Street fighter

20

At noon, Marcus’s chores were finished for a while and he sat down at the long bench overlooking the open ground. The midday heat had driven most people to seek shade indoors, but Marcus closed his eyes and soaked up the warmth, his mind briefly slipping back to the years he had spent growing up on the farm on the island of Leucas. The surrounding hillsides would be covered by blossom now, stirred by the Ionian winds that caressed the islands with their cooling touch. There was a place where he would sit with the shepherd who tended the goats. Together they’d watch the small trading ships enter the bay at Nydri, and those further out, making passage between the beautiful tree-covered islands that dotted the brilliant azure sea. Cerberus, his dog, would sit at his feet, head between his paws as his eyes slowly closed in contentment. Marcus savoured the memory, refusing to dwell on what had come afterwards to ruin it.

‘What are you bloody smiling at, runt?’

Marcus opened his eyes to see Kasos and his gang standing a short distance away. A shiver ran up the back of his neck, but he kept calm and tried not to look afraid.

‘You’ve got nothing to smile at,’ Kasos continued. ‘So wipe it off before I do it for you.’

Marcus stared at him, noting the bruises on his face. ‘You talk too much.’

‘What?’ Kasos narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that supposed to be clever?’

Marcus shrugged. ‘Statement of fact. Now if you’ve finished, I’m having a rest and don’t want to be disturbed.’

Kasos snarled. ‘I am disturbing you. I think you owe me an apology.’

‘An apology?’ Marcus laughed.

‘You don’t fight fair. You went for me when I wasn’t ready. That ain’t acceptable. It ain’t acceptable by a long way.’

‘I didn’t know there were rules.’

‘Get on your knees and say you’re sorry.’

Marcus looked at Kasos and was reminded of Ferax, the Gaulish boy who had made his life a misery at the gladiator training school. Marcus had put up with it for a long time because he lacked the confidence to tackle the bully. Only when they were pitched against each other in the school’s arena had that fear finally gone. This time he wouldn’t stand for it. He stood up and took a couple of steps towards Kasos and shook his head. ‘No.’

Kasos gritted his teeth. ‘You’ll regret that, gutter boy. No one takes my place at Milo’s table and lives.’

‘Well, there you’re wrong,’ Marcus replied coolly, though his heart pounded and he had to will his limbs not to tremble. ‘I have, and I’m quite alive. Unless you want me to teach you another lesson, I suggest you take your friends and go.’

‘You’re going. Not me. Tell you what, if you up and run off now and never come back, I’ll let you. Otherwise, you fight me. Fairly this time.’

‘Fairly?’ Marcus cocked an eyebrow. ‘That means just you. Your friends stay out of it.’

Kasos snorted with derision. ‘You think I need their help to beat you to a pulp?’

‘It looked that way yesterday,’ Marcus replied, deliberately winding up his opponent. Anger was the worst enemy of a gladiator, he had been taught. Anger dulled the mind just when it needed to be sharp and alert. He watched with satisfaction as the blood drained from the other boy’s face.

‘Tell you what,’ he continued. ‘Let’s agree the stakes. If you win, I leave The Pit for good. If I win, then I lead your gang and you leave.’

‘If I win, you’ll leave this world forever,’ Kasos snarled. ‘What weapons do you want to use?’ asked Marcus. ‘Fists, clubs, knives, staves?’

Kasos raised his club and swung it through the air. The wood was dark and hard with age. The shaft tapered evenly, shaped with great care, and the heavy end was studded with nails. The club had a loop in the other end, which passed over Kasos’s wrist. It looked a formidable weapon, Marcus decided, as he turned to fetch his own from the inn before rejoining the others outside. He lowered himself into a crouch and raised his club.

‘Not here,’ said Kasos. ‘Down there.’

He pointed to the small basin in the middle of The Pit where the men had fought the day before. Marcus could see the basin was filled with churned-up mud, which would hamper his mobility. This wasn’t good — Kasos was far bigger and Marcus needed speed to get an advantage over his opponent.

‘What’s wrong with here?’

‘That’s where we do all our fighting, boy. Milo’s rule. Break the rule and he’ll break you.’

That was it then, Marcus realized. There was no choice in the matter. ‘All right, down there. You lead the way.’

Kasos turned to descend the slope and Marcus followed a moment later, off to one side where he could keep both Kasos and his gang in sight. There was a foul stink as they approached the mud in the shallow basin. Kasos squelched into the middle and then backed off a few steps, weighing his club in his hand. Marcus took up his position opposite the gang leader, testing the ground under his feet. The surface had dried out and cracked a little, but just beneath the crust deep glutinous mud sucked at his boots. The rest of the gang formed a loose cordon round the basin to make sure there was no escape for Marcus until the fight was over.

‘Last chance to go down on your knees and apologize,’ said Kasos.

‘As I said, you talk too much. You’re big, but you’re not fit. Best save your breath. You’ll need it.’

It was a calculated remark and it struck its target. Kasos let out a bellow of rage and charged across the basin. The foul gunge sprayed up as he ran and then he slithered, stumbled, regained his balance and kept coming. Marcus crouched, club in both hands, ready to strike. Kasos, teeth clenched, stormed up to him and slashed out with his club in a wide arc. Marcus swung his own club round at an angle so that the blow glanced off and up, over Marcus’s head. Kasos had put all his strength into a blow that would have knocked a grown man cold if it had struck him, and it unbalanced the youth, who threw out his left hand to stop himself toppling into the mud. Marcus quickly adjusted his grip and made a sharp chop with his club, whacking Kasos hard across the shoulders. The bigger boy let out a gasp of shock and pain and rolled away, coating himself in the stinking filth. But he recovered quickly, before Marcus could close the gap, and stood up, club held ready. He had faster reactions than Marcus had anticipated, but he was still enraged and that would undo him.

