It brought him back to reality. Whatever ambitions Pelleneus might have, the truth of the moment was that they were all slaves. The property of the lanista, Porcino, to do with as he wished. As he thought about it, Marcus decided that it would be better to continue with his first plan. However difficult, he must try to escape and find General Pompeius, rather than spend years preparing to become a gladiator, and then more years risking his life in the arena in order to win liberty and riches so that he could rescue his mother, if she survived until then.
The fire was starting to die down. The Thracians and the Spartan had already lain down close to the fire to try to sleep. With a deep sigh Phyrus followed suit, curling up on his side, like a child. Before long the air reverberated with his deep snores, but his sleep was troubled and he frequently twitched and mumbled snatches of sentences that made little sense to Marcus.
‘What about him?’ Marcus nodded to the slumbering giant. ‘What’s his story?’
Pelleneus looked at their companion with a pitying expression. ‘Poor Phyrus shouldn’t be here. He may be as strong as a bear but he does not have the heart of a fighter. I fear for him once we reach Capua and enter the gladiator school.’
‘Porcino must think he has potential,’ Marcus reflected. ‘Otherwise, why buy him?’
Pelleneus glanced round to make sure that neither their master nor Piso was within earshot, but he lowered his voice anyway. ‘Porcino just sees his size, his strength. He does not see the man within. Well, more of a child than a man, I think.’
‘How did Phyrus come to be bought by Porcino?’
Pelleneus drew up his knees and wrapped his long muscled arms round them. ‘From what he’s told me since we were chained together, Phyrus was little more than an infant when he was brought to Athens. He was owned by a Greek slave trader and raised as a household slave, until the trader and his wife had a child. A boy. Phyrus was made his body-servant. He virtually raised the boy, and loved him like a brother. However, as the child grew and began to return Phyrus’s affection, the mother became jealous and demanded that Phyrus be sold. The father would have none of it. He saw how much Phyrus meant to his son and knew it would break the boy’s heart. So, from what I can gather, the mother claimed one day that her most precious bracelet had been stolen. She insisted that the entire house be searched from top to bottom.’ Pelleneus looked at Marcus and smiled sadly. ‘You can guess what happened.’
Marcus considered briefly, then nodded. ‘They found the bracelet in Phyrus’s quarters?’
‘Yes. Under his bedroll. The mother convinced her husband to sell Phyrus. It broke his heart to leave their boy. He was auctioned in the slave market at Athens. Phyrus stood out among the other slaves on sale, as you can imagine. Porcino was impressed enough to buy him.’ He looked down at Phyrus. ‘I doubt he’d hurt a fly if he could help it. I am afraid for him. I doubt he will survive for long once we reach the gladiator school, unless he learns to fight.’
Marcus thought for a moment as he hugged his knees. Since being taken from the farm he had been consumed by his own problems. Only the injustice done to him and his family mattered. It seemed as if the rest of the world was an uncaring place filled with people who knew nothing of his grief. He had thought that his suffering was the worst thing that could happen to a person. If others would only listen to his tale, then they would think so too, and do what they could to help to correct such a monstrous injustice.
Now, Marcus understood that the world was filled with injustices, and that others, like Phyrus, suffered too. He was not a special case, singled out by the Gods to endure the harshest cruelty and grief. There were others, with similar tales, carrying similar burdens. Marcus was not quite sure how he felt about it. The thought of so many more people suffering as he did struck him with a kind of numbing horror. Yet, in spite of that, for the first time since he had been seized by Decimus’s henchmen, he felt that he was not alone. There was some comfort in that.
He raised his head and spoke softly. ‘What about the others? The Thracians and the Spartan?’
Pelleneus scratched his chin. ‘I hardly know anything about them, only what Piso has told me, and that’s no more than a few comments. The Thracians were part of a gang of brigands who were hunted down and destroyed by a Roman column. The Spartan – well, he’s something of a mystery. Piso says he is an outcast. He disgraced himself among his people and they condemned him to slavery.’
‘Disgraced himself? How?’
‘Who knows?’ Pelleneus shrugged, and glanced at the sleeping Spartan warily before he continued. ‘They’re not as civilized as us Athenians. They’re a prickly people, the Spartans. Still think they are the toughest nation in Graecia. Even today they raise their young as if the only thing in life that mattered was being tough and going to war. Chances are that he just looked at someone’s wife the wrong way. Or maybe he couldn’t face fighting a pack of wolves with his hands tied behind his back and they branded him a coward.’ Pelleneus smiled quickly to show that he was joking. ‘Anyway, he doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t talk about anything, come to that. Only speaks when spoken to by Porcino or Piso, and then only in sentences of one word. Seems that Spartans are somewhat lacking in small talk.’
‘But they know how to fight,’ Marcus responded. ‘My father told me that. He said that when he was serving with Pompeius’s army, they had some Spartan mercenaries fighting with them. The toughest men he had ever seen.’ Marcus recalled the admiration in his father’s voice as he’d spoken of them. ‘And the most fearless.’
‘Well, our Spartan friend is going to need those qualities if he is to survive in the arena,’ Pelleneus mused. ‘Of course, he’ll need other qualities too. Fast reflexes and quick thinking. And thinking doesn’t come easily to a Spartan.’
‘Nor does sleep,’ a deep voice growled. ‘Not when some Athenian keeps you awake all night with his prattle.’
Pelleneus started and then he and Marcus looked across the sinking flames of the fire to where the Spartan lay, eyes open. He closed them again, without another word, and lay quite still. The others watched him for a moment, not sure if he was awake or asleep. At length Pelleneus muttered, ‘Better get some rest. Bound to be another long day’s march tomorrow.’
Marcus nodded, still watching the Spartan. Then he eased himself down on to his side, with the curve of his back as close to the fire as he could bear. For a while he thought about his companions. Most of them were hard men with experience of fighting. There was much he could learn from them. And he was beginning to realize that he would need to learn quickly in order to survive if he had to begin a new life in Porcino’s gladiator school.
14
The next day they left the mountains behind them and descended on to the plain of Campania. A vast expanse of farmland sprawled out before them and Marcus was astonished by the number of large farming estates and grand villas that he could see from the foothills. The Romans of Italia were clearly as wealthy as he had heard they were when his father had told him of his travels through the heart of the empire.
The view quickened the heart of Piso as well, and he raised his club and pointed out into the plain. ‘There’s Capua. Home for us all now, boys!’
Marcus tried to follow the direction Piso had indicated, but he could see several towns on the plain, and in the distance the looming mass of a great mountain appeared as a vague outline against the horizon.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing.
‘The mountain? That’s old father Vesuvius. Some of the best wines in all Italia are made from the grapes that grow on his slopes. Quite a sight, ain’t it, boy? You’ll grow used to it. You can see the mountain clearly from the gladiator school.’