The Emperor's Knives (31 page)

He looked at Marcus and Dubnus with fresh calculation.

‘And you?’

The pair looked at each other before Marcus replied.

‘Our quest is much the same as yours. We—’

He was interrupted by a shout from across the ludus.

‘You three, over here!’

Sannitus was beckoning them over, a toga-clad man with sparse hair the colour of polished iron standing beside him. Disquietingly, several armed men were arrayed behind them, and as the three soldiers approached, the lanista held up a hand in warning.

‘Bow your heads in respect, candidates, if you wish to be considered for this school. This man is my master, Tettius Julianus, the man responsible for the Dacian Ludus.’

They stopped and bowed, keeping their heads down as the sword-armed bodyguards fanned out to either side in a protective half-circle about their master that Marcus fervently hoped was routine. With a clear sense for the theatricality of the moment, Julianus waited until his men were in position before breaking the silence.

‘Well then, gentlemen …’ He waited until all three of them had raised their heads. ‘Look at you. It’s my experience that men like you hardly ever drop into a lanista’s hands. We get soldiers, of course, but usually time-expired veterans who can’t face the thought of fending for themselves and don’t want to sign up again. And now, suddenly, here you are, three of you on the same day, a gift from Fortuna or so it seems.’ He looked at the three before him with a wry smile. ‘You’ll understand then why it was that I wanted to check your bona fides with a little more care than would be the case with the usual class of candidate. Horatius …’

The legion centurion snapped to attention.

‘Sir!’

Julianus shook his head.

‘Don’t call me sir, Horatius. That would tend to imply that I have the sort of power that the empire invests in its military officers, and believe me when I tell you this, as far as you’re concerned, once you’ve taken the oath, I’ll have far more power over your fate than any officer would ever be likely to exercise. The correct address for you to use for me is “Master”. And as for your bona fides, I’ve done some asking around and, somewhat to my surprise, all seems to be in order. You are indeed, as far as the army’s record keepers are concerned, a dead man. I don’t know how you achieved such a neat trick and I’m not going to ask, since it’s enough for me that I can swear you in to the school legally. So,
Centurion
, do you still want to join the ludus?’

‘Yes, Master!’

Julianus nodded, gesturing to the men closest to the soldier, who ushered him away from Dubnus and Marcus. He stared hard at them both in turn.

‘And now for you two gentlemen. I went to visit your tribune this morning with the intention of confirming your freedom from imperial service. Obviously the only acceptable proof of this status was for him to produce the diplomas of your honourable discharge, which you told Sannitus would be in his possession.’ He looked at them both in turn again, his expression unfathomable. ‘And to be frank, gentlemen, my expectation was that he would flatly contradict your story, and demand that I return you to him in chains. And my expectations in such matters, gentlemen, rarely prove to be misjudged.’

Marcus, risking a sidelong glance at Dubnus, saw that his friend’s gaze was fixed on a point over the procurator’s shoulder, his expression one of supreme confidence. The guards clustered tightly about them shuffled slightly, feet moving to find the best grip on the training hall’s floor. Julianus looked at Sannitus with a knowing smile.

‘So imagine my surprise when he produced your diplomas from his desk without even a flicker of concern. You, are, it seems legally and honourably discharged from the service of Rome and therefore, without any doubt whatsoever, free to enter this training school. So, gentlemen …’

He paused, and Sannitus gestured for them to come to attention.

‘The offer on the table before you is this. I will sign you up for a period of five years, no more and no less. I will pay you each five thousand sestertii, half now and half in the event of your death or on completing your term. At the end of your term, if you have risen to the ranks of those men who are celebrated by the crowds and achieve high status within our small world here, you will be able to negotiate a far larger sum for your next period of service. So, do you still wish to swear the sacramentum gladiatorum, and in doing so enter the Dacian Ludus?’

The two men answered together, barking out their answers like soldiers on parade.

‘Yes, Master!’

Julianus stepped back, gesturing expansively for Sannitus to come forward and perform his traditional role in swearing in the new men. The lanista motioned Horatius forward to rejoin the other two, and spoke to them in a fierce tone that was loaded with significance.

