‘I hope so. When do you intend to leave for Ariminum?’
‘At once. I’ll take the Flaminian Way. It’s the most direct route.’
‘That’s true,’ said Clodius. ‘But is it wise? It’ll be hard going at this time of year, and you will be crossing the mountains where these rebels are hiding out.’
‘I imagine they will be hiding in their caves, huddled over their fires. I shall be safe enough and besides I cannot afford any delay. The sooner the matter is dealt with the sooner I can turn my attention to far more important victories and conquests. I will leave at dawn. Festus!’
The leader of his bodyguard stepped forward and bowed his head. ‘Yes, master.’
'I shall take you and six of your best men.’ Caesar’s gaze flickered towards Marcus. 'And you, young man. I suspect I shall need to call on your knowledge and skills once again. After all, you trained alongside gladiators. You know how they think, and you know how they fight. Yes, I am sure you will be very useful.’ He turned back to Festus. ‘I’ll also need my scribe, Lupus. See that it is all arranged.’
‘Yes, master.’
Caesar turned back to Clodius. ‘I wish I knew precisely what I am up against. If this man, Brixus, is an escaped gladiator, then he will be a dangerous opponent. Even more dangerous if there is any truth to this rumour about the son of Spartacus joining forces with Brixus. If it’s true, then the son must be found as soon as possible. Found, and then eliminated. Every slave in the empire must be made to realize that Rome never rests until its enemies are completely and utterly crushed.’
‘Yes, Caesar. I will see to it.’ Clodius nodded.
‘I also expect that you will look after my interests here in Rome in my absence. I will expect regular reports of the proceedings of the Senate.’
‘Don’t worry. I will. Now I’d better leave you to your preparations.’
‘Farewell, my friend.’ Caesar smiled as he clasped the younger man’s arm.
Clodius smiled back and then turned to leave the house. Once the door had closed behind him, Caesar’s smile faded and he shook his head as he muttered, ‘Thank the Gods that he isn’t the only supporter I can rely on.’
Marcus could not help nodding in agreement and Caesar’s eagle eye caught his gesture.
‘So, you share my opinion of Clodius? That is good. I have always known I could rely on your sound judgement, my bay.
‘Yes, master.’
‘Well then, we are about to face a new adventure, Marcus. You may have fought in the arena, and on the streets of Rome, but this will be your first campaign, maybe even your first real battle. I expect that you are looking forward to it, eh?’
Marcus forced himself to nod and Caesar punched him lightly on the shoulder.
‘Just as I thought. You’re a natural warrior through and through.' His expression became serious. ‘I meant what I said about needing any advice you can give me… Now go and pack your kit and get an early night. We’ve got a long, uncomfortable ride ahead of us. Crossing the Apennines in winter is not easy.’
‘I’ll make sure that I pack some warm clothes, master,’ said Marcus.
‘Good. At least there’s one thing to look forward to. My niece will be with her new husband at Ariminum. He’s serving with the Tenth legion. I’m sure that Portia will be glad to see you again.’
‘I hope so,’ Marcus answered with feeling. She was one of the few people he had come to regard as a friend since arriving in Rome and he had missed her when she left Caesar’s household to marry the nephew of General Pompeius, one of Caesar’s closest allies. Together with Crassus, they were the three most powerful men in all Rome. It was an uneasy alliance, as Marcus knew only too well after having foiled a plot against his master by Crassus. A plot that had involved Decimus and his henchman, Thermon, the man who had murdered Titus and kidnapped Marcus and his mother. There would be a reckoning one day, Marcus vowed. The blood of Thermon and Decimus would run from his blade.
He thrust thoughts of revenge aside and bowed his head to Caesar.
‘With your leave, master?’
‘Yes, you may go. Goodnight, Marcus.’
Lupus had already heard about the journey by the time Marcus reached the small cell that they shared in the slave quarters of the house. Even though Marcus had been given his freedom he had no means of paying his own way and was obliged to remain in Caesar’s house, sharing the same food and conditions of those who were still slaves. It suited him for now. After all, the only thing that mattered to him was waiting for Caesar’s contacts in Greece to discover where his mother was. So he was content to stay close to Caesar and hear the news as soon as it reached Rome. Or Ariminum, as would now be the case.
‘Ariminum.’ Lupus smiled. He was a small thin boy, nearly four years older than Marcus, but could have passed for the same age. His dark hair was cropped short and he spoke with the usual quiet humility of those who had been born into slavery. ‘I can’t wait to see the place. It’s supposed to be a beautiful city, close to the beach. Where the wealthy Romans go to relax.’
‘I doubt it will be quite so pleasant in the middle of winter,’ Marcus replied.
