Текст книги "Son of Spartacus"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

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.

‘Over here! Some tracks … He’s been this way!’

A cold wave of terror raced down his spine. There was only one direction now and Marcus spun round and ran for his life. He had covered no more than thirty paces across the smooth sweep of snowy field when the first of the pursuers burst out of the forest.

‘There he is! Just a kid!’

‘Get him!’ another voice called. ‘He mustn’t get away!’

Marcus risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw several dark figures converging on him from the treeline, kicking up sprays of snow as they raced down the slope. He sprinted on, heart pounding, fear causing his stomach and chest to tighten so that he panted raggedly. When he looked back again they were much closer, their longer stride gaining on him. They were halfway across the field before Marcus realized he could not reach the shelter of the trees before they caught up. He felt the energy draining from his legs and there was nothing he could do.

In front of him lay the stone wall of the pen and he saw the sudden movement of a dark shape rising above it. Then another, and another.

‘Heads up, lads! We’ve got company.’

Marcus slowed momentarily, unsure if these were more of Brixus’s men. Then the shouts behind caused him to grit his teeth and run on.

‘Kill him!’ a voice cried out. ‘He mustn’t give us away! Kill him!’

Something dark flew close by Marcus’s head and exploded into the snow. He saw the shaft of a spear as he ran by and any moment expected to feel the piercing blow as the next missile punched through his back and tore through his body. A short distance ahead, one of the men inside the stone wall reared up and drew his arm back.

‘Get down, lad!’ he shouted hoarsely. ‘Down!’

With no time to think, Marcus hurled himself forward into the biting cold of the snow, rolling over towards the wall. He did not see what happened next, only heard the thud and deep grunt from close behind him. Scrambling on hands and knees, he glanced back and saw one of the rebels collapse to the ground, a spear shaft protruding from his stomach.

‘Get stuck in!’ a voice roared from behind the stone wall and dark shapes clambered over, short swords in hand. Some carried large oval shields as they charged towards the rebels, shouting their battle cry. Swords clattered all around Marcus. With nothing to protect himself, he crouched low as he ran to the wall and clambered over the rough stones before dropping inside.

He landed heavily, forcing the breath from his lungs, and it was a moment before he took in his surroundings. The interior of the pen was filled with legionary marching yokes, and bundles of javelins leaned against the wall. A handful of men were still there, too late to take part in the skirmish outside. Marcus rose to his feet, gasping, and peered over the wall. The fight was already over. Most of the rebels had turned to flee, racing back up the slope towards the cover of the distant trees. Several bodies lay in the snow, some of them writhing and groaning with pain. The soldiers stood jeering, waving their fists and swords after the rebels.

‘Right!’ a voice called out over the shouts. ‘You’ve had your fun, lads. Get the wounded into the pen. Now then, where’s that boy? I want a word with him.’

A tall, powerfully built man climbed over the wall and looked to either side before he caught sight of Marcus’s slight form and strode over. He stood, hands on hips, and stared down at him.

‘Mind telling me who you are and what that was all about?’

‘Take me to Caesar,’ Marcus replied, still breathless. ‘I have to speak to him. At once.’

‘You want to speak to the general?’ the centurion asked in an amused tone. ‘I doubt he’d thank me for waking him in the middle of the night.’

‘He might just do that…’ Marcus took a deep breath to calm his nerves and speak clearly. ‘Once you tell him that Marcus Cornelius has escaped, and can show him where the rebel camp is hidden.’

22

‘Marcus!’ Caesar grinned as he looked up from his campaign desk. ‘I’d given you up for dead. Where did you find him, Festus? The lad looks all but done in.’

‘He was picked up by one of the forward patrols, sir. They were all for throwing him in with the slaves we’ve captured, but he said he had important information for you. So they brought him to headquarters. I was there when they arrived at dawn and recognized Marcus at once. I brought him straight here.’

Caesar gestured to Marcus. ‘You’re shivering. Come, sit by the fire and warm yourself. Festus, give him my cloak, then send for some food, something hot.’

While Marcus eased himself down on a stool in front of the brazier that warmed and lit the tent, Festus crossed to a chest and picked up the heavy woollen cloak. The thought of food made Marcus’s stomach rumble and the need to satisfy his hunger was just enough to put off the need to sleep. A moment later Festus gently placed the cloak over his shoulders and Marcus began to feel comfortable for the first time in many days.

Once Festus had left the tent Caesar turned to Marcus. There was a brief silence before he spoke again. ‘You might be interested to know that this isn’t the first reunion of former comrades. It seems that Lupus survived the avalanche. He was dug out by the rebels.’

‘Lupus is alive?’ Marcus couldn’t help grinning with pleas-ure at the news. ‘Where is he?’

‘With the rest of the prisoners. He was captured following our clash with the rebels.’ Caesar shook his head sadly. ‘I misjudged him. He was not the loyal slave he seemed. Of course, he will be punished in due course, before I send him to work on a chain-gang. Some hard labour on a farm or in a mine might teach him the price of treachery.

