Gladiator: Fight for Freedom

3

Several days after Decimus’s men had been driven off, Marcus and Aristides were sitting on a slab of rock watching over the goats.

‘Cerberus served you well the other day.’ Aristides smiled, then his expression grew more serious. ‘However, you still have some way to go before that dog is fully trained.’

Marcus looked down at Cerberus. The dog sensed his attention, and gazed up with a devoted expression and wagged his tail happily. ‘He seems tame enough.’

‘He’s tame, but he’s not trained,’ Aristides said firmly. ‘It was quick thinking to throw that stick for him, but you can’t rely on that working next time.’

‘Next time? You really think those men will come back?’

‘It’s possible.’ Aristides forced himself to smile dismissively. ‘Even if they don’t, that’s no reason not to finish training Cerberus. He’s done well since you found him, master Marcus.’

Marcus nodded. It was over a year since the pedlar had come by the house with his cart filled with old pots, knives, cups and other wares. Cerberus had been chained to the back of the wagon to guard its contents. He had been starved and beaten to make him as vicious as possible, to deter anyone attempting to steal anything from the wagon. Marcus’s mother had taken one look at the contents of the cart and was about to send the pedlar on his way when Marcus intervened. The sight of the dog had broken his young heart.

‘Let me buy him, mother,’ he had whispered to her.

‘Buy him?’ Livia looked amused. ‘What with? You have no money.’

‘Then you buy him. Please.’

She shook her head. ‘He’s a worthless wild animal, Marcus. No good for anything.’

Marcus looked at the animal and saw through the matted hair and bared teeth – saw the tormented and frightened creature within. ‘He’s been badly treated. He needs care. Let me have him and I promise I can train him, and make him useful on the farm. Please.’ He caught the sleeve of her tunic and stared up at her. ‘If that man is allowed to own him for much longer, the poor dog will die.’

His mother stared back at him, and then frowned, as if a memory had surfaced. She looked up at the pedlar and asked curtly, ‘How much for the dog?’

The pedlar’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘Twenty sestertii, seeing as it’s for the young lad there.’

‘Ten. And no more.’

‘Ten?’ The pedlar pretended to look surprised. ‘But Cerberus is a first-class hunting dog. Good lineage and all that. Worth a fortune, he is.’

‘Ten,’ Livia said firmly.

The pedlar paused, as if weighing up the offer. Then he nodded. ‘All right then, but I’m robbing myself.’

He untied the dog from the cart and offered the rope to Marcus. Livia held him back as she spoke to the pedlar. ‘No. You tie him to that post there behind the barn.’

Once the dog was secured, she went inside for the money and counted the coins out into the pedlar’s hand. He closed his fingers at once and scurried back to his cart.

‘Good luck with him. You’ll need it.’

Then he cracked his whip and the cart trundled away, leaving Marcus staring at the dog as it backed against the wall of the barn and watched its new owners suspiciously.

Aristides had a special talent for taming animals and he spent his spare time trying to pass on his skills to Marcus. Together, they had worked on Cerberus in a barred storeroom behind the olive press. Marcus remembered that first night – the old man had fed Cerberus a sleeping potion, then the two crept in and bathed the dog’s wounds. Afterwards he was fed a diet of gruel made from ground barley with scrap meat from the kitchen. Weeks passed, and the dog soon recovered his health, and fur grew back over the bald patches, covering his bruises and scars. Coached by Aristides, Marcus began to offer the dog pieces of meat. At first he offered the meat through the bars, and Cerberus approached warily before snatching it away and rushing to the back of the storeroom, where he gulped it down. Then Aristides and Marcus entered the room, and Aristides gently urged Marcus to offer the meat by hand. It took all of Marcus’s courage to step forward and hold his hand out.

‘Don’t flinch,’ the goatherd urged him. ‘You must not let him know you are afraid.’

The first few times Cerberus snatched the meat and ran, but after a few days he took the meat and ate it where he stood. Then, one day, after he had gulped the meat down he stepped cautiously forward and sniffed Marcus. The puffs of warm breath on his skin made Marcus nervous, but he held his hand still, until he suddenly felt the dog’s tongue lick his fingers. His breast filled with a warm pride and love for the animal and he glanced at Aristides with a delighted smile. ‘Did you see?’

