Текст книги "Son of Spartacus"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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6

The next day the small party of riders left the foothills behind as the road climbed into the mountains. The rain had stopped during the night and a hard frost glinted on the ground as they set off. Before noon they had climbed above the snowline, and the rocks and trees on either side were covered by a gleaming blanket of white. But despite the snow, the route was plain to see as they rode on, up into the hills. The heavily laden boughs of fir trees deadened the sound of their passing and added to the unsettling sensation of stillness. The conversation between the riders died away as they kept a wary eye on their surroundings. They had lived in Rome so long they had grown used to the constant noise of the great city. Now the silence was unnerving them. There was only the soft padding of the horses, the chink of the bits and the occasional snort as the animals expelled warm steamy breath from their wide nostrils.

‘I don’t like this,’ Lupus muttered.

‘What’s the matter?’ Marcus tried to sound more confident than he felt. ‘Fresh air, peace and quiet and fine views. What could there be to dislike? Apart from the cold.’

‘That’s bad enough, but there’s something else.’ Lupus looked from side to side. ‘I don’t know, but I can’t help feeling that we’re being watched.’

‘Who by? We haven’t passed a single dwelling for hours. The last person we saw was that shepherd a few miles back.' Marcus recalled the solitary figure holding a staff who had watched them from the top of a small cliff. ‘And he ran off the moment he saw us.’

‘Yes,’ Lupus pondered. ‘I’ve been wondering about that. Why did he run?’

‘He was just nervous. A party of horsemen appears and he fears that they might be brigands. That’s why.’

‘Perhaps there’s something else to it.’

Marcus looked at him. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t a shepherd. Maybe he was a lookout.

‘And who would he be looking out for?’

‘People like us. Travellers. Easy prey for a band of brigands. Or worse, the rebels. Supposing that man was a lookout, and he’s reported us?’

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, down the road to the point where it turned back on itself and was lost in the trees. There was no sign of movement. He shrugged as he faced the front again. ‘If there was anything sinister about him, then I think we’d know about it by now.’

Lupus was silent for a moment. ‘I hope you’re right.’

Both boys fell silent again, but Marcus was starting to share his friend’s anxiety. A mile further on they cleared the treeline and the road climbed towards a narrow pass between two rocky peaks hidden by wreaths of cloud. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief at leaving the confines of the forest. On either side the ground was littered with stones and rocks and afforded little cover for an ambush. Up ahead, the men were talking again and Marcus felt encouraged by their return to the earlier easy conversation and exchange of jokes. Even Lupus seemed more relaxed. The road began to narrow and Marcus allowed his friend to pull a short distance ahead. He needed time to think.

Caesar’s comment the previous night was preying on his mind. Despite the debt that Caesar owed him for saving his niece’s life, it would mean very little if he decided that Marcus represented any threat to him, or to Rome. Marcus felt he was living on a knife-edge. He must be careful about every comment he made and keep the brand on his shoulder out of sight. He could trust no one, not even Lupus. A wave of bitter loneliness washed over him and he felt the first hot tears at the corner of his eyes. Marcus raised his hand and cuffed them away angrily. He could not afford to be weak, he told himself. He had to be strong if he was to survive. And he had to survive if he was to rescue his mother.

A cold speck brushed his cheek and he looked up and saw that it had begun to snow again, light flecks of white dropping gently from the overcast sky. Ahead, the road came to another hairpin bend, and Caesar and Festus steered their mounts round to lead the column up the new stretch. As Marcus came to the bend, some sixth sense caused him to rein his horse in, and he turned in his saddle to look back down the slope towards the forest.

He saw them at once. Another party of horsemen, twenty or so of them, no more than half a mile behind. They were moving at a slow trot and appeared in no hurry to catch up. Even so, Marcus felt a pang of concern and kicked his heels in as he urged his horse forward.

‘Make way!’ he warned Lupus, who glanced round with a surprised expression before steering his horse to the side of the road. Marcus trotted by without any comment and carried past the other riders until he drew up alongside Caesar.

‘Sir, there's someone following us.’ Marcus pointed down the slope, but the lower road was invisible from this point. Caesar glanced down the rock-strewn ground.

