The younger man shrugged.
‘I can’t deny it. But I had good reason.’
‘Good enough reason to risk having your tongue cut out?’
A long silence settled upon the two men. At length the older man spoke again.
‘And now?’
Scaurus looked at his mentor with a hint of the defiance which had been the hallmark of his boyhood years.
‘And now I’m assisting a man who has been ill-used by the empire to regain his lost honour.’
‘This would be the Aquila boy, if the whispers I hear are to be trusted?’
‘Yes.’
The Senator was silent for a moment.
‘You do realise that his father was executed for treason?’
Scaurus laughed without any hint of humour.
‘And you do realise that his accusation was false?’
‘Gaius, the ice upon which you’re standing couldn’t be any thinner. And if you fall through it I will have no power to save you.’
‘I know. Nor would I expect you to do so.’
‘It might be worse than that. This new man Cleander, egotistical power monger though he is, has one redeeming feature. He seems to see some value in restoring me to favour, apparently on the grounds that if Perennis distrusted me enough to force me out of public life, I must in reality be of some value to the empire. There’s talk of Britannia.’
The younger man raised an eyebrow.
‘As governor?’
‘Apparently so. Although any revelation as to your involvement with this Aquila might well see us both condemned, given that my role in your life as a guardian isn’t exactly a secret. It won’t be Britannia for me, but rather a place in the Palatine dungeons alongside you.’ Scaurus nodded slowly. ‘But you can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I already knew as much. Very well, we’ll face the risk together, you on the streets of Rome and myself here in my gilded cage, while Cleander decides whether to use me for my abilities or put me down as the mentor of quite the most dangerous man in the city. But there is some small compensation you might offer me for this risk.’
‘Senator? Whatever I can do for you, if it is in my power, I will.’
The older man smiled.
‘I know. There is a colleague of mine, an old friend who has fallen from favour. I can do nothing overt to assist him, as he is, I hear, already marked for betrayal and death, when the time is right. But a man like you, a man with the right resources and lacking in conventional scruples — not to mention any sense of self-preservation — might just be able to spirit him out of Rome?’
Scaurus bowed again.
‘I will do everything in my power. His name?’
The senator smiled knowingly.
‘You’ve already made his acquaintance, I believe. His name is Gaius Carius Sigilis. Save him from the executioner for me, young Gaius. Extend just a hint of your improbable daring and outrageous good fortune to my friend, before he becomes another victim of this regime’s thirst for blood, will you?’
The ludus woke before dawn, its inhabitants summoned from their beds in the usual manner, the volunteers encouraged by the jibes and sarcasm of their trainers while the ranks of condemned men were escorted out into the torchlight by guards armed with clubs. The ranks of yawning, farting fighters were unusually quiet, collectively digesting the fact that the coming week would see most of them fighting for their lives in the arena. Sannitus walked onto the parade square, looked up and down their ranks and nodded to himself.
‘You apes look shit scared! Which is good!’
He strolled up the front rank, meeting each man’s eyes in turn.
‘Today is the first day of the Roman Games! The Great Games! Two whole weeks of chariot racing, boxing, athletics, acrobatics and, of course, enough blood on the arena sand to keep our discerning public happy! So, during these next few days we will be sending more than two hundred fighters over there …’ He waved a hand at the Flavian Arena’s top tiers, visible over the ludus’s walls. ‘You’ll be fighting men from the other schools, all of whom will be looking to put one over on us by winning more of their fights than we do!’ He lowered his voice to a growl, forcing them to strain for the words. ‘In all the years that I’ve been the lanista of this school that hasn’t happened, and gentlemen, trust me …’ He looked up and down the lines of men again with a grimace that made his feelings on the subject crystal clear. ‘That will not change this year. Whatever you find yourself facing: fish men, net men, hoplites …’ He shrugged, pulling a face that neatly summed up his contempt for the other gladiatorial disciplines. ‘You will win. You’ll win to bring glory to the ludus. You’ll win to bask in the adulation of sixty thousand screaming plebs, and to get the women vying for your straining pricks. And you’ll win because you know that I’ll be waiting for you if you lose and manage to escape with your life. So, pairings …’
He stood in silence as Edius stepped forward and, one man at a time, read out the waiting gladiators’ destinies.
‘Mortiferum!’
Marcus started as the champion swordsman stepped out from the front rank, staring at the back of his father’s killer’s head through narrowed eyes.
‘You will fight a pair of fish men from the Gallic School as the last bout of the day in two days’ time!’
The champion gladiator nodded with a look of indifferent confidence and stepped back into his place.
‘Velox! The Gallic ludus have sent their number one man in the vain hope that he’ll be able to regain them some pride after last year’s pathetic display. He’s a hoplite, apparently!’
‘Not for long he isn’t!’
A ripple of laughter ran across the waiting fighters, knowing that their champion had the skills required to back up his bravado.
‘Very funny. You’ve got the last fight of the day on the last day of the games.’
The roll call lasted until the horizon had turned from purple to a rosy shade of pink, as individuals and small groups of the less capable men were briefed as to their pairings for the first week of the games. When the last of them had stepped forward and heard his fate, the rotund lanista barked out one last set of names.
‘Centurion, Dubnus and Corvus!’
The three men looked at each other and stepped forward. Edius looked over to his lanista with a questioning expression, and Sannitus walked down the line of gladiators in silence, pushing through to the rear rank.
‘You three will be taking a mid-afternoon slot today. Come the middle of an afternoon’s fighting the plebs need something special to wake them up for the big fights to come, and Procurator Julianus has volunteered the three of you to provide that spectacle.’
Turning away, he raised his voice in a bellow of command.
‘All men fighting today, stay here. The rest of you, get back to your training. Move!’
The twenty-eight men who were due to fight mustered around the lanista, who took a swift head count, frowning at one man who had strolled over to join the group.
‘You’re not fighting today.’
Velox shrugged, smiling easily back at him.
‘I thought I’d come along for the parade, and then perhaps take them into the arena to have a look around and get used to the noise.’
Sannitus thought for a moment and then nodded.
‘It’s not as if a day’s missed training is going to trouble you over much. Right then, go and get your equipment, everything you’ll be wearing later on. Let’s give the plebs a show, shall we? You three can stay here, your armour will be provided by the arena staff since you’ll be fighting in military equipment.’
The friends waited in silence for a moment, until Horatius sniffed something familiar and yet unlikely on the air.