Street fighter

26

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Lupus as they sat together in their shared cell that afternoon.

Marcus shrugged. ‘What can I do? If the master tells me I must fight, then I have no choice. But I would give almost anything not to have to fight as a gladiator ever again.’

Lupus stared at him and frowned. ‘Why? Surely if you hate being a slave as much as you say this might be the quickest way to win your freedom. Of course, it might be the quickest way to be killed. .’

‘There is that,’ Marcus responded dryly. He paused, then continued. ‘The truth is, the very thought of it fills me with terror.’

Lupus could not hide his astonishment. ‘You, afraid? I don’t believe it. You risked your life to save Portia, and then you went into The Pit. You’re no coward, Marcus.’

‘Really?’ Marcus smiled grimly. ‘I tell you, my stomach feels like it’s tied in a knot, my hands clammy and my limbs tremble at times. It’s one thing to act on the spur of the moment, like when we rescued Portia, but another to know you will fight someone at a set time and place, and to the death.’ Marcus looked away, ashamed. ‘I am afraid, Lupus. I thought it would be easier a second time, but it isn’t. I feel more afraid than when I faced that bully, Ferax, back at the gladiator school.’

Lupus was silent for a moment before he spoke again, in a quiet, thoughtful voice. ‘And yet, you will fight, even if the master offers you the choice.’

Marcus nodded. ‘I must. For my mother’s sake.’

‘Then you are no coward, Marcus. Anyone who lives in fear of such a fight, and is prepared to overcome that fear is a hero in my book. That’s what courage is about.’

Marcus considered this and nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right. Even so, I wish there was a way out of this situation.’

They heard footsteps approaching and Flaccus appeared in the doorway. ‘The master wants you in his study.’

Marcus stood up stiffly and flexed his shoulders. He followed Flaccus out of the slave quarters and across the yard to the main part of the house. Flaccus slowed his pace until he fell into step alongside Marcus.

‘You’ve become quite the favourite around here,’ Flaccus said sourly.

There was no mistaking the man’s jealousy, and Marcus thought how absurd it was for slaves to turn on each other when they were all victims of injustice.

‘I’m a slave, just like you,’ Marcus replied. ‘Neither of us is special, we’re just property. The only difference that counts for anything is whether you are enslaved or free.’

‘Huh,’ Flaccus sneered. ‘There are slaves and there are slaves, boy. Some of us have worked hard and proved our loyalty over many years before we are shown the least sign of favour. But you? You walk in here and you’re instantly Caesar’s pet. It ain’t right.’

Marcus laughed hollowly and raised his arm to show Flaccus his cuts and bruises. ‘Do I look like some pampered pet?’

Flaccus glanced at his arm and shrugged. They continued the rest of the way in silence. Marcus could not help feeling angry — what hope was there for slaves while they were divided by petty jealousies and competing for their master’s favour? Unless all those enslaved by Rome recognized their common interest, they would never win their freedom.

They reached the study and Flaccus cleared his throat before knocking on the door frame. ‘Master, the boy’s here.’

‘Send him in.’

Flaccus bowed his head and waved Marcus forward. As he entered the study, Marcus saw Festus sitting on a bench beside their master’s desk. A decanter of wine and two finely blown glasses sat between them.

Caesar looked at his steward. ‘How are the preparations for the feast going?’

There had already been several deliveries of meats and exotic fruits to the house earlier in the day, and Marcus had learned from Lupus that Caesar planned to celebrate the passing of his Land Bill the same evening that he officially announced the coming wedding of Portia to Pompeius’s nephew, provided the vote went in his favour.

‘The ingredients for the dishes have been ordered, master. And the wine. I have booked the dancers and the musicians. I am waiting confirmation from the Greek mime company. ’

‘Waiting?’ Caesar frowned.

‘Yes, master. It seems they might not be able to script and rehearse the outline you provided for them. One of the cast has fallen ill and they’ve had to take on a new man.’

‘Then you had better inform them they will do as I require, come what may. You might let them know it is unwise to let down a serving consul, if they ever want to have more work in Rome.’

‘Yes, master.’

Caesar waved his hand dismissively. ‘You may go, Flaccus. Make sure I am not disappointed. Close the door behind you.’

Once Flaccus had gone, Caesar gestured Marcus towards the bench. ‘Sit down.’

Caesar poured him a small glass of wine, then topped it up with water from a brass jug. ‘Here.’

‘Thank you, master.’ Marcus took a sip and found the fruity flavour to his taste.

‘Not too much, eh?’ Festus smiled. ‘You’ll need to keep your wits about you for the next few days. How are you feeling, lad?’

Marcus considered putting a brave face on it, but decided it was more important to be honest in advance of the coming fight. ‘The cuts and grazes are nothing. The bruises hurt, but they won’t hinder me. It’s only the knee that worries me.’

‘Let me see.’

Marcus laid his leg along the bench and Festus carefully removed the dressing. A wide, blackened scab had formed over the puckered flesh and clear liquid oozed out from one end. Festus drew a deep breath before he replaced the dressing and told Marcus to lower his leg.

‘The joint will be a little stiff,’ Festus reported to Caesar. ‘I doubt that Marcus will have full mobility within the next two days. If he works it too hard, or opens the wound while fighting, he will bleed.’

