he gave the signal for one of the servants to lure me away from your side, your majesty, on the pretext that I was required at the palace on urgent business. Ruga and his comrades were then to ambush me in the alley.’ Narcissus paused and smiled sardonically. ‘A bold plan, I must say, if somewhat clumsy in its execution.’

‘Outrageous lies!’ Murena threw up his arms, his face burning with fury.

Narcissus ignored him and continued. ‘Mercifully I already had my suspicions after Gnaeus Sentius Cornicen, the imperial lanista, reported to me that Murena had taken a special interest in training Pavo. I knew he was up to something. Thankfully Ruga refused to carry out the task; his first duty is to Rome, like any good Roman’s, and he reported the ruse to his former employer, Senator Macula, late last night. The senator is a good friend of mine and he came straight to me with the news.’

Murena was speechless. Silence fluttered over the arena. Pavo looked on, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. Now he understood why Narcissus had left the imperial box during the fight. He recalled what Murena had said when the aide had visited him in training the previous day. Pallas and I will do whatever is necessary to stay in power.

Claudius stared at the aide for a moment before turning his gaze on Ruga. ‘W-w-well?’

Ruga bowed his head and nodded. ‘It’s true, your majesty.’

‘These men are trying to deceive you, your majesty.’ Murena looked pleadingly at the Emperor. ‘I swear to all the gods, I had no hand in any such plot. Narcissus is attempting to turn you against me.’

Narcissus rolled his eyes at the aide. ‘For gods’ sakes, don’t beg. It is rather unseemly, even for a freedman.’

‘Your majesty, I would never-’

‘Silence!’ Claudius yelled, suddenly flushed with anger. Murena’s lips quivered with fear as the Emperor turned to Pallas. ‘Did y-y-you have anything to d-do with this t-treachery?’

Pallas feigned innocence while Murena visibly shook with fear a short distance away from him. ‘I swear, your majesty, this is the first I have heard of these vile allegations. I assure you that my aide acted without my knowledge or permission in this affair.’

That appeared to satisfy Claudius. He scowled at Murena and waved to the guards. ‘T-t-take this despicable t-traitor to the Mamertine! He can w-w-wait there until we c-crucify him tomorrow.’

Murena’s eyes went wide with horror. Snivelling, he dropped to his knees in front of the Emperor. ‘Please, most gracious majesty, I beg of you, let me live!’

The Emperor’s expression hardened. ‘Get to your f-f-feet, Murena. A man should e-e-embrace death with dignity.’

With that Claudius gave a stiff nod of his head and the guards dragged Murena towards the tunnel entrance, the aide screaming for mercy. Narcissus smiled as the crowd began to chant, ‘Crucifixion for Murena! Crucifixion for Murena!’ The spectators around the stadium were delighted that the day’s entertainment had not ended with the gladiator fight. Turning away from Murena, the Emperor waved a frail hand at the men who were holding Pavo.

‘R-r-release the gladiator. He has p-p-proved a noble swordsman.’

The guards obediently stepped away from Pavo. The young gladiator clutched the throbbing wound on his bicep and flashed a dark look at the Praetorians. He was beginning to understand why Optio Macro hated them. Claudius pursed his lips and considered Pavo for a moment.

‘Perhaps I was w-w-wrong about you,’ the Emperor mused. ‘Rome needs m-more men such as yourself. There are f-few heroes these days. Too few to waste, while b-barbarians mass along our f-f-frontiers. You are free to g-go, young Pavo.’

Pavo looked astounded. Something like joy fluttered in his chest. He sank to his knees. Freedom. He had never thought he would taste it again. For a moment he was unable to speak. Drained from his fight, weary from the months of deprivation, he managed a half-hearted smile at Claudius.

‘Thank you, your majesty.’

‘Y-you have earned it, young m-man. In blood.’ The Emperor paused and considered something. ‘A freedman needs money, especially a gladiator who has been f-f-fighting without any bounty. I sh-shall see to it that your family estate in A-Antium is returned to y-you.’

Pavo’s smile widened slightly. He had spent many a holiday at the villa in Antium as a child. And the land surrounding the estate would provide a modest income.

Claudius abruptly dismissed Pallas and Narcissus from the arena and waved to a pair of attendants. One of them bore a silver urn filled with coins. The other carried a palm leaf. The Emperor looked at Pavo as the attendants swept across the arena.

‘Now, to your f-f-feet, Pavo,’ Claudius intoned. ‘It is time for y-you to accept your title — Champion of the Arena …’

As the sun set over the imperial palace the next day, Pavo made his way down the marble entrance steps, clutching his wooden rudis of freedom. After the arena had emptied the previous afternoon, Claudius had ordered that the grandstands should remain in place for the following day’s crucifixion. A sizeable crowd had turned up to watch Murena’s execution. With both Lanatus and the aide to the imperial secretary dead, Pavo could rest easy. No one else was aware of his involvement in the conspiracy to kill Claudius, and Murena’s desperate accusations against him had fallen on deaf ears. Pavo had been invited to the imperial palace following the public crucifixion to receive his rudis in person from Claudius in front of a large assembly of dignitaries. Although officially he could not reclaim his place among the senatorial class, the respect his father’s peers showed him was obvious. Bravery was a rare commodity in Rome. Rarer than it ought to be, Pavo reflected.

