Marcus jolted awake as the toe of a boot prodded him roughly. Snatching up his stick, he scrambled until his back hit the solid wood of the door he’d been sleeping beside. A stocky figure was outlined against the light filtering down between the tenement blocks.
‘Get out of here, boy! You’re in front of my shop.’
Marcus rose to his feet, groggy with sleep. He was in an arch just off one of the main streets that passed through the Aventine district. He remembered finding the shuttered shop just after the midnight trumpet sounded the changing of the watch on the city wall. He had eased himself into the corner by the door and sat hugging his knees, shivering, until sleep finally crept up on him.
‘Go on, get out of here!’ The man swung his boot and caught Marcus a sharp blow on his thigh. He cried out in pain, then scurried across the arch into the street. Looking back, he saw the man watching to make sure he’d left before unlocking his shop door. Looking at the sky, Marcus judged the sun had risen less than an hour ago. Once he was a safe distance from the arch, he stopped to take stock of his situation. He wasn’t hungry as he had eaten well before setting out with Lupus. He also had twenty sestertii sewn into a fake lining of his belt, so he wouldn’t starve. Aside from that, he would have to survive on his wits.
He knew he wasn’t far from the heart of the Aventine district, the area known as ‘The Pit’, where the cheapest inns and chop houses clustered round a natural fold in the side of the hill. That was where Milo and his gangs gathered when they weren’t extorting money, or hunting down the supporters of Caesar, Crassus and Pompeius. Marcus crossed the top of the hill and followed the road down the other side until he reached a crossroads. A stooped old woman was washing some rags in a public fountain.
‘Could you tell me if I’m near The Pit?’ Marcus asked politely.
The woman turned her head. ‘You don’t want to know, young ’un. Get back to your home.’
‘I have no home,’ Marcus replied.
‘Well, you won’t find one in The Pit.’ She laughed, revealing a handful of crooked teeth. ‘Just a quick beating before you’re kicked on your way. What are you, a runaway?’
‘I just want to know if I’m heading in the right direction,’ Marcus replied.
She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand before gesturing towards an alley opposite the fountain. ‘That’s the quickest way. But it’s your funeral, boy.’
Marcus thanked her as he made for the alley. The entrance was narrow and dark and the passage beyond was squeezed between crumbling tenement blocks, so close that a hand could reach from a window on one side and touch the grime-stained building opposite. Marcus made his way down the slight incline. It was so narrow he had to step aside for people coming the other way. A hard crust of trodden-down rubbish and rotten food formed an uneven walking surface.
Nor was rubbish the only thing deposited in the alley. The body of an old man lay against the wall of a shallow alcove, stripped of everything but a filthy loincloth. His eyes were closed and his jaw hung open as flies buzzed between his lips and across the bare flesh. Marcus hurried past, his hand over his nose. There were dead animals in the alley too — mostly rats and a couple of dogs, stepped over and ignored by people.
After a short distance Marcus heard the sound of cheering. Turning a corner, he saw daylight ahead and the cheering increased in volume. Steeling himself, Marcus walked out of the alley and found himself at The Pit.
An open area, perhaps two hundred feet across, stretched between the tenement buildings that loomed over it. The bare earth of the ground sloped into a natural basin. Apart from trickles of sewage running from the tenements above into a small stinking pool, the soil was parched. Around the edges of the open area were a number of inns. Some of these were set into the basements of the tenements with one side open, others were made up of old boards, posts and discarded or stolen rooftiles, little more than lean-tos. As Marcus emerged, blinking, into the light, he saw the inns were almost empty. Their customers had crowded around the muddy centre of The Pit to watch two huge men bare-knuckle fighting.
Marcus made his way down the slope and stopped to look over the heads of the crowd lower down. He edged towards the fringes of a nearby group of boys, some his own age, but mostly older. One boy a little bigger than him stood slightly apart from the others.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Marcus.
‘The Blades have challenged the Jackals to see who’s top dog,’ the boy said with a quick glance at Marcus before turning back to the fight. ‘Taurus is taking on Heracles and it ain’t pretty!’
Marcus looked down at the fight. The two men were slugging away at each other, exchanging punches that slammed into their flesh like great hammers so that the muscles of their torsos shuddered under the impact. Some blows had already been landed on their faces and blood streamed from open cuts. Marcus looked over the crowd — mostly men apart from a handful of shrieking women who had gathered to watch the contest. Milo, tall and heavily built, was easy to spot, standing in the first rank of the crowd. He punched his fist into a cupped hand as he cheered on the fighters. His lips were curled in a savage smile that caused the scar across his face to crinkle. Marcus shuddered as he remembered the bloody battle in the Forum.
