Simon Scarrow - Gladiator

‘You’re late,’ Brixus said gruffly as he approached Marcus from behind the following morning. ‘I’ll give you a good hiding if you don’t have those fires ready in time.’

Marcus rose stiffly from where he was arranging the kindling in the hearths. He looked down at Brixus’s boots as he nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Brixus. It won’t happen again.’

His voice was strained and muffled, and Brixus stepped towards him and lifted his chin to raise his face up, then caught his breath.

‘Looks like you’ve been thoroughly worked over, my lad.’

Marcus’s left eye was swollen so much it was closed. His face was cut and bruised and his lips were split and crusted with dried blood. He held one hand protectively over his ribs. Brixus puffed his cheeks out and steered Marcus towards a stool in the corner of the kitchen. ‘You sit there. I’ll find something else for you to do.’

‘I’m all right,’ Marcus mumbled.

‘No, you’re not,’ Brixus replied with a wry smile. ‘You’re a mess. Now do as you are told and sit down.’ He pushed Marcus towards the stool, then turned, looked round the kitchen and clicked his fingers as he pointed at one of the other boys. ‘Bracus! You’re on fire duty this morning. Get ’em laid and lit. And you, Acer, go and fetch Amatus.’

‘Amatus? The drill instructor?’ The boy looked fearful.

Brixus cocked an eyebrow. ‘Do you know another Amatus? No? Then get to it!’

Marcus eased himself down on to the stool and winced as pain stabbed into his side. He breathed as gently as he could until the pain had gone away. Then his thoughts returned to the previous night. The last thing he could recall of the confrontation with Ferax was being beaten while he tried to curl into a protective ball on the ground. Then all was blank until he woke in the night to find Pelleneus mopping his face with a damp cloth, and Phyrus in the background looking on anxiously. The faint glow of a torch lit the scene as Phyrus muttered, ‘It’s my fault. I should have kept an eye out for him.’

Pelleneus shook his head. ‘That’s not possible. You couldn’t have prevented this.’

As Marcus stirred and groaned in agony, Pelleneus leaned forward. ‘Who did this to you? Tell us, Marcus.’

Marcus shook his head.

‘It was the Celt, wasn’t it?’

Marcus did not reply.

‘I thought so.’ Pelleneus nodded. ‘Well, he’s not going to get away with this. I’ll see to him.’

‘No!’ Marcus croaked. ‘Leave him to me. I’ll have my own revenge.’

‘You think so?’ Pelleneus glanced over his injuries. ‘Next time, he’s going to kill you.’

‘I’ll be better prepared,’ Marcus mumbled through his swollen lips.

‘He’s right,’ a voice interrupted, and they turned towards the Spartan, who was standing a short distance away. ‘The boy has to fight his own battles, if he is to become a man.’

Pelleneus glanced round. ‘Another fight will kill him, Spartan. So just leave the philosophy to us Athenians, eh?’

The Spartan shrugged. ‘The boy knows what I say is true. This is his fight and you don’t have the right to take it from him.’ He turned his dark, penetrating gaze on Marcus. ‘I know your mind, boy. You have the blood of a warrior in your veins. You must not shame yourself by avoiding this fight.’

‘I won’t.’ Marcus nodded as he closed his eyes again. ‘I will beat him.’

Pelleneus let out a sigh of frustration. ‘It’s your funeral, Marcus. And thank you, Spartan. You are as helpful as ever…’

When dawn came, Marcus had taken a while to get back on to his feet. Every movement was agony as he made his way from the cell block to the kitchen. Now he looked across the counters to where Ferax and his cronies were joking with each other as they filled the cauldrons with ground barley, oil, salt and animal fat. He felt a yearning for revenge. Come what may, he would face Ferax again. But next time he would be prepared. He would be stronger and he would learn how to fight well. When he was ready, Marcus would teach the Celt a lesson he would never forget. At that moment Ferax looked up and caught his eye. The two boys stared at each other, then Ferax winked and pursed his lips in an expression of mock pity.

Marcus felt a dreadful wave of rage and hatred sweep through his body. The desire for revenge even eclipsed the feeling of hatred he had for Decimus, who had caused all this to happen in the first place.

Amatus entered the kitchen and looked round until he saw Brixus and then strode up to him. ‘You asked for me?’

‘Yes, it’s the boy there.’ Brixus nodded towards Marcus. ‘He’s been beaten – badly. I doubt he will be able to train today and I thought you should know.’

‘Beaten?’ Amatus came over to Marcus and looked at him, noting the injuries. ‘Who did this to you, boy?’

‘No one,’ Marcus said quietly, meeting his gaze defiantly. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware that Ferax was watching them closely. He cleared his throat and spoke as clearly as he could, so that all in the kitchen would hear. ‘I slipped over in the latrine.’

‘Is that so?’ Amatus could not help smiling slightly. ‘How many times? I had no idea taking a dump was so dangerous. Look here, boy, there’s no point in trying to pull the wool over my eyes, I’ve heard it all before. Someone attacked you. That’s against the rules and they’re going to have to be punished. Master Porcino does not take kindly to people mishandling his property. So tell me, who did this?’

‘I told you, I was in the latrine block and I slipped over, sir. That’s all.’

‘And that’s a lie, boy.’ Amatus frowned and poked his finger into Marcus’s chest. ‘I don’t like being lied to. Tell me, or it’ll be you I punish.’

‘I slipped over, sir,’ Marcus replied flatly.

‘On your head be it, then.’ Amatus turned to the cook. ‘Can’t afford for him to have any complications. He’s off training for two days.’

‘No, I can still do it.’ Marcus struggled on to his feet, only for Amatus to push him back down as he continued speaking to Brixus. ‘You’ve got yourself a full-time helper for a while. Make the most of it.’

‘There’s plenty of work he can do here.’ Brixus nodded. ‘I’ll keep him out of trouble.’

‘Better had.’ Amatus lowered his voice. ‘I can’t let this sort of thing happen again. Next time there will be consequences for those involved.’ He turned back to Marcus. ‘As for you, since you have such a problem keeping on your feet in the latrine, then the latrine obviously needs a good clean. That’ll be your job from now on. You’re off the evening kitchen detail. Instead you’ll scrub and wash down the latrine block each night. Maybe that’ll teach you not to lie to me.’

Amatus strode off, out of the kitchen and back towards the instructor’s mess to finish his morning meal. Once he had disappeared from view, Brixus looked round the kitchen and took a deep breath. ‘What are you all standing still for and gawping like fools? Get back to work!’

The boys instantly returned to their tasks, heads lowered as they avoided his gaze. Brixus stared at them a moment to ensure they were concentrating on their duties, then returned to Marcus. ‘You ever polished brass before?’

Marcus recalled the medallions on his father’s chest harness, each one awarded for an act of bravery. During the winter, the old centurion used to take out his kit and show Marcus how to keep it clean and gleaming through the use of an abrasive powder mixed with olive oil, rubbed in with an old cloth before being wiped away and buffed until it glinted. He looked up at Brixus. ‘I know how to polish.’

‘Good, because the master wants his table brass ready for a banquet in five days’ time. You can help me with the job.’