‘You were going to poison Pavo,’ Macro growled.
‘Poison?’ Pavo whispered at Macro, a disbelieving look on his face.
The optio nodded grimly. He was conscious of blood flowing out of a wound at the back of his scalp, from when the second Praetorian had clobbered him earlier, matting his hair and dripping down his neck. ‘I caught these two fools in the act,’ he said, jerking his head furiously at the guards.
‘But I just saved the reputation of Rome,’ Pavo hissed as he glowered with rage at Murena. ‘The Emperor’s too. Not to mention your own and that of Pallas! And this is how you repay me?’
Murena chuckled weakly as he placed his hands behind his back. He kept his distance from Pavo, as if avoiding a rabid dog. ‘Our plan was simple,’ he said. ‘We needed to guarantee Rome victory. Even with someone as skilled with a sword as you, however, nothing in life is guaranteed. We poisoned the tips of both your weapons. That way Britomaris would perish in the arena, thus restoring the glory of Rome.’ Murena chuckled. ‘Why on earth do you think that our barbaric friend collapsed so easily at the end?’
‘But you were going to kill me too!’ Pavo roared, his face turning crimson with rage.
Murena knitted his wispy brow. ‘Two birds, one stone. Both Pallas and I knew that your victory, whilst necessary for his imperial majesty, would also make you a hero in the eyes of the mob. Listen to them,’ he grumbled scathingly as the crowd continued to roar in the background, ecstatic at the outcome of the fight. ‘They think you’re a legend, young man! We took a calculated risk in getting you to fight Britomaris. But we hoped to avoid the celebration of your name by arranging your death in the arena. There would have been some applause from the crowd for your efforts, of course. A few tawdry poems written to celebrate your feat. The odd inscription. But dead gladiators don’t live long in memory. By the following month you would have been forgotten.’ Murena sighed. ‘If only that idiot Britomaris had done his job, and stabbed you.’
Despite his ragged condition, Pavo mustered his precious last reserves of energy and lunged at Murena. The freedman took a frightened step back out of the doorway, his eyes widened with fear.
‘You tried to kill me, you bastard!’ Pavo roared.
The Praetorians jerked into action. One kicked Pavo in the midriff and sent him flying backwards, landing on the ground with a thud while the other guard glared at Macro, who had balled his hands into tight fists. The guard began to unsheathe his sword. Macro got the message and reluctantly loosened his fists.
‘What about my son?’ Pavo seethed. ‘I was told he would be released after I won.’
‘Appius?’ Murena asked, wearing an expression of feigned ignorance. ‘You must be mistaken, young man. The Emperor was to release him upon your glorious death in the arena. Since you failed to stick to your side of the bargain and die, I’m afraid the deal is off. Appius will remain the possession of the imperial palace. Of course, he won’t be a freedman. He’ll grow up with the other slave children, and when he’s old enough he’ll fetch grapes and figs for those who control the empire. Men like Pallas and me. In future generations the name of Valerius will be synonymous with slaves, not military heroes and victorious gladiators.’
Pavo fumed, his nostrils flaring with rage. ‘You can’t do this.’
‘Oh, but I can,’ Murena replied condescendingly. He began to turn away from the room. ‘I can do whatever I please. Your victory means that the Emperor is in debt to Pallas, and don’t forget that Pallas is my boss. It would’ve taken years for us to win the complete confidence of Claudius. You’ve helped us achieve it in a mere few months. Thank you, Pavo.’
Pavo simmered with rage. The freedman paused and rubbed his hands together, as if warming them on a cold winter’s night. ‘I suppose it’s all worked out rather well in the end,’ Murena went on. ‘All that remains is for me to take care of loose ends.’ He cast his eyes over Macro and Pavo in turn. ‘As I promised Pallas.’
‘What do you mean?’ Pavo snapped, narrowing his eyes at Murena.
‘The Emperor won’t tolerate the mob chanting the name of the son of a traitor. ‘Murena barked at the Praetorians as he clicked his fingers. ‘Take him away.’ Pavo hung his head low as the guards hauled him to his feet, grabbing a weary arm each. The fight had dimmed in him, Macro noticed. Despair had doused the flames of rage burning inside his belly.
‘Appius. . my boy. .’ the trainee muttered under his breath, his dry lips cracking as the guards manhandled him out of the room and dragged him down the corridor. Away from the arena. Away from the noise and buzz of the crowd chanting his name.
‘Pavo was right,’ Macro growled at the smug Greek when they were left alone. ‘You are a bastard.’
Murena stroked his chin and smiled at Macro, as if he had just given him a compliment.
‘What’s going to happen to him?’ the optio asked.
‘There’s a wagon waiting outside. He’s to return to the ludus in Paestum,’ Murena replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he gazed down the corridor. ‘We’ll find another opponent for him to fight locally, in the more modest surroundings of Paestum’s amphitheatre. Someone with a poor reputation.’
Macro scoffed and folded his arms. ‘What for? Pavo’s a great fighter. Pair him with a low-ranking gladiator and he’ll carve up his opponent in a heartbeat. If you ask me, I say the lad’s been through enough.’
‘Pavo’s survival is an embarrassment to Claudius. He must die,’ Murena said icily. ‘He must die in disgrace, in a way that leaves his reputation in tatters. And you are going to help me achieve that.’
The optio shifted on the balls of his feet and felt his pulse quicken with fear. ‘Why the bloody hell would I do that? I’ve already honoured my end of the deal. I trained Pavo. He won. Now I’m due my promotion, as promised.’
Murena looked back at Macro.
‘It’s not that simple, optio. You know our dirty little secret. And if the mob discover that Claudius tried to poison the new hero of arena, well,’ Murena frowned at his feet, as if a snake was crawling up his leg, ‘Let’s just say they wouldn’t be too happy. Our problem is, can we trust you? You see, the Emperor doesn’t trust people easily. Neither do Pallas or I. Under normal circumstances we’d simply kill you off in a back street and be done with it. But we can’t bump off every hero of the empire. Luckily for you, Rome does need the odd one or two to inspire the mob. So Pallas and I are giving you a chance to prove your loyalty to Claudius.’
‘How do you mean?’ Macro asked, his voice low and uncertain.
Murena grinned as the sound of the crowd slowly died away and the heavy drum-roll of footsteps echoed through the plaza as people made their way to the exits and flooded out into the streets. The freedman said, ‘Since you appear to be a rather effective gladiator trainer, you’re going to train Pavo’s next opponent, optio. You know the young man’s weaknesses. You will train your man to exploit them, so that the mob will see Pavo humiliated, his victory over Britomaris remembered as nothing more than a fluke. You can do that, or you can join Titus in an unmarked grave. The choice is yours. .’