Arena: First Sword

by Simon Scarrow, T.J. Andrews

Genres: Historical Fiction; Ancient; War & Military; Historical Thrillers; Military Thrillers

Synopsis

The third novella in Simon Scarrow's Roman Arena series sees gladiator Pavo and mentor Macro fight for their lives amid a bloody revolt.

The imperial gladiator school in Capua: once the pride of the Roman Empire, lately driven to the brink of ruin by a greedy lanista. Now the school welcomes its newest recruit: Marcus Valerius Pavo, the high-born gladiator with a string of impressive victories to his name, sworn to seek revenge for the brutal murder of his father.

Meanwhile, Lucius Cornelius Macro, the decorated optio of the Second Legion, has been appointed as the school's new lanista. Macro faces a race against time to turn the school around before the start of the games in Rome, held in honour of the new Emperor. But when a notorious tribal warrior sets in motion a violent uprising, Macro and Pavo find themselves caught in a desperate struggle for survival....

Release date: March 21, 2013

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 84

Sample

The young gladiator was awoken in the middle of the night by a swift kick to the ribs.

‘Wake up, you worthless shit!’

Marcus Valerius Pavo winced as he stirred and rolled on to his back. Squinting in the gloom, he saw an armed guard towering over him, with a second guard stooped further back in the entrance to his cramped cell. The gladiator touched a hand to his pained ribs and shook his head clear.

‘What’s going on?’ he croaked.

‘Murena wants a word,’ the nearest guard barked. ‘On your feet.’

Pavo shuddered at the mention of Servius Ulpius Murena, the aide to the imperial secretary. Murena was one of several freedmen who did the Emperor’s dirty work, and it had been Pavo’s misfortune to cross paths with Murena more than once of late. ‘That Greek snake,’ he muttered darkly. ‘What does he want with me now?’

‘Fuck should I know?’ the guard snarled, seizing Pavo by the arm and yanking him to his feet. ‘Now hurry up! Murena doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

Pavo was too groggy and confused to protest. The guards manhandled him out of the dormitory and dragged him through the ludus gates. A brisk wind swept over the landscape as they marched the young gladiator down the road towards Capua. A cluster of lights flickered on a distant hill. Pavo made out the dim shape of a villa perched on the slope of the hill. The guards shoved him in the direction of the villa. The young gladiator moved awkwardly, shivering against the cold, his leg muscles aching under the leaden weight of the chains clamped to his wrists and ankles. The sutured wound on his left shoulder throbbed with a dull ache. He had sustained the injury in his previous fight in the arena in Paestum against a crazed secutor, Decimus Cominius Denter. The guards paced warily alongside Pavo. He noted from their uniform of plain white togas over their tunics that they were Praetorian Guards.

‘So you’re the famous Marcus Valerius Pavo, eh?’ the guard to Pavo’s left scoffed. ‘Champion of the arena. Hard to believe. Posh twat such as yourself.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Pavo replied drily. ‘Perhaps I am too high-born to be a champion gladiator. But you two seem to be scared of me, since you’re both keeping a hand on your swords, even though I’m unarmed and bound in chains.’

The guard scowled at Pavo. ‘Think you’re tough? Bollocks!’ he spat. ‘Fucking gladiators, always showing off. Just you wait, lad. You’ll get cut down in the arena and slung into a grave pit like every gladiator with a big mouth. You won’t look so clever then.’

Pavo was too disheartened to reply. Quartz glinted between the stones lining the paved road, reflecting the pale moonlight. He felt a deep unease in his guts as they drew close to the villa. Ever since his transfer from Paestum to the imperial ludus a week ago, the young gladiator had been left wondering what Murena and Pallas had planned for him next. As a novice recruit he’d been pitted against a succession of fearsome opponents. But to the displeasure of Murena and his superior, the imperial secretary Marcus Antonius Pallas, Pavo had thrived in the arena, and his victories had turned him into a hero in the eyes of the mob. Despite his achievements, a grim thought gnawed at him. He would never again taste freedom. He was the son of a legate considered a traitor to Rome, and an embarrassment to the new Emperor Claudius. Sooner or later, he would be disposed of.

