Gladiator: Vengeance Page 14

  ‘What do you think? No. Not ever.’

  After the priests had left the arena there followed a procession of the main performers, with the gladiators in gleaming ceremonial armour as they waved a greeting to their fans in the crowd. They were followed by carts filled with loaves of bread, pastries and honeyed cakes that slaves tossed into the crowd. By the time the first act came on, a troupe of acrobats, Marcus had lost interest and sat back on the straw to rest. The others joined him but there was little conversation. There was nothing to be said and they sat in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

  Towards the end of the day some guards brought several more condemned prisoners to join them. Six men and a woman, all of them convicted of murder. The oldest of them, a tall thickset man, stood over Festus and the boys with his hands on his hips.

  ‘The name is Epatus. Everyone in Athens knows me.’

  ‘We’re not from Athens,’ Festus replied. ‘Never heard of you.’

  Epatus frowned. ‘Well, you have now. I’ve been condemned to be burned. You know the routine. If I subject to having my arm burned to a crisp without crying out in pain then I get pardoned. If I whine, then the rest of me gets roasted. Same for the others.’ He jerked his thumb at those who had been put into the cage along with him. ‘Except the woman. She’s been condemned to the beasts. Poor bloody cow.’

  Festus smiled grimly. ‘Then it looks like me and the boys will have some company.’

  Epatus puffed his cheeks. ‘That’s bad luck, that is.’

  ‘Friend, in our situation, none of us is exactly having any good luck.’

  Epatus laughed and sat beside Festus. ‘I was going to sling you off the straw for the night, but you’re a good sort.’ He thrust out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation Festus clasped his arm. ‘I’m Festus, and these here are Marcus and Lupus.’

  The Athenian cocked an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I’ve heard about you. Murdered that slave auctioneer up in Stratos.’

  ‘Not murder,’ said Marcus. ‘It was an accident. We’re not murderers.’

  ‘Small world,’ Epatus grinned. ‘Same with me and the rest of us. Shameful miscarriage of justice I call it. But then anyone in his right mind would. The Gods will play their little games with us.’ He eased himself back and crossed his arms behind his head. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rest. Want to look fresh for my performance tomorrow.’ He winked, then closed his eyes and shifted until he was comfortable.

  ‘Takes all sorts,’ Festus muttered. ‘But he’s right. Try and sleep, boys. If you can.’

  After the day’s events had ended, some guards came late in the evening with a pail of cold stew that had set into a glutinous mess. Only Epatus and a few of the men had any appetite for it. The rest sat in silence except for the dumpy middle-aged woman who, Epatus explained, had killed her husband in his sleep after years of being beaten by him every time he came home drunk. She sat slumped in the corner, weeping and muttering to herself about who would care for her children after she was gone.

  As the moon rose over the city the noises around them died away, save for the howl of a dog until one of the arena staff went into its cage and beat it into silence. Marcus was awake through the long hours of the night, his thoughts drifting aimlessly from memory to memory, with a few bitter regrets thrown in. He wanted to believe that he had done all he could to save his mother and hoped that if she ever discovered his fate, then she would understand that he had died trying to save her.

  At the same time his heart was heavy with the knowledge that he was responsible for the situation he and his two friends were facing. If he had listened to Festus and thought twice about approaching the governor then they would not have been arrested. Looking up, he saw Festus sitting with his arms resting on his knees as he stared blankly ahead. He had every right to be bitterly angry with Marcus. Yet Festus had treated him like a father, disappointed with an errant son, rather than being angry. Marcus smiled sadly to himself as he realized that behind the hard exterior Festus presented to the world, he had a heart after all. It was only then that Marcus grasped how fond he had grown of the man who had trained, advised and protected him from the day he had joined Caesar’s household. He had let Festus down with his poor judgement, and worse, he had never told him the truth about his real father. A painful surge of guilt filled his heart and he hurriedly cuffed away the tears that were pricking his eyes.