‘What are you talking about? I see no one.’

‘They are there, sir. I saw them plainly.’

‘How many?’ Festus asked sharply.

‘Twenty, about.’

‘Where?’

‘They were just coming out of the forest.’

‘Well, I can’t see much thanks to this snow,’ Caesar muttered. ‘Are you sure about this, Marcus?'

‘I am certain, master.’

Caesar stroked his chin. ‘You saw them from where exactly?’

‘Back where the road turns.’

Caesar sighed. ‘Then we'd better have a look.’

The column halted and the three made their way back down the line until they reached the bend and stopped as close to the edge as they dared to peer down the steep slope. Below, the snow was falling hard and it was difficult to make out more than the dim outline of the forest.

There was a brief silence before Festus growled, ‘I can’t see anything.

‘No,’ Caesar added quietly before he turned to Marcus. ‘Are you quite certain about what you saw? Tired eyes sometimes play tricks.’

Marcus felt a brief instant of doubt, then shook it off. ‘I saw horsemen, sir. I know it.’

‘Well, there’s nothing down there now,’ said Festus. ‘Nothing I can see.’

‘Nevertheless, I trust the boy’s judgement,' Caesar responded firmly. ‘I want you to stay at the rear. Keep watch behind us. If you see anything, then let me know at once,’

Festus bowed his head and Caesar was about to turn his horse round when the snow cleared and, as if a veil had been drawn back, the ground beneath came into view again, together with the party of horsemen trotting up the track, closer now than when Marcus had first spotted them.

‘Get the men moving!’ Caesar snapped. ‘Let’s get up to the pass. It’s a natural choke point. We can wait for them there. If they mean us no good, then that’s where we shall make a stand. Go.’

Festus wheeled his mount away and it kicked up a spray of snow as he galloped to the head of the column. Caesar squinted as he scrutinized the horsemen below. ‘They’re armed. I can see spears, shields, some helmets. Not soldiers from our side at any rate. There’s no standard at their head. No sign of an officer. I fear they may be trouble, young Marcus.’ He blinked and turned to look at his former slave. ‘Well spotted. Once more you serve me well. Come, I want you at my side.’

They trotted back to the head of the column and Caesar waved them forward as he kicked his heels in. There was no need to race ahead of the other men, and in any case the ground beneath the light layer of snow was frozen hard and presented an additional hazard to any horse and rider who slipped and fell. They continued up the slope, and at every corner Marcus looked down to see that the pursuers were remorselessly edging closer. They urged their mounts on, heedless of the risk, and he saw one or two of them tumble into the snow. One went over the edge and tumbled a good thirty feet before landing hard against a rock. The rider lay dazed and the horse floundered in a drift as it struggled to regain its feet. Then they were lost from sight again.

As the road approached the pass it began to level out and Caesar called to his men. ‘We’re almost there! As soon as we gain the pass, we’ll stop and dismount!’

Marcus was about to spur his beast on when he looked back and saw Lupus struggling to stay in the saddle, his face white and drawn with fear as he clung to the reins. Before Marcui could drop back to help him, Festus drew alongside the scribe and urged the boy on. He looked up and caught Marcus’s eyes, nodding as if to reassure him that he would take care of Lupus. Marcus leaned forward and kicked his heels in to catch up with Caesar. Ahead of them crags rose up on either side of the pass, dusted with snow and ice.

They were barely a hundred feet from the narrow opening to the pass when a tall figure stepped out from a rock and strode confidently into the middle of the road. He stood facing the riders, hands on hips.

‘What’s this?’ Caesar hissed as he slowed down and threw up his hand to stop his men ploughing into the back of him. The column slowed to a walk while Marcus’s gaze flickered from the man to the rocks on either side and back again. He felt the familiar tingle of apprehension in the hairs at the back of his neck.

‘That’s close enough!’ the man called out when they were no more than twenty feet away.

