‘How many years will that take?’ Marcus asked anxiously. ‘My mother may not survive that long, sir. She has to be rescued before then.’
‘And she will be. As soon as I have the opportunity. But I have a greater reward in mind for you, Marcus. What is it that all men crave, no matter their age? Fame and power. For me that is achieved by claiming imperium — the authority and respect that is conferred upon Rome’s greatest heroes. For you there is a different route to glory. You have the potential to be a great gladiator, perhaps one of the greatest of all time. For as long as men fight in the arena the name of Marcus Cornelius will be revered. You cannot tell me the prospect does not stir your heart, eh?’ Caesar concluded with a smile.
Marcus was tempted by the vision that Caesar held out to him. He knew that he fought well, and took a quiet satisfaction in his skill and the knowledge that Titus would have been proud of him. He wondered what Spartacus would have felt. Pride, yes. But also shame at the prospect of Marcus fighting and killing in order to satisfy the bloodlust of the Roman mob. Spartacus and thousands of his followers had died to put an end to slavery, an end to gladiator fights and an end to the danger of Rome continuing to extend its brutal power over the rest of the known world. They had sacrificed everything to prevent men like Caesar winning his imperium, a prize that was bought at the expense of countless others buried in the foundations of their fame. The same fate would befall him, Marcus realized. If he ever did become a hero of the arena, then it would only add to the popularity of his patron, Caesar. With a chilling sense of certainty, he knew that was all the proconsul really cared about. Everyone else was a means to that end.
Marcus swallowed and forced himself to nod. (I can think of no greater honour, sir.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ A faint look of relief flitted across Caesar’s face. ‘Now go and prepare your kit. It’s going to be a tough campaign, even if it will be over quickly. You can use my authority to get whatever you need from the army’s stores. Make sure you have a decent supply of writing materials. I have a feeling there will be some interesting things to note down in the days to come. It’s a shame that Lupus is not here to share them with us, but I am sure you will fulfil his duties well.’
‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘Of course you will. You may go, Marcus.
He bowed his head, and slipped the strap of his satchel over his head as he left the headquarters tent. Outside, night had fallen and the camp was lit by fires and torches that struggled to stay alight in the steady drizzle. A cold breeze was blowing in from the west, towards the Apennines, and Marcus shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter about him. As he made his way towards the quartermaster’s tent, Marcus made a mental note of the supplies he required. Not so much that it would overburden his horse and yet he needed to stay as dry and warm as possible. A spare cloak impregnated with fat and a good tunic should be enough. That and a leather cover for his weapons and writing materials.
Once again his mind turned back to the matter of Decimus. It was a stroke of fortune that Crassus had sent him to join Caesar’s army. Now that it was no longer necessary to track the man down, Marcus wondered if there was any way he could force the ruthless moneylender to reveal the location of his mother. Despite what Caesar had said, Marcus intended to keep an eye on Decimus and, if the chance came, there would be a confrontation. Once he had the information he needed Marcus resolved to take his revenge.
The rain stopped shortly before dawn, but the sky remained covered by an endless blanket of dull grey clouds that cast a gloom over the flat landscape around Ariminum. The men chosen by Caesar for his campaign had packed their tents into the allotted wagons. Each man’s spare kit was attached to the stout marching yokes, together with his shield. As the order to form up was bellowed across their ranks, the legionaries hefted the yokes and rested them across their right shoulders before taking their place in the column. Marcus heaved his two bags on to the horns of his saddle. One contained his spare clothes and rations and the other his writing implements. His sword hung from his side, and a dagger and throwing knives were in the scabbards attached to his broad leather belt. Swinging up into the saddle, Marcus walked his horse over to join the small group of headquarters staff assigned to accompany Caesar.
When all was ready Caesar gave the order to advance and the long column trudged forward in two sections. The first was commanded by Caesar, the second by Legate Balbus. Cavalry led each of the two forces, followed by the commander and his staff, then their infantry, and the baggage train and its escort came last. Marcus turned in his saddle, hoping to catch sight of Decimus, but it was impossible to make out much detail amid the wagons clustered to the rear of the legionaries.
