Gladiator

15

A harsh clattering sound shattered Marcus’s sleep. He jerked upright and winced as he felt the stiffness in his limbs and neck. Blinking, he looked round and saw that his companions were also stirring.

‘What in Hades is that racket?’ Phyrus grumbled as he sat up, rubbing his face.

Marcus looked round and saw the other occupants of the building tumbling from their stalls and rushing to the main door. With a clank from the lock the door groaned on its hinges as the guards outside opened it. One of them was holding up a metal chime and beating it with the flat of his sword.

‘Move yourselves!’ he bellowed. ‘The last man out gets a beating!’

‘Come on!’ Pelleneus leapt up, dragging Marcus on to his feet behind him. ‘Hurry, Phyrus!’

They rushed out of the stall, into the scrambling tide of bodies making for the door. Most of the other prisoners were men, but there were a few boys among them, Marcus’s age and older. He saw the Thracians just ahead, thrusting through the crowd that was packed in around the door. Then they were lost amid the tall figures of adults pressing round him. Marcus felt a stab of fear. What if he fell over now? He was sure to be crushed underfoot. He grabbed Phyrus’s tunic and pushed in beside his bulk.

‘What the -?’ Phyrus looked over his shoulder with a scowl. Then he saw Marcus and tucked his arm protectively around the boy’s body. ‘Stay close and keep on your feet,’ he growled as he edged forward. ‘I’ll look out for you, lad.’

Together, they moved slowly towards the door. Packed close to the others, Marcus could smell their sweat and dirt and he sensed their fear as they strove not to be the last man out of the door. Then the timber frame loomed ahead, outlining the pale morning sky. There were only a handful of men behind them, and as Marcus passed through the door he glanced back and saw the Spartan standing outside the stall, staring at the last of those struggling to get out. He had a contemptuous expression on his face as he slowly walked towards the door.

‘Don’t just stand there, lad!’

Phyrus pushed him forward and Marcus turned to see that the rest of the slaves were forming a line in front of the cell block. A tall, severe-faced man with a lean, muscular build stood glaring at the slaves as they formed up. He wore a leather jerkin over a red tunic, leather armguards and heavy military boots like those Marcus’s father had favoured. He carried a vine cane in one hand and tapped it against his heel as he stood and watched. Piso came trotting up with a large waxed tablet and stood at the man’s shoulder. Marcus looked at the man warily as he followed Phyrus into position alongside Pelleneus and stood waiting as the last occupants hurried to join the end of the line. There was a brief pause before the Spartan emerged from the door and strolled calmly towards the line.

The man who had been watching them assemble came striding over with a furious expression. He stopped right in front of the Spartan and thrust his face forward so that they were almost nose to nose.

‘What kind of a hurry do you call that?’ he bellowed in Latin. ‘When the morning call is sounded, you run out here as fast as you can. Do you understand me?’

The Spartan just stared back without any sign of fear, or even interest.

The other man whirled round. ‘Piso! Over here, at the double!’

Piso scurried over. ‘Yes, Centurion Taurus?’

‘Who is this ’orrible little man?’ He jabbed his finger at the Spartan. ‘Is he one of the new batch Porcino brought in?’

‘Yes, sir. They make up the last batch of the new intake. The master bought this one from an auction in Sparta. Name’s Patroclus.’

‘Sparta, eh?’ Taurus turned fully to the man and rested one hand on his hip as he clutched his cane tightly in the other. ‘Must think he’s a hard man. Does he speak Latin?’

Piso nodded. ‘That was my understanding, sir. But he’s barely spoken a word to me since the master bought him, and then only in Greek.’

‘I see.’ Taurus sneered at the Spartan. ‘So, I imagine you think you must be King-bloody-Leonidas reborn, the way you ponced out of the cell block like that. Well?’

The Spartan stared straight ahead, in total silence. Taurus suddenly slammed the head of his cane into the man’s stomach. Patroclus doubled over with an explosive grunt.

‘How dare you refuse to reply!’ Taurus bellowed. ‘How dare you walk out on to my training ground without a care in the world. It will not do!’ He lashed out with his cane, striking the Spartan across the shoulders. Marcus flinched as he heard the crack of the blow just a few feet to the right of where he stood. He risked a glimpse sideways and saw that the Spartan was on his knees. Patroclus gritted his teeth, then rose slowly to his feet and faced his attacker again.

‘Not had enough?’ Taurus slapped his face with a vicious backhanded blow and followed it up with a forehand.

Patroclus blinked, but his face remained impassive as he opened his mouth and spat out some blood.

‘Bah!’ Taurus snarled. ‘I’ll break you down to size soon enough, my friend. You’ll see. Now then…’ He took a pace back and ran his eyes along the line. Marcus was just too slow in looking away and caught the man’s eye. In an instant Taurus sprang towards him and poked his vine cane into Marcus’s chest, forcing him back a step.

‘What’s this?’ He glanced round at Piso. ‘Is Porcino planning on a fight between pygmies?’

Piso and the other guards laughed dutifully, while Taurus turned his attention back to Marcus. ‘Name?’

‘Marcus Cornelius, sir,’ he replied, then thinking quickly he added, ‘son of Centurion Titus Cornelius of the Sixteenth Legion.’

Taurus frowned. ‘Your father was a soldier?’

‘A centurion, sir.’

‘And now you’re a slave, eh?’ Taurus tutted. ‘The Gods will play their games. Tough luck, boy. From now on you are plain and simple Marcus. That is the only name you will have until we find a fighting name for you, if you live that long.’