Caesar reined in and sat tall and imperious in his saddle. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

Now they were close to the man, Marcus could see that he was a giant, well over six feet tall. He had thick blond hair that merged with a shaggy beard and blue eyes that twinkled beneath his heavy brows. A wolfskin cloak lay across his broad shoulders and the snout and ears of a preserved head were just visible on the crown of his head. Beneath the cloak he wore a striped tunic and the breeches favoured by the Celts. The head of an axe protruded from the belt that held his breeches up. The man’s lips parted in a smile as he sauntered a few steps closer to the riders. Marcus noted that there was no sign of fear in his expression.

‘The meaning of this should be plain enough.’ The man spoke in a rich booming voice. ‘This pass belongs to me and like any owner I want to know the business of those who cross my land.’

‘I see.’ Caesar nodded. ‘And might I ask the name of the man who lays claim to a road which, until now, I understood to be the property of Rome?’

‘Please forgive my country manners,’ the man replied in a mocking tone. ‘I am Mandracus, lord of the lands either side of this pass. That is why I must exact a toll from those who wish to cross my territory. And who are you, sir? I can tell from the cut of your clothes and the haughty accent that you are a well-bred Roman.’

With a soft pounding of hoofs, Festus rode up from the rear of the column and reined in beside his master.

‘Who is this peasant? Stand aside, before we cut you down.’

‘Enough, Festus!’ Caesar cut in. He turned back to Mandracus. ‘I am an official crossing the mountains on the business of the Senate. It is a crime to impede my progress.’ Caesar smiled coldly. ‘However, being mindful of your country manners, I shall not have you flogged, if you stand aside and let us pass.’

Mandracus pursed his Ups and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that.’

As the men spoke, Marcus had been watching the rocks on either side of the pass and caught sight of movement there. A face staring at them. Another man in the shadow of a rock, holding a spear and shield.

‘Enough of this foolishness!’ Caesar snapped. 'Out of my way!’

Mandracus stood his ground and drew out his axe, swinging it loosely at his side. At the signal, more men appeared from behind the rocks and moved out into the path. Marcus saw at least thirty of them. Some looked as solid as Mandracus, but most were thin, their faces pinched by hunger, and desperation gleamed in their eyes. But all of them were armed, with a mix of spears, swords and axes. Their leader gestured towards them-

‘As you can sec, we outnumber you three to one. And five to one oncc the rest of my men come up the road behind you. There's no way out.'

Festus’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword and Marcus and the rest of the bodyguard followed suit as they waited for Caesar’s lead. The former consul regarded the men in front of him and then folded his arms. ‘And what is it that you want from us, Mandracus?’

‘There’s a certain procedure to be followed.’ The brigand smiled. ‘First, do you have any slaves with you?’

‘Slaves?’ Caesar gestured towards Lupus, who was trembling with cold and fear as he sat in his saddle. ‘Just my scribe.’

‘Then we shall have to deprive you of him. No man is a slave in my territory. Second, I shall have to ask you for any gold or silver you may have, together with your weapons and horses. After that you are free to continue through the pass. Or return the way you came. You will find shelter from the snow closer in that direction.’

‘And if we refuse?’

Mandracus’s expression hardened. ‘Then we shall be forced to kill you all, except the slave, and take what we want anyway.’

There was a brief silence before Caesar spoke quietly through gritted teeth, just loud enough for Marcus and Festus to hear. ‘When I give the word, we charge that fool and his rabble. Ready?’

‘Yes, Caesar,’ Festus and Marcus muttered.

Caesar drew a deep breath and was about to make his reply when he was interrupted by the sound of hoof beats. Marcus turned to see that the horsemen had crested the final rise along the road and were now approaching the pass. They fanned out across the open ground on either side of the road and readied their weapons.

Mandracus shrugged. ‘Like I said, you are trapped. You have no choice but to do what you’re told, if you want to live. Now throw down your weapons and get off those horses! Do it!’

Marcus concentrated his attention on Caesar as he clamped his thighs to the side of his mount and wrapped his fingers firmly round the handle of his sword. Caesar let out a sigh, as if surrendering to the inevitable, and casually reached for his own weapon. But instead of drawing it out and tossing it to the ground, he snatched it out in a blur and thrust it towards the path as he shouted at the top of his voice.

‘Charge!’

