He shrugged, and Marcus found the words for him.
‘You chose life instead.’
Horatius nodded.
‘I chose to make my escape, and ran across the farmland to the next line of trees before they could get their horses onto the open ground. After that I knew that there was only one purpose left for me in life, to discover the reason why my legatus died and to take a cold and bitter revenge for him. It may take me years, or I may never manage it, but this new life will provide me with shelter until that time comes.’
He looked at Marcus and Dubnus with fresh calculation.
‘And you?’
The pair looked at each other before Marcus replied.
‘Our quest is much the same as yours. We-’
He was interrupted by a shout from across the ludus.
‘You three, over here!’
Sannitus was beckoning them over, a toga-clad man with sparse hair the colour of polished iron standing beside him. Disquietingly, several armed men were arrayed behind them, and as the three soldiers approached, the lanista held up a hand in warning.
‘Bow your heads in respect, candidates, if you wish to be considered for this school. This man is my master, Tettius Julianus, the man responsible for the Dacian Ludus.’
They stopped and bowed, keeping their heads down as the sword-armed bodyguards fanned out to either side in a protective half-circle about their master that Marcus fervently hoped was routine. With a clear sense for the theatricality of the moment, Julianus waited until his men were in position before breaking the silence.
‘Well then, gentlemen …’ He waited until all three of them had raised their heads. ‘Look at you. It’s my experience that men like you hardly ever drop into a lanista’s hands. We get soldiers, of course, but usually time-expired veterans who can’t face the thought of fending for themselves and don’t want to sign up again. And now, suddenly, here you are, three of you on the same day, a gift from Fortuna or so it seems.’ He looked at the three before him with a wry smile. ‘You’ll understand then why it was that I wanted to check your bona fides with a little more care than would be the case with the usual class of candidate. Horatius …’
The legion centurion snapped to attention.
‘Sir!’
Julianus shook his head.
‘Don’t call me sir, Horatius. That would tend to imply that I have the sort of power that the empire invests in its military officers, and believe me when I tell you this, as far as you’re concerned, once you’ve taken the oath, I’ll have far more power over your fate than any officer would ever be likely to exercise. The correct address for you to use for me is “Master”. And as for your bona fides, I’ve done some asking around and, somewhat to my surprise, all seems to be in order. You are indeed, as far as the army’s record keepers are concerned, a dead man. I don’t know how you achieved such a neat trick and I’m not going to ask, since it’s enough for me that I can swear you in to the school legally. So, Centurion, do you still want to join the ludus?’
‘Yes, Master!’
Julianus nodded, gesturing to the men closest to the soldier, who ushered him away from Dubnus and Marcus. He stared hard at them both in turn.
‘And now for you two gentlemen. I went to visit your tribune this morning with the intention of confirming your freedom from imperial service. Obviously the only acceptable proof of this status was for him to produce the diplomas of your honourable discharge, which you told Sannitus would be in his possession.’ He looked at them both in turn again, his expression unfathomable. ‘And to be frank, gentlemen, my expectation was that he would flatly contradict your story, and demand that I return you to him in chains. And my expectations in such matters, gentlemen, rarely prove to be misjudged.’
Marcus, risking a sidelong glance at Dubnus, saw that his friend’s gaze was fixed on a point over the procurator’s shoulder, his expression one of supreme confidence. The guards clustered tightly about them shuffled slightly, feet moving to find the best grip on the training hall’s floor. Julianus looked at Sannitus with a knowing smile.
‘So imagine my surprise when he produced your diplomas from his desk without even a flicker of concern. You, are, it seems legally and honourably discharged from the service of Rome and therefore, without any doubt whatsoever, free to enter this training school. So, gentlemen …’
He paused, and Sannitus gestured for them to come to attention.
‘The offer on the table before you is this. I will sign you up for a period of five years, no more and no less. I will pay you each five thousand sestertii, half now and half in the event of your death or on completing your term. At the end of your term, if you have risen to the ranks of those men who are celebrated by the crowds and achieve high status within our small world here, you will be able to negotiate a far larger sum for your next period of service. So, do you still wish to swear the sacramentum gladiatorum, and in doing so enter the Dacian Ludus?’
The two men answered together, barking out their answers like soldiers on parade.
‘Yes, Master!’
Julianus stepped back, gesturing expansively for Sannitus to come forward and perform his traditional role in swearing in the new men. The lanista motioned Horatius forward to rejoin the other two, and spoke to them in a fierce tone that was loaded with significance.
‘The only acceptable answer to the three questions I am about to ask you is ‘Yes, Master!’, and I want the men brushing out the sand over there in the Flavian Arena to hear you. Do you understand?’
All three of them bellowed their response at the tops of their voices.
‘Yes, Master!’
He looked at them for a moment before raising a single finger.
‘Will you swear to give your bodies over to the ludus, to be marked with hot iron if necessary?’
‘Yes, Master!’
He raised a second finger alongside the first.
‘Will you submit to being flogged, or beaten, by any member of the ludus’s staff, for any reason they deem appropriate?’
‘Yes, Master!’
A third finger rose up.
‘And will you commit yourself to the service of your master Julianus, and any man who may come after him in the role of procurator of this ludus, and vow to meet your fate by cold steel if he decrees it fit?’
‘Yes, Master!’
The lanista slapped his fingers into the palm of his other hand with a loud crack, shaking his scarred head in amusement.
‘Done! You are now officially the property of the ludus, from this day until the day that you earn your release from its service, and more than that, you are now officially gladiators. Think about that oath you just swore, by the way. I really can order any of you to be branded, or flogged, or beaten, and as to cold steel, I can put you to death simply by pairing you with the best men from the other schools when your time comes in the arena, and ensuring your bloody and painful demise. You will have no choice as to who you fight, gentlemen, none at all. We don’t usually go to the trouble of branding volunteers, that’s for the men who’ve been condemned to the arena in place of criminal justice, but I’ve been known to burn the mark onto volunteers who manage to piss me off as a means of making sure they’ll never knowingly do it again.’
He looked at them with a pitying smile.
‘As of this moment you have the status of infamis, the lowest of the low. Every man in Rome will look down on you, unless of course you rise to the status of demi-gods through your exploits in the arena, and even then they will still count themselves as better than you. So welcome to the ludus, gentlemen. Congratulations are definitely not in order.’
Felicia and Annia spent a quiet morning in the house, the former’s mood too dark for her to do anything much apart from sit and stare at the wall opposite while Appius played with his toys at her feet. Annia bought her a cup of herbal tea sweetened with honey, which she accepted with grace but little enthusiasm, sipping at the drink while her friend fussed around the room tidying what she’d tidied only an hour before.