The grey-haired man standing beside Marcus tilted his head slightly to one side as he considered the boy’s question. Festus was in charge of Caesar’s private bodyguard, a small force of army veterans, ex-gladiators and street fighters who were tasked with his safety when he passed through the crowded streets of Rome. Marcus was the youngest member of the bodyguard, but had won the respect of the others for his courage and skill with weapons.
‘Hard to decide. The master is popular enough with the people. His land reforms last year have helped many. But they won’t have a say over what happens to him. That’s down to the senators alone.’ He paused and a smile creased his weathered face. ‘But I dare say that most of them will not be willing to risk the anger of the mob by putting Caesar on trial. The only danger is that Cato will manage to sway their opinion.’
Marcus turned his gaze to the surly-looking senator sitting on the front bench opposite Caesar. Cato wore his usual plain brown toga to show that he held true to the plain virtues and traditions of the forefathers of the Senate. In the previous year he had bitterly resisted the reforms of Caesar and the two men remained enemies.
One of the new consuls, Calpurnius Piso, was chairing the debate and now stood up to speak. The other senators and the spectators fell silent out of respect for his office as he cleared his throat.
‘My fellow senators. I am mindful that there are barely two hours left before the day is out. We have heard the arguments for and against the motion for the last three days and I move that we now vote on whether Caesar should be put on trial.’
‘Now we’ll find out,’ Marcus muttered.
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Festus. ‘You haven’t reckoned on our friend Clodius.’
Marcus nodded, recalling the violent young man who had organized the street gangs that had served Caesar’s interests the previous year.
‘I forbid!’ a voice announced loudly.
Everyone’s eyes turned towards one of the men sitting on the tribunes’ bench. The tribunes, elected by the people, had the power to oppose any decisions made in the Senate, but it was a power rarely exercised. Now, Tribune Clodius rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘I forbid the vote.’
At once Cato was on his feet, pointing his finger accusingly. ‘On what grounds?’
Clodius turned to the senator and smiled. ‘I don’t have to give you reasons, my dear Cato. I simply have the right to forbid a vote. That is all.’
Cato glared across the floor of the Senate House. ‘But you have a moral obligation to explain your decision. You must give your reasons.’
‘Must I?’ Clodius turned to the consul.
Piso sighed and shook his head.
‘Bah!’ Cato fumed. ‘The tribune is abusing his power. If there is no good reason to forbid a vote, and there isn’t, then it is not right that he should do so.’
‘It may not be right,’ Clodius countered in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘But, nevertheless, it is my privilege. And there is nothing you can do about it.’
His words provoked howls of anger from Cato’s supporters, and, Marcus noted, many of the other senators looked angry, even some of those who normally supported Caesar. He turned to Festus.
‘I think Caesar is making a mistake. He shouldn’t rely on Clodius.’
‘Perhaps, but why risk losing the vote?’
‘The master is risking more than losing the vote.’ Marcus gestured towards the angry scene on the Senate floor. The shouting continued for a moment before Piso’s clerk rapped his staff on the marble floor. Gradually the noise died away and Piso nodded his head towards a tall figure sitting midway between Cato and Caesar.
‘The floor is open to Senator Cicero.’
Marcus leaned forward against the window frame. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a word. Cicero was one of the most respected of the senators and had not yet chosen which side to support. Whatever he said now might well sway opinion behind Caesar, or turn the Senate against him.
Cicero strode purposefully into the open space in front of the consul and turned to face the waiting senators. Marcus could sense their tense anticipation, but Cicero, who was a master of every trick in the book of public speaking, waited until he had complete silence before he began.
‘Honoured senators, let us not open old wounds. There are few of us here who can forget the terrible strife and violence that accompanied the age of Marius and Sulla. And none of us want to return to that time, when every senator was in fear of his life and the streets of our great city ran with blood. Therefore, let us approach our present difficulty with a spirit of compromise.’
Marcus saw Cato shake his head and make to rise from his seat. Cicero gestured for him to remain seated and, reluctantly, the other man eased himself back down. Meanwhile Caesar looked on, his face cold and expressionless.
‘Few can deny,’ Cicero continued, ‘that there are justifiable grievances on both sides. Caesar’s consulship was a time of great division, due to the nature of the laws he introduced, and even I question some of the tactics used to impose his will. But the present attempt to bring him to trial smacks of political motivation. Of course, I am sure that the Senate would give him a fair hearing and their ultimate decision would be guided by both reason and a sense of justice.’
Festus snorted with derision. ‘Who does he think he’s fooling?’