7

Marcus flicked his cloak back and ripped his sword from its scabbard. Around him he heard the metallic clatter as the other bodyguards followed suit. Only Lupus was unarmed and he looked on in horror. With a curse, Marcus transferred his reins to his sword hand and groped for the dagger on the other side of his belt. He steered his horse closer to Lupus and held out the dagger by its blade. ‘Take it!’

The other boy hesitated briefly before he grabbed the handle and held it in an overhand grip, raising it above his head ready to strike. There was no time for Marcus to tell his friend the correct way to wield a dagger and he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Stay close to me, Lupus. If any of those men get close to you, don’t stop to think about it, just stab them or they’ll kill you first.’

The other bodyguards surged forward, kicking up a spray of snow as they followed Caesar. Marcus dug his heels in and chased after them, leaning forward in his saddle and holding his blade to the side of the horse’s flank, level and ready to strike.

Caesar’s order had taken the brigands by surprise. Their leader was forced to leap aside as Caesar’s mount charged directly towards him. The rest of his men were slower to react and the horsemen were in among them before they could get out of the way. The air filled with the thud and clash of blades and spears, and grunts as men struck out with all their strength. Cries of pain and triumph echoed from the cliffs either side of the pass, along with the whinnies of the horses.

Marcus, his heart beating wildly, urged his mount into the swirling confusion of the fight. He glimpsed Mandracus springing back to his feet and raising his axe as he charged at one of the bodyguards. The man saw him at the last moment, too late to react, and the head of the axe slammed down into his thigh, cutting through flesh, muscle and bone. The rider howled with agony and slashed back with his sword, striking a weak blow on his enemy’s shoulder. Most of the impact was absorbed by the wolfskin, and the thick folds of the tunic I beneath, but it still drove Mandracus to his knees. Gritting his I teeth in agony, the rider kicked his good heel in and looked I for another attacker.

Marcus urged his mount into a gap between two of the riders and made for a man with a spear who had worked his way round behind Festus and was raising the weapon to strike. Leaning forward in his saddle, Marcus slashed his sword at the butt of the spear, knocking it down so that the tip swished harmlessly over Festus’s shoulder. The leader of Caesar’s bodyguard caught the blur out of the side of his eye and instantly wheeled his horse round, slashing down at the man who had tried to kill him, and laying open his arm. Another cut to the shoulder put the brigand out of action.

Meanwhile Caesar was surrounded by Mandracus s men and he pulled hard on the reins to make his horse rear up and lash out with its hoofs, forcing his opponents back. It was impossible to keep them all at bay and even as Marcus watched, he saw one of them stab a pitchfork into the horse s rump. A shrill whinny cut through the air and the beast lashed out with its rear legs, catching the man to send him flying. Marcus flicked his reins and drew up alongside Caesar, lashing out with his sword to keep the others back. Caesar acknowledged his presence with a swift nod.

‘We have to get out of here. Those horsemen will join the fight any moment.’

Marcus glanced round, past the men locked in combat, and saw the other riders racing up the incline towards them, no more than a hundred paces away. Once they reached the pass it would all be over.

‘Festus!’ Caesar called out above the din of the fight. ‘All of you, on me! On me! We must cut our way through!’

The bodyguards edged their mounts closer to Caesar and formed a loose ring. Looking round, Marcus could see that one was missing, and then he saw a group of brigands bending towards the ground beside a horse with an empty saddle. They were hacking and stabbing at the man on the ground, their weapons dripping with blood each time they came up for another blow. The bodyguard with the wounded leg was swaying in his saddle and moaning through clenched teeth as blood coursed from his wound, splashing on to the snow like exotic flowers. Lupus, who had managed to stay with Marcus, held his dagger up as a snarl distorted his features.

Mandracus had worked his way round to return to his position astride the road leading into the pass. He bellowed to his men to form up either side of him. Those who could did as f they were ordered, chests heaving as their breath plumed in the freezing air.

Caesar glanced round at his men, then thrust his sword I forward. ‘Stop for nothing! Go!’

