Simon Scarrow - Gladiator

Marcus felt his guts turn to ice. He wanted to deny it, to claim his innocence, but from the look on Taurus’s face, the man would not want to hear a word of it. The raised voices had woken some of the others and by the dim light of the brazier at the end of the barracks Marcus could see their faces peering at him over the sides of the stalls. He saw Ferax and their eyes locked on each other as a crafty smile slowly formed on the Celt’s lips.

In the pale light of dawn Marcus was dragged out of the windowless cell that Taurus had thrown him into the previous night. The air was cold and he fought down the instinct to shiver. He was determined not to let anyone see that he was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been in his life. The fear was not just for himself, but for his mother, and he cursed himself for failing her. Amatus fastened his hand round Marcus’s arm in a powerful grip and led him past the barracks and through the gate into the training compound. Taurus stood waiting for him.

‘Still say you’re innocent, boy?’

Marcus nodded. ‘I stole nothing, master. It was someone else who made it look as if it was me. I swear it, by all the Gods.’

Taurus frowned. ‘Careful, lad. The Gods are not inclined to show much mercy to those who swear falsely.’

‘I know, master.’

‘Whatever the Gods think, you’re in my hands now and you’ll take your punishment. Understand?’

Marcus hesitated before he gave a resigned shrug. ‘Yes, master.’

There was a brief silence and then Taurus spoke again. ‘Look here, Marcus, if it wasn’t you who stole the meat, then who was it, eh?’

Marcus had a clear idea of who had framed him. If anyone was behind this, it had to be Ferax. But Marcus had no evidence to support any accusation against Ferax, and in any case, with the discovery of his boot, and the smell of Brixus’s wine on his breath, it was natural for Taurus to assume that he was guilty. All that Marcus could do was to resolve that he would have his revenge on Ferax, if he survived his punishment. He looked up bleakly and met the gaze of the chief trainer. ‘I can’t say who it was. Only that it was not me, master.’

‘Then you leave me no choice.’ Taurus straightened up and switched his steely gaze to Amatus. ‘Summon every slave to bear witness.’

‘Yes, master.’ Amatus released his grip, bowed his head curtly and turned to hurry back towards the barracks. Marcus stood stiffly and stared straight ahead as Taurus tapped the tip of his vine cane against the side of his boot. A short time later the first of the gladiators trooped through the gate and formed a line opposite Marcus. The men barely cast a glance over the young boy as they stood waiting. Once the last of them had arrived, next came the boys from Marcus’s group. Most were curious, but some seemed to regard him with dread as they imagined themselves in his place. Ferax and his cronies watched him with faint mocking smiles as they strode by, and Marcus felt his rage flare up inside him. Last of all came the serving slaves of the gladiator school, Brixus among them. There was a surprised expression on his face when he saw Marcus. Then he and the others hurriedly formed up to one side.

When the last of them was in place, Taurus took a deep breath as he paced to the middle of the training ground. ‘For those who don’t yet know, you have been summoned here to bear witness to the punishment of this thief. The boy stole food from the kitchen last night. Thanks to his foolishness he was caught. By now you should all know the punishment for theft. Let this morning be a warning to you all.’ He turned to Amatus. ‘Bring your class forward. Form two lines across the centre of the training ground!’

Amatus bellowed at the boys, who quickly trotted forward and formed an avenue in front of Marcus. The other end, fifty paces away, was by the stockade on the far side of the excercise ground. The boys stood six feet apart, facing the opposite line. Once they were in place, Amatus strolled over to a wicker basket containing a stack of stout wooden staves. He took out a large bundle of them, holding them up against his chest, and then returned to his waiting class.

‘Take one each!’ he ordered, stopping in front of every boy as they armed themselves. Ferax hefted his staff and gave it a vicious experimental swing that thudded down into the gravel in front of him. Then he glanced at Marcus and winked. When the last staff had been issued, Amatus took up a position at the far end of the gauntlet.

Taurus turned to Marcus. ‘Take off your tunic.’

Marcus faced the man, with his back to Brixus and the other slaves, and then reached down and pulled the hem of his tunic up, over his waist, before shuffling it over his shoulders. Taurus took the bundle away from him and Marcus stood in his boots and loincloth. There was a faint gasp of surprise and Marcus glanced round to see Brixus staring at him, wide-eyed.

‘Quiet there!’ Taurus roared. ‘Those on the gauntlet make ready! I don’t want to see anyone slacking off. As the boy passes in front of you, you will do your utmost to strike him, hard. Anyone who fails to land a blow, or strikes too softly, will be the next one to pass through the gauntlet. Is that clear?’ He grasped Marcus by the shoulder and steered him towards the pair of boys at the head of the gauntlet. ‘When I give the word, you begin.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Best to run like hell. Keep your arms up to protect your head. Don’t hesitate and don’t fall down. If you do, then you’re dead. Understand?’

Marcus nodded, his body trembling in the grip of naked terror.

‘Then get ready. On the count of three. One! Two!…’

‘Stop!’

Taurus spun round with a furious expression. ‘Who the hell said that?’

Marcus looked over his shoulder and saw the slaves glancing at Brixus. The old cook swallowed nervously and then shuffled forward a pace. ‘It was me, master.’

‘Brixus? How dare you? How dare you intervene?’ Taurus bunched his fist around the head of his vine cane as he strode up to the cook, his expression as black as night. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

Brixus rose to his full height and faced the drill master squarely. ‘The boy is innocent, master. I know him. Marcus is not the thief.’

‘Really?’ Taurus snarled. ‘What makes you think that? Unless you were there and saw the thief in person. Well?’

Brixus’s eyes briefly met those of Marcus. Then Taurus rammed his cane into the cook’s stomach and he folded over with a groan, slumping to his knees. Taurus leaned over him menacingly. ‘Well?’

‘It was – me.’ Brixus gasped for breath. ‘I stole the meat.’

Taurus froze. ‘What’s that? You? I don’t believe it!’

‘It’s true, master.’ Brixus fought for breath. ‘I did it. The boy is innocent.’

Marcus shook his head in bewilderment. Brixus was the thief? A cold chill of doubt gripped his heart as he wondered why Brixus had spoken up. Was it guilt, perhaps, for Marcus taking the blame for the stolen venison? Every face on the drill exercise ground was turned towards the two men and there was a long silence before Taurus straightened up and placed his hands on his hips. ‘All right, then. If it was you, why confess now, when you could have got away with it, eh?’

Brixus caught his breath and looked up. ‘I’ll not have some boy take his strokes on my behalf, master.’

‘Why not?’

‘I have my pride. I may be a slave, but I still have some sense of honour.’

‘Honour?’ Taurus barked out a laugh. ‘Honour! Wonders will never cease! Honour is for free men, Brixus. It’s a luxury no slave can afford.’

‘Though I am a slave, I am still a man, master.’