The Emperor's Knives

8

Once the parade of the gladiators was complete, the procession having made its way through the Forum to the Gate of Death, and onward into the amphitheatre for the ritual circuit of the fighting surface, the day’s combatants were dismissed back to their schools while the beast fighters took their turn in the sun. Sannitus summoned his men to him, pointing towards the Gate of Life.

‘Come on then, let’s have you back down the tunnel, you can channel all that frustration from marching behind the dancing girls into some serious practice for a change!’

Velox walked over to him and bent to whisper in his ear, tipping his head at the three centurions, and after a moment the lanista nodded and came across to them.

‘Your new best friend here thinks he ought to give you a tour of the arena, show how it all works so that it’s a bit less of a shock this afternoon when the time comes to fight. Behave yourselves, and remember that you’ve signed your lives over to the ludus. If you run, then when we catch you we’ll crucify you over the gate as a lesson for others. And you …’

He pointed at the champion gladiator.

‘Don’t go pushing your luck with the arena staff. You may be golden bollocks at the moment, but there’ll be a few of them who’d happily screw you over, especially if they’re still nursing their losses from that fight with the net man last month. Right, I’m off to find the procurator and make sure that we know exactly what it is that those three will be fighting later on. Edius, you’re in charge, get the rest of them back to the ludus without anyone getting any clever ideas about taking the rest of the day off, eh?’

He turned away and led his men away towards the Gate of Life, and Velox grinned at them with the look of a man excused duties for the day.

‘Come on then, let’s get off the sand before the beast fighting starts.’

‘Greetings, Tribune. I had not thought to see you again so soon, given your preoccupation with the pursuit of the Emperor’s Knives?’

Scaurus bowed to Sigilis, the men behind him copying the gesture as they had been instructed. The Senator had received them without any delay, despite the unannounced nature of their visit, and looking about himself Scaurus noted that his vestibule was empty of any clients despite the relatively early hour.

‘You are my first guests of the day, Tribune, you and your men. My usual constant flow of clients has dried up to nothing, now that the word is out as to my pending fate, it seems. Nobody wants to associate with a man under threat of death, do they? You and your people are welcome visitors, to break up the monotony of an otherwise empty day.’

The tribune had once again been accompanied by the same trio of barbarians and his first spear, the latter accompanied by a pair of soldiers.

‘I thought you might appreciate a little news on that very subject, Senator. After all, I suspect that you’ve seen little of your erstwhile informant in the last few days?’

Sigilis nodded, gesturing for the tribune’s party to follow him.

‘Indeed. I take it as yet another sign that the throne’s fingers are tightening around what’s left of my allotted lifespan. My people are followed whenever they leave the domus, and men watch the house around the clock. This morning both of my supposedly hidden exits from this property were found to have been broken in, with armed guards set to prevent their use. I do not have long left, I suspect. Anyway, tell me your news, Tribune, and hopefully bring a little pleasure to these grey days.’

Scaurus inclined his head respectfully.

‘I believe that my tidings would be best delivered in a setting that would ensure privacy, Senator. Might we perhaps repair to your garden, as we did the last time I came to visit?’

‘Well now, Julianus, here’s a cup of wine for you. It’s the Sicilian, the one you enjoyed so much the last time, and it’s already watered.’

The procurator accepted the drink from the servant who had approached him at his host’s signal, took a sip and nodded his approval.

‘Delicious! Every bit as good as the last time I tasted it, if not even better!’

He waved a hand at the packed and buzzing arena that rose high above their place on the first floor, adjacent to the imperial box. The emperor himself was relaxing at the far end of the area reserved for his court, a pair of young women vying to feed him from the table of delicacies laid out before them, while his chamberlain Cleander was standing not far from the party of senior gladiatorial officials which Julianus had joined, looking about him with his usual expression of calculation.

‘And am I to take this apparent state of relaxation as a sign that all is as it should be for the first day of the games?’

His host, the man responsible for the arena’s operation, shook his head dismissively.

‘As it should be? I very much doubt it, but then what else does a man have staff for? They’ll be running around like men whose backsides have been stung by hornets at this very minute.’ The men standing around the table laughed appreciatively at the affected insouciance in his aristocratic drawl. ‘Just as you procurators have your lanistas, I have a small number of very capable and in one or two cases ruthless individuals whose specialisation is the art of making things happen, no matter what it takes. So the show, gentlemen, will go more or less to schedule, and nobody not intimately familiar with the way in which the organisation that runs this arena operates will ever know the difference. Let us just hope that your gladiators will be able to live up to the magnificence of the setting, shall we?’

‘There’s no fear of anything else!’ Novius, procurator of the Gallic Ludus, raised his cup to point at Julianus. ‘We’ve raised a fine crop of fighters this year, hard as nails all the way down to the tenth rank and not, as some schools seem to be, dependent on a few big names to carry their reputation.’

