corridor. They passed a heavily guarded armoury sealed off with a wrought iron gate. Armour and swords gleamed on wall racks. The guards stopped the recruits when they reached a dark, damp room at the end of the corridor, located next to the stairs that led up to the cells on the second storey of the ludus.
‘This is where you lot eat,’ the guard grinned as he waved a hand around the canteen.
A powerful stench of manure hit Pavo as he realized the canteen was right next to the stables. Straw had been scattered across the floor, and from its damp, rotten texture, he guessed it had already been used in the stables. Pavo spotted cockroaches scuttling across the floor. Blowflies buzzed in the air. The other recruits scuttled towards the far end of the canteen, where a cook with teeth like old tombs poured small rations of barley gruel into clay bowls.
Pavo felt his heart sink at the sight of the squalor. There were two trestle tables with a pair of benches either side taken up by the veterans. The recruits had to content themselves with squatting on the floor. Many seemed accustomed to their surroundings, ignoring the insects crawling over their legs and the rancid smell. Pavo supposed these men had grown up as slaves and were familiar with such appalling living conditions. At the roll call that morning he’d been surprised to discover that Bucco was the only volunteer recruit. Eighteen of the other men were runaway slaves and four had been accused of murder. Laws introduced by Augustus and reinforced by subsequent emperors had attempted to rein in the number of volunteer gladiators, and the fact that most of the men around Pavo came from a much lower station only increased his sense of isolation.
A brief pang of nostalgia hit him as he remembered the feasts that had been laid on for his father at the imperial palace. Titus had been highly respected by Emperor Tiberius, Caligula’s predecessor and a military man to the bone. Titus and Tiberius would often relive past glories on the battlefield over jars of honeyed wine late into the evening whilst Pavo played at gladiators with the other children in the palace gardens.
‘Here,’ Bucco said, snapping Pavo out of his daydream and handing him a small ration of gruel. ‘Get stuck in before it’s all gone.’
Pavo looked despondently at his meagre bowl of gruel. A maggot wriggled in the mixture. Pavo felt his stomach churn. ‘I’m not feeling hungry,’ he said, passing the bowl to Bucco, who accepted it with a shrug.
‘Fine by me. More for old Bucco.’
‘How do they expect us to live like this?’ Pavo said quietly.
‘Oh, it’s not all that bad,’ Bucco replied between greedy mouthfuls of gruel. ‘Three square meals a day, a bed to sleep in and the chance to earn a few sestertii. There’s plenty in Rome who’d give anything for that.’
Pavo threw up his hands. ‘You’re right,’ he announced dryly. ‘What am I thinking? I should be grateful for being thrown into a ludus and forced to work myself to the bone every day, feeding on scraps and living with a bunch of criminals and the very dregs of society.’
Bucco looked hurt. Pavo offered a weak smile.
‘Present company excluded, of course,’ he said.
‘Well, you’d better get used to it.’ Bucco finished licking his bowl clean and stifled a belch. ‘Gurges has a reputation as a right vicious bastard. Step out of line and you’ll find yourself being crucified in the arena instead of fighting in it.’
Pavo fell quiet as he mulled over his conversation with the lanista. Gurges had dropped a hint that he might have some leverage with enticing Hermes into the arena. But only if Pavo was victorious against lesser opponents, he presumed. As he made a silent prayer to the gods that he survived long enough to face Hermes, a grim thought occurred to Pavo. His greatest fear wasn’t dying in the arena. It was dying before he had a chance for revenge.
‘Anyway,’ Bucco said. ‘At least you can use a sword. You heard the doctore. I was bloody useless out there. Got the skills of a leper.’
‘Then why join a ludus? You must have had some other means of paying off your debts.’
Bucco harrumphed. ‘Don’t count on it. Ten thousand sestertii might not sound like so much to someone born into class like you, but that’s a lot of money for a man like me. It’d take a soldier the best part of twelve years to pay off that kind of sum. And I’m no soldier. I don’t have a brain for numbers, and I don’t fancy collecting piss for a living,’ he said, referring to the fullers who collected jugs filled with urine for cleaning togas. ‘On top of that, I’ve got a wife and two boys back in Ostia, so that’s three mouths to feed. All in all, I didn’t have a lot of options, all right?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to judge.’
