Gladiator: Street fighter Page 7

  The street was already filled with people and the traders were setting out their wares on stalls lining the pavement on each side of the street. Passers-by were forced to pick their way through the piles of rubbish and human and animal waste that collected amid the cobbles until the next rainfall, when they would be washed away. Marcus barely noticed the stench, tensing as he concentrated on every side alley and looked for anyone suspicious, or any unusual movement. Every so often he would look back quickly to see if anyone might be following them. Immediately ahead of him, Corvus and Lupus chatted away, enjoying the escape from their regular duties. Marcus wondered if they would still enjoy the experience when they struggled back to the house, laden down by purchases. He smiled at the thought. Marcus had settled in with the other boys in his sleeping cell now they’d grown used to each other, with good-natured teasing and joking each night before they fell asleep, and he looked forward to ribbing them for being Portia’s pack mules.

  They reached the Forum without incident and merged with the crowds in the markets. As well as customers, the usual gangs of youths hung around the public fountains, talking loudly about the most recent chariot race and abusing other gangs who supported different teams. The beggars lining the side of the Sacred Way, or propped up in arches beside the temples, endlessly repeated their requests, their arms outstretched. Portia, moved by their plight, stopped to instruct Lupus, who was carrying her purse, to hand out a few small coins. Marcus casually wandered to the other side of the road and pretended to examine the fruit on a nearby stall as he scanned the street both ways.

  Just then, a gap in the crowd opened up and Marcus noticed two men some fifty paces behind him. They had also stopped, and they stared up the street for a moment towards him before turning to each other, as if in conversation. They wore plain brown tunics, like most people in Rome, but their hair was cropped short and they looked tough. A certain tension in the way they held themselves caused Marcus to be suspicious. He kept watching them out of the corner of his eye while he stood in front of the fruit stall.

  ‘You going to buy something, or just waiting to steal it?’

  Marcus glanced up at the stallholder, a large woman with thick arms and a hard face. He shook his head and moved to the next stall. Further down the street, the two men had moved towards a stall where a dark-skinned trader was selling belts. Marcus watched them a moment longer, until Portia had tucked her purse away and was ready to continue. They entered the open area in front of the Senate House and turned towards the basilica, where the luxury items were sold. Marcus carefully looked back and scanned the crowd, but saw no sign of the two men. He wondered if he was jumping at shadows, but remembered Festus’s stern advice - having an overdeveloped sense of suspicion was part of the job. Marcus glanced round the crowd again and still couldn’t see them, so he hurried a few paces to catch up with Portia.

  After the daylight in the street it seemed gloomy inside the basilica and it took a moment for Marcus’s eyes to adjust. As he looked round, he was astonished by the variety and quality of the goods on sale: fine rolls of bright cloth and the shimmer of silk, baskets of dried fruits from across the seas, racks filled with jars of the best wines, sets of finely carved figurines of Roman soldiers, barbarians and gladiators - all at prices far beyond the means of the vast majority of Rome’s inhabitants. Marcus had never seen such riches all in one place.

  ‘We’ll leave the cook’s purchases till last, since they will be the heaviest,’ Portia decided, smiling at Lupus and Corvus. ‘No point in you being loaded down while I look for some cloth and scents.’

  ‘Thank you, mistress.’ They bowed their heads in gratitude.

  ‘Well, come on then,’ Portia chuckled. ‘No dawdling.’

  They slowly made their way between the shop counters laden with rolls of cloth and Portia stopped every so often to examine any material that caught her eye. Eventually she paid for a length of shimmering emerald-green cloth and instructed Marcus to carry it for her.

  Marcus shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t be wise, mistress.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her nose lifted indignantly. ‘And why is that?’

  ‘For two reasons. It would make me stand out, and it would also encumber me if I had to act swiftly. Festus was quite clear on the need to avoid attention and being ready to fight.’

  ‘Well, Festus isn’t here, is he? Besides, it’s all nonsense, Marcus. Who would be stupid enough to attack me in the heart of the Forum? And how could you not draw attention to yourself, the way you’re skulking along behind me!’