He sniffed loudly, and the other procurators sniggered at the barb, sinking it even deeper into Julianus’s thin skin.

‘There’s more to the Dacian Ludus than Velox and Mortiferum!’

‘Is there?’ His counterpart raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Who do you have in the third rank? I hear the name Hermes, although I hear little to encourage a belief that he’ll give my own third-rank man a decent workout. Face it, Julianus, once we’re past your admittedly lethal one and two, the rest of your ranking is decidedly ordinary.’

Julianus bristled at the slur, waving his rival’s words away with an extravagant sweep of his hand.

‘Which shows how little your sources within my school really know. I’d advise you to stay for the mid-afternoon livener, colleague, rather than sloping off to your favourite brothel after the first bout of the afternoon as seems to be your usual habit. You might see something from which you’ll learn a thing or two about the finer arts of finding good fighting men.’

Novius narrowed his eyes, turning to the arena’s procurator with a questioning look, and the administrator waved a languid arm at Julianus.

‘Procurator Julianus has entered a new team of commoners for the last non-ranking fight of the day, something to get the crowd shouting again before we send in the big names. We’re going to match them with an appropriate number of Dacian prisoners of war and see if they’re as good as he makes out.’

‘And how many of these mob fighters do you have, Julianus? Ten. A dozen?’

The Dacian procurator smiled back at him.

‘Only three. But three men of such a quality that I expect them to go through their assailants without any problem whatsoever.’

‘And how many Dacians will you throw at these newcomers?’

Julianus shrugged, affecting to neither know nor care, despite his lanista’s very careful instructions on the subject.

‘That’s a level of detail somewhat deeper than I usually bother myself with, although I do recall Sannitus muttering something about a two to one fight.’

He looked at his fingernails, but Novius saw an opening and went for it.

‘Two to one? But if they’re as good as you say, surely they can cope with stronger odds than that? Perhaps we need to make a wager on the subject?’

Julianus looked up at him from beneath hooded eyelids.

‘A wager? But Novius, surely the last time we gambled on the result of a fight you lost a-’

‘And now’s my best chance to make it back, from the sound of it. A thousand sestertii, eh, but on a three to one fight?’

Unable to back down, Julianus decided to attack.

‘A thousand? No, five thousand.’

Novius recoiled.

‘Five?’ He looked about him, realising that he’d manoeuvred himself into a corner from which there was no escape. ‘Very well, five.’ He waved a hand at the arena’s procurator, and Julianus smiled at him while a small part of him started worrying as to how Sannitus was going to react to the change of plan. ‘With our colleague here to ensure fair play, eh? And, before you leap to your feet to scurry off and warn that animal of a lanista of yours, that bet’s good just as long as there’s no warning for these new commoners of yours. Let your men discover that the odds against them have changed when the Dacians jump out of their pits, eh? Or will that be too much for them?’

Julianus shrugged, knowing that having raised the stake so high he had little choice in the matter.

‘As you say, let’s see how real gladiators cope with surprises.’

Sigilis led the small party into the domus’s garden and took his seat under the shade of the circle of trees that protected his outside dining area.

‘Do sit down, Tribune, and tell me your story.’

Scaurus took his seat.

‘Forgive me, Senator, if I detail one of my men to take an interest in this magnificent garden. It would not do for us to be overheard.’ The senator nodded, and one of the two soldiers who had accompanied Julius paced away steadily towards the massive wall that guarded the property, while the other walked steadily towards the house. ‘So, you will be pleased to hear, three of the four men who have terrorised Rome for the last few years have been dealt with by my vengeful centurion.’

He briefly detailed the deaths of Dorso, Brutus and Pilinius, and with the mention of the last of the three Sigilis smiled slowly.

‘With regard to that particular disgusting specimen of twisted humanity and his cronies, I’m genuinely pleased to hear your news. I knew that something had happened to them, from the rumours sweeping the city, but for the delivery of their justice to be so fitting …’ He looked across the immaculate garden to where the soldier set to search for any eavesdroppers had reached the wall, turned about and was walking back towards them in the same slow, deliberate manner. ‘But what of the fourth? Which one of them still survives?’

‘Mortiferum.’

‘I should have known it …’ He shook his head knowingly. ‘And how do you expect to get to him, might I ask?’

‘So there you see it. The Flavian arena in all its glory.’

Velox gestured to the view through the closely spaced iron bars that protected the viewing point out onto the arena’s sand, grinning as Dubnus and Horatius crowded forward to peer up at the tiered rows of seats on the amphitheatre’s far side. Their window out onto the fighting surface was at ground level, the room in which they stood part of the arena’s labyrinth of underground passages and chambers. Looking up, they could see that every seat was filled, the packed galleries teeming with a mass of humanity whose sole instinct seemed to be to bay for the blood of the men pacing forward across the fighting surface before them. With their heads only five above the arena’s surface, the four men’s view out across the sand was unimpeded, although there were only two fighters on show and neither of them was showing any sign of hostility towards the other. Armed with long rectangular shields and what looked like smooth wooden cudgels, they were advancing slowly towards a hastily installed grove of small potted trees in the amphitheatre’s centre.

