Simon Scarrow - Gladiator

Marcus struggled to his feet and leaned on the side-rail as he looked around. Brundisium was much bigger than the port they had left back in Graecia. A huge citadel, built on a rock that jutted into the harbour, was linked to the mainland by a narrow causeway. Shipping crowded the water on either side of the citadel and a squadron of sleek warships rode at anchor near the harbour entrance. Ashore, the warehouses, temples, civic buildings and crowded tenement blocks sprawled inland, oppressed by a haze of sooty smoke that hung over the port.

The urban stench of sewage, sweat and decaying food that had assaulted Marcus’s nose at Dyrrhacium was even more potent here. Looking down into the calm water of the harbour, Marcus saw that it was covered with rubbish and dead fish, and the bloated corpse of a dog bobbed near the surface close to the ship. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he wondered how anyone could bear living in the towns and ports that he had seen since leaving the farm. He felt a pang as he recalled the clean, pine-scented air of the mountains of home.

Marcus turned his mind away from such memories and instead he considered his new companions. As well as Marcus, there were six men chained together. They were young and fit and all of them bought by Porcino in slave markets across Graecia. Three of the men were from Thrace and they kept to themselves, adopting a haughty attitude towards the other slaves. Two of the others were from Athens and the last man was from Sparta.

At first they had ignored him when Piso had fastened the shackles round his ankles and then run the end of the chain through the ring bolt on Marcus’s right ankle. But once Piso had finished his work and sauntered off to have his morning meal of bread dipped in fish sauce, the nearest man, an Athenian with a flattened nose, nudged Marcus.

‘You showed that sailor up nicely. The captain too.’ He smiled at Marcus. ‘I’m Pelleneus, from Athens.’ He nodded towards the man next to him, a heavily bearded giant. ‘This is Phyrus. He’s from Athens as well.’

‘Rhodes,’ the giant mumbled. ‘Told you, I was from Rhodes. Until I was sold to that damned Athenian woman.’ He cast his eyes down and continued mumbling, but Marcus could not catch any of the words.

Pelleneus winked. ‘Don’t mind him. He has his happy moments. Which is more than I can say for some.’ He leaned closer to Marcus and continued quietly, ‘The Spartan doesn’t speak a word, though Piso reckons his name is Patroclus. As for the Thracians…’ He shrugged. ‘They keep to themselves. Won’t even talk to me or Phyrus. What about you, boy? What’s your name?’

‘Marcus Cornelius Primus.’

‘A Roman name?’

Marcus nodded. ‘My father was a centurion.’

‘I see.’ Pelleneus nodded archly. ‘So what is the son of a Roman centurion doing skulking in the bottom of a cargo ship?’

Marcus wondered how much he should say. He was not sure what would happen if it was discovered that Decimus had claimed him as his property. Until he knew better it would be best to be tight-lipped about some details of his past, he decided. ‘My father was killed – murdered – by a moneylender. My mother was kidnapped. I escaped. Now I’m looking for my father’s old commander to see if he can help my mother and me get justice.’

Pelleneus nodded sympathetically. ‘And who might this commander be?’

‘General Pompeius.’

‘Pompeius?’ Pelleneus raised his eyebrows. ‘As in Pompeius the Great?’

‘Yes, that’s what father called him. You know of him, then?’

‘How can you not know of him?’ The Athenian smiled and then shook his head. ‘Well, young Marcus, if you really think someone like Pompeius the Great would stir himself to come to the rescue of the family of one of his former junior officers… then you have a lot more faith in Roman justice than I have.’

‘Father was one of his bravest men.’ Marcus frowned, his pride hurt. ‘One of his most trusted soldiers. Pompeius even gave him a special sword as a gift when he retired from the legion. Of course Pompeius will help us.’ Marcus looked down at his feet. ‘All I have to do is find him.’

‘Huh,’ Phyrus interrupted without looking round. ‘And how are you going to do that, young ’un?’ He shuffled his foot so that the chain clattered on the deck. ‘You’re a slave now.’

‘No,’ Marcus said fiercely. ‘Your master, Porcino, had no right to buy me. I’ll wait until we’re off this ship, then explain everything to him. Maybe there could be a reward in it for him if he helps me find Pompeius,’ Marcus added hopefully.

Pelleneus laughed. ‘You’d better come to know Porcino, before you get your hopes up. Somehow, I’m not sure he will be very interested in your story.’

‘I’m a Roman citizen,’ Marcus replied. ‘This can’t happen to me.’

The Athenian looked at him with pity in his eyes. ‘It already has. You’d better get used to it, lad.’

Marcus fell into a sullen silence for a while before he spoke again. ‘This man, Porcino. Is he a slave dealer?’

Pelleneus shook his head. ‘No, he’s not a dealer. Porcino is a lanista.’

‘Lanista?’ Marcus wondered.

‘A gladiator trainer,’ Pelleneus explained. ‘He runs a school for gladiators near Capua. According to Piso, he is one of the best trainers in the business. For that, I suppose, you should be grateful at least.’

‘Grateful?’ Marcus could hardly believe his ears. He had heard of gladiators from his father and knew of the terrible danger they faced every time they stepped in front of a crowd to entertain them with a bloody fight to the death. ‘Why should I be grateful? I’ve been saved from drowning only to be enslaved in a gladiator school. I don’t want to die on the sand of some arena.’ He shuddered at the thought.

‘Look at it this way: if you have to be trained as a gladiator, then you might as well be trained by the best. It might give a man the advantage when the time comes for him to fight.’

The Athenian might have a point, but Marcus had no intention of being owned by the lanista long enough to find out. He would have to speak to Porcino as soon as he could and explain the injustices that had been heaped on him and his family. But before he spoke with the lanista, it would be wise to see what kind of a man Porcino was.

‘What’s he like?’ Marcus asked.

‘Porcino?’ Pelleneus pursed his lips. ‘He’s a hard man. Bound to be after having survived in the arena long enough to win his freedom. But he’s a fair sort. If you do as you are told and do it quickly, he’ll treat you well.’

A shadow fell over them and Marcus looked up to see Piso. The man dropped a stale loaf and a hunk of dried meat on to Marcus’s lap.

‘Eat,’ he said simply, then turned to walk away.

Marcus hurriedly tore into the bread, desperate to feed his hunger. As he chewed, he glanced sidelong at his companions and prayed that Pelleneus was wrong. He had to convince Porcino to set him free. His mother’s life depended on it. Only he could save her from a lingering death on Decimus’s slave estate.

Once the ship had been securely moored alongside the quay, the captain gave the order for the gangway to be lowered and for the cargo hold to be opened up. While the captain made a deal with one of the port’s gang masters to unload the cargo, Piso came and changed their shackles, swapping their ankle rings for large iron hoops that fastened round the neck. The collar felt heavy and uncomfortable on Marcus’s shoulders but he knew better than to complain while Piso stood over them with a heavy wooden club. Porcino had already gone ashore to make arrangements for the provisions needed for the journey to Capua. When he returned, Piso gestured to the chained prisoners. ‘On your feet! Move yourselves!’