  Before Marcus could protest any further she turned and made off towards the scent shops, leaving him with the roll of material. He hissed through his teeth in frustration. Then he turned to the two boys. Corvus instantly held up a hand.

  ‘No use looking at us, mate. We’ll have our hands full as it is.’

  ‘I’m serious.’ Marcus held out the cloth. ‘Take it. I have to protect her. ’

  ‘No way - she told you to carry it and we’re not going to risk a flogging for disobeying her orders.’ Corvus tugged the other boy’s arm and they hurried after Portia.

  Marcus muttered a violent curse under his breath as he tucked the material under his arm and took another look round before he followed them.

  Portia went from shop to shop along the row of scent traders, sniffing from the fine glassware containers that she sampled. At length, she made a selection and reached for her purse as the shopkeeper beckoned her inside to choose a fine jar and stopper to take a measure of the scent away with her.

  ‘Wait here,’ she instructed. ‘Once I’m done we’ll head to the spice shops.’

  She disappeared through the narrow doorway and Marcus glanced after her. Beyond the door the shop opened into a deep room with another door opening on to the street outside the basilica. There, another stall was manned by a young assistant who tried to tempt passing customers. The shopkeeper ushered Portia to a counter holding a selection of ornate scent bottles.

  ‘By Jupiter,’ Lupus muttered. ‘I thought she’d never make up her mind.’

  ‘And did you see the price of it?’ asked Corvus with a shake of his head. ‘Ten denarii! Unbelievable . . . Just to smell nice if anyone gets close to her at the dinner. ’

  ‘You might try some one day,’ Lupus sniffed. ‘You stink of fish.’

  ‘That’s because the bloody cook had me marinading stuff in garum first thing this morning. You try it and see if you come up smelling any better.’

  Marcus moved away from their wrangling and looked up and down the row of shops, but there was no sign of the two men he’d seen earlier and he decided he must have been worrying about nothing. Just to make sure, he wandered a short distance to the end of another row of traders’ stalls before returning to his position outside the scent shop. His thoughts returned to Portia’s news from the week before. Having thought the matter over, Marcus saw how it offered him precisely the chance he needed to appeal to General Pompeius for help. But the presence of Decimus in Rome, and his closeness to Crassus, didn’t look good and Marcus’s mind clouded with doubt.

  Marcus’s thoughts were interrupted by a cry from inside the shop. He thrust the roll of cloth on to the table of scent jars and raced for the entrance.

  Corvus looked startled. ‘What’s going on? Marcus?’

  Marcus ignored him and ran into the shop, club held tightly in his clenched fist. The shopkeeper was lying on the floor, blood pulsing from a wound on his head. His eyes flickered as his assistant knelt beside him and pressed his hand over the wound to try to stop the bleeding. Marcus took in the scene in an instant.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked.

  The assistant glanced up with a dazed expression but did not reply.

  ‘WHERE IS SHE?’ Marcus shouted.

  The assistant flinched, then thrust a quavering finger towards the door on the other side of the shop. ‘They took her.’

  A cold, sick feeling filled Marcus’s guts. He heard footsteps as Corvus and
Lupus entered the shop. Marcus ran towards the other door, shouting back over his shoulder.

  ‘Follow me!’

  10

  His heart pounding with dread, Marcus burst into the street on the far side of the basilica, narrowly avoiding a chain gang of slaves carrying bundles of animal pelts. Lupus and Corvus scrambled after him. Even though the street was wide, it was filled with people and Marcus couldn’t see far in either direction. He clambered on to a table, knocking a large jar off the edge to shatter on the flagstones below. At once the air was filled with a sweet, flowery fragrance.

  ‘Oi!’ a man at the counter of the neighbouring shop shouted. ‘What’s your game, lad? You’ll have to pay for that!’

  Marcus ignored him as he searched the street to his right desperately. The crowds stretched away in the shadow of the tall wall of the basilica, but there was no sign of anything out of place. He turned the other way as some of the passers-by stopped to stare. Marcus strained his eyes and then saw them the two men he had spotted earlier, fifty paces away, and thrusting through the crowd while Portia’s fists pounded the broad back of the man holding her. Several people who had been knocked aside shouted angrily in their wake.

