Brixus looked at him with an understanding expression. ‘Of course, Marcus. I can see that. But that is the boy in you speaking. You have had your childhood taken from you and you want it back. Few people in this camp have even had the chance to enjoy what you have known and lost. That is a monstrous injustice. Perhaps you are too young to grasp that. But you will. That is what it means to be a man. To understand there are more important things in the world than yourself, and your dreams.’
‘It is not a dream!’ Marcus snapped back, his eyes smarting with the effort of fighting back tears. He wished he could explain the pain that tore at his heart every time he thought of his mother. The terrible guilt that ate away at him because he failed to save her. ‘I will free my mother. She is all that is important to me.’
‘Marcus ... We all have mothers. I lost mine when she was sold by my master. I could do nothing to stop it. Do you think I am any different from you? Was my loss any less than yours?’
Marcus’s throat felt too tight to speak. If he tried, he knew his voice would catch and he would choke on a wave of grief and tears. Fortunately, Brixus spoke again, with great sympathy.
‘Marcus, join us and you will be fighting for your mother, and every mother and child who has suffered as you have, and more. Is that so much to ask? That is the only question that matters now.’
He reached over and gently squeezed Marcus’s arm. ‘You are tired. It is best if you rest now that you have eaten and are warm. Stay here by the fire and sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning. I’m sure you will see the truth of my words then.’
Marcus looked at him. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘You will.’ Brixus’s expression hardened. ‘There are only two sides in this conflict, Marcus. Those who fight for liberty and those who don’t.’ He let his hand fall away, then rose to his feet and looked down. ‘For the sake of our friendship, I hope you choose the right side.’
21
Lying curled up on the animal skins beside the fireplace, Marcus could not sleep despite his exhaustion. He could not shake from his thoughts the last words that Brixus had spoken. There was no mistaking the threat. He must either agree to be the figurehead for the new rebellion, or he would become the enemy of Brixus. That would put Marcus’s life in danger, and consequently that of his mother. Yet if he agreed to do as Brixus demanded, he would be little more than a puppet to dangle in front of his supporters and lure them towards almost certain death.
Marcus was sure the new rebellion was doomed to fail. Even if Brixus did manage to inspire a mass uprising, the vast majority of fighters would be field hands or household slaves who stood little chance of survival against the Roman legions. It would be a bloodbath. Tens of thousands would die, and after the rebellion was crushed the Romans would rule their slaves with even greater cruelty and suspicion than they did now.
The time was not right for rebellion. Rome was too strong and the slaves were too weak. It would be wiser to wait for a better opportunity, Marcus reasoned. Those who opposed slavery needed to bide their time.
But what if that time never comes,
a voice wondered at the back of his mind.
How long should slaves endure before they seize the chance to throw off their chains? Ten years? Twenty? A lifetime?
The voice mocked him. In that case, it would be better not to even think of rebellion.
Marcus felt torn in two by the desire to fight the evil of slavery and the knowledge that Brixus’s struggle could only lead to defeat and death. In the end, he knew what he must do, even though it left a leaden sense of despair weighing down his heart.
The dull glow of the embers provided just enough illumination for him to see his way to the entrance of the hut. Easing the furs back, Marcus warily rose into a crouch and padded across to the leather curtain. He paused and listened, but there was no sound of movement outside. He took a breath and eased the flap aside to peer round the edge. The open space beyond seemed empty apart from a single sentry bending over a small fire, building it up with some fresh logs. The rest had gone out and the dull glows around the valley indicated that most of the other campfires had been allowed to die down to avoid any tell-tale smoke come the dawn. Overhead, the sky was mostly obscured by cloud and there were only a few clear patches sprinkled with stars. It was likely that more snow was on the way, Marcus realized. A fresh fall of snow would help to hide his tracks.
He watched the sentry squat down and hold his hands out to warm them over the flames flickering about the newly added logs. The man appeared settled for the moment so Marcus slipped out of the hut and, staying low, followed the wall until he was out of sight. Then he paused to remember the layout of the valley he had seen after his blindfold was removed. He retraced the direction from which Brixus and his men had joined the crowd, then saw a distinct dip in the wall of the valley against the lighter background of the night sky. That seemed as likely a spot as any to find the secret entrance.
