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Renius entered without announcement. One moment, the crowd were chatting amongst themselves with the dirty sand ring empty, and the next a small door opened and a man walked out of it. At first, he wasn’t noticed, then people pointed and began to stand.
‘Why are they cheering so loudly?’ Marcus asked, squinting at the lone figure standing in the burning sun.
‘Because he has come back one more time. Now you will be able to say you saw Renius fight when you have children of your own,’ Tubruk replied, smiling.
Everyone around them seemed lit up by the spectacle. A chant began and swelled: ‘Ren-i-us … Ren-i-us.’ The noise drowned out all the shuffling of feet and rustling clothing. The only sound in the world was his name.
He raised his sword in salute. Even from a distance, it was clear that age had not yet taken a good twisting grip on him.
‘Looks good for sixty. Belly’s not flat, though. Look at that wide belt,’ Tubruk muttered almost to himself. ‘You’ve let yourself go a little, you silly old fool.’
As the old man received the plaudits of the crowd, a single file of fighting slaves entered the sandy ring. Each wore a cloth around his loins that allowed free movement and carried a short gladius. No shields or armour could be seen. The Roman crowd fell quiet as the men formed a diamond with Renius at the centre. There was a moment of stillness and then the animal enclosure opened.
Even before the cage was dragged out onto the sand, the short, hacking roars could be heard. The crowd whispered in anticipation. There were three lions pacing the cage as it was dragged out by sweating slaves. Through the bars they were obscene shapes; huge humped shoulders, head and jaws tapering back to hindquarters almost as an afterthought. They were created to crush out life with massive jaws. They swiped with their paws in unfocused rage as the cage was jarred and finally came to rest.
Slaves lifted hammers aloft to knock out the wooden pegs that held the front section of the cage. The crowd licked dry lips. The hammers fell, and the iron lattice dropped onto the sand, an echo clearly heard in the silence. One by one, the great cats moved out of the cage, revealing a speed and sureness of step that was frightening.
The largest roared defiance at the group of men that faced it across the sand. When they made no move, it began to pace up and down outside the cage, watching them all the while. Its companions roared and circled and it settled back onto its haunches.
Without a signal, without a warning, it ran at the men, who shrank back visibly. This was death coming for them.
Renius could be heard barking out commands. The front of the diamond, three brave men, met the charge, swords ready. At the last moment, the lion took off in a rushing leap and smashed two of the slaves from their feet, striking with a paw on each chest. Neither moved, as their chests were shards and daggers of bone. The third man swung and hit the heavy mane, doing little damage. The jaws closed on his arm in a snap like the strike of a snake. He screamed and carried on screaming as he staggered away, one wrist holding the pumping red remains of the other. A sword scraped along the lion’s ribs and another cut a hamstring so that the rear quarters went suddenly limp. This served only to enrage the beast and it snapped at itself in red confusion. Renius growled a command and the others stepped back to allow him the kill.
As he landed the fatal blow, the other two lions attacked. One caught the head of the wounded man who had wandered away. A quick crack of the jaws and it was over. That lion settled down with the corpse, ignoring the other slaves as it bit into the soft abdomen and began to feed. It was quickly killed, speared on three blades in the mouth and chest.
Renius met the charge of the last to his left. His protecting slave was tumbled by the strike and over him came the snapping rage that was the male cat. Its paws were striking and great dark claws stood out like spear points, straining to pierce and tear. Renius balanced himself and struck into the chest. A wound opened with a rush of sticky dark blood, but the blade skittered off the breastbone and Renius was struck by a shoulder, only luck letting the jaws snap where he had been. He rolled and came up well, still with sword in hand. As the beast checked and turned back on him, he was ready and sent his blade into the armpit and the bursting heart. The strength went out of it in the instant, as if the steel had lanced a boil. It lay and bled into the sand, still aware and panting, but become pitiful. A soft moan came from deep within the bloody chest as Renius approached, drawing a dagger from his belt. Reddish saliva dribbled onto the sand as the torn lungs strained to fill with air.
Renius spoke softly to the beast, but the words could not be heard in the stands. He lay a hand on the mane and patted it absently, as he would a favourite hound. Then he slipped the blade into the throat and it was over.
The crowd seemed to draw breath for the first time in hours and then laughed at the release of tension. Four men were dead on the sand, but Renius, the old killer, still stood, looking exhausted. They began to chant his name, but he bowed quickly and left the ring, striding to the shadowed door and into darkness.