‘You’ve seen all this before, haven’t you?’

Their escort’s quiet question in Marcus’s ear was couched in a knowing tone of voice, and his answer was equally amused.

‘Yes. But I was usually sitting in the expensive seats.’

The champion gladiator grinned wryly.

‘Gives you a different perspective, eh?’

The Roman nodded, pointing up at the low ceiling above their heads.

‘And the noise!’

The packed stands over them were booming with a raucous cacophony, as the crowd yelled, bellowed and hooted their preferences for the fight underway before them, the massive structure seeming to shake with the reverberations. Dubnus shook his head in amazement.

‘What are they shouting?’

Velox put a finger to his ear.

‘Listen carefully and you’ll make it out.’

The big Briton tipped his head, and after a moment realised that the crowd were shouting two words in a seemingly unending chorus.

‘Black Brutus! Black Brutus! Black Brutus!’

‘Black Brutus?’

The gladiator pointed at the arena before them, indicating an iron cage large enough to hold two men at best, its door open wide in anticipation of a prisoner of some nature.

‘You see the empty cage? Those two are beast fighters. It looks like they’re playing a rather dangerous game that was only invented last year, which I suppose you might call “putting the blood-crazed man-eating cat back in his box without becoming his lunch”. Any minute now there’s going to be-’

A trapdoor within the circle of trees swung upwards, and out of the yawning gap in the fighting surface a glossy black feline monster sprang out onto the sand. Driven to fresh paroxysms of excitement by the animal’s sudden appearance, the sixty-thousand-strong crowd came to its collective feet, bellowing the same two words over and over again as the two men facing the cat eyed it unhappily over the rims of their shields. Dubnus shook his head in disbelief.

‘What the fuck sort of animal is that?’

Mortiferum shook his head in amusement at the Briton’s awed question.

‘You don’t get many leopards in Britannia then? That, my friend, is a four-legged killer of men. He’s a rarity, being black, but he’s just as deadly as his spotted brethren, if not more so. Apparently most black leopards are smaller than usual, but not only is that bastard bigger than the norm, he fights with just as much cunning as my brother Mortiferum, if not a little more viciously. Just watch what happens next …’

As he spoke, the midnight-black cat sprang forward, hooking its claws over the rim of the closer of the two shields and using its two-hundred-pound weight to drag the defence down. Finding himself face-to-face with the beast’s snarling maw, the fighter hastily released his grip on the shield’s handle and stepped back with his cudgel raised to strike, but by mischance managed to find the edge of another trapdoor with his heel, tripping backwards to land hard in the sand, the cudgel spilling uselessly from his hand as he hit the hard surface.

With a coughing growl that was audible over the crowd’s own bloodthirsty roar, the leopard pounced, springing forward again and landing on the fallen beast-fighter’s body as he struggled to rise, its head snapping forward to bury long incisors deep into his throat. As the dying man struggled ineffectually beneath his assailant’s weight, the other man stepped in, swinging his cudgel in a long arc to connect with the leopard’s hind quarters, smack of its impact raising a fresh cheer of approval from the crowd, but the cat, as if inspired by the blow’s stinging power, turned and stepped off its victim with a chunk of his windpipe visible in its mouth. Spitting out the grisly evidence of his partner’s demise, it stalked towards the remaining man with the slow self-assured pace of a killer, eying its victim for the weak spot at which it would strike.

Tossing away his shield in an abrupt movement that sent the crowd into fresh raptures, the sole remaining bestiarius took a two-handed grip of his club, rotating his wrists until the weapon’s heavy head was behind his neck, seeming to rise onto his toes as he waited for the leopard to attack. In a flurry of motion the beast pounced forward, but where it had struck the fighter’s partner on the chest, the surviving fighter swayed to one side with a dancer’s grace, snapping the club round in a vicious arc that smashed its very tip into the big cat’s head with enough force to send the beast sprawling onto the sand, its paws twitching as it clung to consciousness.

Looking at the club in his hands the bestiarius tossed it to one side, walking to where his mate’s discarded shield lay flat on the sand.

‘No!’

The bellowed command from another of the viewing positions away to their right had no apparent impact on the bestiarius, and he took up the shield, turned on the spot and walked back towards the semi-conscious animal with a purposeful stride. A dozen or so animal handlers burst from doors set in the arena’s walls, hurrying across the fighting surface with their nets and restraining poles, but it was clear to the audience that they would be too late. A barrage of catcalls and imprecations rained down on the fighter as he raised his fallen colleague’s shield as high as he could before pounding its brass-rimmed edge down onto the stunned leopard’s throat.