‘Shhh!’ a stout man at his side hissed.
‘However,’ Cicero resumed, ‘since Tribune Clodius has exercised his right to deliver a veto, then we cannot vote on whether there will be a trial. The tribune is within his rights to withhold his reasons for his decision, but I say to him that his act exhibits the kind of frivolity for which he has become notorious. He risks fuelling the divisions that already place the unity of this House under great strain.’
Clodius crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
‘It is well known that Clodius is a follower of Caesar and that fully explains his decision. But there is nothing that can be done, or should be done, to force the tribune to change his mind. The moment we step down that path we undermine the very traditions and laws that have made Rome the great power that she is. Nevertheless, Caesar has an obligation not to be seen to abuse the rules. Therefore, I suggest that we agree the following compromise.’ He paused. ‘Last year Senator Cato put forward a suggestion that Caesar be given the responsibility for hunting down the remains of Spartacus t army. At the time there was no vote thanks to the riot that someone instigated outside the Senate House.’ He looked meaningfully at Clodius before he continued. ‘As it happens, I have had news today of yet another attack, this time on the estate near Tifernum, belonging to a member of this body, Senator Severus.’ He gestured towards a ponderous bald man sitting on the front row.
‘That’s right.’ Severus scowled. ‘The scum burned my villa to the ground, butchered my staff and set free all of my slaves. It’s an outrage!’
‘Quite.’ Cicero nodded. ‘These raids have been increasing in number and scale. The bands of rebels are now a major threat to the security of farms and villas on either side of the Apennines. Their leader — some thug by the name of Brixus — is attempting to unite the slaves into one army under his control. He even claims that the son of Spartacus is alive and will become the figurehead of a new rebellion. That’s utter nonsense, of course, but the fools who follow Brixus are willing to believe anything.’
Marcus felt an icy tingle at the back of his neck. He had met Brixus before, at the gladiator school where he had first been trained. Marcus had discovered Brixus’s secret: that he had been part of Spartacus’s inner circle. For his part Brixus had discovered an even bigger secret: that the young boy was the son of the former slave leader, and therefore the enemy to all of Rome. Although Marcus had deliberately positioned himself in Caesar’s household as a way of finding his mother, he lived in fear that his true identity would be discovered. So far he’d managed to divert attention from the brand of a wolf’s head mounted on the tip of a sword that was burned on his shoulder and linked him to Spartacus, but the news of Brixus s rebellion unsettled him. He glanced warily at Festus and the latter caught his eye and cocked a questioning eyebrow.
‘What’s the matter, Marcus? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Marcus forced his expression to remain calm even though his heart beat quickly within his breast.
Cicero drew a breath and continued. ‘These brigands must be dealt with. If Caesar agrees to take responsibility for destroying them, Cato, will you agree not to pursue your attempt to force a trial of Caesar?’
Before Cato could reply, Caesar was on his feet. ‘I object! I already have other duties to attend to. I take up command of my army this spring. I have no time to waste on hunting down a handful of ragged slaves. I have far more important things that concern me.’
‘More important than the security of Italia?’ asked Cicero.
‘No… Of course not,’ Caesar blustered. ‘Nothing is more important than that. Only — ’
‘Then you will surely accept this task?’
Caesar pressed his lips together, struggling to contain his frustration as Cato stood up and addressed the House. If Caesar will accept, then I shall be content to withdraw my motion that he be brought to trial.’
There was a ripple of applause and nodding of heads from the other senators, and Cato bowed his head graciously before stretching out a hand in the direction of Caesar. ‘I have given my ground, Caesar. Will you now do the same?’
‘Oh, the master is not going to like this,’ Festus muttered. ‘Better brace yourself for some shouting once we escort him back to his house.’
Marcus was watching Caesar, hoping that he would refuse to accept Cicero's deal.
Caesar nodded slowly. ‘Very well. I accept. I will take command of a force to track down and destroy these rebels at the earliest opportunity. I swear to you that I will find this slave, Brixus, and bring him before this House to decide his punishment. I will crush the legacy of Spartacus once and for all.'
His words were cheered by the senators, and they were joined by those watching from the windows and doorways. But Marcus was silent. The very last thing he wanted was for Caesar to capture Brixus. What would his former owner do if he found out that Marcus was the son of Spartacus, the bitterest enemy that Rome had ever faced?
4
Festus was proved right. The moment that Caesar and his entourage entered his house, and the door to the street closed behind them, he flew into a rage. Marcus had never seen him so angry.
‘Damn that man, Cicero! Damn him to the darkest pit in all Hades! Now I shall be forced to undertake some wild goose chase when I should be with my legions in Gaul.’
