Текст книги "Son of Spartacus"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Marcus struggled to push the memory of Portia from his mind, but could think only of the words she had spoken to him, and the soft touch of her lips.

With a blur, Quintus charged, his sword sweeping in a clumsy but deadly arc. Marcus backed off as he blocked the blow and sparks flew. Quintus continued his assault with a vicious flurry of strokes as he growled, ‘I will not die! I will win! Win!’

Marcus cleared his mind of everything but the reaction to each attack, and met it with a block or parry, conserving his strength as his opponent wasted energy. Then, as Quintus swung again, Marcus counter-attacked before the tribune could reverse the stroke. Stabbing the blade with all his strength, Marcus went for the hamstring above and behind Quintus’s knee. His aim was true but the cold and exhaustion had left him weak, and instead of a crippling blow the sword cut deep into the flesh and muscle without severing it.

Quintus let out a cry of pain and staggered away, bleeding freely. The advantage won, Marcus pushed ahead, feinting and thrusting to force his opponent backwards. Then Quintus’s boot slipped on the icy ground. He stumbled and fell on to his back, throwing his arms wide. Marcus leapt forward and stamped his foot on the wrist of the tribune’s sword arm, so that his fingers spasmed and the sword fell from his grasp. Marcus kicked it away, then stood over the tribune and touched the point of his blade to Quintus’s throat.

‘No! I beg you, spare me!’ Quintus pleaded. ‘For Portia!’

Marcus hesitated. He had concentrated on winning the fight. Not on its aftermath. He stood still, sword arm trembling slightly with the cold.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Mandracus demanded. ‘Kill him.’

Marcus did not move and Quintus closed his eyes tightly, his head tipped to one side.

‘Kill him,’ Mandracus ordered. ‘Or I will kill you.’

The rasp of a blade sounded and Marcus saw the rebel striding towards him. He willed himself to strike, to thrust his blade into the tribune’s throat, but he could not do it. Mandracus stood to one side and hissed. ‘This is your last chance …’

When Marcus did not react, he raised his sword.

‘Wait!’ a voice cried from the crowd. Marcus turned to see a commotion near the track leading to the secret entrance to the valley. He heard a horse’s hoofs as the dark figure of a rider emerged into the rosy glow cast by the flames from the fires. Behind him came other figures on foot, some limping and others supported by their comrades. Anxious muttering filtered through the crowd. Mandracus slowly lowered his sword and turned towards the rider.

‘Brixus.’

19

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Brixus demanded as he rode into the open space outside his hut.

The muttering of the crowd rose into a nervous murmur as the men following their leader came into view. Many were wounded and streaked with dried blood, with crudely tied strips of cloth acting as dressings. Marcus stepped back from Quintus and lowered his sword as he turned to watch the new arrivals. The tribune opened his eyes and stared up at the sky, his chest heaving as he gasped at the cold air.

‘These are the prisoners we took after the ambush,’ Mandracus explained.

‘And what are you doing with them?’

‘Putting on some entertainment, to raise our people’s spirits. But what of you?’ Mandracus indicated the straggling column of men following Brixus into the camp. ‘What happened?’

Brixus reined in and took a weary breath. ‘My ambush did not fare so well. We caught Caesar’s column in the flank as it approached Sedunum. They were strung out along the track as I had expected, but they turned and formed into a battle-line before we could close with them. By the Gods, I’ve never seen men so well handled, not even in the days of Spartacus’s revolt. It was as bloody a battle as I have ever fought. Thousands were cut down on either side. But we had the upper hand. Then both sides pulled apart to lick their wounds and draw breath. When I gave the order to charge again … my men would not obey. They’d had enough. I had no choice but to retreat into the forest and return here.’

Mandracus heard his leader’s report in silence, then glanced past him towards the entrance to the valley. ‘Were you followed?’

‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Brixus snapped. ‘Of course not. Caesar sent his cavalry after us but we lost them in the trees. We headed south for half a day before turning back to the camp. We’re safe, Mandracus.’

‘Safe for now. How many men did you lose?’

Brixus frowned. ‘We’ll speak in my hut. For now, I want my men fed and rested and their wounds seen to. Give the orders.’

