Gladiator: Vengeance (10 page)

Procrustes’ supporters let out a roar and punched their fists up as they shouted his name over and over. The Greek stretched up to his full height and spat with contempt at his opponent.

‘Let’s finish this lesson the old-fashioned way!’ he called out, grasping his sword in both hands as he raised his knee and placed it behind the blade. With a sudden, powerful movement the wood shattered and splinters flew through the air. The gang leader tossed the ends aside and raised his fists.

‘Marcus!’ He looked round as Lupus plucked his tunic. The scribe jerked his head towards the nearest street leading out of the square. ‘We have to go. Now!’

He was still for a moment, then looked back and saw Festus feebly raising his fists to defend himself. Whatever happened he did not feel he could abandon his comrade. Marcus pulled himself free of Lupus’s grasp. ‘No.’

‘But he told us to go if he lost. We have to run, while we can still get away.’

‘Festus hasn’t lost,’ Marcus replied defiantly. ‘Not yet.’

‘Marcus, don’t be a fool. Let’s go.’

‘I’m staying to the end.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Lupus snapped and turned to ease his way out of the crowd. Marcus felt torn between following his friend and staying, but he could not bear the sense of betrayal that coiled in the pit of his stomach.

In the open space, Procrustes steadily advanced on his Roman opponent, his fists inscribing small circles in the air. Festus shook his head to clear it and clumsily raised his own fists. The odds did not look promising, Marcus conceded. The Greek was at least half as big again as Festus, and his punches would carry great force behind them. Proscrustes shot his right fist out and Festus desperately knocked it to one side before raising his hands to protect his head. Procrustes steadily unleashed a series of jabs, probing his opponent, and although only a handful got through, Marcus winced each time his friend’s head snapped back. Then the Greek stepped up the pace, trying to pummel the Roman’s chest. Again some blows got through and Festus staggered back gasping as blood ran down his face from a cut above his right eyebrow.

‘Ha!’ Procrustes reared up, fists held out and high as he prepared to claim victory. He turned slowly so the crowd could
clearly see him. Although his gang members were cheering at the top of their voices, the rest of the crowd’s support was muted, though none dared support his challenger any more.

Marcus gritted his teeth. ‘Don’t give in, Festus! Don’t give in.’

As if in answer to his urging, the bodyguard drew a deep breath and stretched up. He strode towards Procrustes. At the last moment one of the thugs called out a warning and the Greek began to turn round – just in time to take a blow to the jaw. Festus followed up with his left, and then the right again, an uppercut this time that sent the gang leader’s head snapping back. He weathered a few more blows before recovering his stance ready to renew the fight. But Festus had no intention of getting into a slugging match. Stepping forward he drew his right arm back as if to punch his opponent in the face. Instinctively the Greek raised his fists to block the blow. That was when Festus swung his boot in instead; a vicious blow right on the other man’s kneecap. Procrustes bellowed in agony and staggered back as Festus kicked again, into his groin. The Greek doubled over and received a knee in his face, and more blows to each side of his head as Festus swung his fists as hard as he could.

‘Come on, Festus!’

Marcus turned and saw that Lupus was back.

‘Thought you’d gone?’

The scribe shrugged and gave Marcus a sheepish grin before he continued shouting support for their comrade.

The crowd erupted in cheers and the woman beside Marcus screamed shrilly as she urged him to finish the gang leader off.

‘Kill him! Break his neck!’

Festus leaned down and raised his opponent’s chin with his left hand. The Greek swayed as his eyes blinked wildly. Festus bunched his right fist and drew it back as far as he could before unleashing a powerful blow from the shoulder that carried his whole weight behind it. Procrustes flew backwards and crashed heavily to the ground. Festus stepped over him, breathing deeply as blood dripped on to his unconscious opponent. Marcus grabbed Lupus’s sleeve and pulled him forward. They ran over to Festus as the crowd began to roar with delight. The members of the Greek’s gang looked round uncertainly, some with fearful expressions as the mob celebrated the fall of Procrustes.

‘Are you all right?’ Lupus asked anxiously.

Sweat ran from Festus’s brow and his chest heaved. The cut above his eye was beginning to swell. He licked his lip and spat out some blood before he cocked an eyebrow at the scribe. ‘Just great. Next stupid question?’

He breathed in deeply and winced as he clutched a hand to
his side. ‘I need to go somewhere to rest and recover … Sweet Jupiter, that brute has a punch like a sledgehammer! But he’s been cut down to size now. Before we go I’ll take what’s ours.’

