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Marcus took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he saw Caesar fix his eyes on him.

Caesar turned a look of pure loathing on his fellow consul. ‘You’ll have my answer when I am ready to give it, and not before.’

26

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Lupus as they sat together in their shared cell that afternoon.

Marcus shrugged. ‘What can I do? If the master tells me I must fight, then I have no choice. But I would give almost anything not to have to fight as a gladiator ever again.’

Lupus stared at him and frowned. ‘Why? Surely if you hate being a slave as much as you say this might be the quickest way to win your freedom. Of course, it might be the quickest way to be killed. .’

‘There is that,’ Marcus responded dryly. He paused, then continued. ‘The truth is, the very thought of it fills me with terror.’

Lupus could not hide his astonishment. ‘You, afraid? I don’t believe it. You risked your life to save Portia, and then you went into The Pit. You’re no coward, Marcus.’

‘Really?’ Marcus smiled grimly. ‘I tell you, my stomach feels like it’s tied in a knot, my hands clammy and my limbs tremble at times. It’s one thing to act on the spur of the moment, like when we rescued Portia, but another to know you will fight someone at a set time and place, and to the death.’ Marcus looked away, ashamed. ‘I am afraid, Lupus. I thought it would be easier a second time, but it isn’t. I feel more afraid than when I faced that bully, Ferax, back at the gladiator school.’

Lupus was silent for a moment before he spoke again, in a quiet, thoughtful voice. ‘And yet, you will fight, even if the master offers you the choice.’

Marcus nodded. ‘I must. For my mother’s sake.’

‘Then you are no coward, Marcus. Anyone who lives in fear of such a fight, and is prepared to overcome that fear is a hero in my book. That’s what courage is about.’

Marcus considered this and nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right. Even so, I wish there was a way out of this situation.’

They heard footsteps approaching and Flaccus appeared in the doorway. ‘The master wants you in his study.’

Marcus stood up stiffly and flexed his shoulders. He followed Flaccus out of the slave quarters and across the yard to the main part of the house. Flaccus slowed his pace until he fell into step alongside Marcus.

‘You’ve become quite the favourite around here,’ Flaccus said sourly.

There was no mistaking the man’s jealousy, and Marcus thought how absurd it was for slaves to turn on each other when they were all victims of injustice.

‘I’m a slave, just like you,’ Marcus replied. ‘Neither of us is special, we’re just property. The only difference that counts for anything is whether you are enslaved or free.’

‘Huh,’ Flaccus sneered. ‘There are slaves and there are slaves, boy. Some of us have worked hard and proved our loyalty over many years before we are shown the least sign of favour. But you? You walk in here and you’re instantly Caesar’s pet. It ain’t right.’

Marcus laughed hollowly and raised his arm to show Flaccus his cuts and bruises. ‘Do I look like some pampered pet?’

Flaccus glanced at his arm and shrugged. They continued the rest of the way in silence. Marcus could not help feeling angry — what hope was there for slaves while they were divided by petty jealousies and competing for their master’s favour? Unless all those enslaved by Rome recognized their common interest, they would never win their freedom.

They reached the study and Flaccus cleared his throat before knocking on the door frame. ‘Master, the boy’s here.’

‘Send him in.’

Flaccus bowed his head and waved Marcus forward. As he entered the study, Marcus saw Festus sitting on a bench beside their master’s desk. A decanter of wine and two finely blown glasses sat between them.

Caesar looked at his steward. ‘How are the preparations for the feast going?’

There had already been several deliveries of meats and exotic fruits to the house earlier in the day, and Marcus had learned from Lupus that Caesar planned to celebrate the passing of his Land Bill the same evening that he officially announced the coming wedding of Portia to Pompeius’s nephew, provided the vote went in his favour.

‘The ingredients for the dishes have been ordered, master. And the wine. I have booked the dancers and the musicians. I am waiting confirmation from the Greek mime company. ’

‘Waiting?’ Caesar frowned.

‘Yes, master. It seems they might not be able to script and rehearse the outline you provided for them. One of the cast has fallen ill and they’ve had to take on a new man.’

‘Then you had better inform them they will do as I require, come what may. You might let them know it is unwise to let down a serving consul, if they ever want to have more work in Rome.’

‘Yes, master.’

Caesar waved his hand dismissively. ‘You may go, Flaccus. Make sure I am not disappointed. Close the door behind you.’

Once Flaccus had gone, Caesar gestured Marcus towards the bench. ‘Sit down.’

Caesar poured him a small glass of wine, then topped it up with water from a brass jug. ‘Here.’

‘Thank you, master.’ Marcus took a sip and found the fruity flavour to his taste.

‘Not too much, eh?’ Festus smiled. ‘You’ll need to keep your wits about you for the next few days. How are you feeling, lad?’

Marcus considered putting a brave face on it, but decided it was more important to be honest in advance of the coming fight. ‘The cuts and grazes are nothing. The bruises hurt, but they won’t hinder me. It’s only the knee that worries me.’

‘Let me see.’

Marcus laid his leg along the bench and Festus carefully removed the dressing. A wide, blackened scab had formed over the puckered flesh and clear liquid oozed out from one end. Festus drew a deep breath before he replaced the dressing and told Marcus to lower his leg.

‘The joint will be a little stiff,’ Festus reported to Caesar. ‘I doubt that Marcus will have full mobility within the next two days. If he works it too hard, or opens the wound while fighting, he will bleed.’

‘That’s too bad,’ Caesar replied. ‘He must fight. I’ve thought it through and I have to accept Bibulus’s challenge. If I back down, then I will look weak.’ He fixed his eyes on Marcus and gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Marcus, you have to understand my position. I know you are the one called upon to fight, and I trust you will do all you can to win. You will have to, in any case — I dare say Bibulus has ordered his gladiator to show no mercy and ask for no quarter. In all likelihood, it will be a fight to the death, no matter what the spectators want. Be clear about that.’

Marcus nodded. ‘I understand, master.’

‘I would not call on you to fight if I had any choice. My opponents have been clever and forced me into this. They hope you will be defeated, and that it will reflect badly enough on me to sway the mob in their favour, and also the handful of senators needed to defeat my Land Bill.’ Caesar took a mouthful of wine and continued. ‘If that is voted down, then General Pompeius’s veterans will be denied the land they feel is their just reward. They will put pressure on Pompeius to stand up for their interests. I fear that Pompeius may be prepared to throw caution aside and declare himself dictator of Rome. Marcus, the last time there was a dictator, tens of thousands of people were killed. The streets of the city ran with blood — the gang wars we have witnessed these past months are nothing in comparison.’ Caesar winced at the memory. ‘That is why we must win the vote, and why nothing can be left to chance. I need you to win that fight, Marcus. The lives of thousands depend upon you.’ He stared intently across the table. ‘Can you do it?’

Marcus met his gaze coolly. He wondered if Caesar truly had the interests of his fellow Romans at heart. But whatever the truth might be, Marcus knew the fates of other people hung in the balance and that he must fight for them.