The big animal’s back arched convulsively as its windpipe was smashed, the bestiarius landing a second vicious blow to ensure that it would die of asphyxiation before he was wrestled away from the doomed creature with the crowd’s boos ringing around the amphitheatre. Velox shook his head as the bestiarius was dragged away kicking and shouting.

‘Let’s hope that his revenge was worth it, because he’ll be paying for it with his life. And that monster was a crowd favourite, which means that they’ll still be baying for blood when the first proper fight of the afternoon starts. I pity the poor bastards who’ve drawn that slot, because one of them’s dead for certain with the mob in that mood. Come on, let’s go and get some food.’

He led them back into the huge building’s depths, torch and lamplight swiftly replacing that provided by the windows into the arena.

‘Mind you, there’s a lesson there. Always keep your feet flat to the ground, and shuffle step, feeling the way with your toes. If you fall over in the middle of a fight like he did, then your life is likely to be equally short and unpleasant. Now, here we are.’

He led them through a doorway into a scene that resembled something from the underworld, organised chaos by torchlight as dozens of cooks worked to complete the meals that would be taken up the long staircases to feed the dignitaries perched high above them.

‘And you can fuck off as w-’ The nearest man to them stared hard at Velox for a moment before cracking a broad smile. ‘Welcome, champion! I won a gold aureus on your last fight! Here, have a pie!’

He handed the gladiator a hot piece of pastry, staring past him at the three friends. ‘I suppose you want these three feeding as well?’

Velox shrugged and smiled conspiratorially.

‘That depends on whether you want my tip for this afternoon to be supported by well-nourished fighters or not.’

‘Here!’ The cook passed them each a pie with almost indecent haste, looking over his shoulder to the other end of the kitchen where the master cook stood watching his men’s progress. ‘Now, tell me quickly and get away, before that old sod sees me feeding you!’

The champion gladiator winked, taking a mouthful of the pie.

‘Mmm. Excellent …’

The cook lifted a clenched fist with a snarl that was only partially playful.

‘You’ll get me-’

A shout from the kitchen’s far end warned them that they had been spotted.

‘Oi! Get the fuck out of my kitchen!’

The cook raised his fist in earnest this time, advancing on them with a pleading look.

‘I’m seeing them off, never fear!’

Velox took pity on him.

‘The mid-afternoon wake-up bout. Bet on the three centurions!’

Allowing the winking cook to hustle them out of the kitchen, the four men ate their pies, blowing on the hot filling as they nibbled at the pastry.

‘Come on, we can eat these as we go. Follow me and I’ll show you a place you only want to visit once.’

Once outside the domus’s sprawling property, Scaurus raised an eyebrow at his first spear.

‘Well then, did you get what you needed?’

Julius looked in turn at the men who had accompanied him, and the older of the two nodded happily.

‘Everything, Tribune.’

Scaurus nodded grimly, indicating the two men lounging brazenly on the next street corner.

‘Good. Make a start as quickly as you can. I fear the senator has very little time left.’

‘Well then, Tettius Julianus, I hear that you’re giving us all a bit of a treat at the end of the day?’

The procurator started at the quiet voice in his ear. While his attention had been on an attractive young woman in the company of one of his fellow senators, the imperial chamberlain had left the imperial box and strolled onto the senatorial podium that ran alongside it, his approach silent until he’d spoken in Julianus’s ear.

‘Yes!’ His voice sounded high-pitched, and he cursed Cleander’s ability to make him feel guilty in even the most innocent of situations. ‘We had a trio of walk-ins yesterday, three former centurions all of whom seem to be as capable as the best of my men.’

‘Really?’ The chamberlain arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his discomfiture. ‘As good as the Death Bringer?’

Julianus shrugged.

‘Maybe not that good, but …’

‘Good enough for you to risk their lives against three desperate prisoners of war apiece though?’

Julianus smiled weakly.

‘My lanista tells me-’

‘Your lanista? Surely as the procurator of an imperial gladiatorial school you take a close personal interest in the abilities of the men you send into the arena? After all, as I’m sure I hardly need to remind you, Caesar takes a very dim view of things when the men sent onto the sand to amuse him are proven to lack the necessary skills and bravery to entertain him. After all, he is exceptionally skilled with any weapon you might care to mention …’ Cleander raised both eyebrows in mock question. ‘We’ll just have to hope that your lanista has sufficient discernment to ensure that Commodus will be entertained on this occasion.’

He waited for a moment expectantly and then, just as Julianus was about to speak, smiled widely.