Festus leaned over Procrustes and removed the purse from his belt. Beneath the soft leather it felt light enough to contain only a handful of coins.

‘That’ll do us, boys. Now let’s get out of here.’ He nodded towards the thugs who were starting to shuffle across the open space. ‘They don’t look very forgiving. Let’s go.’

With Marcus and Lupus supporting Festus, they returned to their packs and picked them up. The woman who had spoken to Marcus earlier was grinning like a maniac and planted a kiss on Festus’s cheek before she hurried away into the crowd. Other townspeople shouted their congratulations and patted him on the back as the three of them worked through the crowd towards the rear of the square. Suddenly a flash of lightning bathed the town in a brilliant white glare. A moment later thunder crashed from the heavens and the rain began to fall – a few drops rattling off the roof tiles at first, then in earnest as silver rods slashed down on Leuctra.

‘We have to find shelter,’ said Marcus.

Festus shook his head. ‘Not here. Not in the town. Outside.’

‘What?’ Lupus turned to look at him with a surprised
expression. ‘I thought that’s what the fight was about. So we could afford a decent room?’

‘That was before our friend back there decided to use the situation to cement his hold over the town. He won’t be out for long. We shouldn’t be around when he regains consciousness. Something tells me he’s a sore loser. We have to get out of Leuctra. Before Procrustes recovers and comes looking for us …’

It rained hard for over an hour before the storm had passed. In that time Marcus and the others had left the town and made their way two miles down the road towards Athens before Marcus announced his decision to get off the road. His breathing was laboured and every few paces he grimaced and clutched a hand to his chest. It was dusk and the sun had already set by the time the clouds began to clear, leaving a golden hue across the western horizon. They stood next to an abandoned, roofless building beside the road. A faded sign on the wall revealed it had once been a wayside inn.

‘Why?’ Lupus asked, shivering as he stood in his drenched tunic and cloak. ‘Surely we should just put as much distance between us and Leuctra as possible.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘We’re not going very fast. If
Procrustes comes after us you can bet he’ll be moving faster. If they catch up with us on the road …’

‘He’s right,’ said Festus. ‘We have to get off the road and find somewhere to rest. I can’t go on … much further without a … rest.’

They saw a path a short distance away and turned on to it, following it up a small hill into some olive groves. On the far side the path continued uphill towards a forest of cedars and poplars, passing over an open meadow. In the failing light they saw a herd of goats clustered round a handful of pine trees. Marcus glanced across the slope and could just make out the dim outline of a young goatherd resting against one of the trunks. Then they entered the forest. After a hundred paces or so there was a natural clearing round a jumble of rocks and Festus halted them.

‘This will have to do. I can’t go any further.’ He sat down heavily and rested his back against a boulder.

‘Want me to light a fire?’ asked Lupus as he lowered his pack.

‘No,’ Marcus answered. ‘What if anyone sees the glow? The last thing we want is for those thugs to find us.’

‘That’s not entirely true,’ Festus intervened. ‘I’ve been thinking it … through. If I was Procrustes, I’d want my money back, and I’d want … revenge on those who had humiliated him in front of the people of … Leuctra. So we can be sure he will
come. How far he will follow is anyone’s guess. If he picks up our trail and finds us here we’ll need to prepare. And we’ll … light a fire to lure him in.’

Marcus sucked in a deep breath. ‘That’s madness. You saw his men. Big brutes, and there must have been nine or ten of ’em. We can’t take on that many. Not with you in poor shape and Lupus barely able to handle a sword.’

Lupus shot him an irritated look. ‘Thanks.’

‘Then we must make a few preparations to improve the odds in our favour. Listen …’

While Lupus prepared a fire Marcus set to work cutting lengths of wood from the surrounding trees, passing the bundles of wood to Festus for sharpening. As the night fell they worked faster, knowing it was likely their pursuers would track them down before too long. Under Festus’s instructions Marcus and Lupus surrounded the clearing with traps to ambush Procrustes and his men, should they make an appearance during the night. Then, when they were done, Lupus built up the fire and they settled down to wait.

‘Lupus, you take the first watch. Give it two hours, as best you can judge it, and then wake Marcus so he can take over. I’ll take the last watch.’

Marcus looked at him anxiously. ‘How are you feeling now?’

‘Like I’ve been run down by a herd of elephants. It’s going to hurt like blazes tomorrow . Now let’s rest. Lupus, keep your eyes and ears open for any sign of danger. We can’t afford to let them catch us unawares.’

Lupus nodded. ‘You can rely on me.’