Ruga and Bucco had been present to watch Pavo receive his freedom. In recognition of his help in training the gladiator to victory and exposing the conspiracy against Narcissus, Ruga had been given a new job as an imperial bodyguard, escorting functionaries as they went about their civic duties around Rome. Bucco had told Pavo that he intended to pursue his career as a comedy actor. At the end of the ceremony he had bid Pavo a warm farewell and the two men had sworn to remain friends. Pavo had a feeling they would be seeing each other again before too long.

Now Pavo grimaced as he made his way down from the entrance. The injuries sustained in his brutal clash with Hermes were still painful and he moved stiffly as he neared the wrought-iron gates at the bottom. The ornate colonnades cast long shadows over the steps. Squinting in the sunset, he noticed two silhouetted figures waiting for him. The new Champion of the Arena slowed his step as the Praetorian Guards stationed at their posts opened the gates. He limped towards the two figures outside. Then he caught sight of their faces and a surge of emotion swelled inside his chest.

Macro stepped towards him. His hand was clasped round the tiny fingers of a timid child by his side. The soldier grinned broadly at the stunned gladiator and cocked his head at the child.

‘This little rascal belongs to you, I believe.’

For a moment Pavo couldn’t speak. He dropped to his knees. Tears instantly welled in his eyes. ‘Appius!’

Macro released the child’s hand and gently nudged Appius towards his father. Pavo watched the child in amazement. Appius’s gait was awkward as he approached his father, and Pavo felt a surge of pride as he watched his son walking on his own. He had been a baby the last time Pavo had seen him; now he was a small boy. Pavo felt a sudden pang of sadness.

‘My son,’ he stuttered. ‘It’s really you.’

Appius looked curiously at his father. Pavo imagined that he must appear unrecognisable to the young boy. A straggly beard covered the lower half of his face. His arms and legs were marked with bruises and scars from his battles in the arena. His once skinny frame was enlarged with taut muscle.

‘I missed you so much, my boy.’

Pavo placed his hands on his son’s small shoulders. So young. There was a flicker of recognition in his blue eyes, as the child tried to place the face in front of him. At last he reached out and touched the wooden rudis Pavo was holding.

‘Sword,’ Appius said.

‘Yes, sword,’ Pavo replied.

The child raised his hand and lightly touched a scar on Pavo’s face. ‘Father.’

Pavo smiled. Overcome with joy, he hugged Appius tightly and clamped his eyes shut. It had all been worth it. The training, facing down the slippery freedmen in the imperial palace, surviving every vicious foe in the arena. For this one moment, holding his son tight as a free man, Pavo told himself he would have endured any hardship.

At length he stood painfully upright and smiled at Macro.

‘You’re in a bright mood … for a change.’

‘Course I bloody am, lad.’ Macro waved the scroll in his right hand bearing the wax seal of the Emperor’s office. ‘I’m a centurion now. Best of all, I’m finally heading back to the Rhine Frontier, and this time there’s not a meddling Greek in sight who can stop me.’

‘When did you receive your promotion?’

‘Earlier, while you lot were watching that shit Murena get nailed to a cross. Bucco asked me to stop by his lodgings in the Subura and bring Appius to you. I was more than happy to do so.’

‘Things worked out rather well for us both in the end, Macro. Or should I say, Centurion.’

‘Not too bad, I suppose.’ The newly promoted centurion patted his chest. ‘The Emperor gave me a thousand sestertii to go with the promotion. Very generous of him, that. It’s a long trek back to the Rhine and I’ll need the company of a few cheap tarts along the way.’

‘You’ll be leaving soon, then?’

Macro nodded as he tucked the scroll into his sidebag. ‘At dawn.’ He looked up and considered Pavo for a moment. ‘What’re you going to do now? Seeing as you’re a freedman and all.’

‘I’m a freed gladiator, Macro. There’s a difference. Rome’s social mores forbid me from returning to my former elevated standing.’

‘Bollocks to social mores, lad! You’re the most popular gladiator Rome has ever seen. They’ll be talking of the way you fought back from the brink to defeat Hermes for years to come.’

Pavo smiled weakly. The centurion was right. Other gladiators had been popular with the mob, but as a high-born man Pavo carried a unique appeal. His feats had gone some way to restoring pride to the Valerius family name. Along with the return of his estate in Antium, Pavo received an urn filled with coins from the Emperor for his victory over Hermes, which he put to good use. He set aside a small sum for a proper grave and monument to be built on the Appian Way in honour of his father, with the balance going to the gladiators’ guild, so that others who fell on the sand could be spared the indignity of being slung into a grave pit. In the wake of his victory Cursor had approached Pavo, offering to act as his trainer and manager, arranging show bouts across the Empire in return for a share of the profits. Pavo had politely turned down the offer.