‘Pleasant enough. In any case, a welcome change from Rome.'
Marcus nodded. The capital might be the heart of the empire, a vast city with grand buildings, public baths and every entertainment imaginable, but it was also crowded, with stinking narrow streets, and when summer came the air was stifling. The fresh air of the coast would indeed be welcome. But this would be no holiday.
‘I doubt we’ll have much time to take in the pleasures of Ariminum,’ said Marcus. ‘Caesar wants to complete his task as swiftly as possible. I imagine that we’ll be there just long enough for him to muster his troops and then we’ll be marching into the mountains. You’d better get used to the idea of living out in the snow, rain and wind.’
Lupus shuddered at the thought.
‘And it won’t just be the elements to contend with,’ Marcus added. ‘There will be fighting. Caesar thinks that he’ll crush the rebels easily. I’m not so sure. They may lack training, but they’ll be fighting for their lives, for their freedom. That will make them very dangerous.’
Lupus stared at him anxiously. ‘I don’t like the sound of it. Why does Caesar need me to come along? What good would I be in a fight? I wouldn’t know how to use a sword. Probably be more of a danger to our side than theirs.’
‘It’s not your sword Caesar needs, but your pen. He will want a record kept of his exploits. Something he can use to build his reputation later on.’
‘Oh, good,’ Lupus responded with a relieved expression. ‘I suppose I’d better start packing.’
While his companion rummaged through his small chest of stationery Marcus began his own preparations. In addition to his sword, throwing knives and dagger, he took his gladiator cuirass down from its peg on the wall and carefully wrapped it in an old blanket before placing it in his kitbag. He also took a bronze buckler and the reinforced skullcap that Festus had made for him the previous year, leather bracers and a padded tunic to wear under his armour. Once all his fighting kit was packed he moved on to his clothing.
As he worked, his mind was distracted. So far, only his mother and Brixus knew the truth about his father’s identity. And now it seemed that Brixus was spreading the word that Spartacus had a son and that the son would take up his father s cause. No doubt some Romans would refuse to believe it, thinking that Brixus had simply invented the story to win support for his cause. But there would be plenty of others who believed it, making Marcus’s secret that much harder to keep. Caesar had already seen the brand on Marcus’s shoulder but had not been able to place it. There might come a time when Caesar made the link between the brand and the rumour and realized who Marcus was. If that happened, then he would be put to death.
Marcus trembled at the thought. Not just out of fear for himself but also for his mother. Without him, what hope did she have? If Caesar were to find her after discovering Marcus’s identity, then surely she would be killed too in the name of revenge?
There was a further matter that disturbed him. He had no wish to take part in any campaign against rebel slaves. If anything, he would rather fight alongside Brixus, against those who made people into their property. It was a doomed cause. Even if Brixus were to unite the bands of runaways and brig-ands, what hope would they have against the might of Rome? Caesar was desperate to crush them as quickly as possible. Even though he said he would only need five thousand men, the equivalent of one legion, there were three more legions he could use as reinforcements. The slaves’ only hope would lie in finding an inspirational leader who combined the qualities of a great warrior, a wise general and a formidable personality. In short, a man like Spartacus. With such a man to lead them tens of thousands of slaves would escape to swell the ranks of the rebellion, and at last Rome might meet her match. But Marcus was still a boy. If Brixus had plans for him to follow in his father’s footsteps, then he would surely disappoint.
Marcus felt a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. He felt trapped. He was marching to battle at the side of Caesar, to fight slaves whose fate he had once shared. And all the while he would live in fear of Caesar discovering his secret. If Brixus was captured and brought before the victorious Roman general, he’d be sure to recognize Marcus. Would he then betray him, either openly, or under torture?
The more he thought about it, the more anxious Marcus became. Once he had completed his packing, he extinguished the oil lamp and lay down on his bedroll to get some sleep. On the other side of the room Lupus lay on his back, snoring lightly. Marcus folded his arms behind his head and stared up into the darkness. Despite everything that had happened to him since being torn from his home and family, he knew that his greatest challenge lay ahead.
5
The small party of horsemen left Rome by the Flaminian gate at first light. Caesar wore a plain brown cloak as he rode at their head, not wanting to attract attention. He had written a brief note to the Senate, announcing that he had set off to destroy the rebels. By the time it was read out, the riders would be many miles from Rome and it would be too late for his political enemies to summon him to explain his plans. Cato and his allies would have been sure to use every trick in the book to delay Caesar. It surprised Marcus how often politicians put the advantage of their faction above the interests of Rome as a whole.