A small crowd had emerged from Ariminum to line the road along which the army marched. Wives, sweethearts, excited children and some curious idlers stood and watched as the soldiers squelched along the muddy route from the camp towards the road leading north and south. On a warmer day the onlookers might have been cheering but on this cold and miserable f morning they mostly stood and watched, only calling out their farewells as they caught sight of a friend or loved one. A small ^cluster of wealthier spectators stood near the junction where the track joined the road and Marcus picked out Portia, bareheaded, as she watched the cavalry pass by. Her expression lit up as she caught sight of her uncle and waved at him. Marcus saw Caesar acknowledge her with a bow of his head. Quintus was too busy joking with his companions to notice his young wife, and she stared forlornly as he rode past. Her smile only returned as she spotted Marcus and edged to the side of the track.
‘Take care of yourself, Marcus.’
He steered his mount to the side of the track, reining in to look down at her. ‘I will.’
‘Look after my uncle.’
‘Him?’ Marcus smiled. ‘Caesar knows how to look after himself, mistress. Trust me.’
She laughed briefly and then continued in a lower tone. ‘And take care of Quintus if you can …’
Then she turned and paced back to her place among the other officers’ families. Marcus clicked his tongue and flicked his reins, walking his horse quickly to rejoin the rest of the headquarters staff. Ahead, the cavalry of Caesar’s force, some five hundred mounted men, had turned north. The rest of the force followed them, picking up the pace now they could march on a paved surface. As the last of the wagons of Caesar’s column rumbled after them, Balbus and his men turned south.
Marcus glanced back, momentarily impressed by the spectacle of the two neatly ordered columns marching to war. The air was filled with the din of horses’ hoofs, the crunch of nailed boots and the rumble of heavy wagons on the road. Then he recalled the purpose of it — Caesar’s plan to crush the rebels and the dream of Spartacus once and for all. Marcus stared at the back of the proconsul sitting erect in his saddle, looking ahead, his mind no doubt fixed on the quest to win fame and glory, whatever the cost.
12
Lupus was close to exhaustion. They had been marching for three days before they reached the main rebel camp. Three days of toiling up steep mountain paths, frequently lost amid the low clouds that shrouded the peaks of the Apennines. Lupus could not hope to recall the route they had taken. He had tried at first, in case he got the chance to slip away and find his way back to the road to rejoin Marcus and the others accompanying his master. Despite the clouds and the occasional blizzards that had shrouded the paths, Mandracus and his men never missed their step and unerringly made their way to their destination. The paths were too difficult for his horsemen so they were ordered to continue their patrol, raiding villas and farming estates to liberate more slaves and loot enough food to feed them. Lupus saw few people along the route. A handful of shepherds, some of whom cheered Mandracus and his band and offered them food and shelter if they needed it. Others simply turned and fled.
They passed through a small village perched above a stream. It was too poor for anyone there to own a slave and they simply watched warily as the rebels passed through. There was no attempt to hinder them, not even to close the small gate in the low crumbling wall that had once protected the village. Looking from side to side, Lupus could see that the people were poor and hungry, and probably lived lives every bit as hard as the slaves passing by. It was clear that the rebels’ war was being waged against the rich and powerful. Even though the villagers were freeborn Romans, they had more in common with the rebels than with those who ruled over them.
At last, footsore, hungry and bone-tired, the small column of rebels reached the approaches to the main camp. As the first shadows of dusk settled over the mountains, Mandracus halted his men and called Lupus forward. The boy stood nervously in front of him and Mandracus smiled wolfishly.
‘Now you’ll see why the Romans can never defeat us.’ He waved a muscular arm over the surrounding scenery. They were standing in a shallow valley just above the snow line. Tree-covered slopes curved up on either side and at the end of the valley where the sides curved round to meet, like half a bowl. There were no signs of settlement or life of any sort, other than a small brook that emerged near the base of some crags to the left. The water gushed over the rocks as it wound its way down to the floor of the valley. In places the water had frozen, leaving glistening ice formations over which the water ran, adding yet more ice. The place felt desolate and Lupus shivered.
