Street fighter

16

It didn’t take long to reach the Forum. Fright and panic surged through the crowd as they caught sight of the huge men armed with clubs and staves. Marcus watched as mothers snatched up their children and stallholders packed their wares, hurriedly piling them on to handcarts before trundling away to safety. By the time Clodius and Marcus, near the head of the gangs, had reached the crowd outside the Senate, the Forum was starting to empty.

Scrambling on to a pediment, Marcus saw Festus and his men pressing forward against the entrance of the Senate House, where angry senators were demanding to be let through. As soon as he saw Clodius and the first of his gang members, Festus shouted an order and his men fell back. The senators pressed forward down the steps, a steady stream of clean white togas amid the brown and grey tunics and cloaks of the common people. The faces of senators who supported Caesar were well known and they were allowed to pass unhindered as they glanced nervously at the hordes of fierce-looking fighters surrounding them. The other senators were blocked. Clodius’s men pushed them back roughly, jeering and shouting insults into their faces.

Clodius gestured to Marcus to follow him and pushed through his men until he stood in the front rank of those opposing the senators. He scanned the faces before him until he caught sight of the man he wanted, then cupped a hand to his mouth and called out.

‘Cato! Hey, Cato! Over here!’

Marcus saw the thin man in his plain toga turn towards the shout and slowly descend the steps until he stood a short distance in front of Clodius. He stopped one step from the bottom so that he could see, and be seen, over the crowd gathered before him.

‘Clodius. .’ He spat the word out with contempt. ‘I might have guessed you’d be leading this rabble. Are there no depths to which you won’t sink? You and your kind make me sick.’ He drew himself up proudly. ‘Tell your scum to get out of our way. They have no right to block the path of their betters. Move aside!’

There was a shrill catcall from the crowd, and a boo, then more joined in to create a mocking din. Marcus could feel the tension rising, waiting to explode into violence, and he was afraid. This was not like the fear of standing in front of another fighter. It was quite different. The crowd felt like a force of nature, out of control and dangerous — a storm waiting to break.

Clodius stepped forward, raised his hand and shoved Cato back. ‘Make me!’

A huge cheer erupted from the crowd at his insolence. Cato was furious. He stepped forward and slapped Clodius across the face. The sharp sound of the blow silenced the tongues of those watching, but Clodius merely reached up to his mouth and touched his lip. His finger came away stained with a small red smear. He smiled.

‘It would appear that you have drawn first blood, Cato. Whatever happens now, it is on your head.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous — ’ was all Cato managed in reply before Clodius smashed his fist into the other senator’s jaw. Cato fell back with a grunt, into the ranks of his followers.

‘Now!’ Clodius yelled. ‘Teach ’em a lesson!’

With a roar, the surrounding men hurled handfuls of filth, rotten vegetables and any other missiles they had gathered. The white togas of the senators were quickly stained brown and green, and they raised their arms to protect their heads from the stones and bits of wood raining down on them. The senators began to retreat up the steps, towards the entrance of the Senate House.

Marcus had not moved, however — he was frozen before the spectacle. Clodius looked at him in surprise and leaned down to speak to him. ‘What are you waiting for, Marcus? An invitation? Join in.’

‘I–I can’t,’ Marcus stammered.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m a slave, master. If I was caught injuring a free citizen. .’

‘You won’t be. And why not take advantage of the situation, eh? Surely a slave cannot resist the chance to get his own back? Go on, throw something. Do it on behalf of all the slaves who are owned by senators. Do it for them. Do it for yourself.’ He giggled. ‘And do it for Spartacus. No one will ever know. ’

Caught up by the mob’s frenzy and frustrated by his situation, the mention of his father stirred Marcus’s heart. A seething whirlpool of indignation, rage and hatred for every wrong he had suffered since being wrenched from his home flowed into his limbs. Before he was aware of it Marcus had snatched a pebble the size of a quail’s egg from the flagstones at his feet. His arm swept back, throwing it hard into the writhing mass of men and togas struggling towards the shelter of the Senate House. He did not see where the pebble went, but couldn’t have missed at that range. He felt a burst of elation.

Clodius laughed as he too threw a stone. ‘Go on, Marcus! Again!’

Marcus was ready to find another missile, or to smash his club on the nearest senator. But looking up, he saw a mad gleam in the man’s eyes as his lips curled in cruel pleasure. Clodius was giggling like a child as he stooped and threw, again and again. Marcus felt the fire inside him fade, and a chill took over. There was something frightening about Clodius. He no longer seemed in control of himself.

Marcus’s thoughts were interrupted by a cry close at hand.

‘Watch out! Milo’s here!’

