Street fighter

14

After the funeral, Caesar decided it was too dangerous for Portia to venture into the streets again while the struggle between the political factions was so bitter. He instructed her to remain within the house. Besides, Portia had told Marcus somewhat bitterly, she had been promised to General Pompeius’s nephew and it was the custom for ladies of the nobility to be removed from temptation’s way during preparations for the marriage — in case they ran off with a new admirer. That left Marcus without a role to play, so Festus had ordered him to continue with his training.

Each morning Marcus made his way into the yard to practise against the post with his sword and club, before moving on to knife-throwing and slingshot. During the morning Festus would emerge from the house to oversee his efforts, snapping sharp rebukes when Marcus failed to perform to the desired standard, and sometimes offering advice or teaching him a new technique for street fighting. At noon Festus allowed Marcus to stop for a break while he went for a drink with his men. Marcus was left with a small jar of heavily diluted wine that Lupus had brought from the kitchen, together with bread and olive oil for them to share.

Six days after the attack, while Marcus sat on the cart during one of these breaks, he asked the question that had been gnawing at him for days. ‘When Mistress Portia marries, she will be leaving the house, I suppose?’

Lupus dunked his bread in the olive oil as he nodded. ‘Of course she will.’ He tore a chunk of bread off and chewed vigorously. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because she still needs protecting. That’s my job. It’s my. .’

‘Not when she’s married it won’t be. Pompeius’s nephew will look after her. I’m sure he has plenty of slaves to protect her.’ Lupus paused as he held the next chunk of bread in midair. ‘It’s funny, the mistress asked exactly the same question the other day. I heard her talking with Caesar. She was adamant that you stayed at her side.’

Marcus felt his hopes rise. He had been dropping hints to Portia to ask that he might go with her to her new home. There might still be a way he could get close enough to Pompeius to ask for his help. He finished his mouthful and cleared his throat before he asked, ‘What did Caesar say to that?’

‘He said you were too valuable to give away.’ Lupus jabbed a finger at Marcus. ‘But don’t let that go to your head.’

‘Valuable? Me?’ Marcus was confused. ‘Why am I valuable?’

‘You may be assigned the job of protecting Mistress Portia at present, but it’s clear you have potential to make a name for yourself in the arena and add to the reputation of your master.’ Lupus stared at Marcus, sizing him up. ‘I heard the master say he has never seen a boy so suited to the life of a gladiator. You have mastered every weapon Festus has introduced to you. Festus reckons you already have a strong body and in time will be as tough as any man who ever set foot in an arena. But there’s more than that, he says. You are quickwitted and decisive.’

‘He said that?’ Marcus felt a surge of pride.

Lupus nodded. ‘He said it’s as if you were born a fighter, that you must have inherited it from your father. A warrior of some kind I imagine, eh?’

Marcus nodded slowly as he prepared his lie. ‘He was a centurion. He served General Pompeius in the east.’

Lupus frowned. ‘Then how did you come to be a slave?’

Marcus told him the tale of Titus’s death at the hands of a tax collector’s henchmen and how he and his mother were taken to be sold as slaves. He deliberately left out the fact he had escaped from his original owner before being seized by Porcino for his gladiator school. He also left out the name of Decimus. He liked Lupus and thought he could trust him, but until he knew why Decimus was in Rome, and how close a friend he was to Crassus, it would be best to say nothing.

‘Quite a tale,’ Lupus responded. ‘The gods have played their games with you. Now I see why you’re keen to join Pompeius’s household.’

‘Oh?’

‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’ Lupus chuckled. ‘You want to get in the general’s good books, then tell him your story and trust he’ll use his influence to help rescue your mother. Am I right?’

Marcus was taken aback. He hadn’t realized his motives were so obvious. There was no point denying it. He nodded warily.

‘Well, even if you stayed with Mistress Portia, I think you’d be disappointed. Pompeius traded in his sword for a seat in the Senate. I doubt he’d be too concerned about the wife of a junior officer who left his service a decade earlier. He probably wouldn’t even remember your father. ’

‘I doubt he will ever forget my father. .’ Marcus replied, thinking of Spartacus momentarily. But then he remembered he was talking about Titus, the man who had adopted him. ‘Not after he saved the general’s life, I mean.’

