Memor waited.
Romulus watched the standoff with bated breath. There was no way to stop the lanista without also dying.
At last Brennus stepped back.
Memor stared at the big slave for a few moments. Satisfied Brennus wasn't going to take the bait, he stalked from the arena. 'Get back to the cells,' he snarled over his shoulder.
'Son of a whore!' Brennus spat. 'I'll slice him open and make him eat his own guts.'
'It would be good to see that,' Sextus said with a sad smile. 'But you'd be crucified alongside Astoria before the day was over.'
'What can I do?' Brennus' tone was despairing, something Romulus had never heard before. 'I can look after myself, but Astoria needs me.'
'I will care for her.'
'Why?'
'I also hate Memor,' Sextus said calmly. 'Astoria will be safe until you win favour again.'
Hearing this, Romulus nearly said something. They would need allies and it seemed the scissores might be of similar mind. But it was a dangerous matter, one to be discussed in private, behind locked doors.
'Take an oath!' Brennus moved closer, eyes fixed on the other's.
'Before all my gods, I swear it.'
The two men clasped forearms, but it was no time for sentimentality.
'Let's get inside before those archers get restless.'
Sextus strode off to gather his men.
Romulus was trying to think of ways to win over enough gladiators to silence Memor for ever. There is no future in this, he thought, gazing at the bloody figures on the sand. Spartacus had the right idea. Seize freedom.
The setting sun had turned the dead a dark shade of crimson. As they watched, the intimidating shape of Charon entered, stopping purposefully by each corpse. Each time the ferryman's hammer came down, Romulus heard the sickening crunch of breaking bone.
He looked away.
'Claiming them for Hades.' Brennus curled his lip. 'Making sure none are playing dead.' He leaned in close. 'Lucky not to be lying there myself. That retiarius would have done for me. I'm in your debt, Romulus. Again.'
'It was nothing.' Feeling awkward, he changed the subject. 'Memor really has it in for you, eh?'
'The bastard has been waiting for me to step out of line. This just gave him an excuse to finish it. With Figulus and friends out for blood as well . . .' Brennus wiped his brow. 'Life will be quite interesting from now on.'
'I meant what I said earlier.'
'Freedom?' Brennus' face brightened, then sagged as he thought of Astoria. 'Impossible.'
Romulus sighed. The futility of gladiator life had been brought home as never before by the mass combat. He needed support to have any chance of escape and the Gaul was crucial to this. But Memor's punishment seemed to have knocked the fight out of him. He would have to be patient and work on Brennus gradually. Men would follow more easily if the ludus' champion fighter was involved.
Romulus would not rest until he was free.
In the rest days that followed, Memor swaggered round the school, a broad grin on his scarred face. He had received a large sum from Pompey and the victory would have gained the ludus considerable respect in the Roman public's eyes.
For three days all the gladiators except Brennus were rewarded with extra rations of food and wine. Prostitutes were allowed to visit their cells. Training sessions for those who had fought were cut to just one hour daily. The baths were open to all, a privilege normally reserved for elite fighters. These gestures were universally acclaimed by the tired men, who had risked their lives yet again for the honour of the ludus.
'Out of my sight, you little bastard!' Memor scowled one afternoon as he caught sight of Romulus. The lanista suspected he had played a part in the deaths of Gallus and the others but had no proof. 'Plotting to kill more of my best fighters?'
Romulus did not dare answer. He ducked back into the small cell he and Brennus were sharing with two veteran Thracians. The homosexual pair had remained neutral since the fight over Astoria which had started the bloody vendetta. Otho and Antonius were already marginalised by the intolerant familia and two more outcasts did not trouble them.
When the quiet offer had come their way, the friends had seized the chance. Thanks to Memor's veiled threats, there had been no other options of accommodation. Life in the ludus had suddenly become difficult, and a safe place to sleep made things a little easier. Romulus for one found the Thracians' company quite entertaining. Otho was tall and thin with an ascetic manner. Antonius was plump and effeminate, but deadly with a sword.
'Memor still pissed off?' Brennus had heard the brief altercation. He was lying on a straw mattress, his home for most of the time since the fight. 'Prick.'
Nothing Romulus said seemed to improve his friend's mood. Not even the idea of rebellion, which he could only bring up when they were alone.
'He's never taken Astoria from me before.'
'Sextus is looking after her.'
'Just as well. Old bastard would have tried to screw her otherwise,' said Brennus sourly. 'I don't know what to do. It's bad enough in here!' He rolled his eyes theatrically as Antonius was wont to do when excited.
'They're good men,' Romulus replied, laughing at the caricature. He peered round the door. To his relief, the Thracians were training in the yard. 'Nobody else would take us in. Sextus couldn't.'
'True enough. And the Thracians are risking their necks for us.' None of the other gladiators would have anything to do with them. 'But I'm going crazy being stuck inside.'
'Give it a week or two,' said Romulus bluffly. 'Things will settle down.'
'I don't know. Memor is a vindictive bastard.' The Gaul sighed. 'Wouldn't be surprised if things get worse.'
'We could organise a little something for him.' Romulus mimed a stabbing motion.
'Who would join us?'
'The Spaniard might. Remember what he said after the fight.'
'That makes three,' said Brennus sadly. 'Against all of Rome.'
'The other scissores would probably come with him.'
'Take it easy,' frowned the Gaul. 'What you're talking about takes real planning.'
'Let's talk to Sextus then!'
'We 'll end up dead if we do this.'
'Sure,' answered Romulus with a shrug. He threw caution to the wind. 'What's new about that? Might as well die free.'