Checking that all was still, Marcus crept away from the hut and cautiously made his way through the camp. The sounds of snoring and occasional coughs and muttered words issued from the crude huts and shelters that had been constructed. These were accompanied by the shuffling and snorting of penned animals whose warm odour mixed with the slowly fading smell of woodsmoke. Marcus edged stealthily from cover to cover, pausing to make sure he had not attracted attention, while straining his eyes and ears to ensure that nothing stirred ahead of him before risking the next move. Once he had to throw himself flat when a man stumbled from a goatskin tent to relieve himself, waiting until he returned to his shelter with a half-awake grumble.
At length Marcus reached a track at the edge of the camp that meandered down a slope towards the cliffs. He realized that it was the dried-out bed of a small stream and guessed that many years before it had flowed through the chasm in the cliffs that now served as the entrance to the valley. The stream must have found a new course, or had one made for it by the first settlers in the valley.
Creeping round a large boulder, Marcus froze as he heard a quiet exchange from the foot of the cliffs no more than fifty paces ahead.
‘Brixus and his lads took a hammering today,’ said the first voice. ‘I heard he lost over five hundred men.’
‘As many as that?’ another voice replied gruffly. ‘A hard blow for us. But harder for the Romans.’
‘How?’
‘You heard him. He said they fell right into the trap. They were lucky to escape being completely cut to pieces. Once word of Caesar’s defeat reaches Rome they’ll know we’re a serious threat, and they’ll have to consider our demands.’
‘You think so? If we really did win, then I doubt we could survive many more of Brixus’s so-called victories.’
‘Be careful. That sort of talk is dangerous.’
‘So’s being here. This ain’t turning out to be the great uprising we were promised when we joined up. I ain’t so sure I’m any better off here than when I was a slave. Leastways, I got fed and sheltered properly. Now, me guts is rumbling all the time and I’m so cold I can’t stop shivering.’
‘Quiet!’ his companion hissed. ‘You want everyone to overhear us? What if that Mandracus is doing the rounds, eh? If he heard you mouthing off like that he’d tear out your damned tongue. Now stop your whining and keep watch like we’re supposed to be doing.’
The other man grumbled incoherently and Marcus heard the crunch of nailed boots on pebbles as the two sentries slowly paced away from each other, keeping watch over the entrance to the gorge. Straining his eyes, Marcus could just see the outlines of the two men, wrapped up in cloaks and each carrying a round shield on one arm, while a spear rested on their shoulders. Scarcely daring to breathe, he crept closer. The sentries were standing either side of a gap in the cliff face, no more than ten feet across. Beyond, the opening to the narrow gorge was soon swallowed up by inky darkness. There was no way of reaching the gorge without the two rebels seeing him. Marcus forced himself to think through the problem. If he could not get past the men he would have to distract them somehow.
Reaching down, Marcus’s fingers groped among the pebbles on the dried-out water course until they closed round one the size of an egg. He hefted it to get some sense of its weight and shape, then hurled it to one side as far as he could. There was a brief silence before the pebble clattered off a rock at the base of the cliff. At once the two sentries turned towards the sound and the nearest of them lowered his spear.
‘Who’s there? Show yourself!’
When no reply came he glanced over his shoulder to his comrade. ‘On me, let’s go.’
‘You go. Probably just a dog or something. I’ll stay here.’
Marcus felt his heart sink and silently cursed the man’s timidity.
‘No. You come with me!’ the other said angrily. ‘Now!’
As the two of them cautiously made towards the sound, Marcus half rose from his position and crept towards the mouth of the gorge. He slipped into the shadows as he heard one of them mutter, ‘See, there’s nothing here. Let’s get back to our posts.’
‘There was a sound. We both heard it.’
‘Like I said, some animal.’
‘Hmmm.’
