Simon Scarrow: Gladiator

His mother’s expression hardened. ‘That was a long time ago. You haven’t been in any kind of fight for over ten years now.’

‘I won’t fight them if I don’t have to. But Decimus will have sent them to collect money. They will not leave without it.’

‘How much money?’

Titus looked down and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Nine hundred sestertii.’

‘Nine hundred!’

‘I am behind three payments,’ Titus explained. ‘I’ve been expecting this.’

‘Can you pay them?’ she asked anxiously.

‘No. There’s not much in the strongbox. Enough to see us through to the winter, and then…’ He shook his head.

Livia frowned angrily. ‘You had better explain everything to me later. Marcus!’ She turned to her son. ‘Go and fetch the money chest from beneath the shrine in the atrium. Now.’

Marcus nodded and made to run into the house.

‘Stay where you are, boy!’ Titus called out, loud enough to be heard for a hundred paces in every direction. ‘Leave the chest where it is. I’ll not be forced to pay a single coin before I am ready to.’

‘Are you mad?’ asked Livia. ‘You can’t fight armed men alone.’

‘We’ll see.’ Titus responded gravely. ‘Now, take the boy and go indoors. I’ll deal with it.’

‘You’ll get yourself hurt, or killed, Titus. Then what will become of Marcus and me? Answer me that.’

‘Go indoors,’ Titus commanded.

Marcus saw his mother open her mouth to protest, but both of them knew the steely look in Titus’s eyes. She shook her head crossly and held out a hand towards Marcus. ‘Come with me.’

Marcus stared at her, then at his father, and stood his ground, determined to prove his worth to his father.

‘Marcus, come with me. Now!’

‘No. I’m staying here.’ He drew himself up and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Cerberus and I can stand at father’s side, if it comes to a fight.’ He wanted the words to sound brave but his voice quavered slightly.

‘What’s this? Stay?’ Titus asked, bemused. ‘You are not yet ready to take your place in the battle-line, my boy. Go with your mother.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘You need me. Us.’ He nodded at Cerberus and the dog’s ears pricked up and he wagged his bushy tail.

Before Titus could protest, Aristides came out of the house. In one hand he clutched his staff. In the other he held a sword scabbard, from which a leather strap dangled. Titus took the weapon and looped the strap over his head, shifting his shoulder until he was satisfied that the sword hung well and that the hilt was within easy reach. Aristides went over to the gate and kept watch on the road that led down the slope towards Nydri. Suddenly Titus snatched at the sword handle and ripped the blade out in one motion, so swiftly that Marcus flinched. He let out a small cry. Cerberus growled.

His father glanced at him with a smile and sheathed the sword. ‘Easy there, I was just checking that the sword drew swiftly. It’s why I keep the scabbard and blade oiled – just in case.’

Marcus swallowed nervously. ‘In case of what, father?’

‘In case of moments like this. Now, you leave this to me. Go into the house until I call for you.’

Marcus stared back defiantly. ‘My place is at your side, father. I can fight.’ He grasped the leather pouch and thongs of the sling tucked into the belt fastened around his waist. ‘I can hit a hare at fifty paces with this.’

His mother had been watching the two of them. Now she called out, ‘For pity’s sake, Marcus! Come inside, now!’

‘Livia,’ her husband cut in. ‘You go. Take shelter in the kitchen. I’ll speak to Marcus. He’ll come to you directly.’

She made to protest, then saw the fiery light in his eyes and turned away, her sandals scuffing over the flagstones. Titus turned back to Marcus and smiled fondly. ‘My boy, you are still too young to fight my battles. Please, go with your mother.’

But it was too late. Before Titus had finished speaking, there was a sharp hiss from Aristides. The goatherd cupped a hand to his mouth and called out as loudly as he dared, ‘Master! They’re coming!’

His father gestured towards the entrance to the house. ‘Marcus, stand over there and don’t move.’

Marcus nodded and clicked his fingers to catch the dog’s attention. ‘Follow!’

They took up position on the shaded side of the small entrance hall leading into the modest atrium of the house, out of sight of the gate. Aristides took a firm grasp of his staff and stood ready, to one side of the gate.

All was still for a moment. Marcus’s heart was thudding inside his chest and his mouth was dry. Then he heard them, the muted voices of the three men approaching up the lane towards the gate. One of them made some comment and the others laughed. It was a harsh, unpleasant sound and Marcus cursed himself. He had said he could help his father but he had no shot for his sling and, in any case, he needed space and time to make the weapon ready.

Marcus knew he had a good eye and Aristides had taught him well – well enough to kill one of the wild dogs that had been preying on the goats earlier in the spring. But in the present situation the weapon was as good as useless.

Just then he saw one of his father’s vine canes leaning in the corner of the entrance. He snatched it up and held it ready, determined to strike hard with the gnarled end if there was a fight.

The men’s voices died away as they neared the gate, their boots crunched over the gravel and they entered the farm. Marcus peered round the corner of the entrance hall and glanced over at the unwelcome visitors. A tall, muscular man led the way. He had straggly hair, streaked with grey and held back by a leather headband. Marcus guessed the man was not many years younger than his father. He looked solid enough, and the scar stretching diagonally across his face was proof that he was used to fighting. On either side of him, and a pace behind their leader, the other two were equally tough-looking and each carried a spear, in addition to the swords that hung from their belts.

Titus looked them up and down before he cleared his throat and spoke directly. ‘Who are you? State your business and then be on your way.’

The leader’s hard expression creased into a smile and he raised his hands to placate Titus. ‘Easy there, sir! There’s no need to come the hard centurion on us. We’re just here to bring you a message. From Decimus.’ The smile faded.

‘First, tell me your name.’

‘Why?’

‘I like to know who I’m dealing with,’ Titus replied evenly as his hand slid up and rested over the pommel of his sword hilt.

‘Very well. I am Thermon. I deal with my master’s more difficult customers.’

‘Speak your piece, Thermon, and go.’

‘Now then, now then, there’s no call for such an inhospitable attitude, sir. The reason we’re here is simple enough. You owe our master some money. A thousand and fifty sestertii, to be precise. He has sent us to collect the debt.’

‘Nine hundred,’ Titus replied evenly.

‘Pardon, sir?’

‘I owe nine hundred sestertii. Not a thousand and fifty.’

The leader folded his hands together and cracked his knuckles. ‘Ah, you see, there’s the question of additional interest to be paid on the debt. You owe Decimus one thousand and fifty, like I said… My master wants the money. Now.’

Titus sighed wearily. ‘I haven’t got it. Decimus knows this. I’ve told his agent that I will pay him next year, as soon as I have had a good harvest. You’d better turn around and go back to Decimus and explain it to him carefully, so that there’s no misunderstanding this time. Tell him, he will have his money, as soon as I can afford to pay it.’ Titus paused briefly. ‘And there will be no extra interest. He will have what I owe him, and no more. Now, I will tell you one last time, leave my property.’