‘Fucking get him!’
The three other men closed in on Pavo. The middle one rushed at him, a couple of steps ahead of the other two. He had a dense beard and a thickset frame. He swung a roundhouse punch which Pavo jerked away from, and as momentum carried the blow on its trajectory above his head Pavo lunged head-first at the man and butted him in the middle of his chest. He grunted as the force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards. His comrades stepped out of the way as he tripped over a bench and fell to the ground amid a cacophony of shattering cups and bowls. The man to the right, a gaunt-looking figure with an angular frame and gaps in his front teeth, spun around and grabbed Pavo from behind, wrapping a bony arm around his neck and clamping his other hand to the recruit’s forehead while the third man, a bear of a figure and a head taller than the others, made to unload a punch at his guts.
Pavo struck first, launching a high kick at the larger man, bending his leg at the knee and aiming at his chest. The man shrieked as the sole of the recruit’s foot thumped into his midriff, winding him and turning him purple in the face. Pavo jerked his shoulders to try and shake off the smaller man who had him in a headlock, but his grip was surprisingly firm despite his bony physique. Pavo tried backtracking a few steps, building up momentum in his feet in a bid to slam his assailant into the canteen wall and wind him. He heard a crack at his back and the harsh exhalation of breath as his attacker crashed into the canteen wall. But still the man refused to relinquish his grip. Pavo felt himself going faint as the arm constricted his air passage. Ahead of him, the bear-like gang member had recovered from the brutal kick to the stomach and staggered towards him.
‘Now I’m going to make you fucking sorry.’
Then Pavo saw a flicker of movement behind the man.
‘That’s enough!’
Amadocus and his men spun around to see Gurges standing in the corridor, flanked by an exasperated Calamus and a third man Pavo didn’t recognise. This third man was stocky, a little shorter than the doctore, and wore a simple tunic with a pair of leather sandals and a red cloak. The clobber of an off-duty soldier, thought Pavo as he wiped blood from his mouth and eyed the lanista warily.
‘What’s going on here?’ Calamus demanded, baring his teeth. He locked his sunken eyes on Amadocus. ‘You. What are you doing out of your cell at this time of night? Explain yourself.’
Amadocus lowered his eyes deferentially. ‘Sir. I am sorry.’ He twisted his neck towards Pavo. ‘This recruit was causing a disturbance.’
‘Is this true, Pavo?’ the doctore turned to face him.
‘No!’ the recruit protested. ‘I didn’t-’
‘Forget it,’ Gurges interrupted. He gestured to Amadocus and the three other veterans, and shot them a final withering look. ‘Calamus. See these men to their cells. I’ll deal with them later. Pavo and I have a pressing matter to discuss.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the doctore replied. He marched the veterans through the door one by one. Amadocus was the last to leave. He flashed a fierce scowl at the recruit he stormed out of the canteen. Pavo felt a cold tremor of fear shoot up his spine at the thought of having made an enemy in Amadocus and his thugs. He wondered how his day could get any worse.
Then the man in the military-issue clothing stepped out of the shadows. Pavo studied him. He had the grizzled look of a battle-hardened veteran and the scars to prove it, even though his eyes told Pavo that he couldn’t be much older than thirty. As a military tribune, Pavo had encountered dozens of men like this in the Sixth — career soldiers. Men who’d signed away their lives at the age of eighteen, or earlier perhaps, lying to enlist as soon as they could. Men who made it their business to shed blood for Rome in far-flung corners of the empire. A cause that Pavo had once believed in himself. Until Rome had sunk its teeth into his neck.
‘It appears your stay here is to be rather shorter than I had hoped,’ Gurges said, choosing his words carefully, glancing at the stocky man out of the corner of his eye. Pavo thought he detected a trace of resentment in the lanista’s voice.
‘What are you talking about?’ Pavo said, his voice barely a whisper. In the distance he could hear the roars and shouts of Amadocus and the other veterans being manhandled into their cells.
Gurges wrinkled his lips. He hesitated, gesturing to the scroll he held in his hands. He went on, ‘This man is a soldier, Pavo. Sent from Rome, on imperial orders no less. You are to fight the barbarian Britomaris. To the death.’
Pavo looked stony faced at the soldier. He knew the name Britomaris. At training that morning the recruits had been talking of his defeat of Capito. Rumours had swirled through the ludus, that Britomaris ate babies for breakfast, that he was born in the Underworld, that his manhood could snap a vestal virgin in half.
‘I understand the fight will be held at the Julian plaza in Rome. An impressive venue,’ Gurges said, drawing Pavo out of his stupor. The lanista frowned again at the soldier. ‘A great pity that we won’t get the chance to see you in action here in Paestum. For your sake as well as mine.’
The soldier grunted. ‘If I may,’ he began gruffly. Gurges nodded jadedly and the soldier turned to Pavo. ‘My name is Lucius Cornelius Macro. I’m an optio in the Second Legion. I’m here to train you for the fight.’
‘Who sent you?’
Macro pursed his lips. ‘The order was signed by Marcus Antonius Pallas.’
Pavo laughed. ‘So it’s as good as from the Emperor himself, then.’
‘That’s about the size of it, lad.’ He narrowed his eyes at Pavo. ‘You’re familiar with the name?’
‘You could say that,’ the young recruit replied, his mood improving rapidly. ‘Pallas was the man who convinced the Emperor to condemn my father to death in the arena. I’ve heard Claudius was set to spare his life until that arse-licking Greek swayed his decision. That aide of his does most of his bidding.’
‘Murena,’ Macro muttered.
‘That’s the one,’ Pavo nodded. ‘Thick as thieves, those two.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Macro cut himself short, aware of the political danger of criticising the imperial household in the presence of the lanista. Gurges struck Macro as an untrustworthy sort of fellow. ‘Enough talk. Let’s knuckle down to business. As you can see, I’ve already cleared this matter with your lanista. From what I’ve been told, you’re a natural with a sword, so we’re not totally fucked.’
Gurges cleared his throat. Macro shot a look at him.
‘About my compensation,’ the lanista said carefully. ‘This is a fine young specimen of a man. I won’t sell him off for less than the going rate.’
Macro produced a bag filled with coins from under his tunic and chucked it at the lanista, who caught the bag in his cupped hands and licked his lips as he peeked inside.
‘I suppose this looks to be an adequate level of compensation,’ the lanista said greedily. ‘And I presume you’ll be staying with us, optio?’
‘You must be joking,’ Macro said. ‘I’ll get myself a nice warm bed at a cosy inn in town.’ He watched a cockroach scuttle across the floor. ‘Although even a shit bed would be better than staying in this armpit of a house.’