Mandracus nodded, then recalled the prisoners. ‘What do you want me to do with the Romans?’

Brixus shrugged as he dismounted. ‘They can serve the camp, like the others.’ He turned towards Marcus. ‘Disarm that one and …’ His words died away and he froze as he stared at the boy.

Marcus was not sure how to react and returned his gaze in silence.

‘By all the Gods, it can’t be … surely?’ Brixus limped closer, his eyes wide in amazement. ‘Marcus. It is you. By all the Gods …’

‘You know this boy?’ Mandracus stepped in and took the sword from Marcus’s hand.

‘Know him?’ A smile of delight and triumph spread across Brixus’s face. ‘This is Marcus. The Marcus. The one I have often told you about.’

‘Him?’ Mandracus’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘This runt? This is the son of Sp-?’

Brixus rounded on him angrily. ‘Quiet, you fool! We’ll not speak of this in front of the others. Have the other prisoners taken to one of the huts and placed under guard. No one is to speak to them, is that clear?’

Mandracus nodded and turned to carry out his orders.

‘Marcus.’ Brixus stood in front of him and clasped his shoulders, speaking in an undertone so that his words would not be overheard. ‘I cannot tell you how much good it does my heart to see you again. Come, we must talk. You have arrived at the hour of our greatest need.’

Marcus was aware that the other prisoners were looking at him in astonishment. Then Brixus placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder and steered him towards the entrance of the leader’s hut. Behind them, the men of the newly arrived column slumped down on the ground by the fires and began to warm themselves. Marcus could see the weariness in their faces and already there came the sound of wailing as the first casualties were made known, shrill cries of grief that pierced the night sky.

Brixus swept the leather curtain aside and gestured to Marcus to enter. Despite its size and the icy temperature outside, the hut felt warm. A large fire was crackling in the centre, tended by a woman feeding split logs into the blaze. Marcus looked for Decimus and saw him sitting against the wall a short distance from the entrance. He glanced round nervously as Marcus and Brixus entered.

‘Who is that?’ Brixus demanded, following the direction of Marcus’s gaze. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘He’s one of the prisoners,’ Marcus explained. ‘The Roman who destroyed my family and sold my mother and me into slavery.’

Brixus thought a moment before he recalled the details of his last conversations with Marcus over a year ago. ‘Decimus?’

Marcus nodded.

‘The moneylender from Greece? Then what is he doing here?’

‘He is working for Crassus. He was responsible for an attempt on Caesar’s life last year.’

Brixus raised his eyebrows and shook his head in wonder. ‘What’s the matter with these stuck-up Roman nobles? Not satisfied with punishing us slaves, they turn on each other! They’re scum. Utter scum. No better than the meanest street dogs… What do you want me to do with him, Marcus? Shall I have him crucified? Like they crucified those who surrendered at the end of your father’s revolt? Or burned alive, perhaps? The people out there would like that.’

Marcus thought for a moment. There was blood on Decimus’s hands. Not just that of Titus, but countless others he had cruelly exploited and ruined on his path to riches. The offer was tempting.

Decimus had heard every word and now shuffled forward on his knees. ‘I made a deal with Mandracus. He promised to set me free if I paid a ransom. A million sestertii. It could be yours. All yours.’

Brixus regarded him with loathing and disgust before shaking his head. ‘Any deal you made with my subordinate is not binding with me, Roman. I know about you from Marcus. It is for him to decide your fate.’

Marcus looked up in surprise. ‘Me?’

‘Yours is the grievance. You decide.’

‘The boy?’ Decimus shook his head in disbelief. ‘You can’t let a boy decide whether I die or not.’

‘I can decide what I like. Well, Marcus?’

Marcus frowned. There was still something he could get out of this if he played his part well. He curled his lips into a sneer. ‘I would like to see him die, by my own hand. His death is long overdue.’

‘No!’ Decimus protested. ‘Marcus, wait. I’ll give you the million sestertii. Enough to set you up for life. You could buy your farm back. Or buy a bigger one. Have slaves of your own.’

Marcus stabbed his finger into Decimus’s chest and shouted. ‘If you want to live, tell me exactly where my mother is! Which estate did you send her to? Where in the Peloponnese? Speak now! Or I swear I will cut your heart out!’