  When dawn came the crowds returned to the arena and the morning’s entertainment began with beast fights. Festus watched for a while, admiring the technique of some of the beast fighters and tutting at the sloppy work of the others. Most left the arena unscathed but a bear managed to kill two men before it in turn was cut down. There was one more event, when a fresh bear was taken out and chained to a stake before being attacked by a pack of dogs. The crowd, following tradition, cheered the lone bear as it twisted and swiped at its tormenters. In the end the last of the dogs was killed and the bear was led out, roaring with pained defiance as the crowd gave it a cheer.

  The door of the cage rattled and Marcus looked up to see several burly men outside. Their leader was muscular with a scarred face, and a whip hung from a loop on his belt.

  ‘Murderers of Pindarus, on your feet!’

  Marcus and Festus stood up as calmly as they could. Lupus edged away towards the back of the cage, his lips trembling. Marcus stood in front of him and spoke gently. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, my dear friend. They have come for us. All that remains is to go with dignity. Come.’ He held out his hand. Lupus stared at it a moment before he grasped it. Marcus felt his friend’s flesh trembling as he helped him to his feet, but kept hold of his hand. Festus smiled at them and turned to lead them out of the cage.

  ‘May the Gods deliver a quick end!’ Epatus called after them.

  The leader of the arena staff and his men marched them under the seating to the nearest gate leading on to the sand. Several stout posts were leaning against the side wall. The man pointed to them. ‘Off with your tunics and then pick up one of those each. Move it!’

  They did as they were told, slipping out of their tunics and standing in their loin cloths. Once they had picked up their stakes and rested them across their shoulders the man peered out through a crack in between the doors, then he turned round. ‘Right, they’re ready for us. You’re on.’

  He thrust the gates open and Marcus blinked as the dazzling sunlight flooded the entrance. He felt a hand push him roughly forward and he stumbled into the arena. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he saw the sea of faces rising up on all sides, the hubbub of their conversation like a distant storm. There were dark stains on the sand and the heat of the sun reflected off the white sand, beating at Marcus’s exposed skin. Together with their escort they marched solemnly across the sand towards the box where the governor and his guests sat on cushioned chairs in the shade of an awning. Marcus could see the governor sharing a joke with one of his companions and he felt a seething, impotent rage as he saw that it was Decimus.

  ‘This’ll do,’ the arena official decided. ‘Down stakes.’

  Marcus heaved his burden from his shoulder and let it drop on to the sand. He was dimly aware of Festus and Lupus on either side of him, but his attention was fixed on Decimus. The crew erected the stakes and drove them down into the sand using heavy mallets. When the official was satisfied that they would not budge he gave the order to tie the prisoners. Rough hands thrust Marcus back against the stake and he felt the wood smack against his spine. His hands were drawn back and tied at the wrists with leather thongs. More thongs bound his ankles to the stake and his waist and neck so that he could barely move. When all three had been prepared the official strode behind each of them to test the bindings. Marcus was last, and he felt the breath of the man as he leaned his head to inspect the thongs. He paused and Marcus felt a hand on his shoulder, where he had been branded as an infant with the secret mark of Spartacus.

  ‘What’s this?’ the official whisp
ered. ‘Speak up, boy. Where did you get this mark?’

  Marcus swallowed and replied defiantly. ‘From my father.’

  ‘Your father …’ the official wondered aloud. ‘I know this mark … I know it.’

  ‘Are you quite finished, man?’ Euraeus called out from the governor’s box.

  The official straightened up. ‘Yes, sir. Nearly done.’

  ‘Then get on with it.’

  The official moved round to face Marcus with a strange expression on his face. Then he turned and gestured to one of his men who was holding a bucket with a ladle. The man approached and took out the ladle, containing a dark red gloop, and threw it over Lupus’s chest.

  ‘Urghh!’ Lupus flinched and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  The man threw another ladle over his stomach and then did the same for Marcus and Festus. The stink of the blood and offal caught in Marcus’s throat as the man stepped back with a cold smile of satisfaction.

  ‘There. That’ll whet the beasts’ appetite nicely!’

  The official in charge took a last look at Marcus before he waved his staff towards the entrance. ‘Let’s go! At the double!’

