Gladiator: Street fighter Read online

  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!’

  19

  Demetrius accepted his new lodger with as much reluctance as he dared show to Milo. Once he was alone with Marcus he pointed to a corner of the inn by the counter and grunted, ‘You sleep there. You’ll have gruel at dawn and whatever scraps are left at the end of the day. In between you fetch and carry the wine for the customers and keep the place clean.’

  Marcus looked round at the stained plaster on the walls and the remains of food collected round the legs of tables and benches and wondered if the place had ever been clean.

  ‘Most of all,’ Demetrius continued, ‘you keep Milo happy. If he sits down, you bring him a drink without asking. Him and his men. If they want food, tell me and I’ll sort it out. Then you keep topping them up until they leave, or they pass out. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Demetrius cuffed him on the head. ‘Yes, sir - that’s what you say to me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Demetrius put his hands on his hips and stared down at Marcus. ‘By Jupiter, I don’t know what he sees in you, and I dare say you’ll pass out of favour soon enough. If that nasty piece of work Kasos doesn’t stick a knife in your back first.’

  For a moment there was a glimmer of pity in the old man’s face. ‘You should never have come to Rome, lad. I’ve seen many like you. Of every ten that comes to seek their fortune, nine die alone in the gutter, one way or another. ’

  ‘I didn’t have any choice, sir,’ Marcus replied.

  ‘Well, you’re here now. Better make the most of it. You can start by sweeping the place out - hasn’t been done in a while. The broom is over there in the corner.’
/>   For the rest of the day Marcus was kept busy sweeping the floor and taking food and wine to Milo and his men whenever it looked like they were running out. Finally, late in the afternoon, the gang left to sleep it off. As Marcus came out to collect the cups and what was left of the bread and sausage they’d been eating, Milo beckoned to him.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ Marcus stopped beside his chair.

  Despite the amount he had drunk that day Milo examined him with a keen eye and spoke without slurring. ‘That was neat work earlier, with Kasos. There’s more to you than meets the eye.’

  Marcus felt his stomach leap in alarm but he kept his expression fixed and said nothing.

  ‘You’re too young to join the gangs now, but stick around, young Junius, and there’s a promising future for you here in The Pit.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  Milo let out a loud burp and struggled to his feet. ‘I’m off to get some sleep. There’s work to do tomorrow.’ He winked and strolled away, disappearing into one of the alleys that led off The Pit. Marcus watched him a moment, then was distracted by a shout from the opposite direction. He turned and saw Kasos and his companions leaning against the wall of a tenement block a short distance away. Kasos stared at him and pointed his finger menacingly before he slowly drew it across his throat. Then, with a curt wave to his gang, they strode off, thumbs tucked into their belts as women, children and men hurried to clear out of their path. Marcus felt a stab of anger and disgust as he watched the swaggering bullies walk away. He wasn’t happy to have made an enemy of Kasos on his first day in The Pit.

  The next morning Marcus was awake at first light. He lay still for a while, taking in his new surroundings. There were already sounds of life from outside, the light chatter of women as they collected water from the fountain, the shrill cries of the children that accompanied them and - from the room behind the counter - the deep snoring of Demetrius. Marcus was pleased he’d found a way to get close to Milo and hoped he would soon overhear useful information for Festus and Caesar. He still worried that his cover story might be seen through, even though it was clear thousands of young boys like him came to Rome. And from what he’d heard, they endured even more suffering than slaves, scraping by on the edge of starvation and with beatings at the hands of bullies. It was ironic, Marcus reflected. At least boys like Lupus and himself had food and shelter. He found himself missing his quarters at Caesar’s house.

  Marcus stood up and stretched before heading across the dim interior of the inn. He looked outside. The Pit was still in shadow and only the highest roofs of the tenements opposite were bathed in early morning sunlight. Around the edges of The Pit, the first gang members were stiffly making their way out of their lodgings, emerging from the alleys as they made for the inns that were already opening to serve a hot porridge of barley with shreds of whatever non-rancid meat was available.

  Demetrius stirred with a choking, grunting sound and a moment later the door to his room opened and he stumbled out, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He pointed a finger at Marcus.

  ‘What are you doing dawdling about? Think this is a public holiday? Get the shutters open. Light the fire and put the porridge on.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Marcus reached for the iron bolts that secured the shutters and swung them open, squinting as the light flooded in. Then he fetched wood from the store and arranged it in the stone-lined hearth at the end of the counter. Using Demetrius’s tinderbox, Marcus soon had a fire lit and smoke curled up through the cooking grille into the chimney. It was like being back in the kitchens of Porcino’s gladiator school, Marcus thought as he fetched water from the fountain to fill the blackened brass cauldron, then added barley and meat with vegetable scraps and stirred the mixture. Even though the smell was not particularly appealing, Marcus found he had a raging appetite and gratefully ladled a small bowl for himself. He wolfed the meal down with a small wooden spoon before Demetrius emerged again, dressed in the same tunic and apron he had worn the day before, and for many days more before that, Marcus suspected.

  ‘Don’t gorge yourself, boy! Save some for the bloody customers or I’ll tan the hide off the back of yer!’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I was hungry.’