At first Marcus did not know what to say. He could hardly believe that Lupus would willingly join the rebellion, but then again, why not? For all the comforts he enjoyed as Caesar s scribe, he was still no more than a piece of property when all was said and done. Perhaps Lupus had grasped that and decided he wanted a taste of the freedom his master took for granted. Marcus was determined to save his friend. ‘Sir, Lupus had no choice. He had to join the rebels or be killed.’

‘It was his duty to refuse. Do not feel sorry for him, Marcus,’ Caesar continued as he read Marcus’s expression accurately. ‘Lupus deserves his fate. You refused to join Brixus and managed to escape. That’s what Lupus should have done.’

‘He was not trained as I was, sir.’

‘That is no excuse as far as I am concerned,’ Caesar replied dismissively. ‘Anyway, enough of Lupus. I intend to forget all about him. It is your story I am interested in. So, you survived the attack on the baggage column. When they could not find your body I hoped you had been taken alive. That was some small comfort given that the tents and food supplies were lost. The only shelter left was this tent. Too big to make off with, I guess. My men have been forced to sleep in the open, and if we do not destroy the enemy within the next few days I will be forced to fall back on Mutina to resupply and begin the campaign again… Unless, of course, this information of yours changes the situation. Well, Marcus, what do you have to tell me?’

Staring into the flames, Marcus struggled to fight off the weariness that fogged his mind. If he revealed the secret of Brixus’s camp, then Caesar would crush the rebels ruthlessly. Brixus and his followers would fight to the end and many thousands would die. The thought of all that bloodshed appalled Marcus and he decided that he must do all he could to prevent it, even if it set him squarely at odds with his former master. He cleared his throat and sat up straight as he turned to face Caesar.

‘I know where the main rebel camp is. That’s where they took the prisoners after the ambush.’

‘You know where they are?’ Caesar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He smiled coldly. ‘Excellent… Then we have them. The rebellion is as good as over.’ He paused and his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘But I dare say you were not the only prisoner.’

‘There were some others, including Tribune Quintus, sir.’

‘Quintus is alive? I had hoped he would do the honourable thing and die rather than be taken prisoner. He has disgraced himself, and Portia, and therefore my family. If he still lives when this is over, he may as well give up any ambition to pursue a political career. Anyway … If there were others taken prisoner with you, how is it that only you have managed to escape? You had better explain yourself.’

Marcus thought quickly. ‘I was with the others when Brixus and his men returned to their camp. He recognized me and ordered his men to release me.’

‘You know Brixus? You know him and yet you did not seek to inform me of the fact?’

‘I thought you knew, sir,’ Marcus replied innocently. ‘Brixus was at the same ludus as me, until he escaped.’

‘Great Gods!’ Caesar clenched his eyes shut for a moment as if furious with himself for not making the connection. He breathed in deeply before his tense expression eased. ‘All right, so you knew each other. What happened after he released you?’

‘He took me into his tent and we talked.’

‘What about?’

‘He tried to convince me to join his rebellion. He said that this time he will succeed where Spartacus failed. He also asked me about you.’

‘Me?’

Marcus nodded. ‘He knew that you had bought me from Porcino and taken me to Rome to continue my training. He wanted me to tell him what I knew of your character, and your plans for the campaign.’

‘I see. And what did you say?’

‘I told him I did not know the details of your plans. I also said that you were determined to crush the revolt as swiftly as possible, whatever it takes. I said you were not the kind of man to let any obstacle stand in his way.’

Caesar leaned forward across the table. ‘How did he react to that? Did he find it unsettling?’

Marcus paused briefly before he replied. ‘I think so.’

‘Good, then we have him off balance. Anxious men are more inclined to make rash decisions. And it unsettles those who follow them. So what happened next? How did you escape?’

‘Once Brixus had finished talking he left me to sleep. I waited until the rebels had settled down for the night, then crept out of the camp. I had almost got clear when I was spotted by some men on guard. They chased after me, until I ran into your patrol. You know the rest.’

Caesar had been listening attentively and now he smiled. ‘Quite a tale, Marcus. You have been lucky, though you were quick-witted and showed great courage. But I’d expect nothing less from you. By now I think Brixus will be aware of your escape. He will be making plans to abandon the camp and flee. This is the moment to strike. We’ll march on them at first light and bring this matter to a swift conclusion. Tell me, Marcus, where are they?’

This was the moment Marcus had been dreading. He felt his limbs tremble as he forced himself to speak. ‘What do you intend to do, sir?’

‘Why, catch those scum before they can get away. Those we don’t slaughter will be made an example of. Never again will the slaves doubt what awaits them should they turn on their masters.’

Marcus nodded. ‘That’s what I was afraid you would say.’ The triumphant gleam in Caesar’s expression faded and he stared fixedly at Marcus. ‘What are you thinking, my boy? These are slaves we are talking about. Worse, they are rebels. They have destroyed hundreds of farms and fine villas, and murdered thousands of Romans. Do you question my right to destroy them?’

Marcus had his answer ready. ‘Until a few months ago, I was a slave. One of the scum you mentioned.’

‘And now you are free.’

‘It takes more than that to shake off the experience of being a slave, sir.’

