Gladiator: Street fighter Page 8

  Marcus drew his club back as he focused his attention on the man coming at him.

  ‘You’ll pay for that, boy,’ the man snarled through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll cut you up good before I finish you.’

  11

  Marcus fought back his terror at taking on two men, far bigger than him. He knew that if fear took over, both he and Portia would surely be killed. An icy calm took hold of him as he assessed his hulking opponent - seeing the powerful build of his upper body, the scars on his face and forearm, and the way he favoured his right leg. The man feinted with the dagger, stabbing towards Marcus’s face. He dodged to one side and swung his club, striking the man close to the elbow with a sharp thud.

  The kidnapper grimaced and rushed forwards, trying to catch Marcus against the wall beside the door. Marcus held his ground until the last instant, then dived to one side and rolled back on to his feet. At once he swung the club again, aiming at his attacker’s right knee. It struck a solid blow and the man let out a cry of agony as he crumpled to the floor. Festus’s training was fresh in Marcus’s head. When your opponent went down, you had to strike quickly while the initiative was yours. Marcus swung his club again, hitting the man’s knife arm. It was a numbing blow and the man’s fingers opened up, his dagger dropping to the floor. Marcus shifted his aim and struck his opponent’s shoulder, and again on the head, a glancing blow. The kidnapper threw up his left arm trying to ward off the attack as he groped for the handle of his dagger.

  ‘Marcus! Look out!’ Portia’s voice cut through the damp air.

  He turned to see the man he’d wounded with the knives rushing towards him, a small studded club in his uninjured hand. Blood stained the cloth around the tear on his shoulder. Bellowing, with rage-filled eyes, he charged at Marcus. With no time to dodge, Marcus hunched down just before the man bowled into him, knocking him to the ground. The impact drove the breath from Marcus’s lungs. Gasping for air, he scrambled to the side of the room as the man’s impetus carried him forward a short distance. He turned and came at Marcus again, studded club swishing through the air as he swung at Marcus’s head. Despite his quick reflexes, Marcus knew it was only a matter of time before he was struck and the greater power of the man’s blows would shatter Marcus’s bones like the kindling that lay heaped around the room.

  He ducked one blow, and dodged the next, forced to give ground until he was caught against the far wall, close to Portia. He held up his club, ready to parry the man’s vicious slashes, even as the knowledge that he would lose this fight filled his mind. He felt ashamed at his failure to protect Portia, and then fury that he was not strong enough to do the job properly. Despite his training, despite his toughness, the odds were over-whelming. The man towered over him, then raised up his club and swung it directly towards Marcus’s head. Marcus grasped the shaft of his club in both hands and pressed it up to block the blow. There was a sharp crack as wood struck wood and the savage energy of the impact shot down his arms painfully. The man struck again and this time there was a splintering snap as the shaft of Marcus’s club gave way.

  ‘Hah!’ The kidnapper roared with triumph, raising his club high to strike a crippling blow.

  ‘No!’ Portia cried out and there was a dark blur as a lump of wood struck the man on the side of the skull. He shook his head and whirled round towards her with a guttural snarl. ‘You’ll pay for that, girl!’

  Marcus had to stop him. Still holding the two splintered ends of his club, he thrust them into the kidnapper’s stomach with all his strength. The sharp splintered points ripped through material, then flesh and on into the man’s guts and vital organs. The man groaned, arms dropping as he doubled forward, his face only inches from Marcus’s. His jaw sagged and Marcus caught a waft of warm garlic breath. Marcus yanked the ends of the club back and thrust again, working them around in the kidnapper’s stomach, doing further damage to the man’s insides. He felt the warm gush of the man’s blood on his hands.

  With a tortured groan, the man tried to escape his tormentor, stumbling backwards, pulling the ends of the club out of Marcus’s hands. He stared down in shock at the two lengths of wood protruding from his guts as he backed away. Marcus was still fighting to draw breath after his winding. Breathing heavily, he rose to his knees and glanced at his mistress.

  ‘Are . . . you all . . . right, Portia?’ he managed to wheeze.

