Gladiator: Vengeance

17

Marcus was still feeling groggy when the palace guards came to take the prisoners to the holding cage beneath the arena early the next morning. Festus and Lupus supported their friend between them and half carried, half dragged him out of the cell, up the stairs and out of the palace. The streets were packed with people making for the arena, eager to witness the first day of the spectacle. Families clutched little baskets of food and waterskins to see them through the day’s entertainment. Groups of loud young men compared the merits of the gladiators who would take part in the contests in the last stage of the event. The guards and their prisoners passed a handful of philosophers standing on steps along the route, imploring local people not to sully themselves by surrendering to the uncivilized barbarity of the Roman appetite for displays of violence. Few people paid any attention to them.

Outside the city gate a sea of people stretched down to the vast wooden structure constructed to stage the governor’s spectacle. Masts rose up around the oval with bright red banners that wafted out in the light breeze. The holding cages for the condemned prisoners were beneath the seating under the arena. There were more cages for the animals that had been bought to take part in the entertainment and as Marcus and the others were thrust into their new prison they could hear the roar of bears, with the barks and howls of dogs, above the din of the crowd. Festus and Lupus eased Marcus down against the iron bars of the cage and the bodyguard conducted a brief examination of its structure but there were no weak points and he slumped down beside the boys in frustration.

The cage was twice the size of the cell at the palace but just as uncomfortable in its own way. Above them the timber framework of the supports stretched up and then there were the raked rows of seating, and dust kept dropping down from above as the stands filled up. There was little air movement beneath the arena and the stench of the animals, mingled with the human waste of the prisoners made the air foetid and unpleasant to breathe. There was one slight advantage, though. A gap beneath the lowest tier of seating provided a limited view of the arena and by standing up in the cage the prisoners could follow proceedings.

Around the cages, crammed beneath the seating, were many of the props and piles of equipment to be used in the spectacle. Aside from the gladiator fights scheduled for the last three days as the high point of the show, there were acrobats, comedy mime shows, animal hunts, beast fights, boxing and wrestling, as well as the public execution of criminals. As Marcus recalled from his days in Rome, the latter usually took place at noon when the audience settled down for their midday snack.

His head cleared as the morning wore on and he touched the side of his skull where the soldier had hit him, wincing at the tenderness of the bruised area.

‘You’re a real sight,’ Festus mused. ‘Looks like your face was hit with a hammer.’

‘That’s what it feels like,’ Marcus replied. ‘But other than that I’m all right.’

‘So what happened? They brought you back unconscious. You stirred a bit during the night and yelled that you would choke the life out of Decimus, then went out again. Can you remember what happened?’

Marcus concentrated and it all flooded back in a rush of images and emotions. He forced himself to organize his thoughts and explained to the others what had happened.

‘I thought it might be Euraeus,’ said Festus. ‘I didn’t trust him from the outset.’

Lupus shot him a withering look. ‘Bit late to say that now.’

Festus shrugged. ‘It was very neatly worked. You have to hand it to Decimus, he runs a competent organization. It’s a damned shame that he was working against Caesar. We could have made good use of him back in Rome.’

Marcus was surprised. ‘You seem to admire him.’

‘Why not? Just because he is my enemy does not mean I can’t appreciate his abilities. Politics, business, the arena — it all boils down to the same thing in the end. Either you become good at your trade, or you get crushed by someone else. All the same,’ he reflected, ‘it’s a damned shame that you didn’t kill him last night when you had the chance, Marcus.’

‘I tried, believe me. Maybe next time …’

Festus let out a deep laugh as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit! Never say die.’

‘Except that we are going to die,’ Lupus interrupted bitterly as he thrust his hand out and pointed through the gap. ‘Right there in the arena. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. They’re going to drag me across the sand and tie me to a post and then wild animals are going to maul me. They’re going to rip me to shreds … shreds …’ His face screwed up and he clenched his lips together tightly as he tried not to cry. Marcus could only watch, not knowing how to comfort his friend. What comfort was there? Everything that Lupus said was true. It was Festus who broke the awkward tension in the end. He cleared his throat.

