Gladiator: Son of Spartacus (24 page)

‘Over here! Some tracks ... He’s been this way!’

A cold wave of terror raced down his spine. There was only one direction now and Marcus spun round and ran for his life. He had covered no more than thirty paces across the smooth sweep of snowy field when the first of the pursuers burst out of the forest.

‘There he is! Just a kid!’

‘Get him!’ another voice called. ‘He mustn’t get away!’

Marcus risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw several dark figures converging on him from the treeline, kicking up sprays of snow as they raced down the slope. He sprinted on, heart pounding, fear causing his stomach and chest to tighten so that he panted raggedly. When he looked back again they were much closer, their longer stride gaining on him. They were halfway across the field before Marcus realized he could not reach the shelter of the trees before they caught up. He felt the energy draining from his legs and there was nothing he could do.

In front of him lay the stone wall of the pen and he saw the sudden movement of a dark shape rising above it. Then another, and another.

‘Heads up, lads! We’ve got company.’

Marcus slowed momentarily, unsure if these were more of Brixus’s men. Then the shouts behind caused him to grit his teeth and run on.

‘Kill him!’ a voice cried out. ‘He mustn’t give us away! Kill him!’

Something dark flew close by Marcus’s head and exploded into the snow. He saw the shaft of a spear as he ran by and any moment expected to feel the piercing blow as the next missile punched through his back and tore through his body. A short distance ahead, one of the men inside the stone wall reared up and drew his arm back.

‘Get down, lad!’ he shouted hoarsely. ‘Down!’

With no time to think, Marcus hurled himself forward into the biting cold of the snow, rolling over towards the wall. He did not see what happened next, only heard the thud and deep grunt from close behind him. Scrambling on hands and knees, he glanced back and saw one of the rebels collapse to the ground, a spear shaft protruding from his stomach.

‘Get stuck in!’ a voice roared from behind the stone wall and dark shapes clambered over, short swords in hand. Some carried large oval shields as they charged towards the rebels, shouting their battle cry. Swords clattered all around Marcus. With nothing to protect himself, he crouched low as he ran to the wall and clambered over the rough stones before dropping inside.

He landed heavily, forcing the breath from his lungs, and it was a moment before he took in his surroundings. The interior of the pen was filled with legionary marching yokes, and bundles of javelins leaned against the wall. A handful of men were still there, too late to take part in the skirmish outside. Marcus rose to his feet, gasping, and peered over the wall. The fight was already over. Most of the rebels had turned to flee, racing back up the slope towards the cover of the distant trees. Several bodies lay in the snow, some of them writhing and groaning with pain. The soldiers stood jeering, waving their fists and swords after the rebels.

‘Right!’ a voice called out over the shouts. ‘You’ve had your fun, lads. Get the wounded into the pen. Now then, where’s that boy? I want a word with him.’

A tall, powerfully built man climbed over the wall and looked to either side before he caught sight of Marcus’s slight form and strode over. He stood, hands on hips, and stared down at him.

‘Mind telling me who you are and what that was all about?’

‘Take me to Caesar,’ Marcus replied, still breathless. ‘I have to speak to him. At once.’

‘You want to speak to the general?’ the centurion asked in an amused tone. ‘I doubt he’d thank me for waking him in the middle of the night.’

‘He might just do that...’ Marcus took a deep breath to calm his nerves and speak clearly. ‘Once you tell him that Marcus Cornelius has escaped, and can show him where the rebel camp is hidden.’

22

‘Marcus!’ Caesar grinned as he looked up from his campaign desk. ‘I’d given you up for dead. Where did you find him, Festus? The lad looks all but done in.’

‘He was picked up by one of the forward patrols, sir. They were all for throwing him in with the slaves we’ve captured, but he said he had important information for you. So they brought him to headquarters. I was there when they arrived at dawn and recognized Marcus at once. I brought him straight here.’

Caesar gestured to Marcus. ‘You’re shivering. Come, sit by the fire and warm yourself. Festus, give him my cloak, then send for some food, something hot.’

While Marcus eased himself down on a stool in front of the brazier that warmed and lit the tent, Festus crossed to a chest and picked up the heavy woollen cloak. The thought of food made Marcus’s stomach rumble and the need to satisfy his hunger was just enough to put off the need to sleep. A moment later Festus gently placed the cloak over his shoulders and Marcus began to feel comfortable for the first time in many days.