It was past midnight and Procrustes and most of his men were sitting down a short distance from the goats. They had been searching for the three interlopers who had caused such damage to his reputation among the people of Leuctra. The cheers they had given the Roman after he had knocked Procrustes to the ground still rang in his ears and he burned with humiliation and anger. Pain was something he had long since grown used to, and his bruises did not bother him as he thirsted for revenge. No one, but no one, got the better of Procrustes and lived to tell the tale.

Once he had recovered from his beating, the gang leader summoned his best six men and set off after the Roman and the two boys. It had been easy enough to discover they had left the town and taken the Athens road. The gang followed it for five miles before reaching a small village with an inn where a few customers were still drinking. They had seen no sign of
the travellers Procrustes was after, so he turned back and explored the first half-mile or so of every path that led off the road. Just as his men began to tire of searching, muttering and grumbling among themselves, they came across the goats and the young boy who looked after them. Terrified to find himself surrounded by several large men in the depths of the night, he tried to make a run for it. He never made it out of the ring and was placed in front of Procrustes, his arms pinned behind his back.

‘Hold still, you little wretch,’ he growled. ‘Or I’ll tell my man to rip your arms off.’

The boy ceased struggling at once.

‘That’s better.’ Procrustes tried to soften his tone. ‘We ain’t going to hurt you. Not if you help us. But if you don’t do exactly what I say then someone’s going to find your body with your head caved in. Do I make myself clear?’

The boy nodded vigorously.

‘I can’t hear you, lad. Now tell me, are you going to do what I want?’

‘Y-yes, sir,’ the boy whimpered.

‘That’s better. Now then, how long have you been resting here?’

‘From late yesterday afternoon, sir.’

‘Excellent. So then you’d remember if anyone came up this path since then.’

The boy nodded.

‘Again, I can’t hear you. Speak up.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did you see anyone?’

‘Yes, sir. Three of them. A man and two boys. Just as it was getting dark.’

‘It’s them all right!’ One of the thugs chuckled.

Procrustes snapped his head round towards the man. ‘Shut it, you!’

‘Sorry, boss.’

He turned back to the boy. ‘Where did they go?’

The goatherd pointed up the path towards the forest. ‘In the trees. And that’s where they still are, as far as I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I saw the glow of a fire a while back, sir. I was curious. I heard that brigands had been spotted in the mountains and wanted to make sure my flock was safe. I went up to look and saw the three of them sitting around. Then I returned to the flock.’

One of his gang members muttered, ‘I don’t see any glow.’

Procrustes sighed. ‘That’s because they’ve probably let the
fire die down, you fool. Anyway, I have to be sure they’re still there. Don’t want us all blundering through the trees and alerting them. You go. Take the boy with you. He can show you where he saw them. Then get back here and make your report. If they’re still there, we’ll surround ’em and give them a nasty surprise.’

That was a short while earlier and now Procrustes was sitting in silence, relishing the prospect of getting his revenge, thinking about the most painful and shameful agonies he could inflict on the Roman. Then they would retrieve the purse he had taken from Procrustes. After that, they would take the boys and their possessions and sell them at the market in Leuctra to make sure the townspeople understood the fate awaiting anyone who defied him.

A rattle of loose stones from the path broke into his reverie and he stood up as two shapes headed down the slope towards them – the boy and the man sent with him. The latter caught his breath before he made his report.

‘Just like the lad said, boss. They’re in a clearing, asleep round a fire. It’s burned right down so there’s not much light. But I could see ’em. All three of ’em. Asleep like innocent lambs.’

‘Lambs to the slaughter.’ Procrustes chuckled menacingly. ‘Right then, let’s get them.’ He paused by the goatherd and
ruffled his hair. ‘Good job, lad. When you’ve got a few more years under your belt, come to Leuctra and look me up. Maybe I’ll have a place for you in my gang.’

He led his men up the path towards the trees. When they reached the fringe of the forest he stopped and turned to them. ‘I don’t want any of them to get away. So we don’t just pile in there. When we get close we’ll spread out round the clearing and surround them. When I give the word, charge in and we’ll wake the scum up. Make it nice and loud. Clear?’

The men nodded in silence and he waved them on. ‘Nice and quietly then.’

He led them slowly along the path, taking care not to tread on any fallen branches. Beneath the canopy of the trees it was almost completely dark and only the faintest of illumination from the stars penetrated the gloom to reveal the trees on either side. They had not gone far before Procrustes’ eyes detected a faint glow between the trees ahead.

‘Easy now, lads,’ he whispered as he proceeded step by step.

