Arena (36 page)

Fighting the urge to puke, Pavo focused on the animal hunt taking place on the arena floor. A fighter dressed in a tunic and armed with a short sword emerged from the tunnel, the attendants having already cleared away the lion and the dead beast fighter, along with the trees and vegetation. The man wasn’t wearing a helmet. He turned to wave to the mob. Pavo caught a glimpse of his face and shook with disbelief.

The announcer read out the name of the animal hunter, but Pavo already knew it well enough – Quintus Marcius Atellus. Pavo and Atellus had been childhood friends; they had studied Greek together and had played games in the streets. Atellus was the son of a wealthy landowner and, Pavo recalled, something of a spoilt brat, with his father keen to indulge his every whim.

Out in the arena there was a chorus of terrified squeals as a drove of hares and several ostriches were released on to the sand. Atellus laughed wildly, quickly cornering an ostrich. He plunged his sword into the panicked bird. Blood squirted out of its long neck and splattered his tunic. The ostrich flapped its wings erratically, shrieking in agony. Atellus then chopped up some hares with his sword as boos rang out across the arena.

‘Why is Atellus competing in the games, I wonder?’ Pavo mused.

‘What did you say, Roman?’ Amadocus barked at him.

Pavo half turned to the Thracian. ‘Nothing.’

‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’

Pavo turned round. Amadocus stood in front of him with his armour removed, and Pavo now saw the full extent of his earlier injuries. A ragged gash ran diagonally down his chest and a wound to his left leg forced him to move with a slight limp.

‘Not so high and mighty now, are you, rich boy?’ Amadocus hissed, jabbing a finger at Pavo. ‘This is what being a gladiator is all about. Rotting in a cell while you Romans walk around thinking your shit smells better than everyone else’s. Now I’m going to make you suffer.’

An acute feeling of bitterness stung Pavo as he spoke. ‘You have a short memory, Thracian. I saved you from the lion.’

Amadocus balled his callused hands into fists. ‘And why the hell was I fighting against a wild beast in the first place? Because you came along and took my place in the arena against Britomaris. It should’ve been me matched against that barbarian. I would’ve won, too. I’d be the toast of Rome by now. Not sitting on my arse in this pit, waiting to die.’

‘That had nothing to do with me. Blame those damned Greek freedmen of Claudius’s.’

‘I’m a true champion!’ Amadocus thumped his fist against his chest. His facial muscles shook with rage, his thick accent mangling each word of Latin. ‘I waited years for a chance to prove myself against the best in the arena and be numbered among the greats, slogging it out in the provinces, fighting the scum of the earth and patiently biding my time, just like the lanista instructed me to. Then you showed up and in a matter of weeks you’re the people’s champion. You bastard!’

Pavo pulled a sour face at his Thracian rival. ‘The sword doesn’t lie. You had your chances in the arena, you just didn’t take them. The only difference between me and you is that I’m better with a sword and shield. Anyway, none of this matters. We’re both about to be sent out to be slaughtered.’

The Thracian exploded with rage and lunged at Pavo. The gladiator backed away, trying to avoid being drawn into a fight, wanting to preserve his remaining strength for the beast fight. But Amadocus surged towards him. His outstretched hands grabbed Pavo by the neck and shoved him against the wall. A clamour erupted in the antechamber as some of the other beast fighters formed a semicircle around the men, fists pumping, cheering them on. The Thracian delivered a swift fist to the gladiator’s groin. Pavo doubled up in agony and Amadocus launched a boot at his side and sent him crashing into the huddle of beast fighters. The fighters shuffled frantically away from the scrap as Amadocus hurled himself at the prone gladiator, pressing down on his opponent’s arms with his knees, pinning Pavo to the ground.

‘Roman scum! I’ll make you pay!’

Pavo struggled to writhe free as Amadocus fastened his grip around his neck and squeezed his throat. His eyes bulged in their sockets. He couldn’t breathe. The Thracian’s fingers pressed hard against his throat cartilage. His brain felt as if it was swelling inside his skull.

‘Die, Roman!’ Amadocus bellowed.

Pavo fought off the aching tiredness in his limbs. He refused to die at the hands of the Thracian, even if meant exhausting his body ahead of the fight with the bear. He tensed his shoulder muscles and jerked to the side, pushing up on Amadocus with his palms as he turned. His strength caught the Thracian off guard. He let out a sharp cry as Pavo threw him off and sent him tumbling head first against the latrine bucket. The other fighters jumped back as its contents spilled on to the floor and drenched Amadocus in foul excrement. The Thracian spat waste out of his mouth and staggered to his feet. At that instant several guards thrust open the door and grabbed Amadocus before he could strike another blow at Pavo. Four of them clamped their hands around his arms. He tried in vain to wrestle free from the guards, snarling at Pavo the whole time, his hair dripping with filth.

At that moment Nerva burst in. The harassed arena official stepped around the stinking puddle as the guards restrained Amadocus.

‘I’ll kill you, Pavo!’ the Thracian spat. ‘This I swear!’

‘I think the Atlas bear might have something to say about that,’ Nerva declared as he glanced disapprovingly at Amadocus. ‘It’s time. Both of you. You’re on.’

Pavo and Amadocus were manhandled towards the antechamber door by the guards. The other fighters stared silently at the men, painfully aware that they would soon be treading the same path.

‘What about our weapons?’ Amadocus asked.

‘You won’t have any,’ Nerva replied flatly.

‘Against a bear?’ Amadocus spluttered, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets. ‘Is this some kind of fucking joke?’

The official shot a severe look at him. ‘Do I look like I’m joking?’