Once Festus had left the tent Caesar turned to Marcus. There was a brief silence before he spoke again. ‘You might be interested to know that this isn’t the first reunion of former comrades. It seems that Lupus survived the avalanche. He was dug out by the rebels.’

‘Lupus is alive?’ Marcus couldn’t help grinning with pleas-ure at the news. ‘Where is he?’

‘With the rest of the prisoners. He was captured following our clash with the rebels.’ Caesar shook his head sadly. ‘I misjudged him. He was not the loyal slave he seemed. Of course, he will be punished in due course, before I send him to work on a chain-gang. Some hard labour on a farm or in a mine might teach him the price of treachery.

At first Marcus did not know what to say. He could hardly believe that Lupus would willingly join the rebellion, but then again, why not? For all the comforts he enjoyed as Caesar s scribe, he was still no more than a piece of property when all was said and done. Perhaps Lupus had grasped that and decided he wanted a taste of the freedom his master took for granted. Marcus was determined to save his friend. ‘Sir, Lupus had no choice. He had to join the rebels or be killed.’

‘It was his duty to refuse. Do not feel sorry for him, Marcus,’ Caesar continued as he read Marcus’s expression accurately. ‘Lupus deserves his fate. You refused to join Brixus and managed to escape. That’s what Lupus should have done.’

‘He was not trained as I was, sir.’

‘That is no excuse as far as I am concerned,’ Caesar replied dismissively. ‘Anyway, enough of Lupus. I intend to forget all about him. It is your story I am interested in. So, you survived the attack on the baggage column. When they could not find your body I hoped you had been taken alive. That was some small comfort given that the tents and food supplies were lost. The only shelter left was this tent. Too big to make off with, I guess. My men have been forced to sleep in the open, and if we do not destroy the enemy within the next few days I will be forced to fall back on Mutina to resupply and begin the campaign again... Unless, of course, this information of yours changes the situation. Well, Marcus, what do you have to tell me?’

Staring into the flames, Marcus struggled to fight off the weariness that fogged his mind. If he revealed the secret of Brixus’s camp, then Caesar would crush the rebels ruthlessly. Brixus and his followers would fight to the end and many thousands would die. The thought of all that bloodshed appalled Marcus and he decided that he must do all he could to prevent it, even if it set him squarely at odds with his former master. He cleared his throat and sat up straight as he turned to face Caesar.

‘I know where the main rebel camp is. That’s where they took the prisoners after the ambush.’

‘You know where they are?’ Caesar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He smiled coldly. ‘Excellent... Then we have them. The rebellion is as good as over.’ He paused and his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘But I dare say you were not the only prisoner.’

‘There were some others, including Tribune Quintus, sir.’

‘Quintus is alive? I had hoped he would do the honourable thing and die rather than be taken prisoner. He has disgraced himself, and Portia, and therefore my family. If he still lives when this is over, he may as well give up any ambition to pursue a political career. Anyway ... If there were others taken prisoner with you, how is it that only you have managed to escape? You had better explain yourself.’

Marcus thought quickly. ‘I was with the others when Brixus and his men returned to their camp. He recognized me and ordered his men to release me.’

‘You know Brixus? You know him and yet you did not seek to inform me of the fact?’

‘I thought you knew, sir,’ Marcus replied innocently. ‘Brixus was at the same ludus as me, until he escaped.’

‘Great Gods!’ Caesar clenched his eyes shut for a moment as if furious with himself for not making the connection. He breathed in deeply before his tense expression eased. ‘All right, so you knew each other. What happened after he released you?’

‘He took me into his tent and we talked.’

‘What about?’

‘He tried to convince me to join his rebellion. He said that this time he will succeed where Spartacus failed. He also asked me about you.’

‘Me?’

Marcus nodded. ‘He knew that you had bought me from Porcino and taken me to Rome to continue my training. He wanted me to tell him what I knew of your character, and your plans for the campaign.’

‘I see. And what did you say?’

‘I told him I did not know the details of your plans. I also said that you were determined to crush the revolt as swiftly as possible, whatever it takes. I said you were not the kind of man to let any obstacle stand in his way.’