‘Marcus, you do not pick sides. Fate does that for you. A year ago, you might have joined Brixus. But now you are on my side. On the side of Rome.’

‘I may be free. But I have lived as a slave and I experienced the cruel, brutal way that they are treated. I can understand why Brixus and the others have rebelled. They had no other choice.’

‘Choice?’ Caesar looked surprised. ‘What has choice got to do with it? Slaves have no right to choose. They must simply obey, or face the consequences. And I will show them, and every other slave in Italia, the price of forgetting what being a slave means.’

Marcus shrugged off Caesar’s cloak and let it fall on the ground behind him. ‘Then I cannot tell you where the camp is.’

‘Cannot or will not?’ Caesar repeated in an icy tone. ‘You dare to defy me?’

Marcus nodded. ‘If it will save lives: Romans as well as slaves. Sir, I have served you loyally. I am grateful that you set me free. I would not defy your will if I could avoid it.’ Marcus clenched his fist and pressed it against his breast. ‘I will not have so many deaths on my conscience.’

Before the confrontation could go further the tent flap rustled as Festus returned with a canteen and large bowl. The rich aroma of stew filled Marcus’s nostrils. Festus hesitated briefly, sensing the chilly atmosphere between the two, and then continued to the desk and set the canteen, bowl and spoon down. Then all was still and no one spoke until Caesar gestured towards the bowl and muttered curtly. ‘Eat.’

Despite his hunger, Marcus found that his appetite had faded and his nerves had left his stomach tightly clenched. He forced himself to pick up the spoon; anything to create a sense of normality.

As he took his first mouthful, Caesar chuckled. ‘You missed an interesting moment, Festus. It appears that our young friend has decided to become something of a moral philosopher.’

Festus frowned. ‘Sir?’

‘Marcus is refusing to reveal the location of the rebel camp.’

Festus turned to Marcus with a look of incomprehension. ‘What is this?’

Marcus swallowed his mouthful of stew and put the spoon down. ‘I did not say that I would not tell you the location. It’s just that I want a deal with you, Caesar. If I give you what you want, there is a price.’

‘A price? What nonsense is this?’ Caesar slapped his hand down on the desk. ‘I will not make any deals. Especially not with a boy. An ex-slave at that.’

‘Then I will say nothing,’ Marcus replied firmly.

Suddenly Festus clenched his hand round the back of Marcus’s neck and shook him hard. ‘How dare you speak to Caesar like that? You will show him the respect he commands, boy!’

Marcus clamped his jaw tightly shut and endured the pain as he kept his eyes fixed on Caesar. At length the proconsul let out a sharp breath,

‘Enough, Festus. Release him!’

Festus pushed Marcus’s head forward, then let go. He kept his position just behind the boy, ready to act again at the slightest sign from Caesar. The latter folded his hands together as he returned Marcus’s stare.

‘What exactly is this price that you would have me pay for the location of the rebels?’

Marcus rubbed his neck tenderly as he carefully ordered his thoughts. ‘I’ll take you to the camp and you can demand their surrender, in return you will spare the lives of the slaves. They are to be returned to their masters unharmed.’

‘What if they don’t surrender?’

‘If you move quickly they will be trapped, sir. They will have to surrender.’

‘What if they choose to resist?’

Marcus thought for a moment. ‘I pray that they will see reason, sir. If you guarantee their lives, then I think they would prefer to live than face death by the sword, or on the cross.’

‘The ringleaders will have to be executed, of course.’

‘No. They will be spared too.’

Caesar shook his head. ‘That would not play well in Rome. The Senate and people will demand the deaths of Brixus and his companions.’

‘You are the commander here, sir. It is your decision, not theirs.’

Caesar leaned back in his chair and drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desk. ‘What is to stop me ordering Festus to take you aside and beat the truth out of you? He has a certain skill for loosening tongues.’

Marcus fought to keep the fear from his expression. ‘You could torture me, sir. But I might endure it for some hours, by which time Brixus and his rebels would have escaped. I know that time is precious to you. The campaign must be finished before you can march against Gaul. This is your chance to put an end to it today. Otherwise it could drag on for months.’

Festus coughed. ‘The boy has a point, sir.’

‘Quiet!’ Caesar snapped. ‘If I ever want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

Caesar ignored his bodyguard and kept his attention on the boy sitting before him. Marcus stared back unwaveringly, but inside he was terrified. He felt small and alone in the presence of great danger, yet he knew that he had one powerful weapon on his side: time. Every passing moment increased the risk that Brixus and his followers would slip through Caesar’s fingers. That was what he was counting on. If he had misjudged his former master, then Marcus was certain that he would be dead by the end of the day, and would be swiftly followed by thousands of others before the rebellion was over.

‘Very well,’ Caesar growled through clenched teeth. ‘You have a deal.’

‘I want your word on it.’ Marcus swallowed. ‘I want you to swear to it, here in front of Festus.’

‘And what oath would you bind me to?’ Caesar asked mockingly.

‘One that I know you will keep. I want you to swear on the life of your niece, Portia.’

The blood drained from Caesar’s face and Marcus feared that he had pushed the proconsul too far. Then Caesar nodded slowly.