  She closed her eyes and shuddered as she nodded. Marcus had to get her to safety as swiftly as possible. As he stepped towards her, his ankle was grabbed in a powerful vicelike grip.

  ‘Little swine!’ the other kidnapper growled.

  Marcus looked down to see the man grasping his ankle in one hand while the other held the dagger he had retrieved. He wrenched Marcus’s ankle and Marcus fell heavily on to his back. Portia screamed. Instinctively Marcus lashed out with his spare foot and felt his studded sole strike the man’s skull. He kicked again and again, desperately, but the man held on to his other foot, keeping him down, and then punched Marcus in the face with his dagger hand. A bright, numbing light burst inside his head and Marcus slumped back. The kidnapper thrust him aside and crawled towards Portia. She was trapped against the corner of the storeroom and stared in panic as the man shuffled forwards to loom over her, pinning her down with one hand. He raised his dagger, angling the point towards Portia’s heart.

  ‘This time you will die,’ he muttered savagely.

  ‘No . . .’ Marcus stretched out a hand as his vision began to clear.

  Two shapes blocked the light in a blur of movement behind him. The man paused to glance over his shoulder. Corvus reacted first, snatching a length of wood from a pile near the door. Springing forwards, he struck the man on the back of the head, forcing him to release Portia. As he turned on the two slave boys, Corvus struck again and the man lashed out with his dagger. The point caught the boy in the side, the impact driving the air from his lungs as he toppled against the wall. Lupus sprang past him with another length of wood and battered the man’s head again and again, as hard as he could. The sound of the blows echoed around the storeroom and this time the kidnapper collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

  In the stillness that followed, Marcus stared at the fallen kidnapper, and Lupus looked round the room, aghast. The only sounds were the gasped breaths from Corvus, then a long groan of agony. Marcus scrambled over to where the kitchen boy lay on his back, his mouth slowly working as he stared up, eyes wide with shock.

  ‘I . . . can’t . . . breathe,’ Corvus mumbled thickly, a bead of blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

  Marcus looked down and saw the tear in his tunic. It was already saturated with blood and when Marcus gently prised the cloth back he saw the wound in the kitchen boy’s side through which the blood pulsed. Despite Festus’s training, there was nothing Marcus could do to save him. He folded the bottom of Corvus’s tunic over the injury and pressed on it, trying to stem the blood. Corvus groaned and squirmed under the pressure.

  ‘Lie still or you’ll make it worse,’ Marcus ordered. ‘Be brave, Corvus.’

  The other boy looked up at him and nodded faintly. Then he licked his lips and whispered, ‘Is she safe? Mistress Portia?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Portia heard her name and crossed the room to kneel beside Marcus. Quietly, she took Corvus’s hand. His eyes flickered towards her and he smiled.

  ‘You see, I live.’ Portia forced a smile. ‘Thanks to you.’

  There was a brief silence before Portia squeezed his hand and continued. ‘I owe you my life. I’ll see that you are rewarded handsomely. I promise. There are few slaves who would be so . . .’

  Corvus frowned and his breathing was laboured as he struggled to reply. ‘Didn’t do it . . . because you’re . . . my mistress. Did it . . . because you were in . . . danger.’

  Abruptly he convulsed and tore free from Marcus’s grip as a great rush of blood spilled from his wound.

  ‘Marcus, do something!’ Portia cried out, clinging to the k
itchen boy’s hand.

  Marcus held Corvus down with one hand, trying to apply pressure on the wound with the other. Corvus began to shudder, his eyes blinking violently. Then he let out a long, deep sigh and his body slumped against the ground, lifeless. Marcus held his hand on the wound a moment longer, as if there was a chance that Corvus was still alive. Portia continued to hold his hand, her bottom lip trembling.

  No one spoke for a moment and the only sound was the distant hubbub of the crowd in the Forum.

  ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’ said Lupus as he stood over them. ‘Corvus . . .’

  Marcus looked round and saw that Lupus’s face was clouded with grief. He tried to offer some comfort. ‘He’s passed into the shades. He’s free now, Lupus.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ the boy replied bitterly. ‘A handful of years as a slave and now he’s dead.’

