Gladiator: Street fighter Page 6

  Festus pulled out another knife from the holsters at the back of his broad belt. ‘Here. You have a go.’

  Marcus took the knife and felt its weight. The blade was no more than six inches long but broad in proportion, with a deadly tapered point. The handle was thin and covered in an abrasive material - shark skin, according to Festus. He stood side on to the target and spread his feet wide to balance his body when he threw the knife. Then he held the blade between thumb and forefinger as he’d seen Festus do a moment before. Drawing his arm back behind his shoulder, Marcus squinted at the straw archery butt and hurled his arm forward, releasing his grip on the blade at the last moment. The knife whirled end over end across the yard, deflecting off the corner of the target before striking the wall beyond with a dull clang.

  ‘Not bad for a first effort,’ Festus conceded, handing Marcus another knife. Try thinking of a pipe between your eye and the target, then concentrate on throwing it down the line right through the centre of the pipe.’

  Marcus did as he was told and this time his aim was better. But he had concentrated on accuracy rather than power and the blade fell short of the target. But after a few more attempts he began to hit the target and he felt a thrill of pride each time.

  ‘That’s good,’ Festus said, nodding. ‘A few more like that and you’ll be able to kill at a distance. That’ll save you the risk of taking ’em on hand to hand.’

  Marcus felt his pride turn to guilt as he recalled the grim purpose behind the new skills Festus was teaching him. Even so, he continued his training, grimly determined to master the weapons of his trade. He knew that one day Portia’s life might depend on it.

  After the knives, Festus moved him on to the sling, bolass and knuckledusters. Landing blows with the latter was a painful business, but Festus drove him for an hour at a time. Marcus threw his weight into the blows, landing on a tough, leather-covered post in the yard. Each time Festus would call out the targets in a monotonous tone. ‘Head . . . Gut . . . Head . . . Gut . . . Head . . .’ Marcus found the training brutal and relentless, but at least it forced him to forget his problems.

  It was late one afternoon and they had nearly completed training for the day when the sound of a commotion in the street outside carried over the wall of the yard. There were desperate shouts amid the baying and jeering of a mob and the crash of stalls being overturned. The sounds quickly passed along the side of the house and were followed by a hammering at the front door.

  ‘Come on!’ Festus commanded and they ran back into the house and down the short corridor to the entrance hall. Caesar had just returned from his duties at the official residence in the Forum and was already standing by the door as a handful of his bodyguards spilled out of their quarters, armed with swords and clubs. He looked round as Festus and Marcus joined him.

  ‘Better prepare for a fight!’

  Festus drew a knife from his belt and nodded as Marcus clenched his fist tightly round the grip of the knuckledusters, lowering himself into a crouch.

  The hammering on the door increased in intensity and someone cried out, ‘For pity’s sake, open up!’

  ‘By the gods, I know that voice!’ Caesar exclaimed. He stepped up to the door and shot open the viewing slot, peering cautiously through it. ‘Crassus!’

  He grabbed the locking bar, shoved it into the receiver and raised the latch. At once the door pressed inwards and Senator Crassus stumbled into the entrance hall, swiftly followed by a handful of men and the slaves who’d been carrying his litter. All of them were bruised and blood oozed from cuts on their arms and heads. Crassus had lost his toga and his finely patterned purple tunic was torn in several places. Behind them came three of the senator’s bodyguards, burly ex-gladiators, fighting off the mob outside with thick staves that they thrust into the shouting faces of their pursuers.

  ‘Help me shut the door!’ Festus ordered as he braced his shoulder against the heavy studded timbers. Some of the body-guards hurried to his side and braced their feet on the tiled floor. Festus shifted to the side and raised his knife. Marcus joined him.

  Together they swung home the heavy timbers and the door closed with a deep thud. At once Caesar snatched at the locking bar and wrenched it across into the bracket. For a moment the other men continued to press against the door, as if they feared it might suddenly lurch open, but the pounding on the far side and the angry shouts came to nothing as the door held firm.

  Caesar hurried to help Crassus up from the floor. ‘My dear friend, are you all right?’