The old goatherd nodded and returned the smile, patting the boy on the head. ‘There, I told you if you were patient we would win him over.’

Soon, Cerberus was happy to let Marcus stroke him, and a month after he arrived they led him out of the room and took him for a walk around the farm. The dog was wary at first, before the delight of every scent took hold and he trotted to and fro, sniffing the ground, but always staying close to Marcus and Aristides. It wasn’t long before Marcus was walking the dog by himself, and starting the first simple lessons in obedience. Three months after Cerberus had arrived at the farm, Marcus presented the dog to his mother and father in the courtyard.

‘Well! He’s much improved,’ Livia said with a surprised expression. ‘His coat looks in good condition and he’s put on some weight.’

‘True,’ Titus mused, squatting down to look closely at the dog. He felt its muscles and lifted the jowls to check the teeth, all without any reaction from Cerberus. Titus looked at his son. ‘You’ve done well, boy.’

Marcus smiled with pride, then he gestured to the goatherd. ‘Aristides helped me, father. I couldn’t have done it without him.’

‘Yes, he is good with animals. Always has been. Now then, the question is, what use can this one be put to? Can he be trained, I wonder?’

Marcus smiled. ‘Watch.’

He clicked his fingers and pointed to the ground at his side. ‘Sit!’

Cerberus pulled away from Titus, trotted to Marcus’s side and sat. Then Marcus opened his hand so the palm was parallel to the ground. ‘Lie!’

Cerberus shuffled his front legs forward and sank on to the ground. Marcus paused and then circled his hand round. ‘Die for Rome.’

Cerberus rolled over on to his back, legs flopping loosely. Marcus’s mother clapped her hands in delight.

‘What a clever dog!’

‘Clever?’ Titus frowned. ‘It’s a simple trick. Besides, a clever dog wouldn’t die for anyone. If you can teach him something useful to help us on the farm, then he’s yours to keep, boy. Otherwise, he must go.’

Marcus and Aristides tried to teach Cerberus how to help herd the goats, but the dog always treated the lessons as a game and ran barking at the goats until he was called off and placed back on his leash. They had better success with hunting. Cerberus had a fine nose for prey and more often than not he could chase down any hares before they reached the safety of their burrows. Titus grudgingly allowed the dog to stay.

Now, after the visit of Decimus’s men, Marcus was determined to complete Cerberus’s training with a more dangerous set of skills. When he explained his ideas to Aristides, the goatherd puffed his cheeks and scratched his head.

‘I’m not so sure that is a wise idea, Marcus. At the moment the dog has a good nature. He loves people. If I do as you ask and we train him to attack, then you may lose that side of him. He will become a very different animal indeed.’

Marcus had already made his mind up. If, or more likely when, Decimus sent more men to the farm, then his father would need all the help he could get. He looked steadily into Aristides’ eyes and nodded. ‘We must do it.’

Aristides sighed, looked down at the dog and sadly caressed its ear. ‘Very well, then. We’ll start today.’

While they trained the dog, Titus told everyone to keep an eye open for any men approaching the farm. He organized a rota for himself and Aristides to keep watch during the nights. He took the first and last turns. Each night, as Marcus made his way to his bed, he saw his father seated on a stool just inside the courtyard gate, his drawn sword resting across his thighs and a large copper dish propped up beside him to be beaten if Titus had to sound the alarm. Marcus worried about it constantly, but no one came in the days that followed, and then the days stretched into a month and still Decimus sent no men, or even any message.

Life on the farm continued with its usual routines, and after Marcus had carried out his daily duties he devoted his time to training Cerberus. Just as Aristides had warned him, the dog became tense, seemingly wary of everyone except Marcus and the goatherd.

One night, as he was dropping off to sleep – the pale yellow glow of an oil lamp flickering on the simple chest that was the only furniture in his room – his mother came and sat on his bed.

‘I haven’t seen much of Cerberus lately,’ she said, stroking his hair. ‘He’s never around the house. There was a time when I had to watch him carefully to make sure the scamp didn’t sneak anything from the kitchen.’