As they drew closer the glow intensified, casting a red wash over the nearest trees and the boulders scattered across the clearing. Then he saw the bright glitter of a small flame as the fire came into view. In the dim light cast by the fire he saw a figure on the ground, covered in a blanket. Close by was a second. Both
seemed to be asleep. Which left one other. Procrustes carefully scanned the surrounding area and then smiled as he saw the last of them, propped up against one of the boulders, also apparently asleep. If he was supposed to keep watch while his comrades slumbered, then he was betraying their trust. They would all pay the price for his failure. Procrustes turned back to his men and indicated for them to go right and left. While they crept off into the shadows their leader stayed on the path to keep watch over their intended victims. Every so often he heard the faint rustle of a disturbed branch and waited for the lookout to stir. But there was no sign that his men had been detected and it seemed the lookout was fast asleep. He waited until he was certain that the last of his men would be in position and then drew his sword, gritting his teeth as it scraped free of the scabbard. Holding it out in front of him, Procrustes stood and made his way along the track towards the fire. When he reached the edge of the clearing the trees gave way on either side of the rocks scattered across the ground. The nearest of the Romans was only twenty feet ahead, a dark form against the glow of the dying fire.

Drawing a deep breath, Procrustes readied his weapon, then bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘Get ’em!’

His men took up the cry and surged in from the trees surrounding the clearing. As their leader raced up the path
towards the fire he felt delirious with excitement that his plan was succeeding so well. Anticipating the satisfaction of killing Festus, he was just a few paces from the nearest of his victims when he heard one of his men cry out in pain. Then another, and he slowed his pace – but too late to stop himself stumbling into the concealed ditch that stretched across the path. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through his foot. With a deep groan, he plucked his foot out of the trench and stumbled on, consumed by his desire for revenge. More cries of surprise and pain came from the fringes of the clearing as he blundered on, right up to the nearest of the sleeping Romans, to deliver a vicious kick. The blanket slid to the ground, revealing a leather bag and some small pine branches carefully heaped in the shape of a reclining body.

Then Procrustes realized what he had led his men into. ‘Get out, boys! It’s a trap!’

Festus cupped a hand to his mouth as he stood up behind a rock at the edge of the clearing. ‘Let ’em have it!’

Swinging his sling up, Marcus whirled it overhead as he picked a target. One of the men had charged by him so closely that Marcus had feared he would tread on him. But he had blundered past and was now clearly outlined against the fire
just twenty paces away. Three other men had made it as far as the fire. The rest had fallen victim to the wooden spikes and other traps concealed about the clearing. Marcus took aim and released his shot. The heavy stone caught the man right between the shoulder blades. Stunned by the impact, he slumped forward on to his knees. Further round the clearing Marcus saw Lupus taking his shot. His aim was rushed and the missile struck his target on the forearm – a painful wound, but not crippling. Festus had drawn his sword and was charging down the path from the opposite end of the clearing. His blade tore into the stomach of the nearest gang member. With no clear target left, Marcus drew his own sword and charged towards the man who had kicked one of the dummies.

The man turned as he sensed Marcus’s approach and he saw that it was Procrustes. The gang leader limped round and Marcus glimpsed the blood flowing from the wound in his foot where the Greek had impaled it on a spike. Then Marcus raised his sword and charged home, hacking at the man’s head. Procrustes parried the blow and thrust Marcus to one side. Scrambling to a stop, he managed to keep his balance and turned back towards the gang leader.

‘So, I must deal with one of the Roman’s whelps before I cut down the man himself,’ Procrustes sneered.

Marcus did not reply but came on in a crouch, sword point up and to the side, as he had been trained. The gang leader thrust at him, but Marcus saw the blow coming and swerved to the side, hacking down into his opponent’s forearm before swivelling round and inside the reach of the man to thrust his blade up with as much strength as he could summon. It was a purely instinctive move, and he had made no conscious decision to kill the gang leader. Yet the point of the sword pierced Procrustes’ throat, driving up through the skull into his brain. His face was close to Marcus, and his eyes were wide and staring as his head trembled uncontrollably. His jaw sagged as he muttered incoherently. Then his fingers released their hold on his sword and it thudded to the ground.

There was a hot rush of blood as Marcus wrenched the blade free and stepped back, shocked by the violence he had unleashed. Procrustes slumped to his knees with a horrible keening noise, then toppled over beside the fire, his stunned expression washed in the red glow of the embers as his blood pooled around him. Marcus stood over him, chest heaving, every muscle in his body tensed.