Clodius shrugged and examined the fingernails of his right hand. ‘Then perhaps you should have refused, or at least given me the nod to intervene with my veto.’
‘No. That is a power that should not be overused. We had to use it to stop the vote. To use it again against Cicero would have been too much for the Senate to stomach. Even my own supporters have a limit to their loyalty.’ Caesar gritted his teeth. ‘Now Cato has me where he wants me: stuck in Italia when I could be starting my campaign to conquer new lands and win glory for Rome.’
‘Not to mention yourself,’ Clodius added.
Caesar glared at him for a moment and then sighed wearily. ‘Whatever you may think of me, I know that Rome is my first and only master. My life is dedicated to extending her power in the world.’
‘Whatever you say, Caesar. Still, that leaves you with the problem of this man, Brixus, and his followers. What do you intend to do about it?’
‘Just as I said. I intend to track them down, as well as every other band of rebels and runaways. Those we don’t kill I will at least be able to sell.’ Caesar pursed his lips. ‘So there might be some benefit to be gained from this damned sideshow.’
Marcus felt his blood surge in his veins. Much as he had come to admire Caesar, the man was still a Roman through and through, which meant that he regarded slavery as a natural part of his world. He paid no attention to the suffering and humility of the slaves he encountered. For Marcus, who had been born free, the loss of his liberty had been the most terrible thing that had happened to him. It had meant the loss of his home, the man who had raised him, his mother, everything that had any value. After that he had become simply one item amid the possessions of his owner, Lucius Porcino, the lanista of the gladiator school.
There he had been brutally treated, had Porcino’s brand burned into his chest and been beaten and bullied by both the trainers and some of the other slaves. The memories of those days still haunted his dreams so that he sometimes woke with a start, bathed in sweat and trembling. One dream particularly troubled him: a recurring claustrophobic nightmare in which he relived his last fight as a slave. Then he had faced another boy from his school, Ferax, a youth from Gaul who was the leader of the boys who had made Marcus’s life a misery.
In reality Marcus had won the fight, and Ferax had been knocked to the ground and forced to admit defeat. But when Marcus’s back was turned the Gaul had leapt to his feet and tried to kill him. Only Marcus’s fast reflexes had saved him and killed Ferax. But in the nightmares it was Ferax who triumphed, thrusting his sword again and again and again into Marcus’s body as his brutal features twisted into a savage, spitting snarl.
Marcus hoped that it was the last such fight he would ever be involved in. But while Caesar had granted him his freedom, his former master still expected Marcus to continue with his training so that he might one day return to the arena and win fame and fortune as a professional gladiator. As the man who had paid for his training, Caesar would win the support of the Roman mob. Meanwhile, Marcus served under Festus in the bodyguard and had been required to swear that he would serve and protect Caesar for as long as he was his servant. It was Marcus’s understanding that as soon as Caesar’s agents had located his mother and arranged for her to be set free, then his obligations to his former master would be fulfilled.
And what then? He had little clear idea of what they would do with their lives after that. Once, he had thought they could return to the small farm on Leucas and continue the life they had lived before their little world was torn apart. Now that he was nearly two years older and more experienced, Marcus knew that could never happen. The farm had been taken by Decimus to cover the family’s debts, so he and his mother would have to build a new life somewhere else. In many ways it would be for the best. It was impossible to have his old life back. The farm would be filled with painful memories, a constant reminder of what had been lost — the idyllic innocence of a childhood protected by two adults who loved him. All of that was gone now, and could never be recovered.
‘The four legions assigned to me are in camp close to Ariminum,’ said Caesar, drawing Marcus’s attention back to the present. ‘They are still preparing for the coming campaign; training recruits to bring their numbers up to full strength. I’ll use the veterans for the job. They're good men. More than a match for the rabble skulking in the mountains. Ten cohorts should be enough to defeat Brixus.’
‘Ten cohorts?’ Clodius cocked an eyebrow. ‘No more than five thousand men? Are you sure that’s sufficient?’
‘Of course.’ Caesar flicked his hand dismissively, as if swat-ting an insect. ‘It will all be over very quickly. The survivors will be taken to Rome, along with Brixus — or his body — and I shall make sure to reap my reward. The mob will cheer me, and Cato will have to swallow that stubborn arrogance of his and join in the applause. I can hardly wait to see his face.’
‘Then let us hope that you will not have to report a defeat when you next face the Senate.’
‘Defeat?’ Caesar looked astonished. ‘That’s unthinkable Impossible.’