Gladiator: Son of Spartacus (19 page)

The sudden movement caused the ice to crack, and water seeped through his cloak and tunic as he heard the splash behind him. Dreading that the ice would break at any moment, Marcus wormed his way towards the edge of the lake until he was confident the ice was thick enough to climb to his feet. He looked back to make sure there was no sign of the standard, then hurried towards the survivors of the cohort banded together by the lake. The rebels massed round them, grim-faced and silent.

‘Well done, lad.’ The centurion clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That took guts. Now the cohort can die with its honour intact.’

‘Die?’ Quintus said.

‘What else?’ The centurion gestured towards the rebels. ‘They’ll charge any moment. It’ll all be over very quickly.’

But there was no charge, and the two sides stood their ground, breathing hard from their exertions as they waited.

‘Why don’t they attack?’ Quintus asked, his voice wavering. ‘For pity’s sake, why?’

Then there was movement in the rebel ranks and a tall figure emerged and strode towards the Romans, stopping two sword lengths from their shields. He carried a long heavy sword in one hand and his dark hair was tied back with a thong. Marcus recognized him at once. It was the same man who had led the ambush of Caesar’s party several days earlier. Mandracus glared at the Romans for a moment before he spat to one side and addressed them.

‘The fight is over. You have been defeated. Throw down your weapons and you will live. If not, you will be cut down where you stand.’

There was a brief stillness before Quintus lowered his sword and stepped towards the edge of the ring. The centurion stood in his way.

‘What do you think you are doing ... sir?’

‘The fight is over. We did our best and lost. It’s time to surrender.’

‘No!’ the centurion growled. ‘Do you really think they’ll let us live? Better to die like a man than be cut down like a dog. There’ll be no surrender.’

‘Yes, there will.’ Quintus drew himself up. ‘I am in command here, not you. And you will obey my orders, Centurion. Now stand aside.’

Marcus saw the glowering anger in the centurion’s eyes as he stood still for a moment, then did as he was told. Quintus made his way to the edge of the ring and threw his sword out on to the snow, at the rebel leader’s feet. ‘We surrender.’

The man next to him followed suit, and lowered his shield to the ground. Another did the same, then the rest, until the surviving legionaries stood defenceless. All except the centurion and Marcus.

‘Very wise of you,’ said Mandracus. ‘Now back to the track in single file. Move!’

With Quintus leading, the unarmed men began to move away from the lake, through the ranks of the rebels who jeered and jostled them as they passed by.

Marcus gazed around him, his mind a turmoil of struggling impulses. His gladiator training had taught him never to give in, yet if he chose to fight and die there would be no chance to save his mother. While he lived, there was a sliver of hope, no matter how small.

‘Good lad.’ the centurion said. ‘You’ve got more guts than that yellow tribune and the rest of them put together. We’ll go down, side by side, like heroes.’

Marcus glanced at him, then at the sea of rebel faces that glared back with hatred. He lowered his sword and spoke softly. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I have to live.’

The centurion stared coldly at him a moment, then nodded. ‘It’s all right. I understand. Better go quickly, before it’s too late.’

Marcus stepped away from him, sword arm hanging loosely. As he approached the rebel leader, he let the handle slip from his fingers and heard the soft thud as it landed in the snow. His heart felt heavy at abandoning the centurion to his fate, but while there was a chance his mother lived, that governed every decision he made. Mandracus glanced at the boy as he passed by, then gave him a shove towards the end of the line of Romans being led into captivity.

Behind him, Marcus heard the centurion shout. ‘For Rome! For Rome!’

Bodies surged past Marcus on either side. There was a clash of blades and the thud of a weapon striking a shield. Then a cry of triumph and a throaty roar from the rebels that was swallowed up by the snow swirling down the length of the small valley.

17

The surviving legionaries and Decimus and his men had been joined by a handful of mule drivers as they stood on the track guarded by several of the rebels. There they had been securely bound as Mandracus ordered the rest of his men to strip the bodies of undamaged armour and weapons. Any wounded Romans had their throats cut, while the injured rebels were carefully loaded on to the carts and wagons. The dead were carried into the villa, where a pyre was built using any combustible material left from the morning raid.

