Simon Scarrow - Street fighter

Marcus couldn’t hide his despair. He composed himself quickly, but it was too late. Caesar frowned. ‘Does the prospect of such a reward not please you?’

Marcus thought there was nothing he wanted less than to be a gladiator, apart from being a slave for the rest of his life. But realizing the foolishness of offending Caesar, he nodded. ‘It would be an honour, master.’

‘Of course it would be. But it will be some time yet before you leave my household. For now, I want you to pay close attention to today’s proceedings at the Senate. You are to stand with the rest of the public and watch. Put the hood of your cloak up. There are sure to be agents of my enemies watching as we leave. They will have eyes for me, and for some of my retinue. They will surely overlook a young boy, but I will not risk them seeing your face and being able to recognize you at a later date. I say this for your own safety as much as my own interests, so do it now.’

‘Yes, master.’

Fighting back his distaste, Marcus pulled the hood over his head, far enough to obscure his face. His nose crinkled at the sour odour that filled his nostrils. Caesar nodded his satisfaction. ‘That will do. Let’s go.’

Following his master out of the entrance, Marcus hurried to take his place at the rear of the cluster of bodyguards, who were ready to move off. A small crowd had gathered to watch the consul emerge from his home and they raised a cheer as Caesar appeared. He smiled warmly at them and raised a hand in greeting, before setting off down the street at a sedate pace. Like almost every street in the Subura, it was narrow and to Marcus’s eye seemed squeezed between the tall tenement blocks that lined the route. Most were two or three storeys, but some towered above them, twice as high. He couldn’t help looking at the taller buildings with a tinge of anxiety. Some already had large cracks working their way up and down the walls. It didn’t look as if it would take much for them to collapse.

As the consul passed along the street he called out greetings to the owners of the small businesses that lined the route. Lupus fell into step beside Marcus and nodded towards their master.

‘He puts on quite a show, doesn’t he?’

Marcus saw butchers pause in their work to wave their bloodied cleavers in acknowledgement of Caesar, while fullers stopped treading clothes in their tanks to offer cries of support to him. An acrid stink filled Marcus’s nose and his face wrinkled.

‘What is that smell?’

‘Smell?’ Lupus looked round at the fullers. ‘Oh, that. It’s urine.’

‘Urine? They’re not standing in urine, surely?’

‘Oh, yes. There’s nothing better for cleaning clothes,’ Lupus explained in a matter-of-fact tone. Marcus shook his head in bewilderment as ahead of them a baker rushed out to offer their master a roundel of bread. Caesar graciously accepted the gift and passed it back to Marcus.

‘There. Eat it if you like.’

Marcus bowed his head gratefully and broke it in two, handing half to Lupus. He bit into the loaf, savouring the doughy flavour.

Word that Caesar was on his way to the Senate had filtered through the streets and more and more people began to tag along behind his retinue. Marcus had arrived in Rome after dark several days before and this was his first excursion into the heart of the city. Until recently, the only town he had ever seen was the sleepy fishing port of Nydri, scarcely more than a village. His senses were assaulted from all directions. Apart from the raw stench of the great city, there were the sounds of the street criers and people crowded into the slum dwellings that pressed in on either side. Then there were the sights that fascinated him, and the wide variety of clothing of the different races living crowded together. A short distance from Caesar’s house stood a synagogue where a handful of rabbis stood in the doorway, debating in their strange tongue. The shops increased in number the closer the growing procession got to the Forum in the centre of the city. They were filled with goods of every kind — from heaps of fruit and grain to bales of silken cloth and fine jewellery.

There were some sights that appalled Marcus too — the pinched grimy faces of hungry children clutching the rags of their barefoot mothers, and the dead lying in the streets like bundles of discarded rags. Some bodies lay propped against the cracked plaster of the walls where they had died, or had been cast into clingy side alleys to stop them hindering the passage of the living. There they would remain until a work party took the bodies to one of the mass graves outside the city walls.

As he passed a midden heap, piled with rubbish as well as mud and faeces, there came a plaintive wail. Turning towards the sound, Marcus slowed his pace and saw an abandoned baby writhing pitifully amid the filth. He felt sick at the sight and would have stopped but for the press of bodies behind him, forcing him on.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Caesar and his followers to emerge from the Subura district and into the Forum. Once more Marcus was stunned by the scale of his surroundings. The public buildings of the great city spread out along the length of the Sacred Way, the main route that led into the heart of Rome. On the far side of the Forum rose the Palatine Hill where the houses of the richest families in Rome overlooked the city. To Marcus they looked more like palaces than houses, with their gleaming plaster walls, lofty tiled roofs and terraced gardens.

Caesar turned right, towards the looming mass of the Temple of Jupiter and the cluster of buildings at the foot of the Capitoline Hill. Marcus recalled Titus telling him this was where the Senate met to debate the laws that would govern Rome. Before them lay the great marketplace where the finest goods from across the empire were sold. Here also were the offices of the bankers and merchants. Marcus wished he could take in the overwhelming scene properly, but he had to move on. He struggled to keep his place in the crowd that was now following Caesar as he made his way towards the Senate’s meeting place. Among the throng that filled the Forum, Marcus caught glimpses of other senators dressed in fine togas and followed by their own retinues as they too fought to pass through the packed Forum.

‘Sod this!’ one of Festus’s men grumbled. ‘Where are the lictors today? Why aren’t they here to clear a way for us?’

‘Because Caesar sent them away,’ Festus responded sourly. ‘Didn’t want to upset the mob by having the lictors thrust them aside.’

Marcus edged forward until he was beside Festus. ‘What are lictors?’

‘The consul’s official bodyguards. They carry bundles of sticks strapped round an axe. It’s their duty to clear the way for the consuls.’

‘So why aren’t they doing their job?’ the other man continued. ‘You can be sure the other consul will have his lictors clear the way for him!’

‘And that’s why he’s not the darling of the mob,’ Festus explained. ‘Not like Caesar. Our master knows his way to the people’s hearts. He can play them like a lyre. Now shut your mouth and quit complaining.’ Festus raised his voice so the rest of his men could hear him above the din of the crowd. ‘All of you, keep your eyes open for trouble!’

Marcus tried to do as he was told but he was too small to see much beyond those people immediately surrounding him.

A dense crowd had formed outside the Senate House and the officials were struggling to keep the steps clear for the senators. As some of them climbed the steps the crowd raised a cheer. Others were greeted with silence, or a scattering of boos.

‘What’s going on?’ Marcus asked Lupus.

‘Well, there are two types of senators. Those who want to keep power and wealth in the hands of the aristocrats, and the men like Caesar who want to help the common people. That’s who the mob is cheering.’