‘I’m just having my fun with you, Senator, don’t pay me any attention. I’m sure your new men will be sudden death personified once they come face-to-face with a handful of underfed Dacians. Tell me though, I am curious — where did these three men come from? I’d hate to think that serving soldiers might have sought refuge from their duty in your school, no matter how risky an alternative it might make …’

Julianus gabbled an answer into the chamberlain’s long pause, relieved to find himself on firmer ground.

‘No fear of that, Chamberlain, no fear at all! One of them’s a legion man listed as dead — I had my slave check with the military records — and the other two are Tungrians, honourably discharged. I checked that with their tribune in person, because I …’

He fell silent, waiting for the Chamberlain’s intrigued expression to turn into speech.

‘Tungrians? I see. And the legion man, what’s his name?’

The procurator wracked his memory for a moment.

‘What did he call himself … ah, yes, his name is Horatius.’

Cleander’s smile broadened.

‘Is it indeed! Well there’s a happy coincidence! I’ve been hearing tales of a centurion with the same name who gave some men of mine a most thorough display of his fighting skills only a few weeks ago. Let’s hope that your Horatius shares his skills, for if he does we’re in for the most gripping performances for a good while. Now, do carry on considering that young lady’s finely turned ankle …’

He patted Julianus on the shoulder and turned back to the imperial box, the guards’ crossed spears opening to admit him to the emperor’s presence. The procurator realised that he was sweating profusely despite the day’s unseasonal cold, his appetite for covert examination of the city’s aristocratic females suddenly absent.

Velox led the friends through the tunnel’s cool gloom, the floor sloping gradually downwards before levelling out to run under the arena’s length to the east, its walls lit by blazing torches that provided just enough illumination to see. A familiar tang filled the air, and their guide inhaled deeply.

‘There it is. That’s the smell I associate with the arena. Blood.’

The tunnel started to climb, and he gestured to an opening on the right. They followed him in and found themselves in a torchlit chamber some thirty feet square and ten feet high, its floor filled with tables large enough to accommodate a man’s corpse.

‘This is the spolarium’s lowest level. Once Charun’s stoved their brains in, the bodies are carried down here to be relieved of their kit. Corpses go out of the building on carts for disposal, equipment goes to the armamentarium to be reconditioned for the next man to use it. Efficient, isn’t it?’

On one of the tables lay the body of the dead beast fighter, stripped of his clothing and in the process of being washed clean of the blood that had poured from the dreadful wound in his throat. In one corner a man was crouched over something large and dark, and Mortiferum led them over to stand beside him.

‘Cheer up man, nothing lasts for ever!’

The animal trainer looked up from the dead leopard’s corpse with bitter, tear-filled eyes.

‘He had dozens of fights left in him, dozens! And now he’s dead because one stupid bastard lost his temper! All because the two of them were fucking each other, the pair of tunic-lifting b-’

‘Now now, let’s not say something we might regret, eh? You’d be surprised at some of the people who prefer the company of other men … my brother, for example.’ The trainer’s eyes widened as he realised how close he was to offending the champion, but Velox patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘And never mind, I’ll sell you a secret that will help you towards some of the money you’ll need to replace him, in return for something you’ve no need of any more.’

The trainer looked up at him suspiciously.

‘What are you offering?’

‘Only a sure-thing bet on the mid-afternoon fight.’

‘How sure?’

The gladiator smirked at him.

‘Totally. You can put as much as you like on the result in the certainty that it’ll come back to you in style.’

The trainer pursed his lips.

‘And what do you want from me? His cock, I suppose.’

Velox shook his head.

‘That’s more my brother’s style. No, I want the teeth, or more to the point, his fangs.’

The other man pulled a face.

‘I was saving those to sell to a lucky charm dealer I know, they’re worth at least-’

‘Not as much as the information I can give you for them. Put an aureus on the right side of the fight I’ve got in mind and it’ll come back as three, I’m telling you.’

‘An aureus? Where am I going to get a bloody aureus from?’

The gladiator reached out with the toe of his boot, nudging the dead leopard’s underbelly.

‘You already know the answer to that one. Any one of half a dozen potion dealers will give you good money for his family jewels. So, do we have a deal?’

The trainer nodded, ignoring the commotion as a pair of dead beast fighters were carried into the room and dumped without ceremony onto tables next to the first corpse.

‘Deal. So what’s the big secret with this fight then?’

‘Procurator? You have two guests, sir, military men.’

Julianus nodded with relief, grateful for the welcome distraction from the revolting scene playing out in the arena below him, although he was careful to keep a smile plastered across his face given the emperor’s apparent rapt attention. Gesturing to the podium’s entrance for the Tungrian tribune and his senior centurion to be admitted, he walked across to greet them and acknowledged their respectful bows with one of his own.

‘Tribune Scaurus! I’m so glad that you and the centurion could join us. Your men are set to fight this afternoon, and I think you’re going to find what we’ve got planned perfectly attuned to your military tastes.’