‘The only acceptable answer to the three questions I am about to ask you is ‘
Yes, Master!
’, and I want the men brushing out the sand over there in the Flavian Arena to hear you. Do you understand?’

All three of them bellowed their response at the tops of their voices.

‘
Yes, Master!
’

He looked at them for a moment before raising a single finger.

‘Will you swear to give your bodies over to the ludus, to be marked with hot iron if necessary?’

‘
Yes, Master!
’

He raised a second finger alongside the first.

‘Will you submit to being flogged, or beaten, by any member of the ludus’s staff, for any reason they deem appropriate?’

‘
Yes, Master!
’

A third finger rose up.

‘And will you commit yourself to the service of your master Julianus, and any man who may come after him in the role of procurator of this ludus, and vow to meet your fate by cold steel if he decrees it fit?’

‘
Yes, Master!
’

The lanista slapped his fingers into the palm of his other hand with a loud crack, shaking his scarred head in amusement.

‘Done! You are now officially the property of the ludus, from this day until the day that you earn your release from its service, and more than that, you are now officially gladiators. Think about that oath you just swore, by the way. I really can order any of you to be branded, or flogged, or beaten, and as to cold steel, I can put you to death simply by pairing you with the best men from the other schools when your time comes in the arena, and ensuring your bloody and painful demise. You will have no choice as to who you fight, gentlemen, none at all. We don’t usually go to the trouble of branding volunteers, that’s for the men who’ve been condemned to the arena in place of criminal justice, but I’ve been known to burn the mark onto volunteers who manage to piss me off as a means of making sure they’ll never knowingly do it again.’

He looked at them with a pitying smile.

‘As of this moment you have the status of
infamis
, the lowest of the low. Every man in Rome will look down on you, unless of course you rise to the status of demi-gods through your exploits in the arena, and even then they will still count themselves as better than you. So welcome to the ludus, gentlemen. Congratulations are definitely
not
in order.’

Felicia and Annia spent a quiet morning in the house, the former’s mood too dark for her to do anything much apart from sit and stare at the wall opposite while Appius played with his toys at her feet. Annia bought her a cup of herbal tea sweetened with honey, which she accepted with grace but little enthusiasm, sipping at the drink while her friend fussed around the room tidying what she’d tidied only an hour before.

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. After all, he is the fastest man with a sword Julius has ever met, and my man’s no slouch when it comes to fighting …’

Felicia looked up at her with a weak smile.

‘Thank you, Annia. And you’re right, of course. He’ll beat any man in the city in a straight fight, but then once he’s killed this Mortiferum, what’s to stop a crowd of angry supporters mobbing Marcus and tearing him to pieces. He’s not coming back, and I’ve no choice but to reconcile myself to that reality.’

Annia looked at her in silence, unable to find any words of comfort in the face of her implacable logic. After a moment her attention was caught by the dog, busy snuffling around the floor in the dining room.

‘Come here, Centurion!’

She whistled, and the animal came scampering over to play for a moment before scrabbling away across the tiles again, yapping brightly as he snuffled across the floor around the dining couches.

‘Time you went outside, I’d say, since the last time you were sniffing around like that you dropped the contents of your bowels a moment later!’

She scooped up the dog, taking him to the door, but as she opened it Julius was striding up the garden path.

‘If I might come in?’

He kissed his wife dutifully, and bowed to Felicia.

‘I have news of your husband, Domina. He has been accepted by the Dacian Ludus, and will shortly be fighting in the arena. The school’s procurator came to see the tribune this morning to get proof of Marcus and Dubnus’s diplomas—’

‘Diplomas?’

He nodded.

‘When a man leaves the service, he receives a bronze tablet stating that he has served with honour. We had one prepared for each of them when it became clear to the tribune that your husband wouldn’t be dissuaded from seeking this one last act of revenge, whatever the cost.’

She stared at him for a moment.

‘You knew he was going to do this? And you did nothing?’

The first spear met her gaze.

‘We did. And what should we have done? Locked him up?’