‘Perhaps.’ Lupus shrugged. ‘But don’t place too much hope on that. Also, be honest, it’s not as if Pompeius is your biggest fan. . Anyway, as far as I could tell, Caesar intends keeping you for a career in the arena.’

Marcus’s heart sank. He hated not having control over his own destiny — how could he ever free his mother while he was a slave, his fate always decided by his owner? And the prospect of a life spent fighting other slaves on bloodsoaked sands while his ears filled with the baying cries of a cruel audience made him sick.

‘Marcus!’

They turned to look across the yard and saw Flaccus beckoning. ‘The master wants you in his study at once.’

Lupus and Marcus exchanged a look. Then Marcus lowered his cup and eased himself on to his feet. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Caesar and Festus were in the company of another man when they reached the study. A tall, slim figure in a heavily patterned tunic, he wore rings on every finger and a thick gold chain around his neck, from which hung a large emerald in a gold setting. His hair was light brown and painstakingly arranged in little curls that ran along his hairline. His face was fine-featured, almost feminine, and two sharp eyes regarded Marcus closely as he entered the room.

‘This is the boy?’ he asked.

‘It is,’ Caesar replied. ‘And you will not find a more promising trainee in the whole of Italia, let alone Rome, my dear Clodius.’

The other man leaned forward in his chair and inspected Marcus closely. ‘Hmmm. I’m not so sure. He looks a bit scrawny. Come closer, boy.’

Marcus did as he was told and stopped just beyond arm’s reach of Clodius, recalling the earlier conversation between Caesar and Pompeius about the dubious character of the man. Clodius’s brow creased in irritation.

‘Closer.’

Marcus moved nearer, though the sweetness of the man’s scent was so overpowering it made him feel slightly sick.

Clodius turned to Caesar. ‘May I?’

Caesar smiled indulgently. ‘Be my guest.’

Clodius reached out and squeezed Marcus’s shoulder hard. Marcus flinched slightly, but stood still, staring stonily into the man’s eyes.

‘Oh, you don’t like that, do you? You have some spirit then.’ Clodius laughed, and then let his hand slip down to Marcus’s bicep where he squeezed again, gently. ‘He has good muscle tone, Caesar. Sinewy and hard. You may be right. Are you training him with a net and trident as a retiarius perhaps?’

‘That was my first thought. But with the right diet and exercise he could be bulky enough to train as a heavy fighter.’ Caesar took a deep breath. ‘But enough of that. We’re not here to talk about Marcus’s future. We’ve got other fish to fry. As I was telling you, Marcus was the boy who saved my niece’s life, twice now.’

‘I can’t deny that I’m surprised,’ Clodius remarked. ‘I had expected to see someone a bit. . older.’

‘He’s old enough for our purposes,’ Caesar replied. Then he stood up and gestured towards the door. ‘Come, let’s see what you make of our, er, find. Festus, lead the way.’

‘Yes, master.’ Festus bowed his head and indicated that Marcus should follow him as he turned towards the door. They headed into the corridor and crossed the garden to the slave quarters. Beyond the kitchen, a narrow flight of stairs led down into a cellar where perishable foods were kept. There were two large chambers with a light well in each that pierced the gloom just enough for the contents of the shelves to be clearly seen. As they turned into the narrow archway connecting the two rooms, an appalling smell met them. Marcus wrinkled his nose in disgust.

‘Good grief, Caesar,’ Clodius exclaimed. ‘Your meat store is off.’

Caesar smiled grimly as he led the small party through a narrow arch into the second chamber. ‘There’s the meat.’

A large table stood against the far wall, and upon it lay the body of one of the men who had attacked Portia. The man’s skin was pale and mottled with livid blue patches. His jaw hung slackly and his eyes were wide open as they stared up at the bare bricks of the low vaulted ceiling. Close up, the cloying sweet smell was unbearable and Marcus had to clench his nostrils tightly to keep out the stench. Beside him, Festus also seemed to be struggling to control his stomach. Clodius had pulled up the hem of his cloak and pressed it over his mouth and nose. Only Caesar seemed unaffected as he stared coldly at the body for a moment. He turned to Clodius.