  They ran across the sand and hurriedly closed the gate behind them. On the other side of the arena another member of the arena staff climbed over the opposite gate and began to wind it up.

  ‘What will it be?’ Lupus whimpered. ‘Bears? Wolves? Lions?’

  ‘Not lions,’ Festus replied. ‘Only Rome has the right to use lions.’

  Marcus could see the paws of the animals that would be used to kill them beneath the bottom of the gate as it began to rise. An instant later there were other shapes there. Muzzles, the glint of bared teeth and furry bodies. With a squeal the gate continued to wind up and the first of the beasts squirmed through and bounded a short distance on to the sand.

  Marcus swallowed. ‘Wild dogs then …’

  18

  Several dogs emerged from the holding cell behind the gate; large, shaggy beasts with slavering jaws. They looked around the arena and up at the crowds that bayed for the blood of the three prisoners tied to stakes in front of the governor’s box. The noise and the seething movement of the crowd agitated them and the dogs snarled and snapped, lips curling up to reveal yellowy white fangs. Marcus felt his blood go cold at the sight and to his side he heard Lupus muttering.

  ‘The Gods save me … Gods save me …’

  Glancing at Lupus Marcus saw that his friend’s eyes were wide with terror as he writhed against the leather straps that bound him to the wooden post. His efforts were futile and his muscles strained as he gritted his teeth and struggled. Looking quickly the other way, Marcus saw that Festus stood stiffly, his face a mask of defiant contempt. Yet there was a telltale tremor in his cheek that revealed the fear that the bodyguard was fighting to conceal in his determination to die with as much dignity as the circumstances allowed. But Marcus could not imagine any dignity in a death that involved being torn apart by a pack of wild, half-starved dogs. There was only shame in that, given an edge by the prospect of the sick amusement it would provide to the mob. It would have been better to accept the mercy killing offered to them by Festus, but it was too late for that.

  He turned his face back towards the dogs, no more than thirty paces away. Their initial nervousness at their surroundings had passed and now they had caught the scent of the blood and offal daubed down the fronts of Marcus and his friends. Heads down and fangs bared, they spread out and approached, pausing every few paces to sniff the air. One of the dogs was bigger than the rest with a huge head and a scar above one eye, which had left the skin bare around it. The animal seemed to be the pack leader, as it remained a short distance in front of the other dogs and they did not dare move ahead of it.

  Marcus could understand why. It looked ferocious and had the body of a hunting dog – large, lean and powerful. Half of one ear seemed to have been bitten off and a thick leather collar with short iron spikes hung round its neck. Marcus guessed that it must have been used in fights with other animals before it had joined the beasts chosen for Governor Servillus’s games. It stopped when it was ten paces from its intended victims and raised its muzzle into the air, nose twitching. Another dog, thickset and dark, brushed past it, eyes fixed on Marcus as it crept forward. The large dog snarled and its companion flinched and dropped to its belly, small dagger-like ears swept back as it growled but did not quite dare to defy the larger animal. The rest of the dogs edged forward on each side, closing the gap towards the three stakes.

  The hunting dog sniffed again, then slowly turned its head towards Marcus and fixed its dark brown eyes on him, unblinking. He felt a cold dread seize his limbs and bit his lip to stop himself crying out in terror. Marcus did not want to die screaming in agony as the jaws of the dogs tore at his flesh. But the thought of it, the dread of the moment when they began to maul him, filled his mind and the strength drained so abruptly from his legs that he would have collapsed had he not been tightly tied to the post.

  Lupus was still calling out to the Gods for mercy, his voice growing louder and more shrill each time. Festus glared at the dogs and spoke in an undertone.

  ‘Go on then, you brutes! Get on with it!’

  With a soft growl the hunting dog approached Marcus, warily pacing towards the helpless boy as it continued to sniff, tilting its head slightly one way, then the other. Marcus closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the vision of the brute, but even above the roars of the crowd he was certain he could hear the faint rustle of its breath. He prayed to the Gods that the animal would tear out his throat so that he could bleed to death quickly and be spared the horror of being eaten alive. Every muscle in his body was now tense, every inch of his skin tingling with terrified anticipation.

