Macro slapped a hand against his thigh and nodded firmly.
‘Now … lift!’
Although his expression remained stony, Macro felt his chest swell with pride as Pavo resumed his weightlifting exercise. The optio had feared the worst when his young charge won the right to face Hermes. But there was a steeliness in Pavo that surprised Macro. He had never seen the lad burn with such intensity as he had done in the past four weeks. Macro had put him through a series of punishing physical exercises designed to increase his lower body strength. The wagon lifts, as he termed them, were just one of a series of exercises that he had devised to compensate for their lack of training equipment. The owner of the Drunken Goat had taken an interest in the three men who ate lunch at his establishment each day, and after hearing the story of the brave young lad who was going to fight Hermes, he had offered to lend a hand; hence the wagon lifts.
But a cold dread gnawed at Macro. His own fate was tethered to that of the young gladiator. If Pavo fell in the arena, the imperial secretary would reveal the optio’s participation in the beast fights to the officers in the Second Legion, bringing his military career to a swift and inglorious end. That grim thought forced Macro to redouble his efforts and leave no stone unturned in his bid to prepare Pavo for his fight. As well as the wagon lifts, Macro had his charge pushing a heavy cart up the Aventine Hill to bulk up his thigh muscles, and doing circuits of the courtyard with a training shield in each hand.
‘By the gods, he has to win,’ Macro muttered to himself, clenching his scarred knuckles into tight fists.
He was interrupted by a shrill crashing noise as Pavo released the wagon and one of the baskets fell and shattered an amphora leaning against the wall of the inn. Wine spilled across the flagstones. Pavo soothed his aching wrist and winced at the tavern owner.
‘The imperial secretary will reimburse you,’ Macro said.
The tavern owner waved a hand at the optio. ‘Forget the wine. Just win the fight and teach that arrogant scum Hermes a lesson.’
‘Probably watered down anyway,’ Macro remarked glibly to Pavo as one of the tavern workers quickly set about scooping up the shattered clay shards from the street.
Ruga moistened his lips. ‘I could do with a skinful myself.’ He flashed a broad grin at Pavo. ‘Tell you what, boy. Beat Hermes and the first jug of wine is on me.’
Pavo forced a smile. Strange, but since being condemned to the ludus, he had never given any thought to a life beyond the arena. He supposed it was the same for nearly all gladiators. The high fatality rate made thoughts of freedom irrelevant and even dangerous. For his own part, the overpowering desire to avenge his father and restore honour to the Valerian family name had excluded all other considerations.
‘Chin up.’ Macro clapped his hands. ‘We’ve still got work to do.’
Pavo raised his weary head and grimaced. ‘Can’t we rest now, sir?’
‘Plenty of time for that in the afterlife! Now, give me one more set of lifts.’
‘Yes … sir.’
As Pavo grasped the wagon, a voice from down the street interrupted him. ‘Training hard, I see.’
A shiver ran down Pavo’s spine. He stood bolt upright and spun away from the wagon, turning his gaze beyond the Drunken Goat. Macro and Ruga glanced in the same direction to see Murena striding towards them, sidestepping the clay shards and spilled wine. The guard accompanying him dismissed the tavern owner and his workers so that the aide could talk freely. Murena looked at Pavo and clicked his tongue approvingly.
‘It seems Ruga and the optio have been fulfilling their side of our arrangement.’ He continued to stare at Pavo. ‘You’ve toned up nicely since we last met.’
Macro flashed a dark look at Murena and folded his arms defensively across his chest. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Relax, Optio,’ Murena replied, smiling with fake warmth. ‘I have simply come to watch Pavo train. Pallas is understandably curious to learn how our young gladiator is getting on.’ He reset his gaze on Pavo and nodded. ‘Very well, by the looks of it.’
‘Not bad,’ Macro agreed guardedly. ‘Given that we’ve only had a month to prepare.’
The aide stroked his smoothly shaven jaw with his bony fingers. ‘And how do you rate his chances against Hermes?’
Suppressing his contempt for the freedman, the soldier took a deep breath and thought for a moment.
‘The lad has done everything we’ve asked of him. Between myself and Ruga, we’ve pushed him hard. Hermes will never have faced a gladiator in such good condition.’
Murena’s eyes narrowed as he continued to smile at Pavo. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Optio. Will he or will he not defeat Hermes tomorrow?’
The soldier shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Even with the two of us training him morning and afternoon, he is up against the greatest champion in all of Rome. You know how the old saying goes. The only safe bet about fighting in the arena is that one man walks out and the other gets dragged out by a hook.’
Something shifted in the aide’s demeanour as he switched his gleaming gaze to Macro. ‘I am well aware of the vagaries of gladiator combat. It’s one of the reasons Pallas and myself were reluctant to promote such fights as a means of controlling the mob.’
‘And now you’re relying on Pavo to save your careers,’ Macro remarked. ‘Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?’
The smile disappeared from Murena’s face. ‘Rome is full of treachery, Macro. A common soldier such as yourself will never grasp the difficulties of governing millions of feckless subjects. Pallas and I will do whatever is necessary to stay in power.’
Macro yawned. ‘Save your lecturing for some other poor sod.’ He nodded at Pavo and jerked his thumb towards the Drunken Goat. ‘Come on, lad. Time for a quick rest and some food before you begin your final training session with Ruga.’
‘Don’t be late to the arena tomorrow, Optio.’ Murena smirked. ‘I would hate you to miss the pre-fight entertainment we have planned.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Macro asked, narrowing his eyes.
Murena looked pleased with himself. He stared hard at Pavo. ‘Let’s just say there will be a special role for the Liberators guilty of conspiring against Emperor Claudius.’
Pavo shivered in his bones. Macro turned away, shaking his head, and went into the tavern. Pavo followed him inside. The aide watched them both leave. Ruga turned to head after them but Murena instantly swept forward and blocked his path.
‘Out of my way,’ the retired gladiator growled.
‘Not yet. I have something I need you to do … if you want your job back.’
Ruga shook his head firmly. ‘I’m training the boy, just as you demanded. That was our deal. One month with the lad and I’d be free to return to my old job as bodyguard to Senator Macula.’
Murena weighed up his response as he led Ruga into the courtyard, away from the bustle and noise of the street. ‘Pallas and I must take into account the possibility that Pavo might lose tomorrow.’
‘There’s always a possibility of defeat,’ Ruga conceded. ‘But he has a better chance of victory against Hermes than most. What else could you possibly want?’
‘A contingency plan.’
Ruga hesitated and glanced back to the street. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’
‘I’m not asking for your approval, gladiator,’ Murena snapped. ‘You will do as I say, whether you like it or not.’ Composing himself, the aide lowered his voice. ‘Tell me, are you friends with any other retired gladiators?’