At first he had longed for the comforts of Caesar’s house back in Rome and silently cursed the day his master had taken him as an escort to Ariminum. But Lupus found there was more to his captors than he had first thought. Initially they had terrified him, and he feared for his life. It took a while before he truly believed they had no intention of harming him. Bach night, Mandracus and his men had sat round a fire, eating whatever rations they had found in recent days and talking good-humouredly before they settled down to sleep. They shared their food with Lupus, and treated him with a rough fondness that surprised him.
‘You’re free now, lad!’ Mandracus grinned as they made camp the first night. ‘No more masters giving you orders. Here we are just comrades. No masters and no slaves. We live off the land, as well as off those who use slaves to make themselves rich. You’ll get used to it soon enough. I imagine you’re still feeling a bit anxious, aren’t you?’
Lupus nodded.
‘Well, don’t. No one’s going to eat you. Speaking of which,’ the rebel leader rummaged in his sidebag and drew out a small loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. ‘Here. Eat this. You need to keep your strength up.’
‘Thanks.’ Lupus shuffled closer to the fire and let the warmth of the flames seep into his tired muscles. He swallowed the first mouthful and turned to Mandracus. ‘What will happen to me after you’ve taken me to Brixus?’
‘That’s up to Brixus,’ the man replied, then bit off a small piece from a strip of dried beef. ‘He’ll want to question you about Caesar, and your friend Marcus, before he decides what to do next. I dare say he will offer you the chance to join the rebel army.’
‘If I refuse?’
‘You won’t refuse. Trust me. Once you understand what this is all about. Once Brixus has explained his plans to you, then you’ll want to stay and fight with us and put an end to slavery.’
‘You seem very sure of it.’
‘Let’s just say that Brixus can be very persuasive. It’s probably wisest not to refuse the offer.’
Lupus nodded and ate some more food before he spoke again. ‘I’m not sure that I would want to live on the run all the time. Even though I was a slave, I was treated well enough.’
‘Good for you,’ Mandracus muttered. ‘But most slaves aren’t as pampered as you were, Lupus. Most are worked to death. Many in mines and on farming estates. Those are the worst places to be. That’s where I was before Spartacus and his men found me all those years ago. Seems like a lifetime now. I’ve been free ever since. Yes, I’ve been hunted and I’ve often wondered how long it will all last. But I am still free, and I have a wife and two young girls, and they have known nothing but freedom.’
‘It must be a hard life, here in the mountains.’
‘Life is hard.’ Mandracus admitted. ‘It’s a struggle. But we treat each other with respect, we share what we have and we can choose our own fate. That is something a slave can never do. Thanks to people like your former master. And now it seems that he has resolved to crush us.’ He stared into the flames and Lupus saw his expression harden when he spoke again. ‘Caesar will find that we are a much tougher nut to crack than he imagines. You should be able to give Brixus some insight into Caesar’s thinking when he questions you.’
‘I’ll tell him what I can,’ Lupus replied. ‘But I don’t think it will be much help. Caesar does not take his slaves into his confidence... Some perhaps. He seems to have a high opinion of Marcus.’
Mandracus glanced round sharply. ‘The boy who was with you at the ambush?’
Lupus nodded.
‘Tell me about him.’
‘Why? You said earlier that Brixus would also want to know about him. What’s so special about Marcus?’
‘Just curious. It’s probably nothing,’ Mandracus replied carefully. ‘Brixus has mentioned a boy gladiator he once knew in the past. Your friend Marcus might know something about him.’
Lupus finished eating and held his hands up to the fire, then rubbed them together. ‘Not much to tell. The master ... I mean Caesar, bought him from a gladiator school near Capua over a year ago. Caesar’s niece had fallen into the school’s arena as Marcus was facing two wolves. He saved her from them and Caesar recognized that he had potential, so he bought him to join us in Rome as part of Caesar’s bodyguard.’
‘I see. And what does Marcus look like?’
‘You saw for yourself at the ambush.’
Mandracus nodded. ‘True, but it was only a fleeting glimpse, in the middle of a fight. I can’t recall any details.’
Lupus shrugged. ‘He’s tall for his age, and thin. No, not thin. Sinewy would be a better word for it. He thinks quickly and has sharp reflexes, and he’s as brave as they come.’ He smiled with pride as he recalled his friend.