Marcus waited until the men had filled their wooden platters before tentatively reaching for some meat himself. Pelleneus nudged him.
‘There’s no pecking order at Saturnalia. Tuck in.’
As Marcus helped himself, Phyrus leaned over the table and hurriedly swallowed before he spoke. ‘How’s the cook doing? I heard you had been visiting him.’
‘Brixus is recovering well. Should be returning to duties any day now.’
‘Just as well,’ the Spartan commented. ‘He’s about the only slave who knows how to cook.’
Marcus flushed. ‘The other boys and I do our best.’
The Spartan shrugged. ‘Well, I hope you learn to fight better than you cook, young Marcus. If you want to live.’
‘Tshh, ignore him,’ said Pelleneus. ‘Enjoy the day.’
Marcus nodded happily. Despite everything that had happened to him, he had taken comfort from his three companions and had grown to regard them almost as if they were older brothers. No, not brothers, he thought to himself. More like uncles.
‘Ah, here comes the wine.’ Pelleneus nodded towards the door and Marcus saw the drill instructors returning to the barracks laden with jars of wine and baskets filled with wooden cups. Taurus approached them, placed a jar in the iron holder on the table and then set down four cups in a succession of sharp raps.
‘I’m not sure if I really care to patronize this establishment,’ the Spartan commented drily. ‘This serving-man seems far too surly.’
‘Make the most of it,’ Taurus grunted. ‘Tomorrow you’re all mine again.’
As the drill master moved on, Marcus exchanged a glance with the other three and then they burst into laughter.
The feasting continued throughout the day, and in the evening, after the remains of the banquet had been cleared away, the tables were pushed aside and Porcino ushered a troupe of entertainers into the barracks. Torches were lit and placed in the wall brackets, and by their light the entertainers performed some acrobatics before moving on to a repertoire of crude mimes that soon had the gladiators, most of whom were drunk by this time, in fits of hysterical laughter. Marcus, who had only had one cup of wine, felt pleasantly dizzy as he leaned against the wall and watched the performance with a bleary smile. But then his mood darkened again as he knew the morning would mark a return to the hard training regime of Amatus.
When the performers had finished their acts and left the barracks, Porcino climbed on to a table at one end of the room and raised his hands to attract their attention.
‘Quiet! Quiet there!’
Slowly the conversation died away and all eyes turned towards the owner of the gladiator school. Porcino waited until he had silence and everyone’s attention was turned on him. Then he drew a breath and addressed them.
‘Gladiators, you have earned your celebration of Saturnalia! It has been my pleasure to reward you for the effort you have put into your training. I have never seen such a fine intake of men and boys. You do honour to my gladiator school and you do honour to the tradition of those fighting-men who have gone before you. Gladiators, I salute you!’
All around Marcus the men and boys cheered lustily for a while. All except the Spartan, who gazed at his fellow slaves with thinly concealed contempt. Gradually the cheering died away and Porcino continued.
‘You are indeed as fine a body of fighters as I have ever trained. I am proud of you. In a few days I will be even more proud of you. We are to be honoured with a party from Rome’s finest families. They are coming to my school to be entertained by some of you. I expect those who are chosen to fight well, and uphold their honour, and mine. For those who distinguish themselves I can tell you that great fame and fortune will await you in Rome. For surely, once the Roman lords see you in action, they will want to show you off to their friends and the people of the greatest city in the world. Think on that, my gladiators! Greatness beckons. Answer it with a full heart and all the skills you have been taught,’ he concluded.
There were muted cheers from a handful of the men in the barracks, who were too drunk to fully understand the words of their master. Most were sober enough to understand the import of Porcino’s words. Glancing around, Marcus could sense the sudden change in the atmosphere. The mood of revelry had drained from the barracks and it felt as if a cold, dark shadow had fallen across the room. Pelleneus lowered the cup from his lips and tossed it to one side with a bitter curse.
‘I bid you good night!’ Porcino called out.
He was about to climb down from the table when the door to the barracks opened and a sentry entered, clutching his spear. He paused in front of the lanista and bowed his head.
‘Master, I beg to report that one of the slaves has gone.’
‘Gone?’
The guard swallowed nervously. ‘Escaped, master.’
The barracks fell silent as the men and boys strained their ears to catch what was being said. Porcino glared at the new arrival. ‘Escaped? How? They were all supposed to be in here tonight. How could the fugitive get past you and your men?’
‘Master, the slave was not in here. He was in the infirmary.’
Marcus felt his heart quicken.
‘Which slave is this? What is his name?’
‘Brixus, sir.’
22
Porcino immediately gave the order for his guards and the drill instructors to search for Brixus. The slaves were locked into the barracks and Marcus hurried to one of the narrow ventilation slits and climbed on a bench to see out of the building. Looking out through the draughty opening, he could see the flare of torches in the stiff breeze and the dark shapes of men scouring the other buildings for any sign of Brixus. The voices of Porcino and Taurus echoed from the walls as they led the hunt.
‘So much for the seasonal spirit,’ a voice muttered beside Marcus, and he turned to see that the Spartan had joined him. ‘Funny how our master’s goodwill vanishes the instant his property is at stake, and here we are again, slaves locked in our prison. Oh well.’ He smiled humourlessly.
Marcus turned back to the slit as a party of men rushed by. He had been shocked by the announcement of Brixus’s escape. The cook had given him no indication of his plans and Marcus felt hurt that his friend had not trusted him enough to tell him. He was furious that he had missed the chance to join Brixus in his escape. He could have been on his way to find General Pompeius right now, rather than indulging himself with the other slaves.
‘Do you think he will get away?’ Marcus asked.
‘How should I know?’ The Spartan shrugged. ‘I can see only as much as you. But, for my money, Brixus is a fool to attempt it.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Why? The man is lame. Even if he has managed to get over the walls, he cannot hope to outpace his pursuers. Come the morning, they will search the countryside for him. His only hope is that this rain washes away any tracks that he might have left. With his limp Brixus is going to stand out.’ The Spartan was silent for a moment and then clicked his tongue. ‘I’d be surprised if they didn’t recapture him before nightfall tomorrow.’
‘And if he is taken, Porcino will punish him,’ Marcus mused.
‘Yes.’
Both of them stared out into the night before Marcus cleared his throat. ‘What do you think Porcino will do to him?’
‘He will want to make an example of Brixus in order to discourage the rest of us from thinking about trying to escape. That will be weighed against Brixus’s value. Quite a dilemma for our master, eh? A struggle between his desire for discipline and his greed.’
‘If discipline wins, then what?’
The Spartan turned to Marcus. ‘Porcino will have him crucified in front of us, and leave him there to die, and then leave him there for a while longer to make certain we learn the lesson.’