Bucco sighed. ‘Forget it. Not your fault I’m here, is it?’
‘Your sons — how old are they?’
‘Papirius is seven, Salonius is four.’ Bucco stared wistfully at his empty bowl, lost in thought. ‘They’re good boys. The little ’un wants to be a soldier when he grows up. Says he wants to conquer Britain all by himself.’
‘I have a son of my own,’ Pavo said. ‘Or I did,’ he added quietly. He moved on quickly, before Bucco could ask about Appius and open the still-sore wound. ‘It must be hard for them to see their father in a gladiator school.’
‘Well, I don’t imagine I’ll be here for very long,’ Bucco replied casually.
‘Oh?’ Pavo raised his eyebrows at Bucco. ‘I hate to point it out to you, Bucco, but it’ll take you a long time before you’ve got enough money to settle your debts in full. Even with the signing-on fee, that still leaves you short by six thousand sestertii.’
Bucco lowered his voice and tapped the side of his nose furtively. ‘Between you and me, I’ve got a plan for settling up sooner rather than later.’
Pavo puckered his brow. ‘What are you talking about?’
The volunteer leaned in to Pavo, a slovenly grin stretched across his flabby jowls. ‘I’ve got a friend on the outside,’ he said. ‘He’s going to lay down money on the fights. Big money. What with me being in the ludus, I can give him insider information on the form and ability of the gladiators. Injuries, training, that sort of thing. Trust me, Pavo, I’m going to make a killing! With a bit of luck I’ll buy my way out of here before the year is out.’
‘What if you get caught?’ the recruit asked.
‘I won’t. Come on, don’t give me that look! Can you honestly see me leaving the ludus in one piece? Look at the size of some of the veterans. Bloody beasts! What chance do I stand against any of that lot? This way I can make enough money to repay my debts and settle my contract with old Gurges. It’s got to be a better bet than bleeding to death in some godforsaken arena.’
Pavo was about to reply, but he was interrupted by a call from the doctore, ordering the recruits to their cells. Bucco grudgingly stood up. The others began to file out of the canteen. Pavo remained for a moment on the floor. He wanted a moment of peace to himself as he made a solemn vow to see his quest through to the bitter end. He wouldn’t stop before he had a chance to watch the life drain out of Hermes. Nothing would stand in his way. Opening his eyes, Pavo rose to his feet, suddenly alone. He turned towards the corridor and noticed someone blocking his path.
‘Going somewhere?’ Amadocus whispered.
Pavo froze as light from a nearby lamp illuminated the veteran’s features. Up close, Pavo could see that he had the bulbous nose and cauliflowered ears of a man who had been in his fair share of brawls. He towered over Pavo, his eyes glinting. The recruit was dimly aware of three more veterans behind Amadocus. The Thracian stood his ground while the other men slowly circled Pavo, breathing heavily through their nostrils.
‘Let me through,’ Pavo said.
Amadocus stood his ground. Pavo could hear the three other men breathing at his back. ‘Son of a legate, they say. Military tribune. Pah!’ He flicked his eyes up at Pavo. ‘I fucking hate Romans. And if there’s one thing I hate more than Romans, it’s Roman soldiers.’
Pavo looked around. The canteen was empty. The rest of the gladiators and the servants had left. There was no one to help him.
‘I saw you at the palus today, Roman. And I tell you, there’s only one thing worse than a Roman soldier. Any idea what that is?’
‘No,’ Pavo shrugged. He saw that Amadocus had balled his right hand into a fist. He took a step back from Pavo and grinned at the other three men.
‘He doesn’t know, lads,’ Amadocus said as his accomplices steered back behind the enlarged shoulders of the veteran. They laughed meanly and glared at Pavo, and the recruit craned his neck past Amadocus as he tried to catch sight of the guards. They had disappeared, and Pavo had an awful feeling that they had abandoned their post on purpose.