  Lupus lowered himself to the ground and took Corvus’s other hand. Marcus saw the tears glimmering in his eyes as Lupus stared down.

  ‘He was like a brother to me. All the family I ever had.’

  Portia looked at him, across the body. ‘I - I had no idea.’

  ‘Why should you? As far as you’re concerned, we’re just part of the furniture of your uncle’s household. Now . . . he’ll just have to buy himself a new kitchen boy.’

  Marcus gently placed his hand on the other’s shoulder. ‘We can grieve later, Lupus. Right now we must get Mistress Portia out of here.’

  Portia shook her head. ‘We can’t just leave him here. It’s - it’s not right.’

  ‘We’ll send someone to fetch him once we reach home,’ Marcus countered. ‘Then Corvus can be given a proper burial.’

  ‘Yes.’ Portia nodded. ‘I’ll see to it myself.’

  She allowed herself to be raised to her feet, and Marcus was pulling Lupus away from the body when a low chuckle came from the across the room.

  ‘How touching.’ The man with the shafts of wood protruding from his stomach gave a dry laugh and then winced. ‘You’ll all be joining the boy there soon enough. You, Caesar and the rest of them.’

  Lupus snatched up the club he had used to knock the other man out and Marcus grabbed his arm to restrain him. ‘Wait.’

  ‘What?’ Lupus snapped angrily. ‘Let me kill ’em both.’

  ‘He’s finished.’ Marcus nodded at the sneering man. ‘His friend will be too, when his master discovers he has failed.’

  ‘Then what difference does it make?’ Lupus insisted.

  ‘The difference between us and them, and that means every-thing. Besides, we have to get out of here. Now.’

  Lupus stared at Marcus in confusion, then nodded slowly and lowered the club. He turned towards the man at his feet and spat on him before he paced towards the door. Marcus gently took Portia’s arm and steered her after Lupus. But before they reached the door, the man called after them.

  ‘You’re dead! You know that? Dead. You think this is the end? We’ll never rest until you and that precious uncle of yours bleed to death in the streets!’

  Marcus felt Portia shudder. Then she spoke in a quiet, numbed tone. ‘Take me away from here, Marcus. Take me home.’

  12

  ‘This is an outrage,’ Caesar said quietly when Marcus had finished his account of Portia’s abduction.

  The consul was sitting on a chair in his private study with General Pompeius when Marcus, Portia and Lupus returned, dishevelled and bruised. As soon as Marcus explained to Festus what had happened, Festus led a party of men to retrieve the bodies of Corvus and the two kidnappers. Meanwhile, the two boys and their mistress were taken to Caesar’s study to describe the event in full.

  ‘An outrage indeed,’ Pompeius said, nodding. ‘And not an isolated incident either. First Crassus was attacked and now your niece. And from what your slave boy here says, your enemies intend to threaten your life too. It seems our political opponents have increased the stakes, my dear Caesar. And they will pay dearly for their folly. I simply have to say the word and my veterans will scour the streets until we find the men behind this cowardly attack.’

  Caesar shook his head. ‘That is exactly what they hope for. The moment your followers start roughing people up, you can be sure that Cato, Cicero and their noble friends in the Senate will scream from the rooftops that tyranny has returned to the streets of Rome. If that view takes hold, then we will be undone, General - you, me and Crassus. We’ll be called to account on whatever made-up charges they care to bring against us and you can be sure the jury will be stuffed with our enemies. It’ll be exile for the three of us, and they’ll confiscate all our property.’

  ‘What can we do then?’ Pompeius threw his hands up. ‘Let them get away with it?’

  ‘Not that, certainly.’ Caesar shook his head. ‘But whatever we do, it must not antagonize our supporters in the Senate. We’ll deal with it later. In the meantime . . .’

  He paused and held out his hand to Portia. ‘Come here, my sweet.’

