Gladiator: Vengeance Read online

  7

  Festus woke them before dawn so they could prepare their packs for the day’s march. They had paid for their room in advance so there was no need to worry about disturbing the innkeeper to settle up. As soon as there was light enough, they left the room and crossed the courtyard to the street. A couple of the men from the previous evening had curled up in the corner of the yard, sleeping off their drink, and one of them stirred, raised his head to look at them and then slumped down again, burped and mumbled incoherently as he tried to get back to sleep.

  Only a few of the townspeople had yet stirred and Festus made for the southern gate of Stratos. As they drew near to it he turned into an alley and led the two boys down it as far as the locked doorway in an arch outside a shop.

  ‘We’ll wait here.’

  ‘Why wait?’ asked Marcus. ‘I thought you wanted to leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘That’s right. As soon as possible, when it’s safe to do so. At the moment we stick out like a sore thumb. We’ll wait until plenty of people are on the streets and we can blend in with the rest of the traffic passing through the gate.’

  Lupus yawned. ‘Well, why couldn’t we have waited at the inn?’

  ‘Because the moment the innkeeper hears that a man and two boys are being sought in connection with the death of Pindarus, he’ll report us to the authorities. If we’d stayed in the room we’d have been caught like rats in a trap.’

  Lupus shrugged as he looked at the trickle of sewage running down the middle of the dingy alley. ‘As opposed to rats amid the crap.’

  Festus stared at him then laughed. ‘Good to see you still have a sense of humour. That’s something you could do with, Marcus.’

  ‘Really? Name one thing in my life to laugh about,’ Marcus challenged him and then squatted down, trying to make himself comfortable while they waited for the streets to fill.

  An hour passed and slowly the hubbub of the waking city filled the air as the sun rose above the horizon and bathed Stratos in a rosy glow. At length Festus nudged Marcus with the toe of his boot.

  ‘Time to move. Up you get. You too, Lupus.’

  They picked up their packs and headed back up the alley to emerge into the street. Where it had been almost empty an hour before, now it was thronged with people, handcarts and small wagons drawn by mules, and the din echoed off the walls of the buildings along the thoroughfare. They slipped in behind the covered wagon of a spice merchant and followed it in the direction of the southern gate. At first they made steady progress but then the wagon slowed to a halt. Festus motioned to them to be patient, but Marcus ducked his head round the side of the wagon and saw a queue leading to the gate, where several armed men were scrutinizing those leaving the town and searching the wagons and carts. He casually turned to his comrades and spoke in an undertone.

  ‘They’re looking for us.’

  ‘What?’ Festus had a quick look and when he faced the boys he could not conceal his anxiety. ‘You’re right, Marcus. We can’t stay together. They’ll be looking for three fugitives. We have to split up and leave Stratos one by one. It would be better if we use different gates as well. Lupus, you and I will leave by this road. I’ll get ahead of the wagon and go first. If you see them stop me, then go back and wait a while before trying another way out.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘You turn back. Take the north gate and head out a mile or so along the road before you cut round the town. Stay out of sight as far as you can. We’ll meet up by that crossroads we passed a few miles down the road south of Stratos.’ Festus paused and looked at each of the boys. ‘Lads, we’re all on our own for now. If any of us get caught then the others have to continue without them. Understand?’

  Lupus nodded uncertainly and Marcus realized that he was afraid. In truth, so was Marcus, and not just for himself. He fixed Festus with a firm stare.

  ‘Promise me one thing. If I don’t get out, then swear that you will do all you can to find my mother and set her free.’

  Festus nodded solemnly. ‘I swear it by all the Gods.’

  Marcus turned to Lupus. ‘You too.’

  ‘Me? What could I do, all by myself?’

  ‘What you have to. I had to deal with that when I was first all alone. And I was younger than you.’

  Lupus pursed his lips. ‘I’ll do my best, Marcus … I swear.’

  Marcus clasped him by the forearm and did the same with Festus. ‘I’ll see you later. Both of you. The Gods go with you.’