‘Lupus. I won’t lie to you. That is almost certainly going to happen. I’m not saying that there is absolutely no chance of us being saved …’

Lupus shook his head. ‘Don’t! Don’t say it. I don’t want any false hopes.’

‘Very well.’ Festus chewed his lip as he made an awkward decision. ‘If you can’t face what’s coming, then there is another way.’

Marcus frowned. ‘Another way?’

Festus nodded. ‘We don’t have to die out there in the arena. We still have the choice in how we die. We have that at least.’

Marcus understood at once. But he shook his head. ‘That’s not for me.’

‘It doesn’t have to be you. I can do it for you, and Lupus. I can make it quick and relatively painless. Then I can see to myself.’

‘What?’ Lupus stared at the bodyguard as if he were mad. ‘You’re offering to kill Marcus and me?’

‘Kill? Yes. But at least you would be spared what the governor has in mind for you.’

Lupus shook his head and backed away, holding his hands out. ‘No. No. Stay away from me.’

Festus could not hide his anguish any longer. ‘Listen, boy! Have you ever seen how a man dies when he’s been condemned to the beasts?’

Lupus shook his head.

‘It’s a bad death, Lupus. One of the worst. You need to know that. Do you think I make this offer easily?’ His voice caught as he tried to contain his emotion. ‘You two boys are the closest thing I have to family. It would break my heart to see you suffer a cruel death in the arena. A humiliating death. I can give you a different ending. But it’s your choice. It has to be. Think it over. If that’s what you want then I can help you. If not, then say nothing and I won’t mention it again. We’ll face what comes together.’

Before Lupus could respond there was a shrill blare of trumpets and the crowd let out a great roar as they drummed their feet. To the ears of those held in the cages, the sound was deafening.

‘It’s beginning!’ Festus cupped a hand and shouted to be heard above the din. They lined the side of the cage nearest the sand of the arena and stared out through the gap. Gradually the crowd quietened down and there was near silence before a voice rang out. Marcus recognized it at once: Euraeus.

‘Citizens of Athens! Romans! Honoured travellers from further afield, you are welcome to this great event in the name of Governor Caius Servillus and the people of Rome. For the next five days you will witness one of the greatest spectacles ever to be provided in these lands. You will bear witness to the best entertainment in the known world! For years to come, when people hear you talk of the spectacle provided by his excellency, Caius Servillus, they will curse themselves that they were not here to share the experience, to share the privilege of seeing the finest gladiators compete for the title of champion of the games. You will count yourselves blessed that you were here. That you saw it with your own eyes. Heard it with your own ears. Felt it with your own heart! Without more ado … Let the games begin!’

The crowd let out another roar and pounded their feet on the boards beneath their seating, and Marcus wondered if the arena might collapse under the barrage of boots. But it held up and the trumpets sounded again as the priests emerged from an entrance on the far side of the arena, three austere figures in hooded white gowns. Behind them came several junior priests carrying a small brazier, which was already alight, while others led the sacrificial goat, its white hide gleaming brightly as it bleated anxiously.

The priests raised their arms in a quick supplication to the gods before their leader drew a knife and cut the throat of the goat. It kicked with all its strength as it bled out on the sand and then lay still. The priest cut open its chest and removed its heart, then examined it closely. An expectant hush fell over the crowd until the priest raised his head and announced that the omens were favourable. The Gods had blessed the games and the event could continue. There was more cheering as the priest tossed the heart into the flames of the brazier so that they could consume the heart and let the smoke carry the offering up to the Gods.

‘Well, there’s a surprise,’ Festus commented wryly. ‘Good omens. Fancy that.’

Marcus looked at him. ‘Have you ever known the omens to be unfavourable?’

‘What do you think? No. Not ever.’

After the priests had left the arena there followed a procession of the main performers, with the gladiators in gleaming ceremonial armour as they waved a greeting to their fans in the crowd. They were followed by carts filled with loaves of bread, pastries and honeyed cakes that slaves tossed into the crowd. By the time the first act came on, a troupe of acrobats, Marcus had lost interest and sat back on the straw to rest. The others joined him but there was little conversation. There was nothing to be said and they sat in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Towards the end of the day some guards brought several more condemned prisoners to join them. Six men and a woman, all of them convicted of murder. The oldest of them, a tall thickset man, stood over Festus and the boys with his hands on his hips.