  Portia stepped lightly forward and took his hand. Caesar looked up at a slight angle into her face, and then cupped her cheek with his hand. ‘Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Uncle - shaken, but no real harm done. Thanks to Marcus, Lupus and Corvus.’

  ‘Ah yes, the kitchen boy who was killed in the fight. He can be replaced. But you can’t be.’

  ‘Corvus gave his life to save me, Uncle,’ Portia said with deliberation. ‘It was brave and noble of him.’

  ‘Of course it was.’ Caesar lowered his hand and patted her arm.

  ‘And Marcus too. He fought like a lion and put one of the men down before he was overwhelmed.’

  ‘He shall have his reward,’ Caesar said soothingly, then nodded towards Lupus. ‘The other boy too. Never let it be said that Caesar is ungrateful.’

  Pompeius snorted. ‘Reward the slave? Why? It was thanks to this young fool that she was taken in broad daylight in the first place.’ He leaned forward in his chair and stabbed a finger towards Marcus. ‘It was your duty to protect Caesar’s niece. What kind of a bodyguard do you call yourself, eh? You are supposed to keep a watch on her at all times and yet Portia was snatched right from under your nose. I don’t think you should be rewarded at all. In fact, if you were my slave, I would have you scourged, or nailed up as a warning to my other slaves of the price of failing in their duties.’

  Marcus endured the tirade in silence. There was nothing else he could do. He was a slave and it was not his place to speak up for himself. The very act of doing so would place him in far greater danger. His mind still reeled with shame that he had failed Portia, and he seethed with anger at the way Pompeius was talking to him. Even worse, this was the very man he had hoped could help him find and free his mother - and now he regarded Marcus with open contempt and hostility. Why would the general ever want to help him?

  ‘It’s not Marcus’s fault,’ Portia intervened.

  Pompeius turned to her, composing his angry expression into a kindly look of concern. ‘I think that it is, my dear. I would be angry enough if he simply failed in his duty. The fact that he did so with respect to the young woman who is soon to be a member of my household is unforgivable.’

  ‘No. It was my fault those men could take me without Marcus knowing. I ordered him and the other two to wait outside the shop. He was only doing as he was told. I don’t blame him for that. Nor should you.’

  Pompeius smiled at her. ‘You have a good heart, child. But you do not understand that a man, no matter how young, has no excuse when he fails in his duty. For that he should be punished.’

  Caesar shook his head. ‘There will be no punishment for Marcus. I am in his debt for saving my niece once already, and today has only increased that debt. Look at him. See the bruises and cuts? I don’t doubt that he risked his life to save my niece. Marcus, again, I offer you my thanks.’

  Marcus was grateful his master didn’t take the same view as Pompeius. He bowed his head and replied as steadily as he could. ‘Y
es, Caesar.’

  ‘There shall be a reward for you, in due course.’

  Before Marcus could respond there was a sharp rap at the door and Caesar straightened up in his chair. ‘Come!’

  The door opened and Festus stepped into the room, flushed from hurrying back from the slum. He closed the door behind him, strode up to Caesar and bowed briefly.

  ‘Well?’ asked Caesar. ‘What did you find?’

  ‘We have the boy’s body, master.’

  ‘What about the two men?’

  ‘There were no other bodies in the storeroom. However, there was a smear of blood leading outside. We followed the trace a short distance before we found a man’s body lying in a nearby alley. I had the men bring that back as well.’

  ‘And the other attacker?’

  ‘There was no sign of him, master.’

  ‘A pity. It would have been useful to question him. We need to know who gave them orders to target my niece.’ He turned to Marcus. ‘While your memory is fresh, what can you remember about these men?’

  Marcus collected his thoughts. ‘They didn’t look like ordinary men, master. They were solidly built. Close-cropped hair, like soldiers, or gladiators. They moved like professional fighters.’

  ‘Gladiators?’ Pompeius raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you think our opponents are resorting to using gladiators against us?’

  ‘Why not?’ Caesar responded. ‘It makes perfect sense. If Cato and the others are taking our conflict on to the streets, then why not employ men who know how to fight? In fact, I wish I’d thought of it first. I own several gladiator schools in Campania.’