Текст книги "Son of Spartacus"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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3

‘Do you think Caesar will win the vote?’ asked Marcus as he looked in through the window of the Senate House.

As usual with any important vote, the windows and arches were packed with bystanders who had come to witness the debate and cheer on their heroes or jeer those senators who were unpopular. It had rained hard that morning and the air was cold and clammy. Marcus pulled his cloak tightly about him. He wore the hood down, despite the weather, so that he could follow the noisy proceedings in the Senate House more clearly. His dark curly hair badly needed a cut, but for now was held back by a leather strap about his forehead and tied off at the back. Even though he had recently turned twelve he was tall for his age and well built, as could be expected in a boy who had spent nearly two years of his life training to become a gladiator. There was a hardness about his expression that was unusual for his age, and came with the scars like that he bore above his right knee.

An idyllic childhood on the Greek island of Leucas had been cut short when he and his mother had been kidnapped by the hired muscle of the moneylender Decimus. Shortly after they were separated and while his mother had been taken to spend the rest of her life as a slave on a farm in Greece, Marcus had been bought by a lanista – the owner of a gladiator school – near Capua. His training had been brutal and relentless, until he had been picked to fight in front of Julius Caesar. By chance he had saved the life of Caesar’s niece, Portia, who had fallen into the pit during his fight with two wolves.

Since then he had been brought to Rome to serve in Caesar’s household, and spy on his enemies. For that he had been awarded his freedom. But that was months ago and at first Marcus had assumed that he would be swiftly reunited with his mother. However, it was not to be. Despite Caesar making enquiries to find out where she was being held, there had been no news of her and Marcus was growing restless. His heart ached whenever he thought of his mother, and imagined her chained to other slaves and forced to work in the fields of the villa owned by Decimus. He could not rest while she remained a slave. Nor could he be content until he had taken his revenge on Dedmus for all the suffering inflicted on himself, his mother and Titus, the man who had raised Marcus like a father. Marcus decided that if there was no progress by the end of the month, then he would ask Caesar’s permission to look for her himself.

Despite being a freed man, Marcus had soon discovered his new status entitled him to less liberty than he first imagined. Those who had been slaves owed a debt to their former masters and were expected to honour any requests for further services, all part of the peculiar customs of the Roman people. It was a far cry from the simple way he had been raised on Leucas.

Time was running out for Marcus. His former master had completed his year serving as one of the two consuls and would shortly be leaving Rome to take command of the armies and province of Cisalpine Gaul. If he was to get any further help from Caesar to find and free his mother, then it would need to happen soon, before the newly appointed general left Rome. But first Caesar had to survive an attempt by his political enemies to have him prosecuted for abusing his powers during his year in office.

Today they would vote on whether Caesar should be put on trial. The arguments for and against the motion had raged all day and Caesar had risen from his bench several times to address his accusers. As ever, Marcus had been impressed by his former master’s public-speaking skills. He had used reason, rhetoric and humour to challenge his opponents and win the support of senators, as well as the majority of the public watching. But was that enough?

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.’

‘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.