  Marcus cupped a hand to his mouth and thrust the shaft of his club after the men. ‘Stop them!’

  His voice was shrill with alarm and carried clearly down the street. One of the men glanced back, pulling at his companion’s arm, and they turned into a side alley, out of sight. Marcus jumped from the table and chased after them, weaving through the throng as Corvus and Lupus did their best to keep up. As he ran, Marcus’s mind was already racing ahead of him. He couldn’t lose Portia. How could he live with himself if he let something happen to her? Not only that, but Caesar would exact a terrible price from the person entrusted with guarding his niece. No excuse would be accepted. He forced himself on as fast as his feet would carry him.

  Faces in the crowd passed in a whirl and he ignored the cries of surprise and angry protest as he and the other boys dashed along the street. A short distance ahead, Marcus saw the entrance of the alley and pointed it out to the others.

  ‘In there!’

  He turned round the corner, half expecting to see the two men waiting for him, knives drawn. Instead, he met the sight of a gloomy passage winding up a gentle slope between closely packed tenement blocks. The ground was covered with packed-down refuse and at irregular intervals small heaps of rubbish were piled against the walls. The air was thick with the stink of sewage and an unpleasant trickle of dark liquid ran down the centre of the alley. There was a handful of people - a young mother leading a toddler by the hand, a struggling infant strapped to her chest and, further on, an old crone sitting on the steps beside the entrance to a tenement block, unpicking the stitching from a heap of old clothes.

  Up ahead, two dark shapes, one burdened by Portia, were hurrying away. Marcus steeled himself to close on them as quickly as he could. Behind him, he heard the slap of the other boys’ feet and the gasp of their breath as they struggled to keep up.

  Ahead, the alley turned a corner and Portia and her kidnappers were lost from view. Marcus forced himself on, and as he reached the bend he saw them again, realizing with a surge of hope that he had closed the distance. They hurried on a short distance before turning into another alley. By the time Marcus reached it and raced round the corner, they were lost from view again. He scrabbled to a halt, blood pounding in his ears. Ahead, an even smaller alley snaked into the slum area, so narrow that two men side by side could barely make their way along it. There was no sign of them. More side alleys led off on either side for as far as Marcus could discern in the gloom. He started forward and looked down the first one to his right, but there was no sign of movement. Nor was there anyone in the next one on the left. A stab of despair pierced his heart. If I’ve lost her, then Caesar will have me killed, or sent to the mines . . .

  Behind him there was a scramble of boots as Corvus and Lupus caught up.

  ‘Where . . . are . . . they?’ Lupus gasped, leaning forward to rest his hands on his thighs.

  Marcus shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Must be close.’

  Then ahead of him he saw an old man hunched up in a doorway - he hadn’t noticed him at first. Marcus ran over.

  ‘Have you seen two men pass just now?’

  The man looked up and stared across the alley with a pair of milky-white eyes. With a sinking feeling, Marcus realized the man was blind. He began to turn away when the man gave a hoarse laugh.

  ‘Seen ’em? No. Heard ’em. And the child that was crying.’

  ‘They passed here? "Which way did they go?’

  The old man extended a hand up the alley. ‘There, and then there was a crash of a pot before they continued.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Marcus patted him on the shoulder and waved the other two boys to follow him. After a short distance another alley, even darker, led off to the right. A pile of broken storage jars nearly filled the entrance, and Marcus turned into the winding passage, gesturing to his companions. ‘This way.’

  The alley led between the rear of two rows of tenement blocks and there were few doors or openings along its length. Marcus and the others had only gone a little way when the passage bent sharply and they could see the end, where it opened out on to a busy street. There was no sign of the two kidnappers. Marcus drew up.

  ‘Where have . . . they got . . . to?’ gasped Lupus.

  ‘They must be along here somewhere,’ Marcus reasoned swiftly. ‘We must find them before they get away. We’ll split up. You two go back and try every door we passed, every possible way they might have left the alley. I’ll go on from here.’