  ‘I am now.’ Crassus smiled weakly. ‘But that was close. I’m sure they would have killed me if they could.’

  Caesar shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Really?’ Crassus cocked an eyebrow and nodded towards his men. ‘I’ve lost five of my bodyguards, and most of the litter bearers.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was on my way to confer with Pompeius. We had just crossed the Forum and were by the edge of the Subura when a crowd blocked the route ahead. Before we could react, another group had blocked the street behind us. That’s when they started throwing the rocks. There was nothing my litter bearers could do to protect themselves. They had to set the litter down. As soon as I got out I could see we were trapped. There was only one way out, an alley leading into the Subura. Your house was the closest safe shelter I could think of, and here we are - what’s left of us.’

  Crassus was trembling as Caesar took his arm and steered him gently away from the front door.

  ‘We need to talk. Come to my study. Festus!’

  ‘Yes, master?’

  ‘See to these men. Have their wounds treated.’

  ‘Yes, master.’ Festus bowed his head then turned towards Marcus. ‘You can help me, Marcus. It’s time you learned how to treat wounds as well as inflict them. Better take those knuck-ledusters off first, though, or you’ll do more harm than good.’

  8

  Later that evening, after Crassus had left the house under the protection of every man that Caesar could spare, Marcus went to the benches in the corner of the garden to think. He was deeply frustrated by his situation, and Crassus’s impromptu visit had reminded him he was failing in his goal to free his mother. Once he had thought his quest would be over the moment he reached Rome. He just had to find General Pompeius’s house and explain what had happened, and it would all be sorted out. He and his mother would be freed and Decimus punished. But now? He was no closer to finding a way to put his case to Pompeius. Worse still, Decimus was a friend of Crassus, and Crassus was an ally of Caesar and Pompeius. He realized he’d been stupid and naive. This world was far more complicated than he’d thought - how could he ever hope to use it to his advantage? He let out a bitter sigh and cursed the fates that had brought him so close to the end of his quest, only to withhold the final prize.

  ‘I thought I saw you come in here.’

  He looked up and saw Portia standing in the gap in the hedge that screened the benches. She smiled at him and came and sat down. ‘We haven’t spoken for days. I had begun to wonder if you were avoiding me.’

  ‘Festus has kept me busy,’ Marcus explained. ‘He wants me ready to protect you as soon as possible. There’s been no let-up. Now I see why.’

  ‘That attack on Crassus, you mean?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘If that can happen to a man so powerful, then it can happen to anyone. I had no idea the mob could be so dangerous. Crassus said it looked like a trap.’

  Portia nodded. ‘I was in the library. It’s separated from Uncle’s study by a curtain, so I heard him and Uncle Gaius talking. At first I meant to creep out and leave them to it. But then I decided to stay and listen. Uncle rarely tells me much about his plans, so I couldn’t resist eavesdropping. I don’t see why I should be treated like a child. I’m old enough to under-stand what is going on.’ She frowned. ‘Just because I am a girl they treat me like a fool. Something to be patted on the head and kept amused while a suitable husband is found for
me. All I want is a bit of freedom to make my own choices. It’s not fair . . .’

  Marcus saw her lip begin to tremble and felt a pang of sympathy for Portia. They were alike in more ways than he had thought.

  She bit her lip and forced a smile. ‘You remember the trouble over the law that Uncle Gaius is trying to pass? The one to provide land for Pompeius’s veterans?’

  ‘I could hardly forget.’ Marcus recalled the confrontation between Bibulus and Caesar, and the excrement on the head of the unfortunate Bibulus. He could not help smiling at the memory. ‘A messy business, for the other consul.’

  Portia laughed briefly. ‘Well, apparently, after that Bibulus went back to his house and has refused to come out since. He issued a proclamation that it isn’t safe for a consul to be seen in public while Caesar’s thugs rule the streets. He’s also said that he will refuse to recognize any laws passed in his absence - which makes no difference to my uncle. He’s carried on with things at the Senate House without Bibulus, even though Cato’s done everything to throw obstacles in the way. But that’s not all. There have been attacks on several senators who support Uncle, just like what happened to Crassus. He thinks there’s more to this than the usual clashes between supporters of the political factions.’