  ‘And with you, Marcus,’ Festus replied.

  Marcus turned abruptly and began to stride away up the side of the street, along the queue building up. He did not look back, but turned his thoughts to his own escape. He must be calm and not attract attention. Yet he felt that people were looking at him suspiciously as he walked through the crowded streets. Then, as he passed a public fountain, he saw a notice pasted on the plinth, offering a reward for the capture of the murderers of Pindarus. He did not stop to read it, but slowed enough to pick up the details. Sure enough, the town’s authorities were looking for a man and two boys, and there was even a brief description that he recognized as being of himself. Marcus felt an icy chill grip his spine and he increased his pace. How in Hades had they managed to get a description of him? It had been dark. No one could have made out any such details.

  He was still pondering this as he passed by the entrance to the inn they had stayed at. He glanced towards the opening into the yard and saw one of the men who had been playing dice there the previous afternoon, leaning against one of the pillars either side of the entrance. The next instant their eyes met and the man instinctively nodded a greeting as one does at a person one recognizes, but does not immediately grasp why. Marcus did not respond but turned his face away, continuing to watch the man out of the corner of his eye. He saw the man frown slightly and ease himself away from the pillar as he watched Marcus walk by. He did not look back but continued down the street, forcing himself not to increase his pace.

  ‘Hey!’ a voice cried above the noise of the traffic in the street. Marcus did not respond.

  ‘Hey, boy! … Hey there! Stop!’

  This time Marcus increased his stride, all the time staring fixedly ahead. Inside his heart was pounding and his stomach churned with anxiety.

  ‘I’m talking to you!’ the man called out. People were turning towards him and Marcus knew he had to get away quickly. There was a crossroads a short distance further on and he turned off the street just as the man called out again, loud enough to carry over the sounds of the crowd.

  ‘He’s one of ’em! He was with the man and the other boy! He killed Pindarus!’

  Marcus broke into a trot now that he was out of the man’s line of sight, threading his way through the crowded thoroughfare, muttering apologies as he brushed past people. He saw an alley opening to his right and dodged into it, increasing his pace to a run as he pounded away from the man raising the alarm. There was nothing for it now but to make for the other gate as fast as he could before word reached the men guarding it that the fugitives were still in Stratos and had separated. He only hoped that Festus and Lupus had escaped through the south gate before it was too late.

  There was no sound of pursuit but Marcus kept running, keeping parallel to the road that led to the gate. When he judged it was safe, he rejoined the street he had originally been following and saw the northern gate fifty paces ahead. But his heart sank as he saw more men, armed with spears, standing either side of the arch leading out through the wall. The traffic was still moving slowly as he joined the people shuffling forward. Every so often the officer in charge of the party stopped someone and questioned them, especially any men accompanied by one or more boys. Marcus tried to control his breathing and appear calm as he approached the gate. There were only a few people ahead of him when he heard a distant commotion from behind. He dared not turn.

  ‘You! Yes, you boy. Over here!’ The officer beckoned to him and Marcus swallow
ed nervously, then approached and stopped in front of the man. The Greek scrutinized him closely. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You’re not from these parts. Your accent is … Roman.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  Marcus thought quickly. ‘Tiberius Rufinus, sir.’

  ‘What are you doing in Stratos?’

  ‘Just passing through, sir. I’m on my way to Dyrrachium, sir. My father’s serving in the governor’s staff there. He sent for me. I’ve come from Athens.’

  Marcus could hear a voice now, demanding that the crowd clear the way.

  ‘Athens, eh?’ the officer mused. ‘Well, young Rufinus, I’d watch yourself. They’re nothing but a bunch of thieves in Athens. Thieves, and worse, philosophers. Nothing in this world so dishonest as a man who thinks for a living.’ He laughed and waved Marcus on as he turned his attention to the next person in the queue.

