The end of the letter caught fire and Decimus held it in front of Marcus as the yellow tongues of flame lapped up the side of the letter, scorching it. The papyrus crackled briefly and turned black then started to crumble. Decimus released it just as the flames came near the tips of his fingers and it dropped to the floor where it burned out.
Marcus lifted his eyes from the small pile of blackened ashes and met Decimus’s mocking smile. Something snapped inside him and released a torrent of pure rage. He let out a savage snarl and at the same time lifted his right boot and slammed it down on the toes at the end of the sandal of the man next to him. The soldier let out a gasp of pain and momentarily slackened his grip. Marcus wrenched his arm free and swung his fist round and struck the other man in the groin as hard as he could. The soldier doubled over with a groan and Marcus leapt at Decimus, fingers curved like claws. The man had no time to react, except to open his mouth to let out a cry, but it never came as Marcus piled into him, clamping his hands round Decimus’s throat and squeezing with all his might. Decimus staggered back and caught his heel on the edge of a flagstone and fell on to his back. Marcus went with him, teeth bared, as he tried to throttle the life out of the man who had tormented him the last two years of his life.
Decimus recovered quickly from his shock and grabbed the boy’s wrists, straining to pull them away from his throat as he gasped. ‘For the Gods’ sake, get this fiend off me!’
The first soldier limped over and bunched his hand into a fist. He raised it high, but Marcus was oblivious to the danger. His mad, glaring eyes were fixed rigidly on the face of the man beneath him. Then he felt a mighty blow to his temple and everything went white. But he still clung to his enemy. He never felt the second blow, only another blinding flash of light and then darkness and oblivion.
17
Marcus was still feeling groggy when the palace guards came to take the prisoners to the holding cage beneath the arena early the next morning. Festus and Lupus supported their friend between them and half carried, half dragged him out of the cell, up the stairs and out of the palace. The streets were packed with people making for the arena, eager to witness the first day of the spectacle. Families clutched little baskets of food and waterskins to see them through the day’s entertainment. Groups of loud young men compared the merits of the gladiators who would take part in the contests in the last stage of the event. The guards and their prisoners passed a handful of philosophers standing on steps along the route, imploring local people not to sully themselves by surrendering to the uncivilized barbarity of the Roman appetite for displays of violence. Few people paid any attention to them.
Outside the city gate a sea of people stretched down to the vast wooden structure constructed to stage the governor’s spectacle. Masts rose up around the oval with bright red banners that wafted out in the light breeze. The holding cages for the condemned prisoners were beneath the seating under the arena. There were more cages for the animals that had been bought to take part in the entertainment and as Marcus and the others were thrust into their new prison they could hear the roar of bears, with the barks and howls of dogs, above the din of the crowd. Festus and Lupus eased Marcus down against the iron bars of the cage and the bodyguard conducted a brief examination of its structure but there were no weak points and he slumped down beside the boys in frustration.
The cage was twice the size of the cell at the palace but just as uncomfortable in its own way. Above them the timber framework of the supports stretched up and then there were the raked rows of seating, and dust kept dropping down from above as the stands filled up. There was little air movement beneath the arena and the stench of the animals, mingled with the human waste of the prisoners made the air foetid and unpleasant to breathe. There was one slight advantage, though. A gap beneath the lowest tier of seating provided a limited view of the arena and by standing up in the cage the prisoners could follow proceedings.
Around the cages, crammed beneath the seating, were many of the props and piles of equipment to be used in the spectacle. Aside from the gladiator fights scheduled for the last three days as the high point of the show, there were acrobats, comedy mime shows, animal hunts, beast fights, boxing and wrestling, as well as the public execution of criminals. As Marcus recalled from his days in Rome, the latter usually took place at noon when the audience settled down for their midday snack.
His head cleared as the morning wore on and he touched the side of his skull where the soldier had hit him, wincing at the tenderness of the bruised area.
‘You’re a real sight,’ Festus mused. ‘Looks like your face was hit with a hammer.’
‘That’s what it feels like,’ Marcus replied. ‘But other than that I’m all right.’
‘So what happened? They brought you back unconscious. You stirred a bit during the night and yelled that you would choke the life out of Decimus, then went out again. Can you remember what happened?’
Marcus concentrated and it all flooded back in a rush of images and emotions. He forced himself to organize his thoughts and explained to the others what had happened.
‘I thought it might be Euraeus,’ said Festus. ‘I didn’t trust him from the outset.’
Lupus shot him a withering look. ‘Bit late to say that now.’
Festus shrugged. ‘It was very neatly worked. You have to hand it to Decimus, he runs a competent organization. It’s a damned shame that he was working against Caesar. We could have made good use of him back in Rome.’
Marcus was surprised. ‘You seem to admire him.’
‘Why not? Just because he is my enemy does not mean I can’t appreciate his abilities. Politics, business, the arena — it all boils down to the same thing in the end. Either you become good at your trade, or you get crushed by someone else. All the same,’ he reflected, ‘it’s a damned shame that you didn’t kill him last night when you had the chance, Marcus.’
‘I tried, believe me. Maybe next time …’
Festus let out a deep laugh as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit! Never say die.’
‘Except that we are going to die,’ Lupus interrupted bitterly as he thrust his hand out and pointed through the gap. ‘Right there in the arena. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. They’re going to drag me across the sand and tie me to a post and then wild animals are going to maul me. They’re going to rip me to shreds … shreds …’ His face screwed up and he clenched his lips together tightly as he tried not to cry. Marcus could only watch, not knowing how to comfort his friend. What comfort was there? Everything that Lupus said was true. It was Festus who broke the awkward tension in the end. He cleared his throat.
‘Lupus. I won’t lie to you. That is almost certainly going to happen. I’m not saying that there is absolutely no chance of us being saved …’
Lupus shook his head. ‘Don’t! Don’t say it. I don’t want any false hopes.’
‘Very well.’ Festus chewed his lip as he made an awkward decision. ‘If you can’t face what’s coming, then there is another way.’
Marcus frowned. ‘Another way?’
Festus nodded. ‘We don’t have to die out there in the arena. We still have the choice in how we die. We have that at least.’
Marcus understood at once. But he shook his head. ‘That’s not for me.’
‘It doesn’t have to be you. I can do it for you, and Lupus. I can make it quick and relatively painless. Then I can see to myself.’
‘What?’ Lupus stared at the bodyguard as if he were mad. ‘You’re offering to kill Marcus and me?’
‘Kill? Yes. But at least you would be spared what the governor has in mind for you.’
Lupus shook his head and backed away, holding his hands out. ‘No. No. Stay away from me.’