‘You look like something that crawled out of the sewer,’ Marcus said loudly enough for the other boys to hear. Some of them sniggered.

‘Shut your mouth!’ Kasos blazed, then pointed his stick at one of his gang. ‘And you! I’ll deal with you after I’ve smashed this one to pieces, I swear it.’

The gang member’s expression froze and he turned pale. Satisfied, Kasos turned his attention back to Marcus. He took his club in both hands again. ‘You’ve got some good moves with that club, but it ain’t going to save you.’

Marcus didn’t reply, but fixed his eyes on his opponent and stood quite still. For a moment neither boy moved, then Kasos sneered and paced warily towards Marcus. He thrust the head of the club at Marcus’s face and then, as Marcus moved to block it, swung the club to the left and caught Marcus on the upper arm, just below his left shoulder. Marcus fought down the sharp, stinging pain. He stepped back and clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to utter one sound.

A gladiator does not show pain, Marcus told himself, keeping his face without expression. He repeated in his head the mantra of the training ground. I will not let my opponent see that I am hurt. I will not. .’

Kasos looked surprised, then disappointed that his blow had no effect. He attacked again, a diagonal strike aimed at Marcus’s head. Marcus blocked again, and the next blow, and the next, until Kasos stood off again, breathing heavily.

Attack is the best defence. Marcus heard Festus’s voice clearly in his head. Attack, Marcus.

Tightening his grip round the handle of the club, he leapt forward, striking towards Kasos’s head in a vicious arc. The other boy parried the blow, and Marcus swung again to the side. Again the blow was blocked and Kasos was forced to give ground. Marcus aimed at the head, the same as before, and Kasos instinctively reacted in the same manner, throwing up his club to block the attack. This time Marcus switched direction as the club was moving through its arc. He swished it round the end of Kasos’s club and smashed it into the side of his skull. The blow knocked Kasos’s head at an angle — his jaw dropped and his eyes briefly closed in agony. Kasos staggered, blinking wildly. Marcus struck him again, on the knuckles of the hand holding the club. The fingers sprang open in a reflex action and the club dropped into the mud with a soft plop. Holding his weapon as tightly as he could, Marcus rammed the head into Kasos’s stomach. The boy slumped back, splattering down on his backside as he folded forward gasping for breath. Marcus advanced a step, bracing his feet in the mud as he raised his club, ready to strike the final blow and smash it down on to Kasos’s head.

‘Give in?’ he growled.

Kasos was still too stunned to reply. Marcus waited a moment before the gang leader’s eyes seemed to focus on him once again. He was still gasping for breath and one hand clasped the place on the side of his skull where Marcus had hit him. He stared back at Marcus, terrified.

‘Do you give in?’ Marcus repeated, wondering if he had beaten his opponent senseless.

Kasos nodded desperately, his eyes pleading for mercy.

There was a tense pause as Marcus loomed over his fallen opponent, club raised high, ready to smash in Kasos’s skull.

‘Say it out loud,’ Marcus insisted.

‘You win. .’

Marcus turned to the gang. ‘You all heard that. I win. Now go, clear off!’ He brandished the club at the nearest boys and they backed away hurriedly, leaving Marcus and their fallen leader alone.

Marcus took a deep breath, letting the reality of Kasos’s defeat sink in. He had sagged back on to the ground in relief at being spared. When Marcus spoke again it was in a flat, cold tone. ‘As it happens I don’t want your gang. I don’t need them. You can have them back.’

‘What?’ Kasos looked at Marcus suspiciously.

‘You can have them back, as long as you swear, by almighty Jupiter, that you will leave me alone and stay away from Demetrius’s inn. Swear to that, or you can leave The Pit and never return, and I’ll let one of your.. “friends” take over.’

Kasos didn’t answer at first, stunned by the offer. Then he said, ‘You could have killed me. Why didn’t you?’

Marcus didn’t answer. He brandished the club. ‘Well — what’s it going to be?’

Kasos blinked nervously. ‘I swear, by almighty Jupiter, to leave you alone.’

Marcus lowered his club and swapped it to his left hand as he helped Kasos to his feet. Briefly, the pair stared at each other. Kasos was the first to look away, shaking his head.

‘By the gods, I’ve never met a fighter like you. A few more years and you’ll be a match for Milo himself.’ Kasos looked around quickly but there was no one close to overhear. ‘Well, not that good, but a first-class street fighter all the same. You could be my second-in-command if you like.’

Marcus forced a smile. ‘No thanks.’

‘If you’re not here to join the gangs, what are you here for?’

‘To find a new life,’ Marcus replied. ‘An honest one.’

‘Well, you’ve come to the wrong place.’ Kasos swept his arm to, indicate The Pit. ‘If you want an honest living, you won’t find it here.’

‘It will do,’ Marcus insisted. ‘For now, at least.’ He turned to leave.

He had just reached the door of the inn when a shout came from the other side of The Pit. A bloodied man staggered out of the alley, clutching a wound on his head. Another followed, limping, then two more supporting an unconscious body. More spilled out after them. As the members of the Blade and Scorpion gangs stumbled into the open space, the first man cried out, ‘They tricked us! Caught us like rats in a trap. .’

‘Where’s Milo?’ a voice called out. ‘Find him quick. There’s going to be hell to pay for this.’