  ‘No …’ he heard Lupus whimper.

  ‘Don’t show any fear,’ said Festus. ‘Let ’em see how Romans die.’

  Marcus felt a soft nudge of fur against his thigh and he lurched against his bonds, unable to prevent a panicked cry. Then he felt the warm rasp of the hunting dog’s tongue and a quiet, plaintive whine. It was too much to bear and Marcus opened his eyes and stared down at the scarred head of the dog. He was about to shout at the animal when he stopped. There was no bloodlust in the beast’s eyes, no hint of violence at all, just an adoring gleam. The dog licked him again and rubbed its head against his legs, and Marcus felt a shocking sense of disbelief as he stared into its eyes and whispered.

  ‘Cerberus …’

  At the mention of its name the hunting dog wagged its long tail and rose up on its hind legs, pressing its paws on Marcus’s shoulders as it licked his face, an urgent whining sound in its throat.

  ‘Cerberus.’ Marcus smiled, memories of the years he had spent with the dog tumbling back. ‘Enough, boy. Down.’

  But the animal’s joy was too great for it to be told what to do now. When it finished with his face it began to lap at the offal and the sensation tickled Marcus so that he laughed out loud. A warm flow of relief swept through his veins. His limbs still trembled, but from shock this time. Around them the arena was growing quiet and still as the crowd looked on in disbelief. Marcus was unaware of them as his heart filled with love for his pet, and grief for what had become of it. He had thought Cerberus was gone, beaten to death by the men who had killed Titus and kidnapped Marcus and his mother. He must have lived, and been found by a new owner, one who saw Cerberus’s size and strength as an excuse to use the animal for fighting. Marcus could only guess at the cruelties his dog had been subjected to.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Festus. ‘Marcus, the dog knows you! How is that possible?’

  ‘He’s mine.’ Marcus choked back his tears. ‘My dog, my friend. From childhood.’

  ‘Well, I pray that his loyalty to you is greater than his loyalty to his pack.’

  Marcus looked past the shaggy head of Cerberus and saw that the other dogs were edging forward, intent on carrying out the task given to them. The black dog with narrow
ears was only a few paces from Marcus and he could see the savage glint in its eyes. It braced its legs ready to spring.

  ‘No!’ Marcus cried out, too late. The dog bounded forward a step and leapt at his throat. Cerberus turned to see the danger and jumped into its path, and the dogs collided with a soft thud, rolling on the ground in a blur of paws, fur, sand and teeth. Cerberus scrambled to his feet, head down and jaws locked in a throaty snarl as his hair rose along his spine. The black dog hunched low, six feet away, fangs bared as it growled and then barked. Marcus watched them facing off, filled with hope that Cerberus might save him, and fear that the animal would be hurt.

  Then the other dog pounced. Cerberus lurched to one side and twisted as his opponent landed on the sand. He jumped, crushing the dog down with his paws, and buried his jaws in the short fur of its neck. The animal let out a yelp of pain and struggled to free itself, jerking violently from side to side. It tore free and rolled back on to its feet, crouching, as blood dripped from its dark fur on to the white sand. Most of the other dogs had backed off, but two were edging round the fight towards Lupus. As he saw them he screamed.

  ‘Get back! Back you filthy curs!’

  Cerberus saw them at the same time and turned towards them and barked loudly, and they recoiled as if they had been struck. It took only an instant but his opponent took advantage of the diversion to spring back into the attack. In a blurred rush he leapt at the hunting dog, clamping heavy jaws into Cerberus’s matted flank as he shook his head from side to side. Marcus felt his heart lurch as his dog let out a shrill yelp of pain and tried to wrench itself free, but the black dog hung on, working its jaws. With a powerful thrust, Cerberus forced the other dog back until it fell. The impact loosed its grip and Cerberus pulled free then lunged at one of its paws and closed his powerful jaws with a sharp crunch of flesh and muscle. The black dog let out a piercing howl as the hunting dog worried the crushed limb for a while longer before releasing it and backing away. Ears folded flat, his defeated opponent slunk away, limping and bleeding.