By the time the rebels were ready to move out it was dusk and the snow had stopped falling. A pale blue hue hung across the valley, where the dark forms of bodies and pools of blood lay either side of the track. The lurid red flames rising from the stockade added to the sombre scene, and Marcus shivered miserably as he and the others awaited their fate in silence. Mandracus took a last look around and swept his arm along the track.

‘Move out!’

Marcus waited until the man ahead of him lurched forward, and hurriedly marched a few feet to give himself some slack, then concentrated on maintaining the gap. He thought it strange that Mandracus was leading them in the direction of Caesar. With a brief flicker of hope, he wondered if Caesar might send a message back to the baggage train, so the rider would see them and raise the alarm with the main column. Then, no more than a mile along the track, Mandracus turned off, taking a smaller path that meandered through a forest and headed into the heart of the mountain range.

They stopped for the night in an abandoned village, where the prisoners were herded into a small sheep pen and left with-out food or water. Around them the rebels found shelter in what remained of the houses and huts of the silent village. No fires were lit, but as night fell the sky cleared and the stars shone like tiny shards of ice.

Marcus explored the pen and found a corner out of the wind containing the musty remains of a pile of straw. He pulled as much of it over his body as he could with his bound hands and sat hunched over his knees, shivering. One by one the other men settled down to endure the freezing night as best they could.

It was impossible to sleep and, in any case, Marcus knew that sleep was dangerous. Titus had told him that once, recalling a campaign he had fought in the mountains of Macedonia. Pompeius’s army had been forced to spend several nights in the open and there were men who fell asleep never to wake again. Come dawn their comrades discovered them frozen stiff. Marcus was not going to let the same thing happen to him. As soon as he felt his eyelids droop he sat up stiffly and pinched his cheeks hard.

At some point during the night, he heard someone shuffling towards him in the darkness, then a voice rasped.

‘Boy, is that you? In the corner there.’

At first Marcus did not recognize the voice and kept still, holding his breath.

‘I know you can hear me, boy ... It’s Marcus, isn’t it? Titus told me about you once, when he came to do business with me.’

Marcus felt a familiar anger flare up in his heart. He drew a slow breath to calm his body so that his voice would not tremble when he spoke. He did not want Decimus to think that he was afraid of him. ‘What do you want?’

‘A word.’

‘Why would I want to talk to you, Decimus? After everything you have done to me and my family. All I ever want to hear is you begging for your life before I kill you.’

‘Kill me?’ Marcus heard a low chuckle, then the man’s voice caught as a bout of shivering seized his body. ‘You? What makes you think you could ever harm me? I have powerful friends. Men who depend on me. You are just one step up from being a common slave. Be realistic, Marcus. There’s nothing you could ever do to harm me.’

‘I won’t have to. Not now. I just hope the rebels get round to killing you before me.’

Decimus was silent for a moment. ‘Fair enough ... But there’s a chance that Caesar might find us first.’

So that’s what he wanted to ask Marcus about. He laughed quietly. ‘I doubt it. Caesar has his own problems now that he has lost his baggage train.’

‘You know him better than I do, Marcus. Do you think he will come looking for us?’

‘He might. But it would make sense for him to find fresh supplies and shelter first.’

‘But he can’t afford to let the rebels get away with taking hostages.’

‘Why not? We’re dead, Decimus. Face it.’

‘No. Why would they take us prisoner if they meant to kill us? Perhaps there is a way out. I have money. I can offer them a ransom for my life. But not yours, alas.’

‘And your men? What about them?’

‘I can always hire more men.’

Marcus stared at the dim outline of the man, a short distance away. There was no limit to the callousness of Decimus. If only his hands were free, he could throw himself on the moneylender. Without weapons, he might not win a fight with a fully grown man, but he could do him some injury.

‘Don’t take it too hard, boy. That’s just the way life is. These rebels are like any other men. They have their price, and I can afford to pay it.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper that only Marcus would hear. ‘It’s too bad for everyone else. Especially you. A few more years’ training and you would have been one of the heroes of the arena. Another little boost for Caesar’s reputation. He was right to buy you from Porcino’s school. He’s as shrewd a man as ever put on a senator’s toga. He may turn out to be one of the greatest Romans who ever lived.’