Decimus flinched in terror at the boy’s violent expression and opened his mouth to reply. Then his eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

‘I will tell you nothing. If you want to see her again, then you must set me free. That is the only deal I will make with you. My life for hers.’

Brixus stepped over the moneylender and grasped him by the collar of his tunic. ‘Say the word, Marcus, and I’ll have Mandracus beat the truth out of him.’

‘He can try.’ Decimus smiled thinly. ‘But how will you know I am telling the truth? You need me alive, Marcus. I will tell you where she is, once I am away from this place, and safe. Only then.’

‘And he’s supposed to trust you?’

‘I give him my word.’

‘Hah? Your word?’ Brixus spat. ‘I’d sooner trust a snake. Marcus, kill him. You can find your mother on your own.’

Marcus glared at the moneylender, his heart welling up with despair and frustration. Decimus had the advantage and there was little he could do about it – unless there was some way to hold Decimus to his side of the bargain. He turned to Brixus. ‘There is another man among the prisoners who I would have you keep safe. A tall, thin man. Bald and with a beard. His name is Thermon.’

He turned back to Decimus. ‘If you fail to keep your word, I will give Thermon to Caesar. He would have some interesting stories to tell about your business interests, as you call them.’

Decimus sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘You learn quickly, my boy. In time you might well be as successful as I am, and a dangerous rival. We have a deal then, and a means to enforce it.’

The leather curtain swished aside as Mandracus ducked into the hut. He saw the others and gestured to Decimus guiltily. ‘I was going to tell you about him as soon as I could.’

‘Never mind,’ Brixus replied. ‘I know all about him. Have your men take him away. He is to be kept apart from the others. Guard him closely. He must not escape. And if he tries to, then I want him taken alive.’

‘Yes, Brixus. As you wish. Come on, you!’ Mandracus hauled Decimus to his feet and pushed him out of the hut.

Brixus turned to Marcus and let out a low whistle.

‘A strange day indeed.’ Then his expression fell and he rested a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘I have bad news for you. There was a boy captured by Mandracus when he ambushed Caesar’s party earlier this month.’

Marcus felt a surge of hope in his breast. ‘Lupus!’

‘Yes, Lupus.’

‘Where is he? You said bad news?’ Marcus felt a stab of anxiety. ‘I’ve not seen him here. Send for him.’

‘I can’t.’ Brixus pursed his lips. ‘He was with me when I marched against Caesar. The last I saw of him was in the battle – just before we charged the Roman line.’

Marcus swallowed. ‘Captured?’

‘I don’t know, Marcus.’

‘Or killed?’

Brixus sighed. ‘A slave taken under arms faces a death sentence. It would be better if he were dead. Better than crucifixion.’

‘Crucifixion?’ Marcus’s guts turned to ice. ‘No … Not Lupus. Caesar wouldn’t let that happen. Lupus is his scribe. Or was.’

‘None of that will matter if he has been captured with a sword in his hand.’

Marcus stood silent, remembering his friend. Then he looked at Brixus with a guarded expression. ‘I never took Lupus for the fighting kind. I’m surprised he was prepared to go into battle.’

‘There are many in our camp who have never fought before they joined us. But they soon discover that freedom is a cause worth fighting for, or dying for if need be. That is what your father taught us. Many remember the lesson and honour his legacy.’ He placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘When word spreads that a new Spartacus has risen to lead the rebellion, then slaves the length of Italia will flock to join his standard. This time nothing will stand between us and freedom. We will have our victory over Rome.’

Marcus forced himself to smile in response. He felt anxious about the dream that Brixus held out. Though he had come to accept that he was the son of Spartacus, would his blood inheritance be enough to guarantee that Marcus would rise to the same greatness?

20

Brixus released Marcus’s shoulder and smiled wearily. ‘I am a poor host. What am I thinking? You’re cold and hungry, and no doubt exhausted. Come, let’s sit by the fire while I send for food and drink, and we can talk.’

He clapped his hands and called out harshly. ‘Servilia!’

