Just then a spectator from one of the lower galleries threw his clay cup at the bear. The audience shouted its approval as the cup shattered against the side of the beast’s head. The bear growled and spun around to face the direction of the spectator who’d thrown the cup. All eyes turned to the man. Pavo followed their gaze and saw an obese patrician seated in the gallery nearest to the arena floor, a perfectly round paunch visible under his toga. The handler pulled hard on the leash, snapping the bear away from the spectator. Spinning round, the bear lashed out at the handler, slashing at his guts with its long claws. The handler gasped. His bowels slopped out of the gash, emptying on to the sand, and as he collapsed, the leash fell from his slack grip.
Having broken free from its tight leash, the bear swung round to the arena wall and launched itself at the patrician with a lightning-fast combination of power and speed. The colour immediately drained from the man’s face as the bear pushed up on its hind legs and stood upright. Stretched to its full height, it was taller than the short drop between the gallery and the arena floor. It thrust out a paw and tore into the dumbstruck patrician with its claws. The patrician screamed as the claws grazed his chest. He turned, trying to scramble to safety, but the bear, still standing upright, immediately clamped its jaws around his arm and ripped him from his seat. The patrician shrieked as the bear wrenched its head to the side, pulling him away from the gallery, the slack leash dangling uselessly from its neck. Then it relaxed its jaws and sent the patrician tumbling to the sand below. It spun back around and dropped to all fours as the patrician stumbled to his feet. He turned to flee, but he was too slow. The beast slashed at him, raking its claws violently across his face and chest. The man’s screams were abruptly cut off as the bear ripped his head off the plump folds of his neck.
The exits were heaving with spectators desperate to escape the wrath of the beast. At the imperial box on the other side of the arena the Emperor looked dumbfounded. The German bodyguards forced Claudius to his feet and escorted him towards the private exit. Murena, clearly rattled, shouted an order at the guards manning the gates. They frantically disappeared down the passageway as the creature clawed the patrician’s bloodied body.
‘We have to do something,’ Pavo urged. ‘The bear isn’t going to stop until it’s killed everyone in sight.’
‘No need, Roman,’ Amadocus replied. ‘Look.’
He pointed to the Praetorians emerging from the gate and cautiously approaching the bear. Each man brandished a hunting spear seized from the arena armoury. The guards closed round the bear in a rough circle, stabbing at it with their spears, confounding the creature. One of the guards plunged his spear deep into its side. Blood flowed out of the wound and gushed over the sand. The bear howled horribly as the other Praetorians encircled it, thrusting at the beast repeatedly. At last the bear let out a faint whimper and dropped to the sand.
Nerva rushed out of the passageway, spitting with fury.
‘The beast fights are off!’ the official barked at Pavo and Amadocus.
‘We’re not going to fight?’ the young gladiator asked.
‘Are you mad?’ Nerva gestured towards the patrician’s mangled body. ‘After that? Can’t have fine upstanding Roman citizens getting mauled to death in the arena. Bad for business. If the spectators aren’t safe during the fights, then the mob will stay away.’ As if suddenly remembering something, he turned back to the passageway and snapped his fingers at a gathering of acrobats. ‘You lot, get out here and for gods’ sakes do something to distract the crowd!’
Pavo and Amadocus looked at the official.
‘Does this mean our part in the games is over?’ the Thracian asked hopefully.
Nerva laughed bitterly. ‘No such luck. You’re to be returned to your cells in the imperial ludus, along with the other fighters.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s going to be a busy afternoon tomorrow, I tell you. There are sixty men listed to appear then.’
‘Listed to appear in what?’ Pavo asked nervously.
‘The group fight,’ replied the official.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
‘Pssst! Wake up!’
Pavo stirred drowsily in his cell. He’d fallen asleep on the thin bedroll as soon as the guards had slammed the door shut, drained from the stress of the day’s combat. Every bone in his body ached dully as he sat upright. He squinted at the gloom and saw a figure crouched outside the door, his piercing eyes reflecting the moonlight filtering in through a slit in the cell wall. The broad stripes of his tunic were faintly visible under his cloak. Pavo recognised the face as the elderly senator he’d seen arriving late to his seat in the galleries. The senator stared back at him, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
‘Thank the gods. I thought you might be dead.’
‘Who are you?’ Pavo asked wearily.
The senator ignored the question as he ran his eyes over the gladiator and sounded a note of approval. ‘You’ve shaped up nicely, I see. Titus always did say that the mark of a good Roman was one who understood the value of physical exercise. Not like those slobs you get these days, stuffing their bellies in the taverns. Here.’
The senator slipped a bundle through the bars, anxiously peering down the dimly lit corridor to make sure he wasn’t being watched.
‘Some food. To help you regain your strength.’
Pavo eagerly took the parcel. It was still warm. His belly rumbled noisily as he unwrapped the cloth and several chunks of stale bread and cooked meat tumbled into his lap. He hesitated to tuck into the food. He looked back at the senator, quickly sizing him up.
‘I saw you fight this morning,’ the senator continued. ‘I must say, that was an impressive display. And I’m speaking as someone who was never very fond of gladiatorial sport.’
‘That makes two of us.’
‘You’re probably wondering why I’ve taken the considerable trouble to pay you, the son of a disgraced legate, a visit. My name is Numerius Porcius Lanatus,’ the senator declared in a stately voice. He had that annoying habit, Pavo noted, of answering a question other than the one being asked, a trait characteristic of all senators.
‘Good for you, Porcius Lanatus,’ Pavo responded.
‘My name means nothing to you?’ Lanatus asked. Seeing the blank look on the face of the young gladiator, he clasped his hands beneath his chin and considered Pavo at length. ‘I was a friend of your late father, in the days when Titus was a mere military tribune and I was a provincial governor. Things were different then, but Titus and I were quite close. Perhaps he spoke of me.’
‘Not that I can remember.’
Lanatus smiled softly. ‘By the time you were born, I had already returned to Rome. I must admit, I was disappointed when your father decided to pursue a career in the military rather than join me in the Senate. Titus would have made an effective politician. But then he always did prefer swords to styluses. Much like his son, it seems.’
‘The choice isn’t exactly mine. Claudius sentenced me to die as a gladiator after they killed my father. Now they’ve condemned me to the group fight tomorrow. All I can do is make my peace with the gods and pray for a quick death.’
‘Yes,’ Lanatus said slowly. ‘I’ve heard about the Emperor’s plans for you. It seems terribly unfair, but then Claudius can’t be trusted to keep his word. He’ll do whatever it takes to secure the fawning adulation of the mob. Just like Caligula and Tiberius did before him. He’s also beholden to those grubby Greek freedmen he insists on surrounding himself with. At any rate, I gather the mob is itching to see you fight.’