‘Get in quickly, Tubruk. You know my highest price. A year, mind – a full year of service.’
Tubruk disappeared into the crowds and the boys were left to make polite conversation with Julius. However, without Tubruk to act as a catalyst, the conversation died quickly. Julius loved his son, but had never enjoyed talking to the young. They prattled and knew nothing of decorum and self-restraint.
‘He will be a hard teacher, if his reputation is accurate. He was once without equal in the empire, but Tubruk tells the stories better than I.’
The boys nodded eagerly and determined to press Tubruk for the details as soon as they had the opportunity.
The seasons had turned towards autumn on the estate before the boys saw Renius again, dismounting from a gelding in the stone yard of the stables. It was a mark of his status that he could ride like an officer or a member of the Senate. Both of them were in the hay barn adjoining, and had been jumping off the high bales onto the loose straw. Covered in hay and dust, they were not fit to be seen and peered out at the visitor from a corner. He glanced around as Tubruk came to meet him, taking the reins.
‘You will be received as soon as you are refreshed from your journey.’
‘I have ridden less than five miles. I am neither dirty nor sweating like an animal. Take me in now, or I’ll find the way myself,’ snapped the old soldier, frowning.
‘I see you have lost none of your charm and lightness of manner since you worked with me.’
Renius didn’t smile and for a second the boys expected a blow, or a violent retort.
‘I see you have not yet learned manners to your elders. I expect better.’
‘Everyone is younger than you. Yes, I can see how you would be set in your ways.’
Renius seemed to freeze for a second, slowly blinking. ‘Do you wish me to draw my sword?’
Tubruk was still, and Marcus and Gaius noticed for the first time that he too wore his old gladius in a scabbard.
‘I wish you only to remember that I am in charge of the running of the estate and that I am a free man, like yourself. Our agreement benefits us both; there are no favours being done here.’
Renius smiled then. ‘You are correct. Lead on then to the master of the house. I would like to meet the man who has such interesting types working for him.’
As they left, Gaius and Marcus looked at each other, eyes aglow with excitement.
‘He will be a hard taskmaster, but will quickly become impressed at the talent he has on his hands …’ Marcus whispered.
‘He will realise that we will be his last great work, before he drops dead,’ Gaius continued, caught up in the idea.
‘I will be the greatest swordsman in the land, aided by the fact that I have stretched my arms every night since I was a baby,’ Marcus went on.
‘The fighting monkey, they will call you!’ Gaius declared in awe.
Marcus threw hay at his face and they grabbed each other with mock ferocity, rolling around for a second until Gaius ended up on top, sitting heavily on his friend’s chest.
‘I will be the slightly better swordsman, too modest to embarrass you in front of the ladies.’
He struck a proud pose and Marcus shoved him off into the straw again. They sat panting and lost in dreams for a moment.
At length, Marcus spoke: ‘In truth, you will run this estate, like your father. I have nothing and you know my mother is a whore … no, don’t say anything. We both heard your father say it. I have no inheritance save my name and that is stained. I can only see a bright future in the army, where at least my birth is noble enough to allow me high position. Having Renius as my trainer will help us both, but me most of all.’
‘You will always be my friend, you know. Nothing can come between us.’ Gaius spoke clearly, looking him in the eye.
‘We will find our paths together.’
They both nodded and gripped hands for a second in the pact. As they let go, Tubruk’s familiar bulk appeared as he stuck his head into the hayloft.
‘Get yourselves cleaned up. Once Renius has finished with your father, he’ll want some sort of inspection.’
They stood slowly, nervousness obvious in their movements.
‘Is he cruel?’ Gaius asked.
Tubruk didn’t smile.
‘Yes, he is cruel. He is the hardest man I have ever known. He wins battles because the other men feel pain and are frightened of death and dismemberment. He is more like a sword than a man and he will make you both as hard as himself. You will probably never thank him – you will hate him, but what he gives you will save your lives more than once.’
Gaius looked at him questioningly. ‘Did you know him before?’
Tubruk laughed, a short bark with no humour. ‘I should say so. He trained me for the ring, when I was a slave.’
His eyes flashed in the sun as he turned and he was gone.
Renius stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands clasped behind his back. He frowned at the seated Julius.
‘No. If anyone interferes, I will leave on that hour. You want your son and the whore’s whelp to be made into soldiers. I know how to do that. I have been doing it, one way or another, all my life. Sometimes they only learn as the enemy charges, sometimes they never learn, and I have left a few of those in shallow foreign graves.’