The crowd roared with apparent delight at the lunchtime entertainment, and the two soldiers peered over the podium’s parapet, Scaurus raising an eyebrow at Julianus and shaking his head in apparent bemusement.

‘I see the Flavian arena hasn’t lost its touch for the bizarre while I’ve been away in the north.’

His senior centurion had managed to keep a straight face, but Julianus sensed that he was less than happy at what he’d witnessed. The tribune was clearly aware of his man’s discomfort, his question filling the awkward silence.

‘So, some sort of military-themed bout, from the sound of it? Will our two men be fighting together?’

Julianus smiled, doing his best to ignore the shouts of encouragement that the crowd were showering down upon the object of their attention.

‘Better than that, Rutilius Scaurus, they’ll be going into the arena with another soldier, a man called Horatius. My colleague who runs this place has dug up some Dacian prisoners for them to fight, so it ought to make for a spectacular piece of entertainment.’

Scaurus nodded, and was about to reply when the crowd roared in sudden delight.

‘Thank Our Lord Mithras for that, the poor beast must have finished.’

Julianus turned to look briefly over the parapet.

‘So it seems. It never ceases to strike me how degrading that must be for all concerned, but of course the audience here do like their depravity. There, the beast handlers have him under control …’

A blast of horns blew to warn the crowd that the first fight of the afternoon was about to begin, and Julianus turned back to the sand with a note of relief on his face.

‘Thank the gods for that. I haven’t seen such a lacklustre lunchtime show for years. A few tired-looking clowns, and a drunken baboon being made to couple with a young woman tied to a post isn’t really my idea of entertainment.’

‘Watch the net. With a retarius you always have to watch the net, because that’s what does the damage. The trident’s dangerous alright, but if he puts the net over the secutor then the fight’s over unless the other man’s very, very lucky. Mind you, this should be easy enough for Glaucus. Trust me, a good chaser will beat a good net man almost every time, and Glaucus is still just about as good as they come.’

Looking through the closely spaced iron bars, the friends watched as the first bout of the afternoon was announced, and the veteran secutor Glaucus walked proudly into the ring with his sword and shield held up in recognition of the booming applause that showered down on him from all sides. His smooth-fronted helmet, whilst it was designed to frustrate the net in his opponent’s hand by providing it with nothing to catch on to, also had the effect of bestowing an anonymity upon him that was far more unnerving to an opponent than a snarling face. Velox nodded his head with a fond expression.

‘Look, even the emperor’s up and shouting. That old bastard Glaucus may be getting long in the tooth for all this, but he’s earned all the adulation he’s getting. Thirty-six fights, and against every decent net man to have come out of the Ludus Magnus in the last ten years, and he’s never once been defeated. And in all that time he’s always been decent enough to make his opponent look good, so that he’s only had to put a handful of them to the sword.’

He stared speculatively at the veteran’s opponent, nodding approvingly as the retarius padded across the sand to take up his position ready for the fight to begin.

‘Nice feet. See how he barely disturbs the sand as he walks? That boy’s as light-footed as a mountain goat. Let’s see if his skills with the net and trident are as good as his footwork.’

The retarius padded up to his starting position and took guard, the trident held underarm and ready to fight, while the Master of the Games announcer bellowed out the names and fighting records of the two men. Velox frowned as the net fighter’s list of fights and victories was detailed, and looked out at Glaucus with a bemused look.

‘His opponent’s only had a handful of fights from the sound of it, and none of them were in Rome, which makes him a bit of an unknown quantity.’ He stared pensively out across the sand at the waiting retarius, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘Glaucus must be wondering what’s going on, given the stupendous amount of money he was offered to make one last appearance …’ He turned away with a determined look, throwing a swift comment over his shoulder. ‘Stay here!’

In his absence the chief referee strode out between the two men, resplendent in his white tunic and carrying the long stick with which he could marshal cooperative gladiators, while his heavily built assistant loomed behind him, his iron-tipped quarterstaff ready to deal with anything that required more direct methods. Behind them the arena slaves waited by a red-hot brazier, which contained several long irons already sufficiently hot to make them visibly glow red and leave trails of smoke when they were pulled out and shown to the crowd, their threat more than enough to persuade any reluctant fighters to get on with their bout. Velox was only gone for long enough that the preliminaries to the fight were all but complete by the time he returned, his face set in an angry scowl and his voice dangerously controlled as he raised it to be heard over the announcer’s shouted introduction of the two fighters and the cheers that greeted them in turn.

‘It’s a bloody fix. I tried to get odds against Glaucus from one of the gamblers who makes odds for the senators up on the podium, but he told me he’s not been taking bets on the net man for an hour or so, ever since someone in the Ludus Magnus spilled the beans to someone who was good enough to warn him off in turn. Apparently this “new boy” isn’t a new boy at all, but some talent whose skills have been sharpened up on the arena circuit in Hispania over the last year. Not that they needed much sharpening, from the look of him …’

They turned their attention to the two gladiators who were now squaring up to each other under the referee’s command, Glaucus’s blank iron face seemingly locked on to his opponent as the retarius bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to fight. At the shouted command he leapt forward, and from the first moves of the bout it was clear that the veteran fighter was in trouble.