‘Hey, you!’
Marcus turned and saw one of the larger boys pointing at him. He was shorter than some of his companions, but powerfully built. His head seemed to merge into his shoulders and his hair was cut short, like the men of the gangs. He wore a black tunic and studded leather bracers on his arms. Fists resting on his hips, the boy paced over and stood in front of him.
‘I’m talking to you. This is where my gang is standing. You find your own spot. Now get lost.’
‘I didn’t mean any trouble,’ Marcus apologized. ‘Just heard the noise and came to see the fight.’
‘Yeah? Well, clear off and find somewhere else.’ He lunged forward and thrust Marcus back so that he stumbled and fell, the impact winding him. The other boys laughed. Their leader placed the bottom of his boot on Marcus’s chest.
‘Just so you don’t forget. My name’s Kasos and this is my gang — the only youth gang in The Pit. You don’t come up and speak to us again, unless we speak to you first. Clear?’
‘Yes.’ Marcus nodded. ‘I understand. Sorry.’
Kasos ground down his boot briefly before he removed it and delivered a lazy kick into Marcus’s side. ‘Now get out of here.’
Marcus rolled away a safe distance before scrambling to his feet and hurrying to the other side of the crowd. It would have been pleasing to wipe that smug expression off Kasos’s face, but there was no point in drawing attention to himself. A loud grunt came from The Pit and one of the boxers stumbled back after a savage blow to the face. He stood there, swaying and shaking his head. His opponent stepped forward, raised his fist with a snarl and delivered the final blow, snapping back the other man’s head. He dropped out of sight and a cheer rose from most of the audience as the rest let out a disappointed groan. Milo stepped forward and grasped the wrist of the winner, lifting it high.
‘Victory to the Blades! The first round of drinks are on the Jackles.’
That brought another cheer as the crowd broke up and hurried towards the bars that ringed The Pit. Marcus watched as Milo patted the winner on the back and then climbed the slope towards the largest of the inns. He sat down at the head of a long table outside the inn and banged his fist on the wooden top.
‘Wine! Now!’
A moment later a thin, grey-haired man in an apron came scurrying out with a large jug in one hand and a tray of silver goblets in the other. He set them down on the table and poured the wine, handing the first cup to Milo with a bow of his head. The spaces along the table were quickly filled by other men, and Marcus was reminded of Clodius and his henchmen at the Dolphin. Same thugs, different sides. . he thought.
All around The Pit the other gang members were filling the inns and starting to drink, amid cheers, occasional shouts and trading of insults. Most of the people who had watched the fight were dispersing back into the alleys, apart from some who squatted down to talk or play dice. The giant who had lost the fight was left where he had fallen to sleep it off. Marcus walked over to a mule-tethering post opposite the inn where Milo was drinking and leaned against it while he observed the leader of the Aventine gangs.
The young gang that Marcus had encountered earlier sauntered over towards the inn and leaned against the wall beside it as if they were part of Milo’s inner circle. As soon as the first jug of wine was emptied, Kasos went inside for a fresh jug and topped up their drinks, making sure to top up Milo’s cup first. Then he rejoined his companions leaning against the wall. As Marcus watched, a plan began to form in his mind and he eased himself down to sit cross-legged on the ground, while he waited for an opportunity.
The day wore on and the sun rose high above the tenement blocks, baking the air trapped inside The Pit. As it became hotter, Kasos and his friends disappeared up one of the alleys to find some water. Marcus stood up, his heart beating fast as he nerved himself to carry out his plan. He casually strolled round the ring of inns and stopped to lean on the wall — taking up the position that Kasos had left shortly before. The men round Milo’s table were deep in their cups and some had already fallen asleep, slumped across their arms and snoring loudly. Milo and the others were still going strong, however, and Marcus watched as one of them poured the last of the current jug into his cup and frowned irritably.
At once Marcus pushed himself away from the wall and hurried inside the inn. It was low ceilinged and crudely constructed tables and benches lined the walls. Marcus strode boldly up to the counter and rapped his knuckles on it.
‘More wine for Milo!’
The innkeeper emerged from a back room and looked at Marcus suspiciously. ‘And who are you, boy? Where’s Kasos?’
‘He had to go. Milo sent me instead.’
‘I’ve not seen you in here before.’
‘You’re keeping Milo waiting,’ Marcus replied quickly. ‘Shall I tell him you won’t let me take the wine to him?’
‘What?’ The innkeeper’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘No! Stay there, young ’un.’