‘Is that the end of your career as a gladiator, then?’ Macro asked.

Pavo nodded. ‘I’ve no wish to step back inside the arena.’ He looked down at his son and smiled. ‘Besides, I’m about to begin a new career.’

Macro’s expression darkened. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to follow Bucco and become a bloody actor!’

‘No chance.’ Pavo laughed. ‘Actually, it’s not so much a new start as a return to an old job.’ He paused for a moment and looked at Macro with a determined expression. ‘The Emperor has appointed me as a tribune to the Fifteenth Legion. I’m to leave for the camp at Carnuntum, near the Danube, as soon as I’ve put my affairs in order.’

‘Tribune, eh?’ Macro raised an eyebrow. ‘Not bad … even if it is with those slackers in the Fifteenth. And the Danube is supposed to be the armpit of the Empire. The Rhine is almost civilised by comparison.’

‘So I hear,’ Pavo replied sourly. He glanced back at the imperial palace. ‘I’m sure one of those slippery Greeks is behind all this. The imperial household seems rather keen on hastening my departure from Rome.’

‘Give you your moment in the sun, then post you to some filthy backwater where you won’t pose a threat to the Emperor, eh?’ Macro shook his head, glad that he no longer had to deal with the politics and scheming of Rome. He nodded at Appius. ‘What about your son?’

Pavo turned back to the boy and ruffled his hair. ‘Appius will join me. As I travelled with my father across the Empire before him.’

Macro scratched his jaw. ‘Fair enough. I suppose there are worse postings than the Danube. Judaea, perhaps. At least you’ll have a chance to cut down more scum like Hermes. You seem to have a knack for chopping up barbarians.’

Pavo smiled. The two men clasped hands. Of one thing the new Champion of the Arena was certain. He would not forget Macro in a hurry.

‘Look after yourself, lad,’ the soldier said as he made to leave.

‘And you too … Centurion.’

Macro turned his back. Pavo watched him trudge off. After a couple of steps he stopped and turned back to the former gladiator. ‘One more thing, Pavo.’

‘Yes, sir?’

The centurion cleared his throat as a pained expression crossed his weathered face. ‘That business about me having to appear in the beast fights last month. We’ll keep that to ourselves, eh? Not a word to anyone.’

Pavo smiled softly. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.’

‘Where have you been all these fucking months?’ Centurion Lucius Batiacus Bestia barked as he rolled up Macro’s travel warrant.

A chilly wind carried through the Second Legion fortress on the banks of the River Rhine, stirring Macro’s cloak as he stood stiffly in front of the gate at the southern end of the camp. The sentries had not been expecting any arrivals, and having been away from the camp, Macro did not know the password. After a sharp exchange of words, a message was sent to Bestia, the veteran centurion in the Second and Macro’s superior. It was only when Bestia laid eyes on his comrade that the gate was opened. The sky was grey and the ground was a sea of churned mud as winter slowly gave way to spring.

‘Well?’ Bestia asked, tapping his foot. ‘I’m still waiting on an answer.’

Macro weighed up his words carefully. It had been a little under two months since he had departed Rome and tramped north. The march back to the legionary fortress had been good exercise, and despite the snow in the mountain passes and the mud of the forest tracks, he had marched twenty miles a day, stopping only to eat and put his head down at night. The newly promoted centurion had had plenty of time to think about his excuse for his prolonged absence from his comrades. But now with Bestia giving him a long, hard look, his mind was suddenly blank.

‘I, er … I mean …’

Bestia crossed his arms and frowned. ‘I think I know what happened here … Centurion.’

‘You do, sir?’ Macro blinked and tried to compose his face, suddenly afraid that Murena or one of his imperial colleagues had somehow sent word back to the Second Legion after all. He stiffened his muscles and prepared for Bestia to give him the bad news that his career as a soldier was over.

Bestia grinned. ‘You’ve been pissing away your reward money on tarts and wine. Then you panicked and realised you’d been away from your real mates for too long, so you used your new friends in high places to get you out of trouble with some half-baked excuse about being retained on imperial business. Bollocks! You don’t fool me, Macro. You were up to your neck in cunny and Falernian this whole time.’

Macro kept a straight face but breathed a deep sigh of relief. Bestia would jibe him relentlessly about his extended period of leave for several months, but that would be the worst of it. A smile escaped and the veteran centurion grunted at him.

‘There’s a ragged bunch of new recruits due here any day now. They’ll need to be whipped into shape. Doubtless some of them will head your way and will need training.’ He paused and looked hard at Macro. ‘That is, unless you’re too busy making friends in the palace.’

Macro straightened his back and sucked in a lungful of cold Rhine air. ‘It’s good to be back, sir.’

Bestia laughed. ‘Ha! Be careful what you wish for, Centurion.’ He tapped his nose. ‘Summer will soon be upon us. Those barbarians across the Rhine will be stirring. Mark my words, Centurion Macro. The excitement’s just about to begin …’