  Portia’s information was interesting. It was difficult for Marcus to piece together the events of Caesar’s world, and he nodded thoughtfully as he recalled his earlier conversations with his master. Caesar had known he would be facing dangerous opponents, men prepared to use violence to get their way. So far it seemed Caesar had been restrained, but Marcus knew his master would be forced to match the tactics of his enemies, if only to preserve his own life and that of his family.

  Marcus looked up at Portia. ‘Sounds as if Cato and his friends have been stirring up the mob.’

  ‘That’s what Uncle thinks. He’s heard someone is spreading a rumour that he has a secret plan to take control of Rome together with General Pompeius and Crassus.’

  ‘That’s the kind of rumour you’d expect his enemies to put about.’

  Portia’s eyes widened as she leaned closer to Marcus. ‘That’s just it. There actually is a secret plan. I heard Uncle and Crassus talking about it. Until a few months ago Pompeius and Crassus were bitter enemies. Then Uncle persuaded them they could have more power if they worked together instead of obstructing each other. He reminded Crassus of it this evening. In exchange for supporting each other in the Senate they’ll each have command of a big army and a chance to win more glory and loot.’

  ‘Loot?’ Marcus asked, even though he knew the answer

  ‘The usual kind. Gold, silver and slaves.’

  Slaves, he reflected bitterly. Even more misery to add to that endured by the millions Rome already kept in bondage. The idea sickened him. Much as he’d come to admire his master, Marcus reminded himself that Caesar was Roman to the core and would always be an enemy of all that Spartacus stood for.

  ‘Anyway,’ Portia continued, ‘that’s not the most interesting part. Uncle Gaius and Crassus were planning the best way to make sure their deal with Pompeius continues to work. Uncle suggested it might be best to bind Pompeius more closely to him by arranging another marriage.’ Portia paused and her expression darkened. ‘My uncle is going to suggest to Pompeius that I should marry his nephew to cement their arrangement . . .’

  ‘Married? You?’ Marcus stared at her in shock. ‘But you’re only thirteen, just two years older than me.’

  ‘I’m nearly fourteen,’ Portia replied dejectedly. ‘More than old enough to be offered in marriage. Many girls are married at my age, some even younger. That is the way in Rome. Sometimes it’s for love, but mostly to create alliances between families with influence.’

  Marcus digested the news with a sense of distaste. What was marriage without affection, he wondered. He remembered his mother and Titus. Despite the way they had first met there was genuine fondness between them, until the end. As Portia’s news sank in he felt a pang of despair at the thought of losing his friend so soon.

  ‘How do you feel about being married?’ Marcus asked.

  Portia clasped her fingers together as she considered her reply. ‘I’m not really sure. It’s so sudden. Uncle never mentioned the possibility to me. I always knew that I would be married one day and forced to leave my family and home behind. I just hoped I’d be lucky enough to marry someone I liked.’ She was silent for a moment before she continued bravely. ‘I suppose I should consider it an honour to marry into a family as famous as Pompeius’s.’

  Marcus watched her face as she contemplated the possibility and saw the sadness in her eyes. He shared her mood. He would miss her. Then a further thought struck him. If Portia married Pompeius’s nephew, maybe she could use her influence to allow Marcus to put his case before Titus’s former commander. Before he could think this through, Portia spoke again.

  ‘There is a problem, though,’ she said. ‘Crassus is not keen on the idea. He told Uncle Gaius that I should marry a relative of his as a way of repaying him for all the money Uncle has borrowed.’

  Marcus’s brain was whirring. He needed to think. If Caesar was indebted to Crassus and Crassus was in league with Decimus, what did that mean, for Caesar, and for Marcus? ‘What did your uncle say to that?’ Marcus asked her.

  ‘He said he knew how much he was indebted to Crassus, and that he’d always be his loyal friend. But Pompeius does not share that bond, and it would be useful to make sure he didn’t break away from their secret alliance. Crassus didn’t sound convinced.’ She frowned briefly and they both sat silent again. Marcus thought how both their lives were at the mercy of the ambitious manoeuvring of supposedly ‘great’ men. And for whose benefit? Then Portia sighed and her forced smile returned. ‘There’s no use moping. I suppose I should be pleased at the idea.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He forced a smile in return.