He was about to move on and Marcus could not believe his chance to explain the injustice of his situation was slipping away.

‘Wait!’

Taurus froze. ‘What? Did you say something?’

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Marcus said quickly. ‘I was taken illegally and sold as a slave.’

He never saw the blow, just felt his head snap to one side as Taurus struck him. He staggered back, dazed, as the man shouted into his face.

‘Never, ever speak out of turn again, slave! You hear me? I don’t give a monkey’s who your father is, or what your story may be. Got that? You are a slave, the scum of the earth, and I hate the very sight of you. Your only hope now is that I let you become a gladiator one day. Until then you are nothing. And you will call me master whenever you are called to speak. Understand?’

‘Yes… master,’ Marcus blurted out. His head was still ringing and he felt dizzy enough to be sick. He fought the nausea off as he swayed on his feet.

‘That’s better.’ Taurus turned away and strode back to the centre of the training ground to address the line of men. ‘Now that we are all here, the training can begin. I will start with some introductions… I am Aulus Tullius Taurus, your chief training instructor. I trained soldiers before I trained slaves, and before then I was busy killing barbarians for Rome. I will train you to become killers, eventually. Before then, you must become fit and fearless, so I will work you until you drop and I will beat anyone who complains or falls behind the others, like our foolish Spartan friend over there. From time to time we will be honoured with the presence of Porcino, the lanista who owns this school. You will not address him unless he speaks to you first. And then you will call him master. Next, there is my assistant Piso. He is a slave, but unlike you lot he has proved himself in the arena. Piso is in charge of issuing kit, rations and rewards, so you will treat him well.’ Taurus turned to indicate four men standing to one side. ‘Those men are your drill instructors. Me you call master. Piso and the drill instructors call me sir, and you call them sir in turn. If you fail to remember this simple rule, you will be beaten. There are only two other rules here. Do exactly what you are told and do it at once. Disobedience or hesitation will be punished without mercy.’

He paused to make sure that everyone had time to let his words sink in. ‘For the next four months, you will be trained to build your strength and fitness up. After that, you will begin basic weapons training. I will be watching you closely and in another four months I will choose your fighting speciality. Some of you will fight as heavy infantry. Some will be lightly armed. Others will be trained to fight animals. The youngest of you will be given kitchen and cleaning duties until I decide you are big enough to handle weapons. When you are ready for your first real fights, then you will be moved out of the recruits’ barracks and into more comfortable quarters. To work, then.’ He finished abruptly and clicked his fingers to summon Piso to his side. ‘Time to assign the training groups.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As Piso opened his waxed slate and took out a brass stylus, the four drill instructors came trotting over and stood apart in front of the line of slaves. Marcus watched them blankly as his mind filled with sad memories of his life on the farm outside Nydri. Back then, he had been loved and looked after and was happy. Now he was subject to the cruel discipline of the gladiator school and he wondered just how long he could endure his grim new life. Taurus and Piso paced over to the far end of the line and began making their way along. Taurus stopped in front of every man and boy, examined them briefly and then told Piso which group to enter them into. As he reached the Thracians, Marcus saw him squeeze their shoulders and arms and then examine their hands and legs.

‘Light group,’ he decided, and moved on to Phyrus.

‘By the Gods, this one is built like a bear. Ever killed anyone with those great paws of yours?’

‘No, master,’ Phyrus muttered.

‘A shame. But you will before long. Heavy group, no question about it.’

Taurus moved on to examine Pelleneus after a quick glance at the waxed slate Piso held out to him. The Athenian stood still as he was prodded, and then Taurus stepped back, glancing over him shrewdly as he scratched his chin. ‘Good muscle condition. As you would expect from a boxer. And you’ll be light on your feet, I should imagine. Could equally make a good secutor or a retiarius. Hmmm. Put him down in the mixed group for now.’

Piso nodded and made a quick note, while Taurus moved on to Marcus. Marcus stared straight ahead, not daring to offer any defiance that might be rewarded with a further blow from the training instructor.

‘Ah, here’s the centurion’s son again.’ Taurus leaned forward and squeezed Marcus’s shoulder hard in his vice-like fingers as he spoke in a mocking tone. ‘What to do? Make him a heavy fighter, perhaps? Except that he would collapse under the weight of the kit. A retiarius? No, he’d only tangle his feet in the net. Well, then, put him in the youth group. That’s all he’s fit for right now.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Marcus felt his face burn with embarrassment and he would dearly have loved to tell Taurus where he could shove his opinions. But he kept his mouth tightly sealed and looked straight ahead as he controlled his anger.

When Taurus reached the end of the line, he took one quick glance at the Spartan and gave his verdict. ‘Mixed group. If he lives long enough, I doubt that this one will ever be good for anything but fighting animals.’

‘I will fight you, master,’ the Spartan replied coldly. ‘Now, if you are brave enough.’

‘Fight me?’ Taurus looked amused. ‘I don’t think so. If you were to so much as raise your hand towards me, then I’d have you crucified within the hour. You’d best remember that.’ Taurus paused, then raised his voice so that all of the new recruits to the gladiator school would hear him. ‘That goes for you all. The only fate waiting for any one of you who strikes me, or any member of my training staff, is a slow, agonizing death. There are no second chances for a gladiator. Remember that well and you may live. Fail to, and you will surely die.’ He nodded sombrely. ‘You are dismissed!’