The warning was taken up and Clodius’s men looked round. The senators took advantage of the break in the bombardment to stagger into the Senate House. A moment later the doors swung closed with a deep thud. Marcus, shorter than the surrounding men, felt hemmed in. He needed to see what was going on. He ran up the first steps and turned to look over the Forum. Clodius’s men had turned to face the figures spilling into the Forum from the direction of the Aventine Hill. The ground between the two sides was empty, aside from the handful of statues above, casting long shadows over them. Milo’s men had come armed with clubs, cleavers, axes, knives and a variety of other deadly-looking weapons.

But he only had a moment to examine the battleground before Clodius called him to his side, then pushed through the mob to the far side, facing the oncoming horde. Pulling his skullcap down tightly over his head, Marcus’s blood froze at the line of fighters opposite him. He suddenly felt trapped, young and very small. At least in the arena a fighter had room to move. This was different. Terrifying.

The cries of Clodius’s men had died away as Milo’s followers approached. A hush descended on the Forum, broken only by the grating rumble of nailed boots. At the head of the rival gangs marched a tall, broad man with a wide leather belt. He wore a plain black tunic and thick leather boots that extended halfway up his thick calves. In his hands he carried a heavy club, studded with the heads of iron nails. His dark hair was cropped short and a livid white scar cut across his brow, nose and cheek.

Clodius smiled as he muttered, ‘Milo, magnificent as ever.’

Around him, Clodius’s men were brandishing their weapons, ready for use. Marcus let his own club slip down into his left hand.

When Milo was no more than twenty paces away he raised his hand to signal his followers to halt. He nodded at Clodius.

‘I got word that you were causing trouble.’

‘Trouble?’ Clodius pretended to look offended. ‘Me? Not a bit of it. Me and the lads here were just speaking up for the people. The trouble is, some of the senators don’t want to listen.’

Milo laughed. ‘It’s hard to listen when you’re being stoned by a bunch of low-life, cowardly thugs from the sewers of the Subura.’

A wave of angry muttering swept through the ranks. Clodius cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Quiet! Let the loudmouth speak his mind, what there is of it!’

The grumbles turned to laughter and a scowl twisted Milo’s craggy face.

‘That’s enough!’ he bellowed. ‘Get your men out of the Forum, Clodius. Before I make you.’

‘Pffftt!’ Clodius sneered, drawing his cloak aside to pull out a short sword, and raising the tip to point directly at Milo. ‘Make me! You don’t own the streets any more.’ Clodius held his arms wide. ‘We do! The streets of Rome belong to Clodius and the gangs of the Subura!’

His men greeted this with a roar of approval.

Milo punched his club into the air and bellowed, ‘Get stuck into ’em, lads!’

He charged across the Forum, hordes of his men following. Marcus switched his club to his right hand and raised it ready to strike as he took his stand beside Clodius. His heart was beating wildly, but he didn’t have long to feel afraid. The charge struck home with a deafening series of thuds and cracks as weapon met weapon. A tall man with a badly trimmed beard rushed towards Marcus, a thick club raised above his head, feral grin widening as he saw what he took to be easy prey.

Marcus sidestepped as the man’s club swished down and struck the cobbles with a loud crash. At once he punched his club into the man’s side with all his strength, driving the air from his lungs and cracking a rib. The man slumped down and gasped for air. Marcus heard a wet crunch behind and turned to see that Clodius had buried his sword in the top of the man’s skull.

‘Nice work, Marcus!’ He laughed as he pulled the blade free and kicked the body over, then leapt forward to stab another man in the guts. Marcus was crushed by the bodies pressing in, surrounded by violent tussles. Some men were locked in an embrace as they tried to wrestle for advantage. Others were crushed together tightly, clawing at their opponents’ faces or headbutting each other. Marcus lost sight of Clodius and was jostled by the other men from the Suburan gangs as they pressed forward.

He found himself a short distance behind the men locked in combat and paused, wondering what to do. His instinct was to fight, but as he caught his breath, the excitement gave way to clear thought. He was too small for this. He was trained to fight in individual combat, not in a violent mob. The most likely outcome would be that his skull would be smashed in or his bones shattered and then he would be finished, a cripple for the rest of his life, if he survived. Any hope of freeing his mother would die with him. He needed to prove himself to Caesar and Pompeius, but this was not the way.

‘Marcus!’ A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him round. He looked up and saw Festus.

‘Marcus, we have to leave. It’s for Clodius and his gangs. Not us. Come on!’ He turned Marcus away, pushing him to the back of the mob, along the Senate steps towards the side of the Forum, well away from the battle around the front of the Senate House. Looking back, Marcus caught one last glimpse of Clodius, standing on a pediment to urge his men on, waving his bloodied blade and laughing like a maniac.