Dancing in with quick, darting steps that made a mockery of the usual practice of shuffling forward to avoid tripping on an unseen obstacle, the retarius struck first. His attack was lightning fast, stabbing his trident at the other man’s head with such speed and force that it was all that Glaucus could do to get his shield in the way of the blow. As the unbalanced secutor stepped back to regain his footing, the retarius stabbed his trident in low, its long central prong scraping down the hastily lowered shield’s painted face until it snagged the brass rim, forcing Glaucus’s defence down until it hit the sand. He flicked the weapon back and up to strike again with the same seemingly divine speed, jabbing it over the shield’s rim at Glaucus’s helmet faster than the secutor could raise it. The brass-sheathed iron stopped the blow, but Glaucus’s head was punched backwards with a clang that was audible at fifty paces, violently rocking the veteran with its crashing impact.

Velox sucked in a swift breath, shaking his head as the older man staggered backwards, and the crowd were suddenly silent as the reality of what was happening to their beloved champion sank in. Before the veteran chaser could re-establish his defence, the retarius hooked his trident over the top edge of Glaucus’s shield, leaning back and whipping the weapon backwards with all the strength in his finely muscled torso and thighs to tear the heavy layered board from the secutor’s stunned grasp. The crowd, already shocked at the indignities being visited upon their hero, were reduced to horrified silence as Glaucus staggered forward, dragged off balance from the abrupt removal of his defence. As he teetered on the edge of another involuntary step forward, the retarius took a single pace forward, disdainful of any threat from the secutor’s sword, and plunged the long middle prong of his trident into the veteran’s leading foot.

‘No!’

A single voice in the otherwise silent crowd denied what was so clearly happening before them. The veteran gladiator threw his head back in a scream of agony that was clearly audible despite the helmet’s face mask, the muscles of his chest tensing like whips as the agony of the cold metal’s punching intrusion through the bones of his foot hit him. After a moment’s disbelieving pause, the crowd found their voices, screaming a single word again and again.

‘Habet! Habet! Habet!’

‘Yes, he’s had it alright.’ Marcus looked across at Velox as the champion spat out his disgust at the crowd’s exultant reaction. ‘It didn’t take you lot long to decide which side you’d rather be on, did it?’

Stepping back from the reeling chaser, the retarius cast his net at the stricken veteran with such confidence that he barely even looked at his target. Released by a practised twist of his hand, that opened the net out from a tight ball into a six-foot-wide spinning snare, it wrapped around the older man to seal his doom. Crippled and ensnared, Glaucus toppled over with the inevitability of a falling tree, not even bothering to struggle against the net’s bonds.

‘Poor bastard.’

Velox looked over at Horatius, his eyes hard with anger.

‘Poor betrayed bastard, you mean. They’re both from the same school, and yet he clearly had no idea what was about to hit him. That net man is the cream, and the ludus have clearly put him in without giving Glaucus any warning. Either it was a bet set up to let them place some very hefty money on a result that only they could predict, or he’s upset someone important and rich enough to pressure the school into setting the whole thing up. I don’t suppose his fee was ever a problem, whatever was at the root of the matter, given that a few well-placed wagers will have more than paid that back …’

He fell silent as the referee walked out to look down at Glaucus, who had wearily raised a finger in surrender. The official paused for a moment, as if he were unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes, then turned to look up at the imperial box.

‘He’s already dead. There’s no way that Commodus will let him live after that poor a display, and even if he were minded to show some respect to the man’s long and distinguished record, this crowd are baying for blood.’ The champion fighter shook his head sadly. ‘And who can blame them? Many of them probably put more than they could afford to lose on Glaucus, given what a safe bet he’s been for so long, and now the professional gamblers are walking away smiling while the average man is already down on the day. See, Charun knows …’

The arena slave dressed as the spirit guide of the underworld, whose task it was to finish off dying gladiators with a heavy double-headed hammer, was walking slowly forward as Commodus rose to his feet and looked about the arena for a moment. He was clearly taking stock of the number of cries of ‘Mitte’ he was hearing, entreaties for the defeated man to be spared death. Velox smiled sadly.

‘Listen. I told you so.’

The number of people shouting for the killing stroke echoed around the arena in a ceaseless, vindictive chorus of ‘Igula! Igula! Igula!’, utterly overwhelming those few sentimentalists who had been swayed by Glaucus’s glorious record. The emperor paused for a moment to bask in the waves of sound and the power that they gave him, making a show of considering the fallen secutor’s fate. His hand rose, the thumb pointing upwards for a second before he jerked it towards his own throat, and the crowd’s roar descended into a wordless, frenzied cacophony of screams as the retarius stepped forward, taking a sword from an arena slave and raising it in readiness for the delivery of the killing stoke.

