Pelleneus nodded sympathetically. ‘And who might this commander be?’
‘General Pompeius.’
‘Pompeius?’ Pelleneus raised his eyebrows. ‘As in Pompeius the Great?’
‘Yes, that’s what father called him. You know of him, then?’
‘How can you not know of him?’ The Athenian smiled and then shook his head. ‘Well, young Marcus, if you really think someone like Pompeius the Great would stir himself to come to the rescue of the family of one of his former junior officers… then you have a lot more faith in Roman justice than I have.’
‘Father was one of his bravest men.’ Marcus frowned, his pride hurt. ‘One of his most trusted soldiers. Pompeius even gave him a special sword as a gift when he retired from the legion. Of course Pompeius will help us.’ Marcus looked down at his feet. ‘All I have to do is find him.’
‘Huh,’ Phyrus interrupted without looking round. ‘And how are you going to do that, young ’un?’ He shuffled his foot so that the chain clattered on the deck. ‘You’re a slave now.’
‘No,’ Marcus said fiercely. ‘Your master, Porcino, had no right to buy me. I’ll wait until we’re off this ship, then explain everything to him. Maybe there could be a reward in it for him if he helps me find Pompeius,’ Marcus added hopefully.
Pelleneus laughed. ‘You’d better come to know Porcino, before you get your hopes up. Somehow, I’m not sure he will be very interested in your story.’
‘I’m a Roman citizen,’ Marcus replied. ‘This can’t happen to me.’
The Athenian looked at him with pity in his eyes. ‘It already has. You’d better get used to it, lad.’
Marcus fell into a sullen silence for a while before he spoke again. ‘This man, Porcino. Is he a slave dealer?’
Pelleneus shook his head. ‘No, he’s not a dealer. Porcino is a lanista.’
‘Lanista?’ Marcus wondered.
‘A gladiator trainer,’ Pelleneus explained. ‘He runs a school for gladiators near Capua. According to Piso, he is one of the best trainers in the business. For that, I suppose, you should be grateful at least.’
‘Grateful?’ Marcus could hardly believe his ears. He had heard of gladiators from his father and knew of the terrible danger they faced every time they stepped in front of a crowd to entertain them with a bloody fight to the death. ‘Why should I be grateful? I’ve been saved from drowning only to be enslaved in a gladiator school. I don’t want to die on the sand of some arena.’ He shuddered at the thought.
‘Look at it this way: if you have to be trained as a gladiator, then you might as well be trained by the best. It might give a man the advantage when the time comes for him to fight.’
The Athenian might have a point, but Marcus had no intention of being owned by the lanista long enough to find out. He would have to speak to Porcino as soon as he could and explain the injustices that had been heaped on him and his family. But before he spoke with the lanista, it would be wise to see what kind of a man Porcino was.
‘What’s he like?’ Marcus asked.
‘Porcino?’ Pelleneus pursed his lips. ‘He’s a hard man. Bound to be after having survived in the arena long enough to win his freedom. But he’s a fair sort. If you do as you are told and do it quickly, he’ll treat you well.’
A shadow fell over them and Marcus looked up to see Piso. The man dropped a stale loaf and a hunk of dried meat on to Marcus’s lap.
‘Eat,’ he said simply, then turned to walk away.
Marcus hurriedly tore into the bread, desperate to feed his hunger. As he chewed, he glanced sidelong at his companions and prayed that Pelleneus was wrong. He had to convince Porcino to set him free. His mother’s life depended on it. Only he could save her from a lingering death on Decimus’s slave estate.
Once the ship had been securely moored alongside the quay, the captain gave the order for the gangway to be lowered and for the cargo hold to be opened up. While the captain made a deal with one of the port’s gang masters to unload the cargo, Piso came and changed their shackles, swapping their ankle rings for large iron hoops that fastened round the neck. The collar felt heavy and uncomfortable on Marcus’s shoulders but he knew better than to complain while Piso stood over them with a heavy wooden club. Porcino had already gone ashore to make arrangements for the provisions needed for the journey to Capua. When he returned, Piso gestured to the chained prisoners. ‘On your feet! Move yourselves!’
Marcus responded quickly and obediently, and the others shuffled on to their feet behind him. Once they were all up, Piso shoved Marcus towards the gangway, causing him to stumble as the chain became taut between him and the others. Pelleneus stepped forward just in time to save Marcus from falling headlong. With a steady chink, chinkle, chink from the chains, the seven prisoners shuffled across the gangway and on to the quay. Porcino was waiting for them. He sat in the saddle of a small horse and was leading a string of three mules loaded down with nets of bread and crudely cut chunks of salted meat. He had a sword-belt fastened round his middle and a club hung from his saddle horn.
With Porcino at the front and Piso bringing up the rear, the small column of prisoners wound its way along the quay to the main street leading through the port. No one spared Marcus a second look as he passed by and he felt his heart sink as he realized that these people were going to see that he had been wronged. To their eyes he was just another slave, one of the vast number who landed in Brundisium over the course of a year. He wondered if he should call out for help – if he should shout about all the wrongs that had been done to him. The moment he slowed down, however, steeling himself to cry out that he had been kidnapped, Piso strode along the line and prodded him with the end of his club.
‘Keep the pace up, boy! No slacking.’
Marcus stumbled on a short distance and then settled into the rhythm that the other prisoners also fell into as they passed through the city gates. After leaving Brundisium, Porcino followed the coast road, heading north. To their right, the sea sparkled invitingly now that they were safely ashore. To the left the landscape rolled gently towards a distant line of hills. Farms and some large agricultural estates lined the road. Close to the port there was a constant stream of traffic: carts large and small carrying goods to be exported, or piled high with imports from across the empire.
By the time evening came, they had passed fifteen of the milestones and Marcus was exhausted. His feet burned from the steady pace he had been forced to endure along the hard surface of the road. Porcino led them a short distance off the road to the edge of a small pine forest.
‘We’ll stay here for the night. Piso, settle them down and feed ’em.’
‘Yes, master.’
Marcus and the others slumped to the ground. Unlacing his boots, Marcus examined his feet and winced as his fingers found a burst blister. If they marched the same distance tomorrow and the day after, he knew he was going to be in agony.
Pelleneus and the other slaves stretched out on the ground and rested briefly, until Piso approached them with a basket he had taken off the back of one of the mules. He moved down the line, giving each of them some bread, a lump of cheese and some dried meat. Marcus was the last to be fed and he nodded a brief thanks before he spoke to Piso in a low voice.
‘I want to speak to Porcino.’
Piso glanced at him in surprise. ‘You what?’
‘I said I want to talk to Porcino.’
‘Slaves don’t give orders. So you keep quiet and eat up, eh?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m not a slave. I shouldn’t be here. I have to speak to Porcino and explain the situation.’
Piso looked round at his master. The lanista was building a fire a short distance away, his powerful frame hunched over the kindling he was breaking up and arranging into a compact bundle. Piso smiled to himself and turned back to Marcus.
‘Well, if you insist, I’ll fetch him.’