‘When is he coming next?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Bucco. ‘At dawn.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Darkness lingered like a shroud over the training ground early the next morning. Pavo had been awake most of the night, listening to the horrific sound of a new recruit enduring torturous initiation rituals in a nearby cell. His window overlooked the western side of the ludus, giving him the perfect view of the main entrance to the school. Four heavily armed guards manned the wrought-iron gates day and night. Beyond the ludus Pavo could see a road leading towards the centre of Paestum. The forum glimmered faintly under the soft moonlight. As dawn appeared over the horizon, he permitted himself a grisly thought. He would die in the arena, one way or the other. The Emperor would never allow him to go free, and the strict social mores of Rome dictated that once a man fell into the infamy of life as a gladiator, he could never regain his former status among the aristocracy. His old life was finished. His only purpose was to survive in the arena long enough to slay Hermes, and restore the stained reputation of his family. He resolved not to let anyone — Denter, Murena, Pallas or Carbo — stand in his way. And if they did, he would make them pay.
‘Rise and shine, ladies!’ Calamus thundered from the far end of the cell block. There was a collective groan from the other recruits as they slowly rose from their slumbers. Pavo heard Calamus marching down the corridor, his footsteps accompanied by a resounding clang as he banged the stem of his whip against each of the cell doors. ‘Last man out of his cell goes without rations!’ he yelled. His voice grew louder as he neared Pavo’s cell. The doctore stopped in front of him. Ignoring Pavo, he directed a venomous stare at the still-snoring Bucco. ‘Get up, fatso!’ he exhorted, prodding him with his whip through the cell door. ‘So help me, gods, I’ve taken shits that show more signs of life than this lazy bugger.’
After a paltry breakfast of a cup of warm water, Calamus put the trainees through their paces with a series of warm-up exercises, beginning with five circuits of the ludus at a moderate jogging speed followed by twelve sets of twenty reps of ball throws, where the men stood opposite one other in pairs and chucked a weighted pig’s bladder at their partner’s midriff. At the usual hour Calamus ordered the men to break while he discussed tactics with the specialist coaches. Pavo was still bitter with Bucco for betting against him and he slammed his pig’s bladder at the volunteer with a degree of force. Badly winded, Bucco doubled up in pain.
‘Bucco!’ A familiar high-pitched voice sounded behind Pavo. ‘Demonstrating your famous warrior instincts, are you?’ Pavo spun around to see Carbo standing beside the sundial, his hands folded behind his back. He appeared to be alone, trusting his safety to the men guarding the household of the lanista. ‘My dear friend Gurges must have been desperate, to accept a man of such limited ability into his glorious ludus.’
Bucco straightened his back, rubbing his sore paunch. Carbo nodded to the other recruits. The eighteen men made their way towards the paluses to resume their training. Carbo dismissed Pavo with a wave of his bloated gold-fingered hand. ‘You may leave us, young man. I wish to discuss a private matter with Bucco.’
Pavo stood his ground. ‘I’m his friend. He told me you kidnapped his family. Now look here. Bucco may owe you money, but the debt is between him and you. Clodia and the boys don’t deserve any part of this. Let them go.’
Carbo grinned at Bucco. ‘Prickly one, isn’t he?’ Then he let out a weary sigh, as if he had heard the same argument many times before, and narrowed his eyes at the training ground. ‘Perhaps we might discuss things somewhere more secluded,’ he continued, angling his head at the balcony above the porticoes. Pavo knew it was not unusual to see Gurges leaning over the balustrade surveying his gladiators. ‘One never knows who is watching out here in the open.’
They followed the bookie into a cramped and dimly lit passageway leading under the porticoes on the east side of the training ground, and turned right into the canteen, which was empty at this time of day. Carbo shuffled in ahead of Pavo and Bucco and propped his considerable girth on the edge of a long trestle table. His skin had reddened from exhaustion and his forehead was heavily beaded with sweat.
‘I am a busy man, Pavo,’ he said, wiping his brow. ‘So I’ll get right to the point. Bucco owes me the princely sum of two thousand sestertii.’ He frowned at a blood spot on his tunic. ‘You are aware that your so-called friend bet on you to lose against Britomaris?’
‘Just get on with it,’ Pavo said through gritted teeth.
‘Since Bucco does not have the money, I have seized his assets, as is my right as a debtor. Being a destitute gambler enrolled in a gladiator school with no property to speak of, he has only three saleable assets. Namely his wife and the two boys.’
Pavo clenched his jaw and stepped into Carbo’s face. ‘Give him more time to pay. He’ll be fighting in the arena soon enough.’
‘Have you seen him with a sword?’ Carbo sniffed. ‘Bucco couldn’t fight his way out of a wet sack. His first fight will also be his last.’
Pavo shook his head. ‘I’m not here to argue how much he owes,’ he said tersely, ‘or how he intends to pay you back. I’m here about his family. They’re innocent. Leave them out of your dispute.’
‘Or what?’ Carbo scoffed. ‘You’re not exactly in a position to issue threats, boy. You forget your station. You’re not the son of a respected legate any more. You’re just a high-born brat fallen into infamy. No better than a common slave.’
Pavo glared at Carbo. He balled his hands into fists. ‘I’ll ask you one more time. Release his family at once,’ he seethed.
‘Let me see,’ Carbo replied scathingly as he stroked his drooping chin. He appeared remarkably calm, Pavo thought, given that he was facing a pair of gladiators. Even if one of them was Bucco. ‘My answer is no. Bucco cannot pay in coin, so he must pay in flesh. Those are the rules. Besides, Clodia will make a nice bit of cunny, and the boys will fetch a good price at market.’
Carbo tried to push past Pavo. The young fighter blocked his way. Then the bookie flashed a sinister smile and levelled his eyes at a spot past Pavo’s shoulder. Footsteps sounded at his back. Pavo looked towards the door. A pair of tall, burly Spaniards blocked the doorway. Their shoulder and back muscles were so large they blotted out the light in the corridor. Both men bore the branded mark of the owner of another gladiator school.
‘Allow me to introduce Priscus and Verus,’ Carbo said. He nodded at the two men in turn. Priscus cracked his knuckles. ‘Formerly champions of the arena in Capua. Now my bodyguards.’
A cold sweat gripped Pavo. He shot a withering look at Bucco as he backed away from the door. ‘You didn’t say anything about bodyguards,’ he muttered.
‘Sorry,’ Bucco replied quietly, lowering his chin an inch. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Priscus, Verus,’ Carbo ordered with a deft flick of his wrist. ‘Teach this brat a lesson.’
Priscus came at Pavo first. He led with his right foot, shaping to unleash a devastating right hook. In a blur of motion Pavo ducked to his right and dropped his left shoulder, stepping out of the way of the balled fist arrowing towards his jaw. As Priscus swiped at thin air, the young man sank to his knees and grabbed the nearest stool with both hands, then sprang upright. At the same time he swung the stool with all his strength. There was a solid crunch as it crashed into Priscus’s chin. The Spaniard let out a low grunt, his jaw slamming into the roof of his skull.
Priscus tottered backwards a step. He shook his head clear and charged at Pavo again. This time Pavo swung in the opposite direction, raising the stool from beside his left thigh up and across his right shoulder. Priscus stumbled into its path. His arms went limp by his sides as the edge of the stool thunked against his cheekbone. He fell away, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and landed in a heap next to the door.