Snared in the net’s deadly embrace and unable to stand, his opponent managed to lever himself up onto his knees, fiddling with the fastenings of his helmet and pulling away the face mask to stare up at his opponent with unveiled hatred. His words were inaudible over the crowd’s continuous roar, but the effect was immediate, as the referee waved the brazier minders forward to free the condemned fighter from the net’s folds. Unable to put his weight on the shattered and torn remnant of his foot, he reached forward and took a firm grip of the retarius’s thigh, staring up at the imperial box for a long moment before releasing his hold and opening his arms wide, his lips moving again as he spat whatever defiance he had left at the man who would be his killer.

The retarius struck with the same mercurial speed that he had used to defeat his opponent, sinking the sword’s blade deep into Glaucus’s throat, and the dying veteran sank to the sand in a fresh gout of blood. Bowing to the referee, and then to the emperor, who was still graciously applauding his victory, the retarius dropped the sword and turned away without a second glance at Glaucus’s corpse, walking away towards the Gate of Life with the hysterical shouts and screams of the crowd still echoing around the arena.

‘And a new hero is born.’ Velox shook his head in disgust. ‘But whoever came up with the idea of sacrificing a man to make it happen, that man should be praying that I never find out his name. Come on, I’ll take you to the armourers. After that disgusting charade, we’d probably be best making sure that they haven’t been instructed to kit you three out as dancing girls.’

‘I presume that rather hapless chaser had done something to offend, or is that just the way the Great School does business these days?’

While the arena slaves scattered fresh white sand over the blood spilled by Glaucus, and the next pair of fighters entered to yet more thunderous applause, Cleander had strolled across the imperial box to direct an apparently casual question at the Ludus Magnus’s procurator. Much as the man clearly wanted to take umbrage, the chamberlain’s reputation for making and breaking both careers and men went before him.

‘In truth, Aurelius Cleander, the man’s demands for money had become rather tiresome. He knew only too well that he was expected to be on the bill, and in consequence he was asking for a hundred thousand just to put his feet on the sand.’

The chamberlain nodded.

‘I’m familiar with the mind set. Men decide that they are indispensable, and in doing so make it essential that they are dispensed with.’

The procurator dipped his head to acknowledge the point.

‘Not only that, but he was clearly past it. My lanista was having to hand-pick his opponents, and it was only a matter of time before he became a laughing stock when people realised that we were putting no-hopers in front of him.’

Cleander inclined his head in recognition of the point.

‘Which would never have stood. Especially given that our beloved Caesar is such an attentive follower of the games. And besides …’ He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. ‘I presume that you managed to find a way to turn the whole sorry situation to some small advantage?’

The procurator had the good grace to colour slightly.

‘I … made sure that the ludus wouldn’t be financially disadvantaged in the matter, as is my responsibility.’

Cleander’s smile hardened.

‘I’m sure you did. After all, most of the men here have probably lost a few sestertii on the match, and I doubt the professional gamblers will have scooped all of that rather splendid sum. Shall we say ten per cent? Not from the Great School’s profit of course, that would be unfair to the throne, just from whatever small wager you might have placed yourself?’

The procurator bowed, opening his hands to gesture his assent to the suggestion.

‘It would be my pleasure to donate such a sum to the imperial treasury.’

Cleander nodded.

‘Excellent. And now I really must get back to my duties. I think it’s time we ran an audit of arena gamblers’ takings and losses. I do so like to know exactly what monies are changing hands, and where the throne might request a small percentage as a means of meeting its incessant outflow of gold to safeguard the empire’s frontiers.’

He turned away but then, exactly as Scaurus had expected, he turned back with a faint smile.

‘Tribune Scaurus, you do get around.’

Scaurus bowed.

‘I make a point of introducing my officers to as many new experiences as possible, Chamberlain, and Julius here has never seen the Flavian amphitheatre.’

Cleander raised an eyebrow.

‘And how do you find our entertainment, Centurion?’

Julius smiled wanly.

‘Informative, sir.’

‘Informative!’ The chamberlain guffawed. ‘I’m sure you do, given the bestial nature of the lunchtime show. But never fear, there’s nothing more in that line planned for the rest of the day, although I suspect that dear old Glaucus’s death will have left the crowd in the mood for some red meat. Let’s hope your men can provide them with a good-sized portion! Oh, and Scaurus?’

‘Chamberlain?’

‘I really do think it’s time your men were given a break from all that tedious sitting around and waiting for their next set of orders. I’ll send a man to you in the morning to detail the time of a meeting and we’ll find you something more interesting to do. Something involving travel …’