Brixus’s eyes briefly met those of Marcus. Then Taurus rammed his cane into the cook’s stomach and he folded over with a groan, slumping to his knees. Taurus leaned over him menacingly. ‘Well?’
‘It was – me.’ Brixus gasped for breath. ‘I stole the meat.’
Taurus froze. ‘What’s that? You? I don’t believe it!’
‘It’s true, master.’ Brixus fought for breath. ‘I did it. The boy is innocent.’
Marcus shook his head in bewilderment. Brixus was the thief? A cold chill of doubt gripped his heart as he wondered why Brixus had spoken up. Was it guilt, perhaps, for Marcus taking the blame for the stolen venison? Every face on the drill exercise ground was turned towards the two men and there was a long silence before Taurus straightened up and placed his hands on his hips. ‘All right, then. If it was you, why confess now, when you could have got away with it, eh?’
Brixus caught his breath and looked up. ‘I’ll not have some boy take his strokes on my behalf, master.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have my pride. I may be a slave, but I still have some sense of honour.’
‘Honour?’ Taurus barked out a laugh. ‘Honour! Wonders will never cease! Honour is for free men, Brixus. It’s a luxury no slave can afford.’
‘Though I am a slave, I am still a man, master.’
Taurus took a step back. ‘All right, on your feet, then. Let’s see how your sense of honour copes with a good hiding.’ He turned to Marcus. ‘You, boy! Pick up your tunic and stand to the side.’
Marcus hesitated, too surprised to move. Taurus raised his vine cane threateningly and Marcus snatched up his tunic and trotted over to the slaves. As he pulled it back over his head, he heard the drill master order Brixus to strip and take up his position at the start of the gauntlet. Marcus shuffled his head through the top of his tunic and saw the cook limp towards the lines of boys.
Taurus stood just behind him, waited for complete stillness and silence and then called out, ‘Make ready! One… Two… Three. Off you go, Brixus!’
The cook ducked his head down and raised his arms to each side to protect his skull from the blows to come. Then, with a swift lurch forward, he entered the gauntlet. Marcus caught his breath as the first pair of boys struck out with their makeshift clubs. Brixus was moving faster than they had anticipated and they had little time to prepare their strikes. One staff deflected off his side and the other glanced off his shoulder as he ran on in a low crouch. The second pair of boys were more prepared and their blows landed solidly against Brixus’s back with thuds that carried clearly across the training ground. He took his blows and scurried on, dodging unevenly from side to side to put off the aim of his assailants. Marcus watched his progress, stomach knotted in anxiety.
‘Come on, Brixus,’ he muttered. ‘You can do it.’
Brixus was over halfway through the gauntlet and his combination of moving as swiftly as his limp allowed and erratic movements had managed to save him from the full force of the blows aimed at him. There were only another twenty or so paces to go now, but near the end of the gauntlet Marcus could see Ferax raising his club, edging forward into the path of Brixus. The cook had his head bowed down slightly and did not see the danger until the last moment, as he sensed the presence of someone directly ahead of him. With a savage shout of triumph Ferax swung his club down and it glanced off the side of Brixus’s head. His legs gave way underneath him and he sagged on to his knees, his torso swaying, as if he was drunk. Ferax hefted his club, standing over the helpless cook.
‘No,’ Marcus muttered desperately. ‘No… NO!’
He sprang forward, sprinting diagonally across the training ground. Ferax was turned slightly to one side and could not see him approaching. His attention was fixed on his victim and he grasped the stave in both hands and began to raise it high above his head. Marcus threw himself across the hard-packed earth, desperate to save his friend.
‘Hey, you!’ Taurus bellowed. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’
Marcus ignored him, concentrating all his attention on Ferax. The Celt’s shoulder and arm muscles tightened as he made to swing his club and Marcus launched himself forward, grabbing frantically at the bigger boy’s wrists an instant before his full weight smashed into Ferax’s side. The breath was driven from their bodies as both crashed on to the ground to one side of Brixus. Ferax was momentarily too surprised to react. Marcus used the advantage. He aimed several blows into Ferax’s stomach, winding him, so that the Celt lay on his side, gasping. Marcus quickly rolled away and rose into a crouch, ready to continue his attack. But Ferax could not fight back for a moment. Taking his chance, Marcus scrabbled over to Brixus.
‘Get up! Come on, Brixus, on your feet.’
Brixus rolled his head to one side, dazed. ‘I – I can’t.’
‘You must! Or die here!’ Marcus grabbed him, gritting his teeth as he strained to help the man on to his feet. Then, taking one arm across his shoulder, he struggled forward. Ahead lay the last two boys, two of Ferax’s companions. They looked from their leader to Marcus uncertainly.
Marcus was overcome by fury.
‘You even touch Brixus and I swear I’ll kill you…’ he hissed through clenched teeth.
The boys kept hold of their staves, but made no moves towards him as Marcus staggered by with Brixus and collapsed at the end of the gauntlet. His chest was heaving from the exertion as he forced himself to his feet and stood over Brixus protectively.
‘Well, well!’ Taurus laughed as he strode towards them. He looked Marcus over with an amused expression. ‘You’re skin and bone and with just scraps of muscle on you, but by the Gods, you have the heart of a lion! I may make a gladiator of you yet, young ’un.’
‘No! Not if I can help it!’ Ferax growled, struggling back to his feet, one hand stretching towards the wooden club he had dropped. His fingers closed round the haft and then he let out a sharp cry of pain as Taurus stepped down on his fingers with his nailed boots.
‘Let go of it, lad! You had your chance. Next time you’d better not hesitate. Consider it a lesson learned.’
Ferax glared up at him.
‘I said, let go. I won’t say it again.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Ferax loosened his grip and shuffled back. He turned his attention to Marcus and muttered, ‘You’re dead. I swear it, by all that’s sacred. You will die by my hand.’
21
Brixus winced as he struggled to ease himself up on the bedroll. He leaned back against the plaster wall of the infirmary and breathed carefully for a moment in order not to make the pain from his cracked ribs any worse. Aside from the strips of cloth tied firmly about his body and one forearm bound with splints, his body was covered with livid purple bruises and dark scabs where his skin had been grazed or cut. Marcus felt sick with horror at the severe beating the cook had taken for him.
‘Come now,’ Brixus forced a smile. ‘I don’t look that bad.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘You’re a mess.’
‘Thanks. If that’s what I get for saving your hide, then next time I won’t bother.’ He pretended to look hurt and disappointed for a moment before his smile returned. ‘Anyway, it’s been two days since it happened and I haven’t seen you since then.’
‘Taurus has been keeping me busy. He said that I should take on most of your duties until you recover. When I’ve not been training, I’ve been kept busy in the kitchen. Taurus has been watching over the place like a hawk. I think he’s making sure that there’s no further trouble between me and Ferax.’
‘Some chance.’ Brixus snorted. ‘I know his type. Ferax will not rest until he has destroyed you.’
‘I know,’ Marcus replied quietly. He cleared his throat and continued, ‘Anyway, how are you feeling today?’
‘It hurts, all over, but the surgeon says that there’s no permanent damage. It’ll be a while before my arm is better. So you’d better do a good job of looking after my kitchen, young Marcus, or Ferax won’t be the only one out for your blood!’