‘Next pair!’ Taurus bellowed through the door.
It was nearly midday when Marcus and Ferax were called for. Taking up their weapons, they followed Taurus into the tunnel that led from the school a short distance to a stout iron cage beside the arena. The last pair of men were sitting on benches at either side, their shields, swords and helmets close by. Two guards armed with spears stood outside the cage, ready to operate the sliding door that led into the arena. As Marcus and Ferax entered the cage and sat down, Marcus heard a low growl and glanced round to see that there was another cage, slightly hidden by the curve of the arena’s stockade. Inside there was a blur of fur and he heard another growl. Wolves, he realized. Ready for the last act of the show. The sounds of the spectators carried clearly to his ears: the lower tones of adults talking, pierced by the shrill chatter of children.
The four fighters waited, under Taurus’s stern gaze. Then Porcino’s voice called down from the spectators’ stand. ‘Next!’
‘Up!’ Taurus ordered the two men, and they hurriedly rose to their feet, pulling on their helmets and buckling the chin straps. Then they picked up their shields and swords and stood ready. Taurus grasped the edge of the sliding door with his hand and pushed it open. Through the gap Marcus could see the arena, with dark stains in the sand. Beyond lay the audience. Six adults – four men and two women – and three children. Marcus did not have time to register the details of their faces before the two gladiators entered the arena and the door slid back into place.
‘We who are about to die salute you!’ the gladiators chanted.
There was a pause, then the shrill cry of a whistle and the bout began. The clang of sword on sword made Marcus flinch and he shuffled to the edge of the bench so that he could see into the arena through the gaps in the stockade. The forms of the gladiators were hard to make out except as partial fleeting glimpses. Aside from the exchange of blows, delivered with grunts, there was little noise. The audience was watching the fight in rapt attention. Marcus turned away, feeling sick. Any moment now it would be his turn, and he was seized by a sudden conviction that he would lose the fight and die on the sand. Slowly, if Ferax had his way.
There was a hurried scramble of blows and a crash as a body slammed into the front of the cage. The man’s body blocked the light passing through the gaps and Marcus almost jumped from the bench as the bloodied tip of a sword burst between two of the stockade’s posts. The body sagged a little, then there was a deep groan as the blade withdrew and a soft thud as the dead man fell to the sand.
A moment later the door to the cage opened and the survivor stumbled through, in a daze. There was a deep cut on his thigh and he left a trail of spots behind him as he passed between the two boys and out of the cage into the tunnel leading back to the compound. Through the opening Marcus saw two slaves approach the body and drag it away across the arena.
Taurus waited until the body was out of sight before he turned to Marcus and Ferax and gestured towards the arena. ‘It’s your time! Out there, now!’
24
Marcus took a deep breath and then he and Ferax intoned, ‘We who are about to die salute you!’
They stood erect before the spectators, sword arms raised towards the party of richly dressed Romans. Marcus could see that two of the men were seated with the women. One of the others he recognized as the man who had watched the gladiators at Porcino’s side some days earlier. The fourth man was tall and broad-shouldered with dark, receding hair. He sat in the place of honour, in the middle of the couches arranged to look out over the sand. He was appraising the boy fighters with a cold expression. Then his attention was broken as one of the children, a girl roughly the same age as Marcus, sat on the couch beside him.
‘Careful, Portia!’ the man called out. ‘You’ll have my wine over!’
‘Sorry, uncle. I just wanted to thank you for bringing me with you.’ She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek, then rose quickly and rejoined the two boys, who were noisily discussing which of the young gladiators in the arena would win the last fight.
‘It has to be the Celt. Look at the size of him!’
‘To be sure – he’ll pulverize the other boy.’
‘He’s much more powerfully built.’
‘What odds will you offer on the small one?’
‘Five to one. But you’ll be wasting your stake. Take my word for it.’
Marcus and Ferax were still standing with swords raised and Porcino glanced at his customers, waiting for the signal to begin. However, the man seated in the centre of the stand was talking in low tones to one of his companions. Porcino frowned slightly and then cleared his throat. The man looked up, glanced at the two boys in the arena and gave Porcino a curt nod.
The lanista took a deep breath and called out, ‘Fighters! To your places!’
Marcus lowered his sword and turned towards Ferax. He backed away until they were ten paces apart. There was a sudden movement at one of the gates to the arena as two guards entered and trotted round to opposite sides of the arena to where the wooden handles of branding rods protruded from small braziers. The guards took up the rods and raised the glowing tips as they stood by the wooden posts, ready to use the heated irons to spur the boys on if they looked reluctant to lock swords.
‘I won’t need a rod to make me fight,’ Ferax spoke in a low voice as he readied himself in a crouch, sword and buckler raised. ‘But you might.’
Marcus gritted his teeth and stood balanced, waiting for the signal to begin.
‘The final bout of the day!’ Porcino announced. ‘The Celt, Ferax, versus Marcus, from our Greek territories.’
For a flickering instant Marcus wondered if he should turn to the spectators and claim that he was a Roman citizen. He could make his appeal for justice before the fight began. He might be saved and even freed. Before his thoughts ran any further, Porcino cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, ‘Fight!’
With a roar Ferax rushed forward, sprinting across the sand. Marcus braced his boots and held up his buckler. At the last moment he skipped to one side and Ferax hurtled past. Marcus slashed desperately at his arm, but the tip of the blade hissed through the air without striking. At once Marcus spun round to face his opponent, stepping forward as he had been trained. Ferax scrambled round just in time to parry a blow aimed at his shoulder. For a moment the two exchanged a series of sword blows with a sharp ringing clatter and then Ferax backed off. They stood, poised, staring at each other. Marcus felt his heart pounding against his ribs and there was a peculiar sense of elation in his mind.
‘I told you!’ The man who had chosen them for the fight gripped the arm of the commanding figure on the middle seat. ‘I knew that these two would provide good sport, Julius!’
The other man stroked his chin and then responded, ‘What odds will you give me on the smaller one?’
‘Him?… Let’s see. Seven to one.’
‘Done! I’ll wager fifty gold pieces.’
‘Fifty? Very well.’
Their voices were lost as Ferax let out another bellow and strode towards Marcus, watching him carefully. As Marcus feinted to one side, Ferax moved to cut off his escape and then corrected himself as Marcus dodged back in the other direction.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ Ferax growled. ‘I’ll have you this time, you little runt.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Marcus replied, forcing a sneer on to his lips. ‘You’re too clumsy, Ferax. Too stupid.’
The bigger boy’s face went white with rage and he snarled for a moment before he stopped and laughed. ‘Think you can trick me into losing it? Think again.’
He stepped forward and unleashed a series of blows that Marcus had to desperately block with his sword and buckler. There was no chance to strike back as Ferax had a longer reach. Steadily, Marcus was forced to give ground, edging away towards one of the guards holding a red-hot branding iron. Ferax grinned as he deliberately drove Marcus towards the danger. At the last moment, as he was sure he could sense the burning heat, Marcus threw himself to one side and rolled across the ground before scrambling back on to his feet.