‘The name is Epatus. Everyone in Athens knows me.’

‘We’re not from Athens,’ Festus replied. ‘Never heard of you.’

Epatus frowned. ‘Well, you have now. I’ve been condemned to be burned. You know the routine. If I subject to having my arm burned to a crisp without crying out in pain then I get pardoned. If I whine, then the rest of me gets roasted. Same for the others.’ He jerked his thumb at those who had been put into the cage along with him. ‘Except the woman. She’s been condemned to the beasts. Poor bloody cow.’

Festus smiled grimly. ‘Then it looks like me and the boys will have some company.’

Epatus puffed his cheeks. ‘That’s bad luck, that is.’

‘Friend, in our situation, none of us is exactly having any good luck.’

Epatus laughed and sat beside Festus. ‘I was going to sling you off the straw for the night, but you’re a good sort.’ He thrust out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation Festus clasped his arm. ‘I’m Festus, and these here are Marcus and Lupus.’

The Athenian cocked an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I’ve heard about you. Murdered that slave auctioneer up in Stratos.’

‘Not murder,’ said Marcus. ‘It was an accident. We’re not murderers.’

‘Small world,’ Epatus grinned. ‘Same with me and the rest of us. Shameful miscarriage of justice I call it. But then anyone in his right mind would. The Gods will play their little games with us.’ He eased himself back and crossed his arms behind his head. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rest. Want to look fresh for my performance tomorrow.’ He winked, then closed his eyes and shifted until he was comfortable.

‘Takes all sorts,’ Festus muttered. ‘But he’s right. Try and sleep, boys. If you can.’

After the day’s events had ended, some guards came late in the evening with a pail of cold stew that had set into a glutinous mess. Only Epatus and a few of the men had any appetite for it. The rest sat in silence except for the dumpy middle-aged woman who, Epatus explained, had killed her husband in his sleep after years of being beaten by him every time he came home drunk. She sat slumped in the corner, weeping and muttering to herself about who would care for her children after she was gone.

As the moon rose over the city the noises around them died away, save for the howl of a dog until one of the arena staff went into its cage and beat it into silence. Marcus was awake through the long hours of the night, his thoughts drifting aimlessly from memory to memory, with a few bitter regrets thrown in. He wanted to believe that he had done all he could to save his mother and hoped that if she ever discovered his fate, then she would understand that he had died trying to save her.

At the same time his heart was heavy with the knowledge that he was responsible for the situation he and his two friends were facing. If he had listened to Festus and thought twice about approaching the governor then they would not have been arrested. Looking up, he saw Festus sitting with his arms resting on his knees as he stared blankly ahead. He had every right to be bitterly angry with Marcus. Yet Festus had treated him like a father, disappointed with an errant son, rather than being angry. Marcus smiled sadly to himself as he realized that behind the hard exterior Festus presented to the world, he had a heart after all. It was only then that Marcus grasped how fond he had grown of the man who had trained, advised and protected him from the day he had joined Caesar’s household. He had let Festus down with his poor judgement, and worse, he had never told him the truth about his real father. A painful surge of guilt filled his heart and he hurriedly cuffed away the tears that were pricking his eyes.

When dawn came the crowds returned to the arena and the morning’s entertainment began with beast fights. Festus watched for a while, admiring the technique of some of the beast fighters and tutting at the sloppy work of the others. Most left the arena unscathed but a bear managed to kill two men before it in turn was cut down. There was one more event, when a fresh bear was taken out and chained to a stake before being attacked by a pack of dogs. The crowd, following tradition, cheered the lone bear as it twisted and swiped at its tormenters. In the end the last of the dogs was killed and the bear was led out, roaring with pained defiance as the crowd gave it a cheer.

The door of the cage rattled and Marcus looked up to see several burly men outside. Their leader was muscular with a scarred face, and a whip hung from a loop on his belt.