He turned and hurried into the back room, emerging a moment later with a fresh jar which he thrust into Marcus’s hands. ‘There. Now take it to him quick as you can. Go!’
Marcus couldn’t help being impressed by the fear that Milo inspired in people, and at the same time it made him more aware how dangerous his mission was. What would Milo do to him if the gang leader discovered his identity? Marcus tried to shake off his fear as he stepped outside and approached the table. He tilted the jar to fill Milo’s cup. The gang leader didn’t look up until he raised the cup to take a sip. Then he frowned.
‘Who are you? Where’s that toe-rag, Kasos?’
‘I’m Junius, sir. Just standing in for Kasos,’ Marcus replied, using the name Festus had given him as part of his cover story.
‘Junius, eh?’ Milo looked him over. ‘I’ve a good memory for faces. I’ve not seen you in The Pit before, have I?’
‘No, sir. I only arrived today.’
‘Indeed? And where have you arrived from exactly?’
Marcus paused a moment before replying. ‘Campania, sir. I ran away from home.’
‘An escaped slave perhaps? There’ll be a reward for your capture, if you’ve escaped.’
‘I’m not a slave. I’m an orphan, raised by my uncle on his farm. But he treated me like a slave so I ran away.’
‘And you came to Rome to seek your fortune no doubt,’ said Milo with an amused expression. ‘Like all of the other half-starved runts who fetch up in the slums. But you seem in good shape. Hard work on the farm agreed with you.’
‘It agreed with my uncle more, sir.’
Milo laughed. ‘Very good. . Now be on your way, boy.’
‘Let me work for you, sir,’ Marcus said quickly, in a pleading tone.
‘Work for me? What do you think you can do that these men can’t, eh?’ He gestured to the men lining the table. Those who were still conscious grinned blearily. Milo shook his head. ‘I have no use for you.’
‘I’m hard-working,’ Marcus persisted. ‘I can read and write and I can fight.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly got guts stepping into Kasos’s shoes, I’ll say that for you. Now you best be off before he returns. Oh, too late!’ Milo chuckled as he nodded towards the gang of youths emerging from the alley. ‘Ho there, Kasos! Where have you been? If it wasn’t for this lad here my cup would have run dry.’
Kasos looked about to apologize but he paused as he recognized Marcus. ‘You. . I warned you.’
‘You know this boy?’ asked Milo.
‘He was bothering my lads earlier. I had to teach him a lesson and show him who’s boss around here.’ Kasos caught himself and bowed his head to Milo. ‘Besides you, of course.’
‘It seems your lesson has fallen on deaf ears, Kasos. What are you going to do about it?’
‘I’ll deal with him,’ Kasos snarled. ‘Once and for all.’
He made straight for Marcus, fists clenched and eyes blazing. Marcus stood his ground, then at the last moment hurled the jar at the older boy’s feet. It was still heavy with wine and it crushed Kasos’s toes before exploding on the ground, sending sharp fragments of the jug in all directions and splashing red wine all over Kasos. He let out a yell of pain that was quickly cut off as Marcus punched him in the jaw with all his might. Kasos’s head snapped to one side and he staggered back a pace. Marcus hit him again and again, throwing his full weight into the punches, which connected hard with the bigger boy’s jaw. Kasos wobbled as he struggled to recover from the furious attack, raising his hands to protect his face. Marcus switched his aim, striking low, into the stomach, trying to wind the other boy and put an end to the fight as quickly as he could.
His blows were beginning to tell as Kasos gasped for breath and stumbled back, slipping on to his knees. Marcus hammered him on the side of the head again, until Kasos collapsed on the ground and threw his hands up, trying to protect himself from further blows.
‘That’s enough!’ Milo snapped. ‘Let him be.’
Blood rushed through Marcus’s head as he took a step back, fists clenched, ready to fight on.
‘Quite the little firebrand!’ Milo said admiringly. ‘You’re the first boy to knock Kasos down in a while. So you’re a good fighter, just like you said. I’ve plenty of those, but I can always use a promising new recruit. I take it you’ve got no home, so you can stay here at the inn. Tell old Demetrius that I said so.’ He nodded in the direction of the inn. ‘He’s to give you a corner to sleep and food, and you can serve me wine at the table. I may find other uses for you later. Like I thought — you’ve got guts.’
‘Thank you.’ Marcus bowed his head.
‘A word of advice, though,’ Milo continued, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to Marcus. ‘Keep clear of Kasos. You may have got the edge on him this time, but he’ll be out for revenge.’
‘I’ll watch out for him.’
Milo raised his cup and held it up. ‘Welcome to the Aventine gangs, Junius!’