  ‘I don’t care. Can’t afford to have no street rat eating my profits - what’s left of ’em after Milo takes his cut.’

  The first of the day’s customers began to drift into the inn, mostly workers who had jobs down in the Forum, or the meat market of the Boarium and the wharf alongside the Tiber a short distance beyond, places Marcus had visited when Festus was teaching him to find his way around the city. As they finished eating and paid their handful of small bronze coins at the counter, the early risers among Milo’s gangs came in, many clearly suffering from the wine they’d consumed the previous day. They grumpily called out their orders for porridge and watered-down wine, and Demetrius and Marcus hurried to serve them.

  Many were wearing sleeveless tunics so that the crossed dagger emblems on their shoulders were easy to see. These were the Blades, Marcus realized anxiously, the gang to which Portia’s two kidnappers had belonged - one of whom had escaped. Marcus looked round cautiously as he moved among the packed benches and tables, but he didn’t recognize any faces. Besides, he told himself, the man had been badly wounded and might have died even if he made it back to The Pit.

  As he carried a tray of steaming bowls to one of the tables near the front of the inn he heard two of the men talking.

  ‘There’s another job on today. Have you heard?’ the first man grumbled as he cracked his knuckles.

  ‘Eh? What’s that?’ asked his friend, sitting opposite.

  ‘Milo’s taking the Blades and the Scorpions down to the Forum this morning. Seems that Cato is prosecuting one of Caesar’s followers, Calpurnius Piso. Accused of corruption what else - when he was governor of Sicily. It’s a dead cert that Clodius will have some men there to break up the trial. So we’ve got to keep them away, and shout down any witnesses for the defence.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too much trouble,’ his friend said, shrugging. ‘Just give ’em a bit of a battering and that’ll sort it out.’

  ‘Aye.’ The first man nodded and then looked up sharply as Marcus hovered at the table. ‘What d’you want? A tip? How’s this: get lost sharpish before I knock your head off. ’

  ‘Har, har,’ his friend chuckled. ‘That’s a good ’un.’

  Marcus quickly retreated and continued serving the other customers until there was a blast from a horn outside. Milo’s voice bellowed, ‘Come on, you scum! Stir yourselves! There’s work to be done. Blades and Scorpions - on me! The other gangs aren’t needed today.’

  The men hurriedly abandoned their breakfast and headed outside.

  ‘Hey!’ Demetrius shouted after them. ‘You haven’t paid for that! Stop! Stop . . .’

  No one spared him any attention and soon the inn was empty, except for two workmen squeezed into one corner who had risen late and were eating as fast as they could. Demetrius scowled at the gang members as they assembled round Milo. ‘Scum . . .’

  He glanced round hurriedly in case anyone had overheard and saw Marcus. ‘Clear up this mess. Scrape what’s left back into the cauldron.’

  While Marcus collected the bowls and cups, Demetrius stumped off to the rear of the inn, grumbling to himself. Outside, Milo stood on an upturned tub as he addressed his men.

  ‘I’ve seen corpses with more life in ’em than you lot! Stand up straight, clear your heads and listen! We’re going up against Clodius and his gutter scum from the Subura again.’

  There was a ragged cheer from his men and Milo continued. ‘Caesar and his cronies mean to command the streets of Rome. If we let him become too powerful, then he’ll turn on the gangs and destroy them one at a time until no one stands in his way. Brothers, are we going to allow that to happen?’

  ‘NO!’ His men roared back.

  ‘No! By the gods!’ Milo shouted back. ‘Rome belongs to the
gangs and I’ll die before I let some upstart aristocrat take the city from us.’

  Marcus wished he could warn Festus, but realized that by the time he could reach Caesar’s house it would be too late, and if he was missed at the inn it would arouse suspicion. No, he needed to stand his ground. If he could just get closer to Milo, then he was certain he’d discover information that would be even more valuable to Caesar.

  Milo continued. ‘There are some gangs who have taken Caesar’s gold. The Subura gangs have rolled over, like the mangy dogs they are, at the feet of Caesar. The only real men left in Rome are here! Now take up your clubs and your blades and let’s show the scum from the Subura who controls the streets. Go in hard. Show no mercy and do not dishonour those tattoos on your shoulders.’ He punched his fist into the air. ‘Honour to the Blades and the Scorpions! Death to our enemies!’

  His men roared with approval and Milo waved them towards an alley leading from The Pit to the heart of the city. He shouted more encouragement before jumping off the tub to head in the opposite direction, towards the top of the Aventine Hill.

  Marcus watched them go and continued clearing the tables. He took the bowls and cups to the trough at the back of the inn where he quickly rinsed and stacked them to dry. As he walked past Demetrius the innkeeper muttered, ‘Good riddance to ’em.’

  Demetrius kept him hard at work, clearing up after the morning meal, then chopping more firewood for the small blaze to keep the cauldron simmering throughout the day. There was no chance for Marcus to leave The Pit and warn his master about Milo’s plans to disrupt the trial. But Marcus doubted if a warning would make any difference. The gangs of both sides would clash and Rome would take another step towards chaos. He would have to stay in The Pit until the gangs returned. Then he would wait on Milo and his leaders again, until he discovered their more secret plans to destroy Caesar.