‘That’s too bad,’ Caesar replied. ‘He must fight. I’ve thought it through and I have to accept Bibulus’s challenge. If I back down, then I will look weak.’ He fixed his eyes on Marcus and gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Marcus, you have to understand my position. I know you are the one called upon to fight, and I trust you will do all you can to win. You will have to, in any case — I dare say Bibulus has ordered his gladiator to show no mercy and ask for no quarter. In all likelihood, it will be a fight to the death, no matter what the spectators want. Be clear about that.’

Marcus nodded. ‘I understand, master.’

‘I would not call on you to fight if I had any choice. My opponents have been clever and forced me into this. They hope you will be defeated, and that it will reflect badly enough on me to sway the mob in their favour, and also the handful of senators needed to defeat my Land Bill.’ Caesar took a mouthful of wine and continued. ‘If that is voted down, then General Pompeius’s veterans will be denied the land they feel is their just reward. They will put pressure on Pompeius to stand up for their interests. I fear that Pompeius may be prepared to throw caution aside and declare himself dictator of Rome. Marcus, the last time there was a dictator, tens of thousands of people were killed. The streets of the city ran with blood — the gang wars we have witnessed these past months are nothing in comparison.’ Caesar winced at the memory. ‘That is why we must win the vote, and why nothing can be left to chance. I need you to win that fight, Marcus. The lives of thousands depend upon you.’ He stared intently across the table. ‘Can you do it?’

Marcus met his gaze coolly. He wondered if Caesar truly had the interests of his fellow Romans at heart. But whatever the truth might be, Marcus knew the fates of other people hung in the balance and that he must fight for them.

In a fight to the death he would do all he could to survive. He was a skilled fighter and Festus had taught him a number of new tricks and techniques. Marcus was as well prepared as any gladiator his age could hope to be. But there was always the element of chance. A slip or an unexpected distraction could lose him the fight. And there was the question of his opponent, who might simply be the better gladiator. Too many factors were involved for Marcus to give a definite answer. He turned to Festus. ‘Have they named my opponent on the street notices?’

Festus shook his head. ‘He is merely described as the champion of a gladiator school in Campania. I’ve asked about, but Bibulus has kept him tucked away.’

‘Do we know what type of gladiator he is?’

‘No. Not even that,’ Festus replied with a shrug.

‘I see.’ Marcus sighed in frustration. He turned back to Caesar. ‘Master, I will do my best. That is all I can promise.’

Caesar nodded slowly. ‘And that is all I can reasonably ask. I have been more than well served by you, Marcus, and I promise to reward you when our troubles have passed. You shall not find me ungenerous.’

Marcus thought quickly. Here was his chance. In two days’ time he might be dead, so there was nothing to lose in making his demands now. Even if Caesar was angered by his terms there was little he could do about it. Caesar needed Marcus, he needed him as fit as possible, and so he dare not punish him. Marcus cleared his mind of all but the most important considerations.

‘Master, I will fight as well as I can. I want to live. Also, I understand what is at stake for you and your allies in the Senate. If I win then I shall deserve my reward, and I will name it now.’

Caesar’s eyebrows rose. ‘You would presume to tell me?’

‘Yes, master.’ Marcus swallowed his nerves and continued as boldly as he could. ‘If I win, then you will have your great political victory. I have saved your life, and your niece’s life, twice. I will deserve more than your gratitude.’

‘How dare you!’ Festus interrupted, outraged.

‘Let him speak!’ Caesar commanded. ‘Now that he has found his tongue, I will hear what he has to say. Continue, Marcus.’

He nodded his thanks. ‘You know my story, master. You know the great injustice that my family has suffered. My. . father lies dead, my mother is condemned to a chain gang, and I have endured the hardship of a gladiator’s training. If I win the contest in two days’ time, then I shall want my freedom. I shall want freedom for my mother and I shall want the tax collector Decimus brought to justice. Those are my terms.’

‘I can promise the first, and I will do what I can for your mother,’ Caesar replied. ‘But as for the third, I shall need evidence I can use against Decimus.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Marcus replied firmly. ‘I will have my revenge. One way or another.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Caesar could not help looking slightly amused.

Marcus did not feel a shred of humour in his body as he replied. ‘It is a promise.’

Caesar was quiet for a moment before he nodded. ‘Very well, I agree to your terms.’

‘Then swear an oath to guarantee it, master. With Festus as witness.’

Caesar sucked in a sharp breath and spoke in a low, cold tone. ‘Be careful, young man, you may push me too far.’

‘Master, I have nothing to lose.’

Festus shifted uncomfortably in his chair but dared not pass any comment. There was a deadpan expression on Caesar’s face. Marcus had seen that look before. . when Caesar was contemplating some ruthless deed.

All three were still and silent. The tension was almost as much as Marcus could bear. He feared he had gone too far, and Caesar might well have him flogged, but there was no turning back now. There was a deep frown on Caesar’s brow when he finally spoke.

‘I swear it, by the most sacred gods of my family.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Who would have believed it? A consul of Rome held to account by a mere slave boy. That I have lived to see this. .’