He cast a glance at Caesar riding at the front of the column. He was even more ambitious than the rest, keen to crush the new slave rebellion quickly so that he could proceed to win glory for himself in Gaul. Despite his misgivings about his former master, Marcus knew that Caesar always rewarded those who served him well. Marcus’s victory in the fight against Ferax outside the Senate House had added to Caesar’s reputation, enabling him to pass new laws improving the lives of ordinary Romans and removing some of the bitter tensions in Rome that could lead to a new civil war. Marcus had every intention to remind Caesar of his promise to help free Marcus’s mother from slavery in return, and that meant staying at his side.
Marcus was riding with Lupus at the rear of the column. Having been raised on a farm, he had learned from an early age how to mount and ride a pony. By contrast Lupus was a poor horseman. He clung to his reins and leaned forward against his saddle horns as if he might fall from his mount at any moment.
‘Sit up straight,’ Marcus advised. ‘The saddle horns will hold you in place. If we have to break into a trot or gallop, then clamp down on your thighs and heels and hold on.’
Lupus shot him a cross look. 'Easy for you to say.’
‘Surely you’ve ridden before?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve had a few goes on the cook’s mule, and some of the ponies on the master’s country estate last year. But that’s all.’
‘I see.’ Marcus sucked in a breath to cover up his disappointment. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.’
‘Thanks for the encouragement,’ Lupus replied tersely, as he hunched forward again and gripped the reins for dear life.
The road soon left Rome behind and as they crested the brow of a hill Marcus turned in his saddle to look back. Grey clouds were approaching from the west and already the great city was in shadow. The city comprised an ugly sprawl of buildings covering the seven hills, above which hung a filthy pall of woodsmoke. Marcus was glad to be out in the fresh air of the country with its clean scents. He would not miss Rome. Aside from the discomfort of its gloomy alleys, stench and the constant noise, there was the danger of street gangs and the bloodthirsty fickleness of the mob, as well as the endless plots and conspiracies of politicians. With a click of his tongue, he urged his horse forward and caught up with the rear of the column as it continued east, towards the snowcapped slopes of the Apennines.
It had been an unusually cold winter. The open countryside was bleak and the seasonal trees were stripped bare of leaves and stood gaunt and still, like splintering cracks against the leaden sky. The frequent showers of rain and a passing storm had left the fields waterlogged, while puddles gathered in the ruts and dips of the road. At first there were plenty of farms and village along the route, their inhabitants living comfortably off the crops, fruit and meat that they sold at the markets in Rome. But as the day wore on, there were fewer buildings visible and they rode through unspoiled woods interspersed with much smaller farms and the occasional cluster of rural dwellings that could scarcely be called villages. The ruddy-faced inhabitants, who were outside cutting firewood or taking winter feed to their animals, paused with curious, and sometimes suspicious, expressions to watch the riders passing by and then continued with the unchanging routines of country existence.
After a brief rest at noon they set off again. The road entered the foothills of the mountains that ran down the spine of Italia, just as the clouds darkened the skies above, and with them came the first drops of rain. The riders hunched down inside their capes and pulled the hoods up as the rain pattered on the road. Marcus hoped that it might be a passing shower, but the rain continued to fall, and grew heavier. Despite the animal fat that had been worked into the cloaks to help waterproof them, it was not long before the riders were soaked through. The air was already cold and now the gentle breeze made it even colder.
Marcus could not prevent himself from shivering as he gripped the reins and clenched his teeth in concentration. He spared a glance at Lupus and saw that his companion was shaking uncontrollably as his teeth chattered.
Lupus caught his eye. ‘Wh-when is the master going to stop and take sh-sh-shelter?’
‘What shelter?’ Marcus gestured at the landscape on either side of the road. There was nothing but rocks and stunted trees to be seen, and ahead the road entered a dense forest of pine trees. ‘Perhaps up there.’ He pointed at the treeline.
But when they reached the forest Caesar continued riding, and while Lupus muttered curses at his master, Marcus resigned himself to the discomfort and misery of the journey. The road continued through the trees and, as the slope increased, the route began to zigzag up the hill into the grey mist that shrouded the view of the surrounding landscape.
As dusk encroached on the dismally lit world, the horsemen finally reached the gates of a small town. Caesar presented his senator’s ring to the cloaked sentries and they were ushered through the gate and into the street beyond. There were only a handful of travellers’ inns in the town and only one of those large enough to take the entire party and stable their horses. Night had fallen before the needs of the mounts had been seen to and then Marcus, Lupus and the others joined Caesar and Festus inside where they sat at a bench close to the fireplace sipping heated wine. They had already changed into dry clothes, and their riding cloaks, tunics and boots were drying by the fire.