‘So why have you been plotting to kill him? You’re a Roman. If Rome needs men like him, then why kill him?’

‘Because I think Caesar believes that Rome needs hin> more than he needs Rome. That makes such men very dangerous. In any case, my political beliefs happen to coincide with an opportunity to do business with Crassus.’

‘Business?’

‘I am a businessman, young Marcus. I do what I do for money. That is why I work for Crassus. He rewards me with tax-collecting contracts. That’s how a man gets rich in this world. In return I provide Crassus with the services of my employees who have the skills needed to remove obstacles in the path of his ambition. Over the years I have recruited a few men who have proved very useful indeed.’

‘Men like Thermon?’ Marcus interrupted bitterly. ‘Murderers.’

‘Murder is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as providing a special service at a premium price.’

‘I take it that you and your men did not join Caesar’s army to buy slaves then?’

‘Why not? Might as well make a little extra on the side.’

‘But you were sent to kill him, weren’t you?’

‘If the opportunity presented itself. I had thought to blackmail that young tribune over there to help one of my men get close to Caesar, but now I have more pressing concerns. I need to strike a deal with these rebel scum and buy my freedom.’

A gust of wind moaned over the sheep pen. Marcus glanced up at the sky and noticed a band of cloud to the north. There would be more snow before the dawn came. But that was of little concern to him. If he was to die, then there was one thing he had to know. One last comforting thought to cling to.

‘Decimus, there’s something you must tell me.’

‘You want to know if your mother still lives?’

‘Yes.’

The man was silent for a moment before he spoke again. ‘I wonder what would be most merciful to tell you. If I said she was alive, then it would comfort you, until you considered what being alive means to her. You know I sent her to an estate of mine in the Peloponnese. A place where the slaves work until exhaustion or sickness finishes them off. On the other hand, if I told you she was dead, you would know you had nothing to live for. So, my boy, which would you prefer?’

‘I just want the truth,’ Marcus replied firmly. ‘Whatever it may be.’

‘The truth ...’ Decimus raised his hands and blew into them. ‘The truth is that she still lives. She is too beautiful a creature to kill, and too proud for me not to want to break her.’

Marcus sighed with relief at the news that his mother was alive. Then the rest of the words struck home, a tingle of surprise raising the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘You... You have feelings for her?’

‘Of course. I am only flesh and blood, as your father was. Why would I not be drawn to her as he was? Yet she was his wife. A few years ago, when Titus came to me for a loan, he brought her with him to Stratos. That’s when I first saw her. The next time was at the wretched little farm of yours, when I called in person for the first instalment of the loan repayment. Even then, I knew Titus could never repay it and would sink into debt. That’s when I made my offer to her. Leave him and come with me and I would write off the loan. Otherwise Titus would lose everything. The farm, Livia, and you. Sold into slavery to pay off the debt.’ Decimus chuckled drily. ‘And you know what she did? She spat in my face and told me she would rather die than be mine. What do you think of that, eh? Your mother has courage. Even more than that fool, Titus. Yes, I think there is more of her in you than there ever was of him ... Now she will stay on my estate, working the fields, until the day she begs me for forgiveness.’

The surprise that Marcus had felt gave way to disgust as he listened to the man talking about his mother. The thought of this vile, repulsive snake wrapping his coils round her made Marcus feel sick to the very depths of his stomach. He must not let it happen. He must find a way to escape, or to survive. And if Decimus did succeed in buying his way out of captivity, then as soon as Marcus was free, he would hunt him down. He silently swore an oath to all the Gods that he would not rest until Decimus was destroyed.

The man stirred and struggled to his feet, looming over Marcus in the darkness.

‘I’ve enjoyed our little chat. But something tells me I would be rash indeed to spend the night close enough that you might feel tempted to harm me. Sleep well, young man, if you can. Don’t try to take advantage of me during the night. Thermon will be watching you.’