‘That’s more like it, lad. Glabrio!’ Macro yelled, turning away from the gladiator.
‘Yes, sir!’
‘You’re in charge here. Whatever happens, you don’t let anyone through that door. If every slave in this room has to lay down his life defending this position, so be it. Once the Germans arrive, assemble the men at the main gate and post a lookout in the watchtower above. Wait for the first sign of smoke from the burning armoury. That’ll be the signal for you to attack.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Glabrio said sternly. ‘But what if the Germans don’t get here in time?’
‘I imagine Murena will be sweating out of his arse once he learns of Bato’s actions. He’ll send the men as soon as possible.’ Macro turned away from the guard and smiled at Pavo. ‘Now hurry up, lad. Bato and his mob might be leaving the dormitory at any moment. There’s no time to lose.’
A short while later, Macro, Bassus and Pavo crept through the tunnel in near darkness. Pavo lit the way, carrying a lamp he had retrieved from the lanista’s quarters. Macro followed, with Bassus bringing up the rear, the men clasping their swords above their heads to protect their weapons from the sewage. The lamp cast eerie shadows across the curved stone walls, and Pavo tried hard to focus on the mouth of darkness ahead of him rather than look down at the foulness swirling at his feet.
‘How many times have I got to get covered in shit in one day?’ he grumbled to no one in particular.
‘Best get used to the feeling,’ Macro said. In the darkness his voice seemed very close. ‘If we somehow survive this rebellion, we’ll be up to our necks in it with that slimy pair of freedmen. Besides, from the look of you, I’d say you have plenty of experience of wading through shit.’
‘Such a refined sense of humour,’ Pavo replied drily.
A wave of nausea tickled the back of the young gladiator’s throat. He caught a strong whiff of fresh faecal matter and felt his back spasm. He involuntarily dropped his head and emptied his guts. The sound of his retching travelled down the tunnel.
‘Better out than in, boy,’ Macro said.
‘Don’t know what you two are complaining about,’ Bassus added cheerily. ‘This isn’t so bad. You want to take a walk through the Subura at night. Shit all over the place, I tell you.’
‘Gah! Rome,’ Pavo uttered throatily, spitting out the bitter tang of vomit on his tongue. ‘If I never set foot in that city again, I’ll be a happy man. It’s a dangerous place to be rich, or notable.’
He fell silent, staring ahead and trying to recall the distance between the lanista’s quarters and the armoury to the south, on the eastern side of the ludus. He suddenly stiffened at the sound of a distinct squeal emanating from further down the tunnel. The bristles stiffened on the back of his neck and he peered at the dense blackness ahead with a cold sense of foreboding stirring in his stomach.
‘What is it?’ Macro hissed from behind. ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘Rats!’ Pavo yelped. ‘I hate rats!’
An instant later hundreds of the creatures burrowed out of the darkness and scurried through the sewage. Pavo quivered with disgust as the vermin scampered between his legs, scratching his knees. The young gladiator swept his hands in front of him, swiping them away. But they kept coming, scuttling up his hands and running along his back. In a blind panic he lowered the lamp and swept the flame back and forth across the rats, causing them to shriek and disperse.
‘Got you!’ he said as he sent another scorched rat darting away from the flame.
As he lifted the lamp he noticed a rat creeping up his right arm. It squealed at him. Pavo flinched. The lamp fell from his grasp and plopped into the sewage, extinguishing the flame and plunging the tunnel into utter darkness.
‘What happened?’ Macro asked.
‘I dropped the lamp.’
‘Really?’ Macro gritted his teeth. ‘Why can’t you stop buggering things up, boy?’
The young gladiator was still for a moment as he strained his eyes. ‘I can see something up ahead.’
A sliver of light shone in front of him. He squinted, but in the subterranean darkness it was impossible to discern how far away it was. He crept towards it, a tingling sensation working down his spine. The thought of gaining revenge over Hermes kept him going. Pavo no longer felt offended by the misery of life as a gladiator, cheered in the arena and bullied in the ludus. He had plenty of high-born friends in Rome whose lives were equally treacherous and squalid. Only their surroundings differed. But he had a higher purpose: to honour his father’s name and restore it to its former glory. Only by killing Hermes could he achieve that. Yesterday, he reflected, his circumstances had seemed hopeless. Now his heart filled with steely determination. By defeating Bato and his thugs, he could save himself from crucifixion. He had a chance of staying alive long enough to win his fight against Hermes. He smiled in the pitted darkness at the thought that Bato’s mutiny might work in his favour.
‘Almost there,’ he said.
The three men shuffled on in the pitch black, and the sliver of light swelled to reveal a drain set into the roof of the tunnel. Torchlight shimmered in the room above. Moving at a slow pace to keep his movements silent, Pavo finally stopped beneath the drain. He craned his neck up at the light and squinted.
‘What can you see?’ Macro whispered.
‘Shelves stacked with gauze dressings, sir.’
‘Yes! The infirmary!’ The optio shook his head. ‘Never thought I’d say that.’
‘What now?’ Bassus asked from the back.
Macro jolted Pavo. ‘Go on, lad. Get up there. Quick, now. We don’t have much time. If I have to wallow in this filth much longer, I’m in danger of smelling as terrible as you.’
Pavo gripped the sides of the drain and hauled himself up. It was a tight squeeze, and he had to strain to drag himself out on to the hay-strewn floor of the infirmary. Clasping his sword, he surveyed the infirmary as Macro and Bassus hauled themselves out of the drainage tunnel after him. The typical surgical instruments of hooks, bone drills, spatulas and saws had been looted by the earlier mob. A strong smell of garlic and sage hung in the air, mixing with the stench of human waste to form a putrid, sickly-sweet aroma.
Pavo stilled his breath as he moved north down the corridor leading to the armoury, softening his step and keeping the tip of his sword pressed ahead of him at hip height. In the distance the heightened screams of men carried across the training ground as several unfortunate Celts underwent prolonged torture and suffering at the hands of their former comrades. A little way down the corridor Pavo spied the armoury, its iron bars glittering in the glow of a nearby torch. His heart thumped furiously in his chest, blood twisting in his veins at the thought of wrecking the plan of Bato and his followers. As he neared the gate, the thumping increased in pace and fear spread through his heart.
Figures were pouring into the armoury. The lock had already been dismantled and the gates wrenched open. Pavo stopped dead in his tracks as Macro and Bassus drew alongside him. The three men looked on in dismay at the throng of gladiators, their broad shoulders and prominent chest muscles illuminated by the flicker of an oil lamp. The Thracians did not notice the small party further down the corridor.
‘Shit,’ Macro hissed under his breath. Pavo turned to him. Even in the intermittent glow of the lamps, the frustration was clear on the optio’s face. Macro tensed his muscles and drew his sword. ‘There’s only a few of them. Come on. We can take them down.’
Pavo and Bassus gripped their own swords tightly. Once the last of the mob had entered the armoury, Macro raised his weapon.
‘Now!’
With a terrifying roar he charged towards the armoury, with Pavo and Bassus at his sides. The gladiators pillaging the armoury turned as one to see the three men storming out of the shadows in the corridor and closing in on them. They were too late to react. Grabbing a shield from the armoury floor, Macro parried the thrust of the first gladiator he came upon. Then he slammed his shield into the man and knocked him back against two of his comrades. He stabbed the man in his groin before he could get to his feet, wrenching the sword free. Pavo and Bassus grabbed shields of their own and attacked the other gladiators.