  Corvus looked at him. ‘And what do we do if we find ’em?’

  Marcus had little doubt the two men he’d seen were more than a match for the two boys. He shrugged. ‘Shout for help and pray to the gods that it comes.’

  ‘Very useful,’ Corvus grumbled.

  Lupus pushed him back down the alley. ‘Come on. There’s no time to waste.’

  Once they had gone, Marcus walked slowly forwards, ears straining for any sound that might lead him to the men who had taken Portia. The steady hubbub of the Forum had faded to a faint hum, with just an occasional voice from the apartments overhead and the dripping from a drain that emptied above the alley. The first few doors on either side were securely bolted from within and rattled when he tried them. An opening to the right further on led into a small courtyard, dimly lit by a small opening high above. Several women sat beside a communal fountain chatting. They looked up and fell silent as Marcus cautiously entered the courtyard. Glancing round, he raised a finger to his lips.

  ‘Whacha want?’ asked an older woman in a grating voice.

  ‘I’m looking for some men.’

  ‘Ain’t we all, dearie?’ said another woman, and her companions let out a shrill chorus of cackles.

  ‘They had a girl with them,’ Marcus persisted. ‘Did they come this way?’

  ‘A girl? Then we’re out of luck, ladies. Seems the men are already taken.’

  Marcus frowned angrily and left the courtyard, continuing his search further along the alley. He had tried two more doors when he heard a muffled cry a short distance ahead. He froze, ears straining as he held his breath. Then he heard it again, followed by a low growl. Marcus crept towards the sounds. There was a door ahead to the left and he edged towards it. The door was slightly ajar and looked as if it had been kicked in. There were sounds of a struggle before he heard a blow landing followed by a shrill cry of pain. Marcus reached the door and paused. He glanced back up the alley but there was no sign of the other boys. He dared not call out to them and alert the kidnappers, if they were the men beyond the door. Swallowing nervously, Marcus held his club ready while he eased the door back with the other hand. Slowly it began to open, revealing a large storeroom lined with shattered furniture and boxes, broken up for firewood. The two men stood a short distance inside the room, side on to Marcus. Th
e one on the right held Portia, pinning her arms behind her back while his other hand was clamped over her mouth.

  ‘You try to bite me again, you little witch, and I’ll snap yer neck. Understand?’ He tugged her arms up painfully and Portia let out a brief whimper before she nodded.

  ‘That’s better,’ said the other man. ‘You need to be taught some manners. Who’d have thought such a well-brought-up lady would be so vicious? Well, it’s time you had a lesson. Something you’ll never forget. Nor that uncle of yours.’ He pulled out a knife from his belt and held it up to her cheek. ‘When he sees what’s happened to you, he’ll know the price for making enemies in the Senate. Not that he’ll be around long enough to grieve. Caesar will join you in the underworld soon enough, my lady,’ he concluded with a sneer.

  Portia’s eyes widened in terror. Marcus swapped his club into his left hand and felt for the handle of one of the four throwing knives hidden in his belt. Kicking the door open, he stepped into the dimly lit storeroom.

  ‘Let go of her!’ he shouted.

  The man grasping the folds of Portia’s tunic turned angrily. But when he saw Marcus his mouth opened in a bark of laughter. Then his expression instantly switched to irritation. ‘Get lost, boy! Or else . . .’

  Marcus’s throwing arm snapped forward and his fingers released the knife. The dull blade gleamed as it tumbled end over end across the room. With a loud whack, it struck the man’s shoulder, the lethal point punching deep into his flesh. He let out a howl of pain and surprise as Marcus snatched out another knife and hurled it towards the man’s face. This time the man threw up his arm to protect himself and the blade pierced the palm of his hand. But Marcus had lost the advantage of surprise and the other man released his grip on Portia, thrusting her to one side. She stumbled across the room, crashing on to a pile of kindling. Her captor snatched a dagger from under his cloak, long-bladed with a deadly point. Lowering himself into a balanced crouch, he moved towards Marcus. His friend growled like an enraged animal as he tried to pull the knife from his hand.