‘Murderers of Pindarus, on your feet!’

Marcus and Festus stood up as calmly as they could. Lupus edged away towards the back of the cage, his lips trembling. Marcus stood in front of him and spoke gently. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, my dear friend. They have come for us. All that remains is to go with dignity. Come.’ He held out his hand. Lupus stared at it a moment before he grasped it. Marcus felt his friend’s flesh trembling as he helped him to his feet, but kept hold of his hand. Festus smiled at them and turned to lead them out of the cage.

‘May the Gods deliver a quick end!’ Epatus called after them.

The leader of the arena staff and his men marched them under the seating to the nearest gate leading on to the sand. Several stout posts were leaning against the side wall. The man pointed to them. ‘Off with your tunics and then pick up one of those each. Move it!’

They did as they were told, slipping out of their tunics and standing in their loin cloths. Once they had picked up their stakes and rested them across their shoulders the man peered out through a crack in between the doors, then he turned round. ‘Right, they’re ready for us. You’re on.’

He thrust the gates open and Marcus blinked as the dazzling sunlight flooded the entrance. He felt a hand push him roughly forward and he stumbled into the arena. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he saw the sea of faces rising up on all sides, the hubbub of their conversation like a distant storm. There were dark stains on the sand and the heat of the sun reflected off the white sand, beating at Marcus’s exposed skin. Together with their escort they marched solemnly across the sand towards the box where the governor and his guests sat on cushioned chairs in the shade of an awning. Marcus could see the governor sharing a joke with one of his companions and he felt a seething, impotent rage as he saw that it was Decimus.

‘This’ll do,’ the arena official decided. ‘Down stakes.’

Marcus heaved his burden from his shoulder and let it drop on to the sand. He was dimly aware of Festus and Lupus on either side of him, but his attention was fixed on Decimus. The crew erected the stakes and drove them down into the sand using heavy mallets. When the official was satisfied that they would not budge he gave the order to tie the prisoners. Rough hands thrust Marcus back against the stake and he felt the wood smack against his spine. His hands were drawn back and tied at the wrists with leather thongs. More thongs bound his ankles to the stake and his waist and neck so that he could barely move. When all three had been prepared the official strode behind each of them to test the bindings. Marcus was last, and he felt the breath of the man as he leaned his head to inspect the thongs. He paused and Marcus felt a hand on his shoulder, where he had been branded as an infant with the secret mark of Spartacus.

‘What’s this?’ the official whispered. ‘Speak up, boy. Where did you get this mark?’

Marcus swallowed and replied defiantly. ‘From my father.’

‘Your father …’ the official wondered aloud. ‘I know this mark … I know it.’

‘Are you quite finished, man?’ Euraeus called out from the governor’s box.

The official straightened up. ‘Yes, sir. Nearly done.’

‘Then get on with it.’

The official moved round to face Marcus with a strange expression on his face. Then he turned and gestured to one of his men who was holding a bucket with a ladle. The man approached and took out the ladle, containing a dark red gloop, and threw it over Lupus’s chest.

‘Urghh!’ Lupus flinched and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The man threw another ladle over his stomach and then did the same for Marcus and Festus. The stink of the blood and offal caught in Marcus’s throat as the man stepped back with a cold smile of satisfaction.

‘There. That’ll whet the beasts’ appetite nicely!’

The official in charge took a last look at Marcus before he waved his staff towards the entrance. ‘Let’s go! At the double!’

They ran across the sand and hurriedly closed the gate behind them. On the other side of the arena another member of the arena staff climbed over the opposite gate and began to wind it up.

‘What will it be?’ Lupus whimpered. ‘Bears? Wolves? Lions?’

‘Not lions,’ Festus replied. ‘Only Rome has the right to use lions.’

Marcus could see the paws of the animals that would be used to kill them beneath the bottom of the gate as it began to rise. An instant later there were other shapes there. Muzzles, the glint of bared teeth and furry bodies. With a squeal the gate continued to wind up and the first of the beasts squirmed through and bounded a short distance on to the sand.

Marcus swallowed. ‘Wild dogs then …’