A rush of motion ahead seized his attention. Duras had cornered Macer. The bodyguard wrenched the shield away from the commander’s feeble grip and tossed it aside as if it was made of papyrus. Macer screamed as he retreated from the gladiator, a terrified look stitched into his lax features. Duras roared throatily, diving at Macer. The commander jumped back with fear, slipping on disembowelled entrails and landing on his backside. There was a distinct jingle as the dormitory cell keys tumbled from his belt and landed just out of reach. Duras watched Macer scrabble away on his hands and knees, abandoning the keys, Macro looking on helplessly as the bodyguard bent his enormous frame at the waist and scooped the keys off the ground, chucking them to Bato.
‘Bugger it!’ Macro grumbled.
He raced towards Bato. The Thracian turned to face him, calmly standing his ground, wielding a wooden training sword which he twirled in his hand as Macro charged at him. His lightning-fast gladiator reflexes caught the optio by surprise. There was a flash of shadow as the wooden blade whacked Macro on the side of his head. He fell to one knee and tried to clear his head of the dizzying sensation. Bato lunged again, bringing the wooden sword down over Macro’s head as if chopping with an axe. Macro’s combat instincts kicked in, and he rolled on to his side. He felt the swoosh of the wooden blade as it grazed his cheek and stabbed the sand. Seizing the chance to counterattack, he cut up at Bato, aiming at the throat. The gladiator jerked his head at the last instant. The blade nicked his ear. He jumped back, half mad with anger as blood trickled down his neck. His glare turned to a grin as Duras disappeared into the shadows of the dormitory. Bato turned to follow him, and Macro was shaping to pursue them when a voice at his back stopped him short.
‘Sir!’ one of the guards shouted. ‘Look! To the south.’
Macro swung his gaze towards the open gate. Five gladiators had broken away from the battle and were charging the guards at the post next to the gate. Seeing the imminent danger, the guards lowered the portcullis and drew their swords. Macro promptly felt his throat constrict.
‘Oh shit. They’ll raise the gate!’
He was temporarily torn between pursuing Bato and securing the gate. But with only four guards left standing, and Macer having deserted, he knew he lacked the manpower to regain control of the dormitory. There were sixty cells in the dormitory, with two gladiators to a cell. Attacking it with a trickle of poorly trained and out-of-shape guards would be doomed to failure. On the other hand, as long as the gladiators were trapped inside the ludus, the people of Capua were safe. He quickly decided that isolating the threat was his best strategy, at least until he possessed the means to force the issue with Bato.
Macro turned to the men. ‘Who’s second-in-command here?’
A young guard with blond curly hair raised his hand. ‘Glabrio, sir.’
‘You’ve just been promoted, lad.’ The young man gave an anxious nod. ‘Now, where the fuck are the other guards?’
The young soldier nodded to the dormitory. Hideous screams echoed from deep within it, and he and Macro shuddered at the appalling fate awaiting those guards unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped amid a throng of vengeful gladiators.
‘It’s too late for them,’ Macro said, snapping Glabrio out of his trance. ‘Listen carefully. There are only two exits from the ludus. I’ll take care of the gate. I want you to fall back to the lanista’s quarters and seal the door. We have to make sure there’s nowhere for Bato and his men to run.’
‘What about Macer, sir?’
The optio stared darkly at the junior officer. ‘Macer has deserted. I’m in charge, lad. And I’m ordering you to bloody well seal off the other exit! If you prefer, I can write you up for dereliction of duty, and you can run the gauntlet at dawn. Am I clear, Glabrio?’
The young soldier nodded after a momentary pause. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘Good. Take one guard with you.’
Macro eyed the arms of a grizzled guard. Judging from his scars, the man had seen combat at one time or another. Unlike his commander, the optio thought glumly.
‘You! Name!’
‘Bassus, sir.’
‘Ever fought in a proper battle?’
Bassus nodded quickly. ‘I was in the Eighth Legion for twenty years, sir. Saw plenty of action down by the Danube.’
‘Today’s your lucky day, Bassus. You get to cut down a bunch of mutinous gladiators and save the imperial ludus from disaster.’ Macro gestured to the struggle unfolding at the gate.
The orderlies unloading the wagon had been scythed down by the onrushing gladiators; amphoras lay shattered on the ground, their contents spilling across the sand. One of the guards lay on his back, clutching his guts and screaming for his mother. His comrade put up a brave resistance, but he’d been forced back to the outer door by one of the breakaway gladiators. The other four gladiators split into two pairs, grappling with the two sets of coiled cord ropes used to raise the portcullis.
‘We’ve got to stop them from escaping,’ Macro said to Bassus. ‘If they break out, half the locals in Capua will find themselves at the wrong end of a blade. Same goes for us if the Emperor discovers our fuck-up. We’ve got to take them down.’
Bassus looked dumbfounded. ‘Seal the doors, sir? Forgive me, but we’ll be trapped too.’
‘Can’t be helped,’ Macro answered firmly. ‘We’re all that stands between a mob of angry gladiators and the people of Capua.’
Macro hurried towards the main gate. Bassus staggered at his shoulder, his breathing laboured as he struggled to match the optio’s pace. He was clearly exhausted from the skirmish. Years spent living in the relative comfort of the ludus, far from the rough and tumble of life on the frontiers of the Empire, had dulled his edge. Macro prayed that the guards’ superior weapons would be enough to stop the gladiators from gaining complete control of the ludus.
There was a barbaric cheer from the main gate as the portcullis slowly rose off the ground. In front of the outer door, the guard managed to cut down his gladiator opponent and dropped to one knee, clutching a wide gash on his right ankle.
‘Take the bastards on the left,’ Macro shouted to Bassus. ‘I’ll cut down the two on the right.’
Bassus nodded enthusiastically. Belting out a hoarse roar, Macro charged at the gladiators to the right of the portcullis. His veins coursed with hot rage and one of the gladiators glanced up at the onrushing optio and hesitated. Filling his lungs, Macro let out an animal snarl and leapt forward. The gladiator quickly dropped the rope and moved to meet Macro head on, bracing himself for impact. At the last moment Macro thrust his shield out, smashing into the gladiator. The shield juddered in his grip, sending tremors up his forearm. He had no time to admire his handiwork. A piercing grating noise told him that the portcullis had finally been raised. The last gladiator on the right was frantically securing the rope.
The optio quickened his pace now, moving forward fearlessly towards the gladiator as he darted for the open mouth of the gate. Macro dived at him, nicking his calf muscle with the tip of his blade. A gout of red and pink oozed out of his leg. The gladiator spun round, hobbling with pain. Macro froze. The gladiator was clutching a sword taken from a dead guard. Incensed by his injury, he thrust his sword at the optio. Macro threw his head to one side at the last instant, the edge of the blade grazing his cheek. The gladiator sprang forward. There was an explosive grunt as the full weight of the man crashed on top of Macro’s shield, slamming the optio to the ground. He placed the sole of his hobnailed sandal on the gladiator’s chest and kicked out with all his might, launching the gladiator into the air. The man landed heavily a short distance away, the sword clattering out of his hand. As Macro scraped himself off the sand, he saw the gladiator roll on to his belly, crawling towards his sword. Macro had a moment to react. He glanced up and saw the portcullis directly over the floored gladiator. The spikes glistened like wolves’ teeth.