‘On whose orders?’ Pavo asked, shaking his groggy head clear.

‘The sponsor, of course.’ Nerva puffed out his cheeks and made a mark on his tablet with his stylus. ‘Can’t say I blame him. We’re running behind schedule as it is. You were both supposed to die in your last fight.’ He shrugged. ‘First time for everything, I suppose. Now hurry up! I’ve got a tight schedule to keep to and the crowd is getting restless.’

Without further delay, Nerva led the small party of guards and beast fighters out of the holding pen and back down the passageway towards the gate. Ahead of them Atellus, the animal hunter, exited the arena and handed his sword to a nearby attendant. He noticed Pavo passing by and his jaw dropped in astonishment.

‘By the gods, Pavo!’ he announced gleefully. ‘It’s you!’

Pavo stopped in his tracks. He forced a smile at the landowner’s son. ‘Atellus. What a pleasant surprise. You’re competing in the games, I see.’

Atellus glanced down at his blood-splattered tunic and smiled. ‘I’ve always wanted to fight in the arena. Thankfully my father is a favourite of the imperial court. He twisted a few arms and managed to get me added to the schedule. It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? The noise of the crowd, the feel of the sword in your grip. Nothing else like it …’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘I must say, you’ve started quite the fashion here in Rome. Thanks to you, the wealthy young men of Rome are in thrall to the games.’

His words sent a cold shiver through Pavo. ‘You’re participating of your own free will?’

‘Of course. I was just taking part for a bit of fun. I wouldn’t stoop to being a real gladiator.’

‘You will never be that. Not while you shame yourself by massacring defenceless animals.’

Atellus laughed him off. ‘Say what you like, but I can’t wait to see the faces of my dinner companions tonight. They’ll be green with envy!’ His expression shifted and he cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, I must go. Best of luck to you.’

Pavo watched his childhood friend saunter down the passageway, a leaden despair weighing heavily in his chest. He was struck by a sharp memory of his former life, the exotic food and heated political debates over a jug of good Falernian wine. The tragic injustice of it all struck him.

A clammy hand clasped his arm and one of the guards jerked him towards the open gate.

‘Move it, scum!’ the guard rasped.

Facing forward, Pavo took a deep breath and stepped out into the arena with Amadocus.

Jeers cascaded down on the two men from the now sparse crowd. There were several large gaps in the galleries, Pavo noted. Many of the spectators had grown bored of the morning programme of beast fights, in which dozens of men, some hunting in packs, others fighting individually, had been pitched against a bewildering variety of creatures, including giraffes, hippopotamuses and panthers. By now the novelty of the exotic beasts had clearly worn off and clutches of spectators were temporarily abandoning their seats, ducking out of the exits to refresh their wine cups at the merchant stalls lining the streets outside, ahead of the midday crucifixions. Pavo couldn’t help noticing that several members of the remaining audience were stifling yawns as he took to the sand. The bitter realisation struck him that he would not even be granted the dignity of dying in front of a decent crowd.

With the arena almost a third empty, he could clearly hear the excitable mob in the upper terraces as they shouted abuse about him and his family in delirious voices. Several of the spectators made offensive hand gestures in his direction, their voices hoarse from hours of drunken singing.

The Atlas bear growled behind the opposite gate. A rank breeze fluttered across the arena as the gate creaked open, and a moment later the bear trudged out of the portal on all fours, followed by a small party of handlers. Some of the spectators seated at the lower galleries leant forward in their seats, commanding the beast to attack the fighters. As the bear neared, Pavo saw that a leash was fastened around its neck, with an animal handler standing to one side of it and pulling tight on the leash to the point of almost choking it. Behind the bear stood a pair of attendants, prodding it forward with wooden sticks. Four members of the Praetorian Guard kept watch at the gate, gripping the pommels of their swords in the event of trouble.

‘How do we defeat this monster, then?’ Amadocus asked.

‘We don’t,’ Pavo replied coldly.

The Thracian rounded on him angrily. ‘There must be something we can do,’ he spluttered. ‘You were full of bright ideas against that fucking lion! You’re the expert here, do something!’

Pavo shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m afraid without any weapons to defend ourselves with, we don’t stand a chance. That bear is going to kill us.’

Amadocus was about to reply when he was interrupted by a guttural cry from across the arena. The bear had abruptly stopped in its tracks and was refusing to budge.

‘What’s going on?’ Amadocus asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Pavo replied. ‘But it looks as if the bear’s panicking.’

The handlers yanked on the chain and poked at the beast with their wooden sticks. The bear stubbornly refused to move and let out a deep wail. Infuriated by the animal’s show of dissent, the handler tugged harder on the leash in an attempt to force it to continue towards Pavo and Amadocus. He only succeeded in enraging the creature. The bear thrashed violently at the leash, the chain tensing under the immense strain. Sensing the situation getting out of control, the handler shouted to the attendants for help. His companions bludgeoned the bear with their sticks. The beast brushed them away with a dismissive snort. As they retreated to a safe distance, the bear moaned and slumped to the ground.

Heated mutters broke out in the galleries. The handler turned to the imperial box in confusion. Pavo looked up to see Pallas glaring at Murena, and the aide to the imperial secretary shot up and gestured furiously to the Praetorian Guards keeping watch by the gate, urging them to assist the handler. Stirring into action, two of the guards hurried across the sand. One of them was brandishing a legionary sword. He stabbed the tip in the bear then jumped back. The crowd cheered. The bear howled. Droplets of blood glistened through its fur. In a blur of motion, the animal rounded on the handler and pawed at its leash.

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.