Gladiator: Street fighter Read online

  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.’

  21

  ‘You first, Spurius,’ Milo demanded as he faced the two gang leaders at the table outside the inn. It was shortly after the first men had returned to The Pit. Marcus had hurriedly brought out a jug of wine and some bread for the men who arrived at Milo’s table and was standing a short distance away.

  The leader of the Blades had a hurriedly tied dressing round his head through which blood was seeping. He collected his thoughts before he answered. ‘We got to the Forum without trouble, and saw the trial was about to begin. Cato was there, all ready to begin his opening speech. Calpurnius Piso didn’t look like he was facing any charges at all. He was clean-shaven and neatly dressed, not playing the usual trick of looking distraught and repentant. He even seemed to be enjoying himself as he sat with his lawyer. Should’ve guessed there’d be a reason behind it. Anyway, one of Clodius’s gangs was already there, barracking Cato. We fetched up behind ’em and started to push ’em out of the way. There was the usual rough stuff, a few punches thrown and so on, but we cleared ’em out and formed a line round the stage so that no one could get in or out without our say-so.’

  Spurius drained his cup and held it up for Marcus to refill. Then he continued. ‘Clodius’s gang had moved off a short distance to shout insults, more loudly than usual, I thought. Then the other gangs arrived. They must’ve been waiting for a signal because they all arrived at the same time. Hundreds of ’em, pouring out of every road and alley leading into the Forum. I could see at once we were trapped, and knew that if we stayed by the court we’d had it. So I tell the lads to follow me and run for it. We made for the exit leading to the Boarium, but they caught us before we could reach it. It was out with the staves and whatever else my boys were packing. They were all round us and we had to fight every step of the way until we reached the Tiber and split up to return here.’ He paused and looked at his chief. ‘We lost a lot of the boys back there.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Over fifty, between the two gangs. Don’t suppose many of them are alive.’

  Marcus saw Milo grind his teeth as he digested the news. ‘Damn! Where did Clodius get so many men?’

  ‘They wasn’t all from the Subura,’ the leader of the Scorpions chipped in. ‘I recognized the tags of some gangs from the Esquiline, and even some from the Janiculan district.’

  ‘That’s bad. Very bad,’ Milo reflected. ‘Somehow Clodius has persuaded the other districts to settle their differences and fight with the Subura . . . We’re outnumbered. Badly.’

  ‘So what do we do now, chief?’ asked the second gang leader.

  Milo looked down at the table while he concentrated. The other men looked on, but Marcus saw Spurius turn to nod meaningfully at the other man. His companion shook his head and Spurius gestured more insistently, urging him on. With a shrug of resignation, the leader of the Scorpions cleared his throat. Milo continued to stare at the table, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  ‘Er, Chief . . .’

  Milo raised his head with an irritated expression. ‘What is it?’

  The leader of the Scorpions spread his hands on the table as he summoned up his courage.

  ‘Spit it out, Brutus!’

  The sharp tone of command made the man flinch and he stammered. ‘The th-thing is, the lads have been talking and -’

  ‘The lads?’ Milo cocked an eyebrow. ‘Who exactly?’

  ‘Me and the other gang leaders.’

  ‘I see.’ Milo placed his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. ‘Go on then. You’ve been talking. And?’

  Brutus glanced nervously at Spurius, looking for support, but the other gang leader sat in silence and Brutus was forced to speak out on his own. ‘The gangs are supposed to run the street rackets. That’s what we’ve always done. Taken our money from protection charges, running the brothels and settling disputes in our own districts, right? As long as we did that, and the oth
er gangs stuck to the boundaries, then we all lived comfortably on the proceeds. But this gang war started. Since then we’ve lost men and we’re too busy to do our normal business . . .’

  He dried up under Milo’s withering gaze. After a pause, Milo spoke in a low, cold tone. ‘So? Things will return to normal once we’ve seen off Clodius and his friends.’

  Brutus puffed his cheeks out. ‘That’s just it. The lads want things back to how they was. They’ve had their fill of fighting other gangs. I said I’d ask you to call a truce with Clodius, Chief, and put an end to the gang war.’

  ‘And how do you think that would look?’ Milo asked cuttingly. ‘The instant things start going against us I scurry to Clodius and beg him to stop fighting. We’d be the laughing stock of Rome. Before long the other gangs would muscle in on our turf and the people in the Aventine wouldn’t lift a finger to stop them. Do you know why? Because they wouldn’t be afraid of us any more. Or at least, they’d be more afraid of the other gangs. Fear is what keeps us on top here in the Aventine. If we buckle under to Clodius then we’re finished. We have to keep fighting and we have to win. There is no other option. Got that?’ He paused, then continued in a tone laced with scorn. ‘Or didn’t you and your friends think it through?’

  Marcus saw the gang leader squirm under his chief’s fierce glare.

  ‘Milo, at this rate, there won’t be enough of us left to run the Aventine. Don’t you see? We have to talk to Clodius. We have to stop this - why are we doing some politician’s dirty work, anyway?’

  Milo suddenly snatched up the half-filled wine jug and swung it down in a short vicious arc on Brutus’s head. The jug exploded into fragments as the dark red wine sprayed out across the table, splattering Spurius, Milo and Marcus who stood close by. Brutus’s head slammed down on the table and he uttered a deep groan before losing consciousness. A ragged tear in his scalp began to bleed heavily, mingling with the wine splashed across the table. Despite his training, Marcus flinched and took a step back. Everyone at the table stared at the scene with frightened expressions. Others around the edge of The Pit had become aware that something was going on and they looked towards the inn. Milo climbed on to the table and stared down at the faces below. He called out across the open space, his voice echoing from the walls of the tenement buildings.