  ‘Let me through, I say!’ The voice cried out again, closer this time. Marcus forced himself to walk unhurriedly up to the arch and into its shadow. The crunch of footsteps echoing off the stones on either side sounded unnaturally loud.

  ‘Close the gate!’ a voice called out.

  ‘What?’ the officer called back. ‘On whose authority?’

  ‘The magistrate! One of the killers has been seen. Not far from here. Close the gate now and we’ll have him!’

  Marcus stepped out into the sunlight and had only walked a few more paces before he heard a howl of protest from those who were still stuck inside the town. Then the hinges groaned in protest as the gates began to close. He continued a short distance before he dared look back, just as the gates thudded into place, barring the exit. Relief washed over him as he turned away to walk casually along the road leading north from Stratos.

  As Festus had instructed he walked over a mile, to be safe, eventually stopping where the road passed through an olive plantation with terraces of trees that spread across the rolling hills on either side. He sat in the shade of a poplar tree and waited until there was no one in sight before leaving the road to work his way round the town towards the south. The countryside was dotted with small farms and their surrounding olive groves and strips of crops, and Marcus had to pick his way carefully to avoid being seen. Once he blundered into an angry man with two hunting dogs who threatened to unleash them if Marcus didn’t get off his land at once.

  It took the rest of the morning to make his way round the town and rejoin the road leading south towards Athens. By now the sun was high above and the air was hot and still, and Marcus was sweating freely. He took his canteen out of his pack for a few swigs of warm water before replacing the stopper and continuing on. A few miles south of Stratos the road passed into a forest of pine and cedar trees at the foot of a mountain and the air filled with the comforting fragrance of the pines. He was close to the crossroads now and Marcus increased his pace, keenly anticipating the reunion with his friends. He rounded a final corner and ahead lay the clearing where the two roads met.

  There was no one there. Marcus felt his heart sink, fearing that Festus and Lupus had failed to escape. The thought of continuing his quest alone momentarily tipped him into a deep pit of despair before he angrily forced the thought aside. If that was what fate had in store for him then he would deal with it, like he had dealt with everything else since that terrible day when Thermon and his thugs had destroyed his peaceful home on Leucas.

  There was still some chance that Festus would find a way to escape. Marcus had worked with him long enough to know just how tough and resourceful Caesar’s bodyguard was. With a sigh, he crossed the clearing and sat down heavily beside the milestone to wait.

  There was only a short pause before he heard a twig crack in the trees nearby and turned round in alarm, one hand reaching for the throwing knife in a concealed sheath near the top of his pack.

  ‘Marcus?’ a voice called out cautiously.

  He relaxed and eased himself. ‘Yes, Lupus, it’s me. You can come out.’

  A figure appeared from behind one of the trees and moved out into the dappled sunlight. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ Lupus could not help smiling. ‘I was starting to worry.’

  ‘I got out just in time,’ Marcus told him. ‘What about you? Any problems?’

  Lupus shook his head. ‘I was afraid, but I tried to look calm and unconcerned like Festus. But all the time I thought they would see through me. Anyway –’ his tone brightened – ‘we’re all here. Together again.’

  Marcus looked round. ‘Where’s Festus?’

  ‘He told me to wait here and look out for you. He said he needed to find something.’

  ‘Find something?’ Marcus frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘This!’ Festus’s voice called out and both boys turned to see him striding out of the forest. He held two hares up in one hand while a sling dangled from the other. ‘Dinner! Now let’s get off the road and find somewhere quiet to roast these beauties. I’m starving!’

  8

  ‘That’s the sharp end,’ said Marcus as he carefully handed the training sword to Lupus. ‘You don’t want to hold that.’

  The other boy made a face. ‘Oh, ha ha. Very funny. I’m not an idiot, thanks.’

  ‘Just starting with the basics.’ Marcus grinned and then his expression became serious. ‘Try the grip and when you’re happy that you are in control of the sword, give it a few swings to test the weight.’