Caesar leaned forward across the table. ‘How did he react to that? Did he find it unsettling?’

Marcus paused briefly before he replied. ‘I think so.’

‘Good, then we have him off balance. Anxious men are more inclined to make rash decisions. And it unsettles those who follow them. So what happened next? How did you escape?’

‘Once Brixus had finished talking he left me to sleep. I waited until the rebels had settled down for the night, then crept out of the camp. I had almost got clear when I was spotted by some men on guard. They chased after me, until I ran into your patrol. You know the rest.’

Caesar had been listening attentively and now he smiled. ‘Quite a tale, Marcus. You have been lucky, though you were quick-witted and showed great courage. But I’d expect nothing less from you. By now I think Brixus will be aware of your escape. He will be making plans to abandon the camp and flee. This is the moment to strike. We’ll march on them at first light and bring this matter to a swift conclusion. Tell me, Marcus, where are they?’

This was the moment Marcus had been dreading. He felt his limbs tremble as he forced himself to speak. ‘What do you intend to do, sir?’

‘Why, catch those scum before they can get away. Those we don’t slaughter will be made an example of. Never again will the slaves doubt what awaits them should they turn on their masters.’

Marcus nodded. ‘That’s what I was afraid you would say.’ The triumphant gleam in Caesar’s expression faded and he stared fixedly at Marcus. ‘What are you thinking, my boy? These are slaves we are talking about. Worse, they are rebels. They have destroyed hundreds of farms and fine villas, and murdered thousands of Romans. Do you question my right to destroy them?’

Marcus had his answer ready. ‘Until a few months ago, I was a slave. One of the scum you mentioned.’

‘And now you are free.’

‘It takes more than that to shake off the experience of being a slave, sir.’

‘Marcus, you do not pick sides. Fate does that for you. A year ago, you might have joined Brixus. But now you are on my side. On the side of Rome.’

‘I may be free. But I have lived as a slave and I experienced the cruel, brutal way that they are treated. I can understand why Brixus and the others have rebelled. They had no other choice.’

‘Choice?’ Caesar looked surprised. ‘What has choice got to do with it? Slaves have no right to choose. They must simply obey, or face the consequences. And I will show them, and every other slave in Italia, the price of forgetting what being a slave means.’

Marcus shrugged off Caesar’s cloak and let it fall on the ground behind him. ‘Then I cannot tell you where the camp is.’

‘Cannot or will not?’ Caesar repeated in an icy tone. ‘You dare to defy me?’

Marcus nodded. ‘If it will save lives: Romans as well as slaves. Sir, I have served you loyally. I am grateful that you set me free. I would not defy your will if I could avoid it.’ Marcus clenched his fist and pressed it against his breast. ‘I will not have so many deaths on my conscience.’

Before the confrontation could go further the tent flap rustled as Festus returned with a canteen and large bowl. The rich aroma of stew filled Marcus’s nostrils. Festus hesitated briefly, sensing the chilly atmosphere between the two, and then continued to the desk and set the canteen, bowl and spoon down. Then all was still and no one spoke until Caesar gestured towards the bowl and muttered curtly. ‘Eat.’

Despite his hunger, Marcus found that his appetite had faded and his nerves had left his stomach tightly clenched. He forced himself to pick up the spoon; anything to create a sense of normality.

As he took his first mouthful, Caesar chuckled. ‘You missed an interesting moment, Festus. It appears that our young friend has decided to become something of a moral philosopher.’

Festus frowned. ‘Sir?’

‘Marcus is refusing to reveal the location of the rebel camp.’

Festus turned to Marcus with a look of incomprehension. ‘What is this?’

Marcus swallowed his mouthful of stew and put the spoon down. ‘I did not say that I would not tell you the location. It’s just that I want a deal with you, Caesar. If I give you what you want, there is a price.’

‘A price? What nonsense is this?’ Caesar slapped his hand down on the desk. ‘I will not make any deals. Especially not with a boy. An ex-slave at that.’

‘Then I will say nothing,’ Marcus replied firmly.

Suddenly Festus clenched his hand round the back of Marcus’s neck and shook him hard. ‘How dare you speak to Caesar like that? You will show him the respect he commands, boy!’