‘Cheer up,’ Macro said, patting Pavo on the back. ‘You’re going to fight in front of the Emperor, for the glory of Rome, in front of thousands of people. Fights don’t get much bigger. And this is only your first fight, you lucky bugger. You should be kissing Fortuna’s arse.’
Pavo shrugged off Macro. ‘You have a perverse idea of luck.’
‘Just trying to put some fire in your belly,’ Macro said, furrowing his brow at his student’s prickly nature. ‘Look, there’s no point moping about feeling sorry for yourself. If you go into the arena with that kind of attitude, you’ll stand no chance.’
Pavo shrugged as the sun simmered and swelled on the horizon.
‘I don’t deserve this,’ Pavo said, turning away from Macro. ‘Everything that’s happened to me. To my family. First my father. Then me. Now they’ve made a prisoner out of my son Appius. How much more suffering does that wretch Pallas wish to inflict? It’s not fair.’
‘Bollocks!’ Macro barked with such venom that it send a jolt quivering like an arrow up Pavo’s spine. ‘This is Rome, lad. There’s no such thing as fair. Even a high-born boy like you must know that. And yes, I know all about your family squabble. I’m sorry about what happened with Titus. He had respect, even from us hard-to-please men in the Second. But that’s all in the past now, lad. You have to focus on Britomaris.’
Pavo closed his eyes and sighed.
‘Do you know how my father died?’ he asked Macro, keeping his eyes closed, as if he was trying to seek peace in the dark. ‘Did that rat Murena tell you about how Rome treated a man who sacrificed everything to the city, optio?’
Macro cleared his throat. ‘He told me that Hermes killed your old man in the arena.’
‘Killing is putting it rather mildly,’ Pavo muttered. ‘Hermes gutted him like a pig. Cut off his head. When he was done, Claudius had his servants drag my father’s body out of the arena on a hook and dump it in the street outside, as if he were some common thief.’
Macro cleared his throat again, but said nothing. An awkward silence lingered between the two men. At the far end of the training ground Pavo caught sight of Amadocus leaning against a palus, his hands choking the post as Calamus flogged him repeatedly on his back with his short whip. The other veterans looked on blankly, suggesting that such brutality was commonplace. Amadocus stole a sideways glance at Pavo. He winced as Calamus lashed his back again and drew blood. Then he grinned at the recruit. Pavo gulped and turned back to Macro.
‘Everything has been taken away from me, optio. My old life is gone for ever. But there is one thing I want before I die, and that’s a chance to face Hermes in the arena.’ He turned stiffly away from Macro. ‘I have no quarrel with Britomaris. If he’s giving Murena and Pallas sleepless nights, so much the better. I don’t see why I should help out that pair of devious Greeks.’
‘Sod Pallas. Sod Murena. Sod them all. Do this for yourself and for your son.’
Pavo said nothing. But Macro thought he spotted some weakening in the lad’s hostile stance. He drew closer to Pavo and gripped him by the shoulders.
‘Whatever you think, we don’t have time to sit around and talk.’
Pavo frowned and stepped back from Macro. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Patience is in short supply at the imperial household,’ the optio replied. ‘The Emperor wishes to see Britomaris lose before the month is out.’ He raised a hand to stifle the trainee’s protest. ‘Now I know what you’re thinking. Normally it takes at least six months to prepare a gladiator to fight in the arena, and that’s just so you can face some Egyptian armpit-plucker with a blunted sword, not a vicious bastard like Britomaris. Nevertheless, that’s the way the dice have fallen. Besides, you’ve got the talent, from what I’ve been told by the doctore. We can skip the basics and knuckle down to the strategy for beating Britomaris. It’s no different to sorting out your tactics before going into battle. So let’s just get on with it, eh?’
Pavo fell quiet. Macro weighed up his young charge. Pavo lacked the build of a gladiator. He looked more like a clerk — you’d think a gust of wind might break every bone in his body. But Macro detected some sliver of inner steel in the lad that reminded him a little of himself as a fresh-faced recruit. He thought briefly back to his own harsh treatment at the hands of Bestia, the legion’s legendary drill instructor.
But Macro could never recall being as difficult as Pavo. Then again, he had never been cast into a ludus in the knowledge that he’d soon be dead.
Macro said, ‘You may not like the Emperor-’
‘That’s a rather mild way of putting it,’ Pavo interrupted.
‘But you’d do well to remember that it’s not only your neck on the line. Mine is too.’
Pavo blinked. ‘How so?’
Macro scowled at the clear morning sky. ‘Our good friend Murena made a not-so-subtle suggestion that if you lost, I’d be equally culpable.’
A sudden feeling of guilt swept over Pavo. ‘Sir. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.’
‘That makes two of us. But sorry gets us nowhere. The only thing for it is to teach this Britomaris a sharp, bloody lesson. One that ends with him on his knees, cradling his guts and begging for a quick death.’
The recruit flashed a pained expression at the ground. Three weeks. No time at all before he would be confronting Britomaris, the barbarian who had dispatched the best of the imperial school with consummate ease.
‘If you win,’ Macro went on, ‘you’ll be a hero, like me.’ The officer thumped a fist against his chest with unconcealed pride. ‘Rome doesn’t kill its heroes. Not if it can help it, anyway. Get one over on old Britomaris and your name will be in graffiti on the walls of every inn across the empire. You’ll have prize money, tarts, fame.’ Macro counted the rewards off his fingers one by one. ‘And you know what? That’ll piss old Hermes off no end.’
Pavo glanced up at Macro. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Of course!’ Macro snorted, warming to his theme. ‘Hermes may be a legend, but at the end of the day he’s a glory-seeking tosser just like every other gladiator. You win and he’ll see you as a threat to his status. You’ll be one step closer to having your showdown.’
Pavo paced a few steps away from Macro and stared up at the porticoes. Gurges had left the balcony and made his way down to the training ground, where the veterans had gathered around him in a semi-circle. The lanista was waving a hand at Amadocus’s grossly lacerated back as he boomed a warning at them. Pavo couldn’t quite hear the lanista but he got the gist of the message. Anyone stepping out of line would suffer similar treatment. At least I won’t have to worry about being jumped in the canteen for a while, Pavo thought.
‘Beating Britomaris is the best way to honour your old man’s name,’ Macro said.
Pavo laughed nervously. ‘Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s got to fight him to the death. With a crocked hand.’
Macro grinned slyly as he replied, ‘I have a secret plan.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Come on,’ Pavo snapped impatiently. ‘Let’s hear it.’ Macro looked rather too pleased with himself, the trainee thought.
‘Britomaris has a weakness,’ the optio announced.
‘What is it?’
Casting glances from the corner of his eye, Macro leaned in to Pavo as if to whisper in his ear. ‘His stamina,’ the optio said in a low voice. ‘It’s shit.’
‘Wonderful,’ Pavo replied as he pulled away from Macro. ‘What a pity I’m not challenging him to a marathon race instead of a fight to the death.’
The optio wagged a finger at Pavo. ‘You’re not following me, lad. I saw it after Capito had a sword plunged into his heart at the amphitheatre. Everyone else was too shocked to notice, but the barbarian was sweating out of his arse. I’m telling you, he could barely stand on his feet by the end of the contest. And that was just a short fight. Think about what would happen if you really made the bastard work!’