  He stood aside to give his friend some space in the small clearing where they had set up camp half a mile into the forest. Once the ground had been cleared of pine needles and a hearth made with stones piled round, Festus had taken out his tinderbox and started a fire to roast the hares after gutting and skinning them. Marcus had a keen edge to his appetite and savoured the meat. It was hard to remember how bleak things had looked just a few hours earlier. Now, with food in his belly and the conversation of his companions, his optimism had returned.

  It was after they had eaten and rested that Festus suggested they start Lupus’s training. They began with strengthening exercises, making the scribe hold a large rock as he performed squats. Then they made him raise the rock overhead, again and again, until at last Lupus dropped it and bent forward, hands resting on his knees as he gasped for breath.

  ‘A good start,’ said Festus. ‘But you’ll need to do that every day from now on. Dawn and dusk, until your muscles are toned. And then as often as necessary to stay that way. After you’ve had a breather, Marcus will introduce you to the sword.’

  Now, as he watched his friend try out a few cuts and thrusts, Marcus could only wonder at Lupus’s poor technique. Then he relented. It was not fair to pass judgement so easily. After all, Marcus had spent most of the last two years training to fight and only that had made fighting techniques second nature to him. Before that he had been no more aware of the art than Lupus. There had been no call for it in the peaceful farm where he grew up.

  Recalling his childhood, Marcus felt a deep, wounding sense of loss. He had been raised in a loving home, and ranged freely over the surrounding farm as he played sometimes with the children from the nearest village. At the end of the day he would return home, with Cerberus panting at his heels, and the smell of woodsmoke and food from the kitchen would waft across the small courtyard. Invariably Titus would be sitting on the small stone bench, greeting him with a smile on his craggy face as he ruffled his hair and asked what his little soldier had been up to that day. Then they would go in to eat and later, as night fell over the farm, Marcus would go to bed where his mother told him a story while lightly stroking his brow, and sometimes sang to him –

  ‘Marcus!’ Festus called from the side of the clearing where he sat, rubbing linseed oil into the Parthian bow he had taken out of his weapons pack. ‘You can’t leave him to wave the sword around like that forever. You’re supposed to be teaching him. Not daydreaming.’

  ‘Sorry.’ M
arcus stepped forward as Lupus lowered his wooden sword. His face was beaded with sweat and he was breathing hard.

  ‘Heavier than … I thought.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘The training weapons are designed that way. Helps build muscle and confidence for when you move on to a real weapon. Right then, we’ll start working on your technique. Let’s go over here.’

  He led Lupus to the trunk of a pine tree he had chosen earlier. There were no branches for the first eight feet of its height and the trunk was about the thickness of a man’s torso.

  ‘In gladiator school we practise against stakes. This will have to do. I want you to imagine that this is a man. Try and picture a face at the same height as yours. Think of it as a man desperate to kill you. But you have to kill him first. That means that you must strike hard and strike quickly. Understand?’

  Lupus nodded and made to strike.

  ‘Stop!’ Marcus commanded. ‘You wait until I give the word. I want you like this.’

  He stood a sword’s length away from the tree and lowered himself into a half-crouch with his weight distributed evenly over his boots. ‘Keep balanced on the balls of your feet and your toes so you can move quickly in whichever direction you need to.’

  Marcus demonstrated with a few springs to the side, as well as forward and back, each time returning to the same position in front of the trunk. Then he gestured to Lupus to give it a try. The scribe did his best but was not nearly as agile and swift as his friend. But Marcus nodded encouragingly and then took the training sword and lowered himself in front of the trunk, making ready to strike.

  ‘There are three basic blows. The thrust, and then cut to the left and to the right.’

  He sprang at the trunk and hit it in the centre, withdrew, attacked again, both sides with sharp cracks as the wooden weapon struck the bark. He repeated the moves and handed the sword back to Lupus.

  ‘You try.’

  Lupus settled himself into place and then tried to do as Marcus had shown him. The blows were roughly on target but did not land heavily and the sound of the impacts was merely a muffled thud.