‘Well? Do you recognize him?’

Clodius leaned over the body and examined the face. ‘No. Can’t say I do. The fellow has a distastefully common look to him. Just another street thug, it would appear. .’ He rolled up the tunic sleeve on the corpse, working it on to the shoulder. ‘But see here.’

Marcus and the others leaned forward for a closer look. There was tattoo on the dead man’s shoulder. Two crossed daggers.

Clodius straightened up, nodding in recognition. ‘That’s the mark of the Blades, one of the gangs from the Aventine district. Nasty bunch. Normally, they run protection rackets and, for the right fee, will bump off anyone in Rome, right up to the rank of senator. Of course, these days they are run by Milo, who has been hired by Bibulus, Cato and Cicero to use against your followers, though you could never prove it. Bibulus might be a fool, but he’s not so stupid as to leave any evidence of connections to Rome’s most notorious gangs in his wake. And if he’s prepared to deal with the Blades, then you and your friends are in danger, Caesar.’ He turned to Marcus with a curious look. ‘If you took on this man, and one of his fellow gang members, then you are brave indeed, young Marcus. And also very foolish. These men would not have hesitated to kill you. In fact, I’m sure they would have enjoyed doing so, and made it last as long as possible.’ He licked his lips at the thought.

Marcus fought the urge to shudder before he replied, ‘I did not doubt that at the time, master. But Mistress Portia was in danger. What else could I do?’

‘If it had been me, I would have gone for help.’

‘And my niece would be dead,’ Caesar cut in coldly. ‘None of us is safe now. Our enemies are more determined, and dangerous, than I thought.’

Clodius pursed his lips and nodded. ‘You’re right. So what are you going to do about it, Caesar? Strikes me that you could use some help.’

Marcus saw Caesar’s eyes narrow as he stared directly at Clodius.

‘I know. That’s why we sent for you.’

Clodius smiled faintly. ‘And what would you ask of me?’

‘If our enemies are using street gangs to intimidate and harm our supporters, then we must meet violence with violence. We know you have connections with some of the gangs and we want you to organize support for our side.’

Clodius considered this a moment before he replied. ‘I can do it. But there will be a price. These gangs are quite deadly, Caesar. They will go to any lengths to control their districts. Anyone who stands in their way is killed, often butchered in broad daylight to make sure everyone gets the message. If I am to take them on, then I’ll need to hire gangs of my own. And they won’t come cheap.’ His eyes glinted.

Caesar shrugged. ‘Whatever the price is, Crassus can afford the services of the scum in these street gangs of yours.’

‘I’m sure he can afford to pay them. But I’m talking about my price, Caesar.’

‘Your price? How much do you want?’

‘Nothing you can’t afford. I don’t want your gold or silver.’

‘Then what do you want?’ Caesar asked impatiently.

There was a pause.

‘I rather fancy the notion of becoming a tribune.’

Marcus remembered what Lupus had told him about the post of tribune, a position for those who were supposed to stand up for the rights of the common people.

Caesar’s eyes widened in surprise. He shook his head. ‘Impossible! That would give you power over the mob. Besides, you are a senator and the post of tribune is only open to people of common rank.’

‘I’ve thought of that. There is a way round that obstacle. I can be adopted by a commoner, a plebian, and you have the power to authorize my adoption. Once that’s done I am free to stand for the office of tribune. And then, when I am a tribune, I can make sure the mob stays on your side.’

While Caesar considered the proposal, Festus and Marcus stood in silence. Marcus couldn’t help wondering how these two powerful men could make their devious plans in front of their slaves, as if they were not present — as if they were just part of the furniture.

‘Very well, we are agreed.’ Caesar nodded, holding his hand out to Clodius.