The woman crouching by the fire cringed like a whipped dog, then scrambled to her feet and scurried across the hut, bowing her head as she stood before him. By the glow of the fire Marcus could see bruises amid the grime on her skin, and the locks of her long dark hair were matted with filth.

‘I want meat, bread and watered wine. And dried figs if there are any left.’

‘Yes, master.’

‘At once. Now go.’

She turned and scuttled to an arch that led into a small lean-to at the rear of the hut. As she disappeared, Brixus led Marcus to the fire where he gratefully sank down on the skins arranged at one side of the hearth. The warmth of the flames felt good and Marcus allowed himself to indulge briefly in the comfort, releasing the terror he had faced in front of the crowd. Even though he was out of danger, it took a while for the tension in his muscles and the trembling of his limbs to subside.

Brixus slipped his sword belt over his head and let the scabbard drop to the ground beside another pile of animal skins. He unbuckled the straps fastening his cuirass and placed that beside his sword, before slumping down with a sigh of contentment.

‘Your limp has improved,’ Marcus observed. ‘Much better than it was back in Porcino’s ludus.’

‘Well, it was never quite as bad as I made out.’ Brixus grinned. ‘Once I received the wound I vowed I would never again fight in the arena for the pleasure of the Romans. Even though the injury would have slowed me down, I could not trust Porcino not to make me fight again. I played it up enough to fool his surgeon and he pronounced me unfit for the arena. That’s how I was sent to the kitchens.’

‘I see.’ Marcus nodded. ‘But how did you come to be here, in charge of this camp?’

‘After I spoke to you that last time, when you were on the road to Rome, I made my way north into the mountains. It wasn’t long before I encountered one of the rebel bands. They brought me here. Mandracus was their leader and he had fought for Spartacus in the last revolt, even though he was only a boy at the time, not much older than you are now. He recognized me, and when I told him that the son of Spartacus lived and would one day lead a new rebellion against Rome, he was persuaded to let me take command. After that we increased the scale of the attacks on the enemy and recruited more people. They were anxious at first and slow to join us, but when news of our victories spread, and with that the promise of the heir of Spartacus, they flocked to our side.’ His eyes blazed with excitement. ‘Marcus, we have over ten thousand men under arms in camps like this up and down the Apennines. With you as our figurehead, that number will grow even more swiftly. Soon we shall march down from the mountains to face the Roman legions on the battlefield, and this time the victory will be ours.’

The slave woman emerged through the small entrance at the side of the hut, balancing a tray stacked with meat and bread in one hand, and carrying ajar and two silver cups in the other. She scuttled across to the fire and set the meal down between Brixus and Marcus, then backed away nervously, out of reach, and stood with her head bowed, in silence. Brixus ignored her as he piled some meat on a wooden platter and offered it to Marcus.

‘Here. I expect you’re hungry.’

Marcus took the platter and began to eat at once, quickly, tearing at the cold mutton with his teeth and chewing hard. Brixus watched with a smile, then passed him a small roundel of bread and a cup of watered wine. Marcus nodded his thanks and continued eating until his belly felt comfortably full. He eventually pushed the platter aside with a sigh.

Brixus was eating in a more measured manner and looked up. ‘Want some more, or something else? Fruit? Fig and date pie?’

‘No. I’m fine. Thanks.’

Brixus clicked his fingers at the woman. ‘Some more logs on the fire. Then get out and leave us alone.’

‘Yes, master.’ She hefted some logs from the pile beside the fire and added them to the blaze, before backing away to the side of the hut where she disappeared through the side exit. As the leather curtain dropped back into place, Marcus stared at it, frowning, before he spoke.

‘I thought you were fighting to end slavery.’

‘Eh?’ Brixus frowned briefly, until he got the point. ‘Oh, her. Don’t concern yourself with her, Marcus. It’s time some Romans learned what we slaves had to endure.’

‘I don’t understand. Either you are against slavery or you are for it.’

‘Of course I am against it. And when Rome no longer claims to own us, then Servilia can go free too. Until then, she is my slave.’

‘But-’

‘That’s enough, Marcus. I will not discuss the matter. She deserves to be treated as she once treated others until there’s an end to it. Is that clear?’