‘Tubruk will want to discuss their progress with you. His judgement is usually first-rate. He was, after all, trained by you,’ Julius said, still trying to regain the initiative he felt he had lost.
This man was an overwhelming force. From the moment he entered the room, he had dominated the conversation. Instead of setting out the manner of his son’s teaching, as he had intended, Julius found himself on the defensive, answering questions about his estate and training facilities. He knew better now what he did not have than what he did.
‘They are very young, and …’
‘Any older would be too late. Oh, you can take a man of twenty and make him a competent soldier, fit and hard. A child, though, can be fashioned into a thing of metal, unbreakable. Some would say you have already left it too late, that proper training should commence at five years. I am of the opinion that ten is the optimum to ensure the proper development of muscle and lung capacity. Earlier can break their spirits; later and their spirits are too firmly in the wrong courses.’
‘I agree, to some ext—’
‘Are you the real father of the whore’s boy?’ Renius spoke curtly, but quietly, as if inquiring after the weather.
‘What? Gods, no! I –’
‘Good. That would have been a complication. I accept the year contract then. My word is given. Get the boys out into the stable yard for inspection in five minutes. They saw me arrive so they should be ready. I will report to you quarterly in this room. If you cannot make the appointment, be so good as to let me know. Good day.’
He turned on his heel and strode out. Behind him, Julius blew air out of puffed cheeks in a mixture of amazement and contentment.
‘Could be just what I wanted,’ he said, and smiled for the first time that morning.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_8dcd0eaf-737d-5ef1-8e51-869f6ddb708e)
The first thing they were told was that they would get a good night’s sleep. For eight hours, from before midnight to dawn, they were left alone. At all other times they were being taught, or toughened, or cramming food into their mouths in hasty, snatched breaks of only minutes.
Marcus had had the excitement knocked out of him on that first day, when Renius took his chin in his leathery hand and peered at him.
‘Weak-spirited, like his mother was.’
He’d said no more at the time, but Marcus burned with the humiliating thought that the old soldier he wanted so much to like him might have seen his mother in the city. From the first moment, his desire to please Renius became a source of shame to him. He knew he had to excel at the training, but not in such a way that the old bastard would approve.
Renius was easy to hate. From the first, he called Gaius by his name, while only referring to Marcus as the boy, or the ‘whore’s boy’. Gaius could see it was deliberate, some attempt to use their hatred as a tool to improve them. Yet he could not help but feel annoyance as his friend was humbled over and over again.
A stream ran through the estate, carrying cold water down to the sea. One month after his arrival, they had been taken down to the water before noon. Renius had simply motioned to a dark pool.
‘Get in,’ he said.
They’d looked at each other and shrugged.
The cold was numbing from the first moments.
‘Stay there until I come back for you,’ was the command called over his shoulder as Renius walked back up to the house, where he ate a light lunch and bathed, before sleeping through the hot afternoon.
Marcus felt the cold much more than his friend. After only a couple of hours, he was blue around the face and unable to speak for shivering. As the afternoon wore on, his legs went numb and the muscles of his face and neck ached from shivering. They talked with difficulty, anything to take their minds off the cold. The shadows moved and the talk died. Gaius was nowhere near as uncomfortable as his friend. His limbs had gone numb long before, but breathing was still easy, whereas Marcus was sipping small breaths.
The afternoon cooled unnoticed outside the eternal chill of the shaded section of fast-flowing water. Marcus rested with his head leaning to one side or the other, with an eye half-submerged and slowly blinking, seeing nothing. His mind could drift until his nose was covered, when he would splutter and raise himself straight again. Then he would dip once more, as the pain worsened. They had not spoken for a long time. It had become a private battle, but not against each other. They would stay until they were called for, until Renius came back and ordered them to climb out.
As the day fled, they both knew that they could not climb out. Even if Renius appeared at that moment and congratulated them, he would have to drag them out himself, getting wet and muddy in the process if the gods were watching at all.
Marcus slipped in and out of waking, coming back with a sudden start and realising he had somehow drifted away from the cold and the darkness. He wondered then if he would die in the river.
In one of those dreaming dozes, he felt warmth and heard the welcoming crackle of a good log fire. An old man prodded the burning wood with his toe, smiling at the sparks. He turned and seemed to notice the boy watching him, white and lost.
‘Come closer to the warm, boy, I’ll not hurt ye.’