After shaking hands, Clodius nodded towards the corpse. ‘Now the business is concluded, might we move away from our malodorous companion? A cup of wine should be enough to remove the rather nasty taste that death tends to leave in one’s mouth.’

‘Yes. . Yes, of course. Festus, we no longer have need of the body. You and the boy can dispose of it.’

Caesar put his hand on the shoulder of his guest and guided him back to the stairs into the more wholesome air of the house. As the steps faded Festus turned towards the body and puffed out his cheeks.

‘Right then, Marcus, I’ll take him under the shoulders, and you take his feet.’

Marcus did not move. He stared down at the corpse with a sick feeling. This was not the first body he had seen close up, but he had never handled a corpse and the idea revolted him. And more than that, Marcus was responsible for the man’s death. Flashes of the terrifying fight in the storeroom filled Marcus’s mind and made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.

‘He won’t bite, lad,’ Festus said gently. ‘Just try not to think of it as a person. It’s just a lump of rancid meat we’re disposing of. That’s all.’

Marcus turned his gaze away from the body. ‘Rancid meat? Thanks, that makes it so much easier.’

Festus chuckled harshly and stood at the end of the table. He slipped his hands under the corpse’s shoulders and heaved the body on to the floor. It landed with a soft thud and he dragged it into the other room towards the steps. Marcus followed reluctantly. As they reached the stairs, Festus nodded. ‘Take his feet.’

Marcus gritted his teeth and fought down his nausea as he picked up the man’s cold calf, just above the boot. The skin was cold and clammy and he flinched, forcing himself to grip firmly.

With much grunting and cursing from Festus, they heaved the body up the stairs, then dragged it down the short corridor that led to the yard.

‘On to the cart with him,’ Festus ordered.

Once the body had been heaved into the small cart, Festus covered it with a length of old sacking. ‘It’s daylight, so we can’t hitch up the mule. No animal-drawn carts are allowed on the streets during the day. If we pull it ourselves we should get round the regulations.’

‘Where are we taking it. . him?’ asked Marcus. ‘Out to where we held Corvus’s funeral?’

‘No chance. We’ll drop him into the first sewer opening we come across. There’s one at the end of the street. Just need to wait until we’re alone before we do the deed.’

With one of them pulling each of the yokes, the cart trundled into the narrow street outside. Few people paid much attention other than to grumble as they moved aside to let the cart pass. Festus steered the cart into a dead-end alley leading off a small square and stopped beside an iron grating two feet across. They set the yokes down and waited for a break in the steady flow of human traffic through the square.

Festus glanced from side to side, then pulled the sacking off. ‘Quickly — shift the grating!’

The iron grille was heavy and Marcus strained his muscles to raise it, letting it fall on the cobbles with a clatter. They eased the body into the drain, hearing it splash as it dropped into the sewage.

Festus let out a weary sigh. ‘Dangerous times ahead of us, Marcus. . It’s bad enough that Milo’s lot are stirring up trouble. If Clodius and his thugs are unleashed on the streets there’ll be plenty of fighting, and deaths. The streets will run with blood, I tell you.’

‘You really think so?’ Marcus said. ‘Isn’t it better that the gangs fight each other? Might mean they leave the rest of us alone

‘Oh, the gangs will fight, to be sure. But the rest of the time they’ll be on to the common people — breaking up meetings and doing their best to intimidate the other side into silence. It’s bullies’ work, and I wouldn’t thank you for it. Slave or not, we’re part of Caesar’s household, so we’re targets too. Same’s true for Bibulus and his cronies once Clodius intervenes. We’re in for a bad time. You’d better watch your back, Marcus.’

‘I will,’ said Marcus as he stared down at the grille. If Festus was right, the man they’d just disposed of would be the first of many. It seemed as if Caesar and his enemies were embarking on a war that would rage through the streets of Rome. And Marcus might be fighting for his life just as he had in the arena at Porcino’s gladiator school. Only then, his enemy had faced him. Now enemies could strike without warning in a crowded street. Never mind the problem of escaping his situation or saving his mother; it seemed he would need all his wits, and every skill Festus had taught him, if he was to survive in the streets of Rome.