‘I’m keeping him in the storeroom again.’

‘Why? He’s no trouble to have in the house.’

‘It’s to do with his training,’ Marcus explained. ‘Aristides said it would be best if he was kept away from other people for a while.’

His mother raised her eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Well, the old man must be right. He knows his animals well enough.’

Marcus nodded, then smiled at his mother. She stared back at him, and her hand froze on his head. A momentary look of pain crossed her face and Marcus felt a stab of alarm. ‘Mother, what is it?’

She withdrew her hand quickly. ‘Nothing. Really. Just that you reminded me of your father for a moment. That’s all.’ She patted his cheek and leaned forward to kiss him. She got up to leave, but before she could, Marcus put a hand on her arm. ‘Will we be all right?’ he asked softly.

‘Pardon?’

‘Will the men come back?’

She was silent a moment before she nodded. ‘Don’t worry. Titus will protect us. He always has.’

Marcus was comforted by that and for a moment his mind wandered. Then he asked, ‘Was father a good soldier?’

‘Oh yes. One of the very best.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I knew that as soon as I saw him.’

‘When did you meet him?’

Her eyes opened again and she paused a moment before responding. ‘I met Titus soon after the revolt was put down.’

‘The slave revolt? The one that was led by the gladiator?’

‘Yes. Spartacus.’

‘Father told me about that once. He said that Spartacus and his rebels were the greatest threat that Rome ever faced. He said they were the toughest and bravest men he had ever fought. He was there at the final battle with the slaves.’ Marcus recalled the story that his father had told him. ‘He said that it was the fiercest battle he had ever been in. The slaves did not have much armour, and hardly any weapons, but they fought to the end. Only a handful surrendered.’

‘Yes…’

‘If father could defeat Spartacus and the slaves, then he must be able to beat Decimus’s men.’

‘That was over ten years ago,’ she said. ‘Titus is an older man now. He is not a centurion any longer.’

‘But he will protect us, won’t he?’

She smiled faintly and stroked his cheek. ‘Yes. Of course. Now get to sleep, my darling boy.’

‘Yes, mother,’ he replied sleepily, and rolled on to his side, nestling his head down into the bolster. She continued stroking his hair for a while, until his eyes closed and his breathing became even. Then she rose up and crossed quietly to the door. She stood there a while and Marcus drowsily opened his eyes a fraction to look at her, wondering at her strange expression when he’d spoken of Spartacus. By the wan glow of the lamp he could see that her eyes were glistening, and a tear began to roll down her cheek. She sniffed and abruptly cuffed the tear away before turning to the oil lamp and puffing out the flame. The room was plunged into darkness, as Marcus heard her feet padding softly away down the corridor.

He lay there, restless. Why had his mother been crying? Was she scared, like him? He had always thought of his father as a tough, strong man. He was never ill, and worked his farm in the cold wind and rain of winter and the blazing heat of summer without a word of complaint or any sign of discomfort. Marcus knew he was older than Marcus’s mother. Much older. His face was battered and creased and his thinning hair was streaked with grey. By contrast, she was slender, dark-haired and quite beautiful, Marcus thought. How had she come to marry him? The more he thought about it, the more questions formed in his head. It was funny, he reflected, just how little he knew about his parents. They had always been there, always together, and he had taken them for granted. Yet now he thought about it, they seemed an unlikely couple. He felt an itch on his back, on his right shoulder blade, and he reached round to scratch. His fingertips traced their way over the strangely shaped scar tissue that had been there as long as he could remember. He lightly dug his nails in and rubbed, until the itch had gone.

He rolled on to his back and stared into the darkness of the rafters above. He resolved that from now on he would put every spare hour into training Cerberus. If those men came back, from what his mother had said, there was no guarantee that his father could beat them again. Marcus would have to stand by his side. He was big enough to handle a meat cleaver, or one of his father’s light hunting javelins. And he would have Cerberus with him. He half-smiled at the thought, reassured by the idea that Cerberus would protect them. Then he drifted off into a troubled sleep, haunted by vague images of dark figures stealing through the night towards the farm.