Marcus hurried along the gorge as swiftly as he dared, desperate to put some distance between himself and the two sentries. Around him the sides of the gorge rose up, and only a thin gap showed the night sky. It was pitch black and he had to feel his way with the toes of his boots, hands stretched out in front, searching for any obstacles in his path. But there was nothing and underfoot the ground seemed to be an even layer of gravel. Although there was no wind, the temperature was colder than it had been in the valley and Marcus clamped his jaw tightly to prevent his teeth chattering. He could do nothing about the rest of his body and his limbs shivered violently as he pressed on through the darkness. He was terrified of encountering any rebels positioned within the gorge, but there was only silence ahead.
Trembling with cold and nervous exhaustion, Marcus edged round a bend in the gorge and saw a sliver of starlight a short distance ahead, revealing the exit. Then he stopped. It was obvious that Brixus would have sentries at either end of the narrow passage, and those on the outside were likely to be far more vigilant. However, they would be looking for threats approaching the entrance, so would be facing the other way. All the same, Marcus slowed his pace and hugged the side of the gorge as he felt his way towards the opening. Beyond lay a small clearing surrounded by pine trees and covered in a thick blanket of snow. A path crossed the clearing, the snow trodden down by the passage of many men and horses. Marcus was steeling himself to emerge from the gorge and make for the pines when he saw movement along the treeline.
A small party of men was trotting up the path towards the mouth of the gorge. They were halfway across the clearing when a score of men burst from the trees on either side, spears levelled as they closed round the new arrivals.
‘Who goes there?’ a voice called out menacingly.
The men on the track stopped dead and their leader raised an arm as he responded. ‘Trebonius of the scouts. Let us pass."
‘Trebonius? You weren’t expected for days. You’re supposed to be keeping watch on Caesar.’
‘We have been. He’s marching this way. Now let me pass. I have to inform Brixus!’
‘Caesar’s coming …’
Marcus felt a mix of hope and anxiety as he heard the news. If his plan was to succeed he must find Caesar as soon as possible, while there was still a chance to prevent a bloodbath. The men in the clearing were talking in low urgent tones that Marcus could no longer make out. But for a brief moment their attention was on each other. Taking a deep breath, Marcus crouched down and moved slowly out of the mouth of the gorge, staying close to the cliff as he made for the trees. It was only a short distance, no more than twenty paces, and he reached the nearest of the pines as the scout party continued towards the camp. The sentries turned and headed back to their stations. Marcus ducked under a heavily laden bough and heaved a sigh of relief as the clearing disappeared from sight. Then the sleeve of his tunic caught on the stump of a broken branch and the whole bough jerked, dislodging a small avalanche of snow.
‘Over there!’ a voice cried out. ‘There’s someone over there! Under that tree. Hey, you, stop!’
Marcus cursed himself for a clumsy fool, but was already in motion, scurrying under the low branches as he scrambled deeper into the trees. As branches swished past him he heard shouting behind, and the crack of twigs as his pursuers plunged into the forest.
‘Don’t let the spy escape!’ a voice ordered. ‘Kill him if you have to!’
Marcus stayed low and ran on, swerving round the tree trunks, barely able to make out the way ahead. He had no idea which direction to head in but kept running, steering away from the sounds of his pursuers. But he knew he was close to exhaustion. Perhaps it would be better to stop, press himself against a tree trunk and keep still while the men passed by. Then he could double back to escape in a different direction. Even as the thought raced through his mind, he knew he dare not risk being caught and killed on the spot, or taken back to Brixus. The veteran gladiator would not forgive his escape attempt. Though Brixus had been a close companion of Spartacus, his first loyalty was clearly to his fanatical hatred of Rome. There would be no mercy shown to anyone who betrayed that cause, not even the son of Spartacus.
That thought gave him an extra burst of energy and Marcus forced himself on, stumbling through the dark forest as the ground beneath his boots began to slope gently down. Behind him, the rebels called to each other as they kept up the chase.
After about a mile the trees abruptly began to thin out and he was suddenly in the open, on the edge of an expanse of uneven ground. A large stone enclosure stood at the bottom of the slope where the trees began again, a few hundred paces away, and Marcus guessed that must be a summer pasture for goats or sheep. If he continued down the slope, his dark cloak would stand out against the snow and he would be spotted the instant the rebels emerged from the forest. With a rising sense of panic, he turned back to re-enter the trees when a voice called out close at hand.