‘Yes, sir?’ the guard replied.
Macro gestured to the front door. ‘I want you to leave immediately for the Emperor’s villa. Pavo will provide you with the precise directions. Get there as soon as possible. When you reach the villa, tell Murena it’s an emergency. Make sure he understands that the safety of not only the ludus but all of Capua is at stake. We need every German guard he can spare.’
Glabrio nodded dutifully. After being given directions by Pavo, the guard hurried out of the ludus. Macro watched him leave, a sense of excitement building in his chest at the thought of the impending reinforcements.
‘Now all we have to do is hold our position until the Germans arrive.’
A thought clouded Pavo’s mind. He bit his lip as the door closed behind the guard. Macro noticed the unease written into the young gladiator’s features.
‘What’s bothering you, boy?’
Pavo pursed his lips. ‘It’s something that Bato’s followers said in the baths, right before they set on me. About their plan, sir.’
Macro frowned. Pavo did not appear to like what he had heard. ‘Well, what is it?’
Pavo closed his eyes as a wave of hot pain shrieked in his ribs. ‘According to his thugs, Bato and his men only plan to escape once they’ve freed their comrades and ransacked the ludus.’
‘The money raised from the gladiator sales,’ Macro acknowledged gruffly. ‘Bato got wind of it and demanded I hand it over. Go on.’
‘A successful brigand outfit needs weapons, sir. That’s what I overheard in the baths.’ Pavo stared at the optio and gulped loudly. ‘His men were discussing the possibility of acquiring some proper weaponry.’
Macro looked wide-eyed with horror at the gladiator.
‘Oh shit. The armoury.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Pavo regarded the optio with a look of deep concern. Faint screams emanated from the dormitory block on the other side of the ludus as the gladiators continued to riot and murder indiscriminately. Bassus and the other guards tightened their gazes on Macro. In the background the slaves stood still and silent, listening in to the conversation.
‘Aren’t the weapons locked up?’ Pavo asked.
Macro laughed in his throat. ‘That’s a generous way of putting it. The gate protecting the weapons is rustier than my Greek. Your son could break it open, let alone Bato and his mob.’
‘That’s if they haven’t already done so,’ Bassus cut in. ‘We may be too late.’
Pavo shook his head. The effort made him wince. Every muscle in his body ached horribly. He bit back on the pain, swallowed it into the pit of his stomach, remembering the stoic resilience of Titus and his forebears, drawing strength from their bravery in the face of adversity.
‘Bato won’t have got to the armoury yet.’
Macro rubbed his heavily furrowed brow. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I overheard him saying that he plans to execute the Celts in their cells first.’
‘Makes sense, sir,’ Bassus said with a curt nod. ‘One of the Celts killed Bato’s brother in a training-ground bout. The Celt was punished, but Bato has hungered for revenge ever since.’
‘What about the other Thracians?’ Macro asked. ‘Do they hate the Celts too?’
Bassus nodded. ‘The killing of the tribal chief’s brother is a matter of honour among the men of Thrace, sir. Bato’s men crave the shedding of Celtic blood as much as Bato himself.’
Macro thumped his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘We have to do something about the armoury before Murena sends us reinforcements. The Germans would make simple work of a mob of unarmed Thracians. But fighting heavily armed gladiators is a different prospect. These men are highly trained killers. They’d certainly put up stiff resistance. We’d suffer heavy losses. Some of them might even escape to the hills.’
Silence greeted his words.
Then a thought struck Macro. His eyes glowed with grim determination. ‘While Bato and his men are busy carving up Celts for supper, we’ll burn the armoury down. Render the weapons useless.’
‘Crude but effective, sir,’ Pavo said. ‘Although I doubt the Emperor will be pleased about the damage to his ludus.’
‘He’ll be less pleased by the damage to his empire if we don’t,’ Macro countered.
‘You are forgetting one thing, sir,’ Pavo cautioned.
Macro looked blankly at him. ‘What’s that?’
‘We’re trapped,’ Pavo answered simply. ‘As soon as you stick your head out of the door, a mob of angry gladiators will descend on you like dogs after scraps of meat. They’d rip us all limb from fucking limb. Pardon my Gallic, sir.’
Bassus wagged his finger at the gladiator. ‘There is another way out. One that Bato and his followers won’t know about.’
Macro turned to the guard. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We can use the drainage tunnel, sir. It runs under the perimeter of the ludus. One of the gladiators tried to escape through it once, so Corvus sealed it off at this end with a metal grille. But from this side, two or three of us ought to be able to follow the tunnel in the direction of the armoury.’
Pavo raised an eyebrow. ‘The tunnel will take us all the way to the armoury?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Bassus responded with a frown. ‘There was no need for it to be accessible from the armoury. It does, however, link to the infirmary, which is next to the armoury. All we have to do is crawl into the tunnel through the reservoir in the cellar and follow it south, then climb up through the drain and make our way down the corridor.’
‘Then it’s settled,’ Macro decided. ‘We’ll use the drain tunnel.’
He wheeled away from Pavo and carefully removed the bronze medals strapped across his chest. He handed them to an orderly. ‘Take care of these, eh? They were given to me by Claudius. I’ll need two good men to come with me. Bassus, you’ll do. That leaves one more …’
The optio’s eyes settled on Pavo.
‘Me?’ The young gladiator snorted and shook his head. ‘Forget it. I’m in no fit state to fight.’
‘We’re in the middle of a crisis, Pavo.’
Pavo looked unconvinced. ‘Even if I did help, what good would it do me? They’re going to crucify me at the games anyway, sir.’
‘Unless they can’t afford to.’
Pavo scratched his elbow. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Think about it, lad. You have a chance to make yourself indispensable to those slippery Greeks. Once we’ve stopped the rebellion, Bato and his loyal followers will have to be executed. Set an example to the other men. The ludus is thin on gladiator numbers as it is. With Bato and the other Thracians out of the way, Pallas and Murena won’t dare try to bump you off. There’s no one to take your place at the games, and the mob in Rome won’t accept a second-rate gladiator as the main event.’
Pavo clenched his teeth and bit back on the pain throbbing between his temples. The young gladiator hated the idea of being outwitted by the homespun soldier, but Macro had made a convincing argument.
‘Listen,’ Macro continued. ‘Every one of Bato’s followers that you cut down is one fewer gladiator to fight at the games. Help me put an end to the rebellion and you’ll have a fighting chance of staying alive and getting to face Hermes. You won’t just be a victorious gladiator. You’ll be the Roman fighter who helped crush another Spartacus.’ The optio shrugged. ‘Or you can give up, sit here stinking of shit and wait for the Greeks to kill you. Or Bato. Whoever gets to you first, I suppose.’
Pavo felt the blood pound in his veins. He groaned in his throat as he stood fully upright, but the rage in his heart drowned out the chorus of pain. ‘I’ll join you, Optio.’
Macro studied Pavo for a moment. Although Pavo was a high-born aristocrat, the worst kind of Roman in Macro’s eyes, there was something he warmed to in the lad. He was taciturn and occasionally naïve, but he was also surprisingly tough and bloody-minded, qualities that reminded Macro of himself as a young recruit to the Second Legion. He nodded his approval.