  Her forehead creased into a faint frown. ‘The news saddens you too?’

  ‘Yes . . . Yes, it does,’ he replied truthfully. ‘You’re the first friendly face I have known for a long time. I had looked forward to being your protector. That won’t be possible now.’

  ‘Maybe it will be. Perhaps I can take you with me if I marry. I’ll ask Uncle to sell you to Pompeius.’

  Marcus winced at her words. Sold again. Like a mule. At least it would take him closer to Pompeius, he supposed.

  Portia continued in a flat tone. ‘Anyway, it’ll take a while to make any arrangement, so there’s time to sort something out. I promise I’ll do what I can to persuade Uncle to let you remain at my side.’ She yawned and patted her mouth. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long day and I need to sleep. I just wanted to share the news with you first, Marcus.’

  She stood up and Marcus followed suit.

  ‘Goodnight then,’ she said.

  Marcus bowed his head. ‘Goodnight, mistress.’

  He watched as she made her way out of the enclosed area and the sound of her footsteps faded away along the garden path.

  9

  Marcus resumed his training in the morning and did not see Portia again until Flaccus summoned him the following week, late in spring, and announced that Marcus was to escort his mistress to the Forum next day. The master was holding a small dinner at the house to announce his niece’s betrothal and she was to buy material for a new gown. It had been decided to hold the marriage ceremony during the summer.

  ‘Do you think I’m ready to protect her, sir?’ Marcus asked Festus when he found him sitting in the yard afterwards, drinking some wine. ‘There’s been trouble on the streets.’

  ‘Not for a few days now,’ Festus countered. ‘Besides, it’s a political struggle between the master and his enemies. Hopefully, no one will pay much attention to his niece and the only thing you have to worry about is cutpurses and footpads. You’ll do fine, boy. I’ve trained you well. If there’s any trouble you’ll know how to react. Just remember to have the hood of your cloak up. It will help you
keep an eye on your surroundings without making it obvious that’s what you’re doing.’ Festus took a sip from his cup. ‘Look out for any sign of trouble between Cato’s supporters and our own. If anything kicks off, then get the mistress back to the house straight away. Don’t stop for anything until she’s safely indoors. Other than that, make sure you’re tooled up. Club and throwing knives should be sufficient. You might want to take a felt cap with you.’

  Summer was fast approaching and Marcus was confused by this suggestion. ‘I think I’ll be warm enough without it, thanks.’

  ‘It isn’t for warmth,’ Festus explained. He put his cup down on the ground beside him and rummaged inside his tunic, then took out a small bundle of felt. ‘See?’

  He opened the cap out and Marcus saw it was bulkier than a usual cap.

  ‘I’ve sewn some thick strips of cork into it. If you take a blow to the head, it’ll absorb some of the impact. Here, take it. It’ll be loose, so put some stitches in tonight to be sure it fits properly.’ He shrugged. ‘You never know, it might save your life.’

  Marcus took the proffered cap, his heart warmed by this act of generosity from the crusty Festus. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Festus drained his cup and patted Marcus on the shoulder. ‘Best get some sleep, my lad. You’ll need to be alert tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Marcus turned and started walking in the direction of the slave quarters. Then he paused and looked back, holding the cap up. ‘And thanks for this.’

  ‘Look after it.’ Festus smiled. ‘I’ll want it back, undamaged.’

  Early next morning the small party emerged from Caesar’s house and stepped down into the street. Besides Portia and Marcus there were the two kitchen boys. The cook had drawn up a list of the meats and fruits required for the feast and Lupus and Corvus were to carry these home once their mistress had paid for them. They set off towards the Forum, Portia leading the way, followed by the kitchen boys. Marcus walked a few paces behind them, where he could watch for danger and be ready to rush forward and protect her. Portia was wearing a plain cloak over her long tunic and her purse was out of sight. There was nothing to distinguish her from any other girl from a well-to-do household, out on a shopping expedition.