Pavo feared that moment had now arrived.

The small party reached the villa as the night sky faded and dawn glimmered on the horizon. The imposing structure was bordered by a sprawling olive grove. A train of luxury horse-drawn wagons rested in front of the entrance, slaves groaning as they carried baggage off the wagon beds and lugged the heavy loads towards the villa. Porticoes lined the front of the property, rising up in tiers to an ornamental balcony two storeys above, where Pavo supposed wealthy guests might catch a gentle breeze on a hot summer’s night. Two Praetorians stood on duty at the entrance to the villa. One of the Praetorians blocked the path of Pavo and the guards while his comrade stepped forward.

‘Password?’ the Praetorian asked.

‘Flamingo,’ the guard replied.

‘What’s your business here?’

‘The aide to the imperial secretary sent for this one.’ The guard pointed to Pavo.

Stepping back, the Praetorian waved Pavo and the two guards through.

Pavo baulked as he stepped into the villa. He had been born into Rome’s elite senatorial class and had grown up surrounded by slaves and wealth. Memories of childhood summers spent at the family’s villa at Antium came flooding back to him as the guards led him down the entrance passage at a brisk pace. They hurried through a garishly coloured vestibule leading to a wide central hallway with elaborate frescoes decorating the walls and an intricate mosaic sparkling on the floor under the flicker of several ornate torchers. Waves of heat rose up from the hypocaust floor, warming the gladiator’s frozen feet.

At the end of the hallway the guards ushered Pavo into a large study. Scrolls and books were arranged on honeycombed shelves to the left. An oak desk occupied the centre of the room, with a tall window behind it overlooking a sprawling vineyard. Papyrus scrolls and wax tablets littered the desk. Behind the desk sat a man dressed in a fine-spun woollen tunic. The aide to the imperial secretary frowned in deep concentration at a scroll and for a moment appeared not to notice the prisoner and his escort. Finally he looked up at the young gladiator and grinned.

‘Ah! Marcus Valerius Pavo. Slayer of Britomaris the barbarian and destroyer of Denter,’ Murena announced, setting aside the scroll and clasping his bony hands. ‘Tell me, how are you enjoying your new position as First Sword?’

Pavo grunted. He’d been proclaimed First Sword upon his arrival at the imperial ludus in Capua. The First Sword was the title given to the leading fighter of the imperial gladiators, and the news had surprised him. A gladiator elevated to First Sword after just two fights was unheard of. But his shock quickly turned to unease. Although the title afforded Pavo some privileges, such as having his own private cell and cooked meats and vegetables at mealtimes instead of the usual fare of barley gruel, it also made him a target for the other fighters. Many of the men in the ludus had been captured by legions in battle, or were impoverished slaves. As the son of a Roman nobleman and a former military tribune in the Sixth Legion, Pavo was already loathed by those same gladiators. Being named First Sword had only further estranged him from the brotherhood. He viewed the title as more of a curse than a blessing.

Murena nodded to the guards. ‘You may go.’

He watched the guards retreat down the hall. Then he cleared his throat and looked back to the young gladiator. ‘I won’t keep you for long. I have several pressing matters to attend to before his imperial majesty arrives.’

‘Claudius is on his way here?’ Pavo asked, tension rising in his throat.

‘In a few days’ time. The Emperor is currently inspecting the naval base at Puteoli. Afterwards he wishes to cast his eye over his troupe of imperial gladiators ahead of the forthcoming games.’

‘Games?’ Pavo asked.

‘I will come to that shortly. Pallas has asked me to travel ahead of the Emperor and prepare the estate for his arrival, as well as sort through the affairs of the unfortunate previous owner of this quite splendid villa, a treacherous senator who thought he could outwit Claudius.’

There was a sinister gleam in the aide’s eye that made Pavo shudder.

‘The senator paid the price for his treachery and his estate was confiscated . . .