The old man’s face carried the wrinkles and dirt of decades of labour and worry. It was scarred and seamed like a stitched purse. The hands were covered in rope veins that shifted under the skin as the swollen knuckles moved. He was dressed like a travelling man, with patched clothes and a dark-red cloth wrapping his throat.
‘What do we have here? A mudfish! Rare for these parts, but good eating on one, they say. You could cut a leg off and feed us both. I’d stop the bleeding, boy, I’m not without tricks.’
Huge eyebrows bristled and raised in interest at the thought. The eyes glittered and the mouth opened to reveal soft gums, wet and puckered. The man patted his pockets and the shadows copied his movements, flapping on dark-yellow walls that were lit only by the flames.
‘Hold still, boy, I have a knife with a saw edge for you …’ A hand like rough stone was pressed over his whole face, suddenly larger than a hand had any right to be.
The old man’s breath was warm on his ear, smelling foully of rotting teeth.
He awoke choking and heaving dryly. His stomach was empty and the moon had risen. Gaius was beside him still, his face barely above the black glass water, head nodding in and out of the darkness.
It was enough. If the choice was to fail or to die, then he would fail and not mind the consequences. Tactically, that was the better choice. Sometimes, it is better to retreat and marshal your forces. That was what the old man wanted them to know. He wanted them to give up and was probably waiting somewhere nearby, waiting for them to learn this most important of lessons.
Marcus didn’t remember the dream, except for the fear of being smothered, which he still felt. His body seemed to have lost its familiar shape and just sat, heavy and waterlogged beneath the surface. He had become some sort of soft-skinned, bottom-dwelling fish. He concentrated and his mouth hung slackly, dribbling back water as cold as himself. He swayed forward and brought up his arm to hold a root. It was the first time a limb had cleared the water in eleven hours. He felt the cold of death on him and had no regrets. True, Gaius was still there, but they would have different strengths. Marcus would not die to please some poxed-up old gladiator.
He slithered out, an inch at a time, mud plastering his face and chest as he dragged himself to the bank. His bloated stomach did seem buoyant in the water, as if filled from within. The sensation as his full weight finally came to bear on the hard ground was one of ecstasy. He lay and began to shudder in spasmodic fits of retching. Yellow bile trickled weakly out of his lips and mixed with the black mud. The night was quiet and he felt as if he’d just crawled out of the grave.
Dawn found him still there and a shadow blocking the pale sun. Renius stood there and frowned, not at Marcus, but at the tiny pale figure of the boy still in the water, eyes closed and lips blue. As Marcus watched him, he saw a sudden spasm of worry cross the iron face.
‘Boy!’ snapped the voice they had already come to loathe. ‘Gaius!’
The figure in the water lolled in the moving current, but there was no response. A muscle in Renius’ jaw clenched and the old soldier stepped up to his thighs into the pool, reaching down and scooping up the ten-year-old like a puppy over his shoulder. The eyes opened with the sudden movement, but there was no focus. Marcus rose as the old man strode away with his burden, obviously heading back to the house. He tottered after, muscles protesting.
Behind them, Tubruk stood in the shadows of the opposite bank, still hidden from sight by the foliage as he had been all night. His eyes were narrowed and as cold as the river.
Renius seemed to be fuelled by a constant anger. After months of training, the boys had not seen him smile except in mockery. On bad days, he rubbed his neck as he snapped at them and gave the impression that his temper was cracking every second. He was worst in the midday sun, when his skin would mottle with irritation at the slightest mistake.
‘Hold the stone straight in front!’ he barked at Marcus and Gaius as they sweated in the heat. The task that afternoon was to stand with arms outstretched in front, with a rock the size of a fist held in their hands. It had been easy at first.
Gaius’ shoulders were aching and his arms felt loose. He tried to tense the muscles, but they seemed out of his control. Perspiring, he watched the stone drop by a hand’s width and felt a stripe of pain over his stomach as Renius struck with a short whip. His arms trembled and muscles shuddered under the pain. He concentrated on the rock and bit his lip.
‘You will not let it fall. You will welcome the pain. You will not let it fall.’
Renius’ voice was a harsh chant as he paced around the boys. This was the fourth time they had raised the stones and each time was harder. He barely allowed them a minute to rest their aching arms before the order to raise came again.
‘Cease,’ Renius said, watching to see they controlled the descent, his whip held ready. Marcus was breathing heavily and Renius curled his lip.
‘There will come a time when you think you can’t stand the pain any more and men’s lives will depend on it. You could be holding a rope others are climbing, or walking forty miles in full kit to rescue comrades. Are you listening?’
