That appeared to satisfy Claudius. He scowled at Murena and waved to the guards. ‘T-t-take this despicable t-traitor to the Mamertine! He can w-w-wait there until we c-crucify him tomorrow.’
Murena’s eyes went wide with horror. Snivelling, he dropped to his knees in front of the Emperor. ‘Please, most gracious majesty, I beg of you, let me live!’
The Emperor’s expression hardened. ‘Get to your f-f-feet, Murena. A man should e-e-embrace death with dignity.’
With that Claudius gave a stiff nod of his head and the guards dragged Murena towards the tunnel entrance, the aide screaming for mercy. Narcissus smiled as the crowd began to chant, ‘Crucifixion for Murena! Crucifixion for Murena!’ The spectators around the stadium were delighted that the day’s entertainment had not ended with the gladiator fight. Turning away from Murena, the Emperor waved a frail hand at the men who were holding Pavo.
‘R-r-release the gladiator. He has p-p-proved a noble swordsman.’
The guards obediently stepped away from Pavo. The young gladiator clutched the throbbing wound on his bicep and flashed a dark look at the Praetorians. He was beginning to understand why Optio Macro hated them. Claudius pursed his lips and considered Pavo for a moment.
‘Perhaps I was w-w-wrong about you,’ the Emperor mused. ‘Rome needs m-more men such as yourself. There are f-few heroes these days. Too few to waste, while b-barbarians mass along our f-f-frontiers. You are free to g-go, young Pavo.’
Pavo looked astounded. Something like joy fluttered in his chest. He sank to his knees. Freedom. He had never thought he would taste it again. For a moment he was unable to speak. Drained from his fight, weary from the months of deprivation, he managed a half-hearted smile at Claudius.
‘Thank you, your majesty.’
‘Y-you have earned it, young m-man. In blood.’ The Emperor paused and considered something. ‘A freedman needs money, especially a gladiator who has been f-f-fighting without any bounty. I sh-shall see to it that your family estate in A-Antium is returned to y-you.’
Pavo’s smile widened slightly. He had spent many a holiday at the villa in Antium as a child. And the land surrounding the estate would provide a modest income.
Claudius abruptly dismissed Pallas and Narcissus from the arena and waved to a pair of attendants. One of them bore a silver urn filled with coins. The other carried a palm leaf. The Emperor looked at Pavo as the attendants swept across the arena.
‘Now, to your f-f-feet, Pavo,’ Claudius intoned. ‘It is time for y-you to accept your title — Champion of the Arena …’
As the sun set over the imperial palace the next day, Pavo made his way down the marble entrance steps, clutching his wooden rudis of freedom. After the arena had emptied the previous afternoon, Claudius had ordered that the grandstands should remain in place for the following day’s crucifixion. A sizeable crowd had turned up to watch Murena’s execution. With both Lanatus and the aide to the imperial secretary dead, Pavo could rest easy. No one else was aware of his involvement in the conspiracy to kill Claudius, and Murena’s desperate accusations against him had fallen on deaf ears. Pavo had been invited to the imperial palace following the public crucifixion to receive his rudis in person from Claudius in front of a large assembly of dignitaries. Although officially he could not reclaim his place among the senatorial class, the respect his father’s peers showed him was obvious. Bravery was a rare commodity in Rome. Rarer than it ought to be, Pavo reflected.
Ruga and Bucco had been present to watch Pavo receive his freedom. In recognition of his help in training the gladiator to victory and exposing the conspiracy against Narcissus, Ruga had been given a new job as an imperial bodyguard, escorting functionaries as they went about their civic duties around Rome. Bucco had told Pavo that he intended to pursue his career as a comedy actor. At the end of the ceremony he had bid Pavo a warm farewell and the two men had sworn to remain friends. Pavo had a feeling they would be seeing each other again before too long.
Now Pavo grimaced as he made his way down from the entrance. The injuries sustained in his brutal clash with Hermes were still painful and he moved stiffly as he neared the wrought-iron gates at the bottom. The ornate colonnades cast long shadows over the steps. Squinting in the sunset, he noticed two silhouetted figures waiting for him. The new Champion of the Arena slowed his step as the Praetorian Guards stationed at their posts opened the gates. He limped towards the two figures outside. Then he caught sight of their faces and a surge of emotion swelled inside his chest.
Macro stepped towards him. His hand was clasped round the tiny fingers of a timid child by his side. The soldier grinned broadly at the stunned gladiator and cocked his head at the child.
‘This little rascal belongs to you, I believe.’
For a moment Pavo couldn’t speak. He dropped to his knees. Tears instantly welled in his eyes. ‘Appius!’
Macro released the child’s hand and gently nudged Appius towards his father. Pavo watched the child in amazement. Appius’s gait was awkward as he approached his father, and Pavo felt a surge of pride as he watched his son walking on his own. He had been a baby the last time Pavo had seen him; now he was a small boy. Pavo felt a sudden pang of sadness.
‘My son,’ he stuttered. ‘It’s really you.’
Appius looked curiously at his father. Pavo imagined that he must appear unrecognisable to the young boy. A straggly beard covered the lower half of his face. His arms and legs were marked with bruises and scars from his battles in the arena. His once skinny frame was enlarged with taut muscle.
‘I missed you so much, my boy.’
Pavo placed his hands on his son’s small shoulders. So young. There was a flicker of recognition in his blue eyes, as the child tried to place the face in front of him. At last he reached out and touched the wooden rudis Pavo was holding.
‘Sword,’ Appius said.
‘Yes, sword,’ Pavo replied.
The child raised his hand and lightly touched a scar on Pavo’s face. ‘Father.’
Pavo smiled. Overcome with joy, he hugged Appius tightly and clamped his eyes shut. It had all been worth it. The training, facing down the slippery freedmen in the imperial palace, surviving every vicious foe in the arena. For this one moment, holding his son tight as a free man, Pavo told himself he would have endured any hardship.
At length he stood painfully upright and smiled at Macro.
‘You’re in a bright mood … for a change.’
‘Course I bloody am, lad.’ Macro waved the scroll in his right hand bearing the wax seal of the Emperor’s office. ‘I’m a centurion now. Best of all, I’m finally heading back to the Rhine Frontier, and this time there’s not a meddling Greek in sight who can stop me.’
‘When did you receive your promotion?’
‘Earlier, while you lot were watching that shit Murena get nailed to a cross. Bucco asked me to stop by his lodgings in the Subura and bring Appius to you. I was more than happy to do so.’
‘Things worked out rather well for us both in the end, Macro. Or should I say, Centurion.’
‘Not too bad, I suppose.’ The newly promoted centurion patted his chest. ‘The Emperor gave me a thousand sestertii to go with the promotion. Very generous of him, that. It’s a long trek back to the Rhine and I’ll need the company of a few cheap tarts along the way.’
‘You’ll be leaving soon, then?’
Macro nodded as he tucked the scroll into his sidebag. ‘At dawn.’ He looked up and considered Pavo for a moment. ‘What’re you going to do now? Seeing as you’re a freedman and all.’
‘I’m a freed gladiator, Macro. There’s a difference. Rome’s social mores forbid me from returning to my former elevated standing.’
‘Bollocks to social mores, lad! You’re the most popular gladiator Rome has ever seen. They’ll be talking of the way you fought back from the brink to defeat Hermes for years to come.’