Marcus nodded, surprised and a little intimidated by the cruel edge to Brixus’s words. A silence fell between them and Marcus stared into the flames, deep in thought. He was worried about Brixus’s plan. Apart from the prospect of being the figurehead of the new rebellion, he was unsure that the rebels could overwhelm Rome’s legions. Even if tens of thousands of slaves escaped from their masters to join the rebellion, they would lack the training and experience of the legionaries. Only a small proportion of the rebels were gladiators or had some fighting experience. Marcus had seen at first hand the huge advantage that a trained fighter had over a raw recruit, no matter how eager that recruit might be.

‘You can’t win this, Brixus,’ he said quietly. ‘You cannot defeat Rome.’

The rebel leader stared back at him. ‘And why is that?’

‘You know only too well. Look what happened when you went up against Caesar. You were defeated.’

‘We were not defeated,’ Brixus replied sharply. ‘We fought like lions. My followers have the courage to see this through.’

‘Courage is not enough. We have both seen that at Porcino’s ludus. It takes more than courage. You cannot win without discipline and training. That’s why your men refused to charge at the Romans a second time.’

‘They will have discipline and training in time. More than enough to match the enemy.’

‘But there isn’t any time,’ Marcus argued. ‘Caesar and his men are hunting you down. How long do you think it will take them to find this valley?’

‘No Roman has found it yet.’

‘That’s because it was being used by just a handful of rebels before you arrived. Now there are more, many of whom have been captured by Caesar. One of them is sure to tell him about this valley. The Romans will use torture, or offer a reward, to get what they need. Then they’ll blockade the entrance to this valley and starve you and your followers out.’

‘Those who follow me would die rather than betray the cause.’

‘I wonder.’

‘Besides, you are here now. Your name, your legacy, will inspire the devotion of all to the cause of fighting for their liberty. With you at the head of our army, nothing can stand in our way!’

‘Brixus, I am not the man my father was.’ Marcus stopped and smiled thinly as he touched his chest. ‘I am not even a man. How can I lead an army?’

‘You won’t lead it as such. That is my duty. As I said earlier, you will be the figurehead of our cause. That’s all.’

Marcus reflected a moment and shook his head. ‘I will not be used like that. I will not be the reason why men, women and children rush to join a futile cause. I will not have their blood on my hands.’

‘But I need you,’ Brixus insisted angrily, then paused to calm himself. ‘I mean we need you. Would you betray all those slaves who still believe in your father and what he fought for?’

‘I am not betraying them. I simply want to save them from a pointless death.’

‘It is not a pointless death, Marcus. While men are prepared to fight, and die, for a cause they believe in, that cause lives on and one day it may triumph. If men do nothing they are simply doomed to a pointless and painful life.’

‘But they are still living,’ Marcus countered. He felt the truth of Brixus’s words but could not accept the suffering and bloodshed it entailed. And he could not bear to be responsible for luring so many people to their deaths. He shook his head. ‘No. I cannot do it. In time, perhaps the Romans themselves will put an end to slavery.’

‘Pah! You live in the clouds, boy. Rome will never – never – renounce slavery. It is the foundation of all their power. It is slaves who farm their fields, toil in their mines, or shed their blood in the arena. Without us Rome is nothing, which is why this can only stop if we have the courage and endurance to see it through to the bitter end.’ His eyes burning with zeal, Brixus leaned towards Marcus and thrust his finger at him. ‘Even if we fail, if all of us are crushed and crucified, then our example will kindle the rebellious fire that burns in the hearts of all those who are not free. That is what makes men into heroes, Marcus. Your father was a hero. You have a duty to follow in his footsteps. Or will you betray him? Are you too much of a coward to honour his memory?’

Angrily, Marcus gritted his teeth as he replied. ‘I am no coward. I would face any danger, no matter how great, for something I believe in. I do not believe you can defeat Rome. Besides, I never knew my father. He was dead before I ever breathed in this world. I will not be the slave of a dead man’s legacy. It is my life, Brixus. Mine. I was raised on a small farm on a Greek island. The man who raised me, the man I loved as a father, was killed in front of my eyes. My mother and I were sold into slavery. That is the story of my life, and I will not rest until my mother is free. That is what I am prepared to fight for, and die for if I must. Only that.’

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.’