‘Yes.’
Marcus felt Lupus grasp his arms and saw the outline of his head dimly against the starlight.
‘Are you sure you want to do this, Marcus?’
Marcus was silent for a moment. He could not deny he was scared. Yet there was no other way to put Caesar in his debt. How else could Marcus ever ask for the help he needed? He knew he was risking his life, but if he didn’t take the chance he would remain a slave and be sent to one of Caesar’s gladiator schools. Then he would never save his mother. No, he had to see this through. He nodded. ‘I’m ready.’
Lupus gently squeezed Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Good luck then.’ He turned to go.
‘Wait, Lupus — one last thing. Will you tell Mistress Portia I said goodbye?’ Marcus asked.
Lupus released his grip and nodded. He glanced at the silent streets and padded away. Marcus eased himself on to his feet. He was on his own now. He took in his surroundings so that he could find his way back to the fountain. Then, taking up his stick — the only item he had besides his worn-out clothes he turned towards the heart of the Aventine district, into Milo’s territory.
18
Marcus jolted awake as the toe of a boot prodded him roughly. Snatching up his stick, he scrambled until his back hit the solid wood of the door he’d been sleeping beside. A stocky figure was outlined against the light filtering down between the tenement blocks.
‘Get out of here, boy! You’re in front of my shop.’
Marcus rose to his feet, groggy with sleep. He was in an arch just off one of the main streets that passed through the Aventine district. He remembered finding the shuttered shop just after the midnight trumpet sounded the changing of the watch on the city wall. He had eased himself into the corner by the door and sat hugging his knees, shivering, until sleep finally crept up on him.
‘Go on, get out of here!’ The man swung his boot and caught Marcus a sharp blow on his thigh. He cried out in pain, then scurried across the arch into the street. Looking back, he saw the man watching to make sure he’d left before unlocking his shop door. Looking at the sky, Marcus judged the sun had risen less than an hour ago. Once he was a safe distance from the arch, he stopped to take stock of his situation. He wasn’t hungry as he had eaten well before setting out with Lupus. He also had twenty sestertii sewn into a fake lining of his belt, so he wouldn’t starve. Aside from that, he would have to survive on his wits.
He knew he wasn’t far from the heart of the Aventine district, the area known as ‘The Pit’, where the cheapest inns and chop houses clustered round a natural fold in the side of the hill. That was where Milo and his gangs gathered when they weren’t extorting money, or hunting down the supporters of Caesar, Crassus and Pompeius. Marcus crossed the top of the hill and followed the road down the other side until he reached a crossroads. A stooped old woman was washing some rags in a public fountain.
‘Could you tell me if I’m near The Pit?’ Marcus asked politely.
The woman turned her head. ‘You don’t want to know, young ’un. Get back to your home.’
‘I have no home,’ Marcus replied.
‘Well, you won’t find one in The Pit.’ She laughed, revealing a handful of crooked teeth. ‘Just a quick beating before you’re kicked on your way. What are you, a runaway?’
‘I just want to know if I’m heading in the right direction,’ Marcus replied.
She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand before gesturing towards an alley opposite the fountain. ‘That’s the quickest way. But it’s your funeral, boy.’
Marcus thanked her as he made for the alley. The entrance was narrow and dark and the passage beyond was squeezed between crumbling tenement blocks, so close that a hand could reach from a window on one side and touch the grime-stained building opposite. Marcus made his way down the slight incline. It was so narrow he had to step aside for people coming the other way. A hard crust of trodden-down rubbish and rotten food formed an uneven walking surface.
Nor was rubbish the only thing deposited in the alley. The body of an old man lay against the wall of a shallow alcove, stripped of everything but a filthy loincloth. His eyes were closed and his jaw hung open as flies buzzed between his lips and across the bare flesh. Marcus hurried past, his hand over his nose. There were dead animals in the alley too — mostly rats and a couple of dogs, stepped over and ignored by people.
After a short distance Marcus heard the sound of cheering. Turning a corner, he saw daylight ahead and the cheering increased in volume. Steeling himself, Marcus walked out of the alley and found himself at The Pit.
An open area, perhaps two hundred feet across, stretched between the tenement buildings that loomed over it. The bare earth of the ground sloped into a natural basin. Apart from trickles of sewage running from the tenements above into a small stinking pool, the soil was parched. Around the edges of the open area were a number of inns. Some of these were set into the basements of the tenements with one side open, others were made up of old boards, posts and discarded or stolen rooftiles, little more than lean-tos. As Marcus emerged, blinking, into the light, he saw the inns were almost empty. Their customers had crowded around the muddy centre of The Pit to watch two huge men bare-knuckle fighting.
Marcus made his way down the slope and stopped to look over the heads of the crowd lower down. He edged towards the fringes of a nearby group of boys, some his own age, but mostly older. One boy a little bigger than him stood slightly apart from the others.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Marcus.
‘The Blades have challenged the Jackals to see who’s top dog,’ the boy said with a quick glance at Marcus before turning back to the fight. ‘Taurus is taking on Heracles and it ain’t pretty!’
Marcus looked down at the fight. The two men were slugging away at each other, exchanging punches that slammed into their flesh like great hammers so that the muscles of their torsos shuddered under the impact. Some blows had already been landed on their faces and blood streamed from open cuts. Marcus looked over the crowd — mostly men apart from a handful of shrieking women who had gathered to watch the contest. Milo, tall and heavily built, was easy to spot, standing in the first rank of the crowd. He punched his fist into a cupped hand as he cheered on the fighters. His lips were curled in a savage smile that caused the scar across his face to crinkle. Marcus shuddered as he remembered the bloody battle in the Forum.
‘Hey, you!’
Marcus turned and saw one of the larger boys pointing at him. He was shorter than some of his companions, but powerfully built. His head seemed to merge into his shoulders and his hair was cut short, like the men of the gangs. He wore a black tunic and studded leather bracers on his arms. Fists resting on his hips, the boy paced over and stood in front of him.
‘I’m talking to you. This is where my gang is standing. You find your own spot. Now get lost.’
‘I didn’t mean any trouble,’ Marcus apologized. ‘Just heard the noise and came to see the fight.’
‘Yeah? Well, clear off and find somewhere else.’ He lunged forward and thrust Marcus back so that he stumbled and fell, the impact winding him. The other boys laughed. Their leader placed the bottom of his boot on Marcus’s chest.
‘Just so you don’t forget. My name’s Kasos and this is my gang — the only youth gang in The Pit. You don’t come up and speak to us again, unless we speak to you first. Clear?’
‘Yes.’ Marcus nodded. ‘I understand. Sorry.’
Kasos ground down his boot briefly before he removed it and delivered a lazy kick into Marcus’s side. ‘Now get out of here.’
Marcus rolled away a safe distance before scrambling to his feet and hurrying to the other side of the crowd. It would have been pleasing to wipe that smug expression off Kasos’s face, but there was no point in drawing attention to himself. A loud grunt came from The Pit and one of the boxers stumbled back after a savage blow to the face. He stood there, swaying and shaking his head. His opponent stepped forward, raised his fist with a snarl and delivered the final blow, snapping back the other man’s head. He dropped out of sight and a cheer rose from most of the audience as the rest let out a disappointed groan. Milo stepped forward and grasped the wrist of the winner, lifting it high.