After a moment’s thought Felicia shook her head.

‘I suppose not. If I couldn’t forbid him to go into the ludus, then I can’t criticise you for doing much the same. The insult to his honour would have been too much for him to have borne. So now what?’

The first spear rubbed a hand through his hair.

‘Now? Now we’ll have to wait and see how he does in the arena. Apparently he’ll be fighting tomorrow. After all, it’s not as if he needs much training …’ He frowned across the room at Centurion, who was once more snuffling around beneath the table. ‘You’d better get that animal outside, before he sh— empties his bowels on your floor.’

One Eyed Maximus strolled into the barber’s shop just after lunch, taking a seat against the cool rear wall and leaning back.

‘That’s better. It’s too fucking hot out there, and that’s a fact.’

His two companions who, Morban had already noted, usually kept their opinions to themselves, stood on either side of him and glared balefully at the customers having their hair cut, one of whom promptly decided that he had better places to be and left with the job incomplete.

‘Think I’ll get a haircut, since I’m here.’

One of his minions raised a hand to forestall the next customer who, it had to be admitted, had already looked more than a little hesitant in his approach to the vacant chair. Maximus laughed, grinning at the man as he too decided to pursue interests other than getting his hair cut.

‘Very wise too!’ He sat down in the chair and twisted his neck to stare up at the soldier who would shortly be cutting his hair. ‘Nice and tidy, short at the back and sides and nice and thick on top. Think you can manage that?’

The man with the scissors grunted his assent and set to with vigour, recognising from Morban’s face his desire to have the gang leader out of the chair, and for that matter the shop, as quickly as possible. Silence descended for a while, nobody daring to speak while such a delicate operation was in progress, until the gang leader held up a hand to stop his haircut.

‘So what’s my share today, eh Fatty?’

Morban took a moment to count the coins in his cash drawer.

‘Five sestertii.’

Maximus smiled happily.

‘You, Fatty, are my new number one client. You’re making twice as much as anyone else on my turf, which means that you can afford a small tax rise, can’t you?’

Morban winced.

‘How much?’

The one-eyed man shook his head, forcing the soldier with the scissors to stop cutting for a moment.

‘How much,
sir
?’

The standard bearer fingered the knife that he kept in the drawer behind the piles of coins.

‘How much …
sir
?’

Maximus grinned with the pleasure of his small victory over the sullen shopkeeper.

‘That’s
better
! Let’s call it a nice round twenty per cent, shall we, just to make sure you’re clear on the need to show a little more respect. You won’t miss another ten on the hundred, not with the juicy profits you’re making now, will you?’

Sighing to himself Morban closed the drawer.

‘No sir. I’m sure we’ll manage.’

‘Good. Now let’s have a look at what you’ve done to me.’

He held up a shining iron blade, nodded at himself as he turned it this way and that to survey his new haircut.

‘Not bad!’

He jumped up out of the chair and padded across to Morban, holding out an open palm.

‘Collection time!’

The standard bearer handed over a stack of coins, and Maximus dropped one back on the desk with a grin.

‘That’s to pay for the haircut. It’s not like I’m a thief, is it?’

Gathering his men he stalked out of the shop, grinning at the queue outside.

‘That’s it lads, in you go!’

Morban watched him walk away down the street in silence, ignoring the pointed looks his men were giving him.

‘Tomorrow?’

Julianus grinned back at his lanista.

‘Drink your wine, Sannitus.’

The trainer raised a jaundiced eyebrow, pointing at the cup before him.

‘As I recall it, the last time you told me to drink my wine I ended up agreeing to fight the most successful gladiator this city’s seen in the last twenty years so that you could gain favour with the emperor.’ Pulling his tunic away from his right shoulder, he pointed at a long pale scar that ran over the muscle between neck and arm before running out of sight beneath the thick wool. ‘You made a nice purse of gold, and I got cut from shoulder to belly. If Flamma hadn’t been in such a good mood, he’d have smashed my collarbone, and as it was he seemed to find it hilarious to cut my bloody nipple in two.’