The small party of riders burst into a gallop, and at the last moment the courage of the brigands failed and most tried to dive out of the way. A handful of the braver men stood by their leader, weapons levelled as the horses charged into them and they were either cut down or trampled. Only Mandracus remained on his feet, swinging his axe from side to side, forcing the nervous riders to swerve round him. Beyond, the road was open and Marcus briefly dared to hope they had escaped. He glanced back and saw Lupus behind him, cloak flickering wildly as he hunched over his saddle, still holding the dagger aloft.

‘Keep up!’ Marcus shouted.

Beyond his friend he saw Mandracus spin round, draw back his axe and swiftly take aim.

‘Lupus! Look out!’ Marcus yelled desperately.

Then the axe flew through the air. For an instant Marcus focused on Lupus’s confused and fearful expression. Then his horse abruptly collapsed to one side of the road, hurling the scribe from the saddle. Blood sprayed into the air from the shattered rear limb of the horse and it kicked and writhed as it struggled to roll back on to its belly. As it tried to rise up, the wounded leg gave way and the horse fell on to its side with a shrill, agonized whinny.

Marcus reined in, half turning his horse so it stood across the track. Then he saw Lupus stir. The boy pushed himself up on to his hands and knees, and shook his head. Marcus was about to ride back when Festus called out.

‘Marcus! What are you doing? Come on, boy!’

‘It’s Lupus! He’s fallen!’

Festus muttered a curse and turned back, slewing his horse to a halt beside Marcus. They both saw Lupus start staggering towards them. He had lost the dagger and stretched out a hand pleadingly. Marcus beckoned frantically with his spare hand as he sheathed his sword.

‘Run!’

Mandracus was already striding along the road behind Lupus, a cruel grin twisting his lips. He stopped beside the horse to snatch up his axe and continued after Lupus as Marcus looked on in horror. Then the spell was broken and he grabbed his reins to ride back and rescue his friend.

‘No!’ Festus shouted and snatched the reins from Marcus’s hands, causing his horse to rise up and snort.

‘What are you doing?’ Marcus snapped. ‘Let go!’

‘It’s too late. Look!’

Marcus turned. He saw Mandracus lean forward to grab Lupus by the scruff of his neck, then hurl him to the ground. Standing over the boy, he began to swirl his axe, looking up at the two riders watching him a short distance away. Behind him his mounted followers were dashing past, eager to chase down the Romans.

‘We can’t save him.’ said Festus. ‘We can only save ourselves, if we go now. Marcus!’

His raised voice jolted Marcus, who took a last despairing look at his friend sprawled in the snow. But he knew that Festus was right: it was too late. With guilt coursing through every inch of his body, Marcus snapped his reins and turned away, galloping after Caesar. The others were already well into the pass, making for the open ground on the far side. Behind them the sound of their pursuers echoed off the walls of the cliff as Mandracus bellowed an order.

‘Run them down! Kill them all!’

His booming voice sounded like thunder in the confined space and Marcus glanced back to see the first of the horsemen sweep past their leader. Then there was another sound. A dull crack. Something moved above the pass and drew Marcus’s eyes. The mass of snow piled there slowly tilted forward and then broke into large chunks amid an explosion of white that fell into the pass with a roar and a hiss. The horsemen barely had time to look up before the avalanche hit them and swept them and their mounts away, burying them amid a great swirl of snow and rocks. Marcus slowed down and turned in his saddle to look properly as the last of the dislodged snow pattered down. Then all was still.

‘Marcus!’ Festus called out. ‘We must go!’

‘Yes.’ Marcus swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, I’m coming.’

Festus started to gallop away while Marcus took one last look. He felt a numbing sense of loss. ‘Lupus …’

Then he breathed deeply, gathered up his reins and turned his horse towards the others. He urged it into a gallop and the mount carried him away from the horror of the scene.

It was pitch-black and impossible to tell which way was up or down when Lupus recovered his wits enough to think. He lay curled in a ball, sensing an open space in front of him in which to draw breath. He was cold and his limbs were numb. Already the air felt foetid and there was a tingling sensation in his lungs as he began to suffocate. For a moment he could not recall how he had come to be in this place. Perhaps, he thought, he had already passed into the shades and this was what happened after death. An eternity locked in a stifling, black, icy void. The prospect filled him with dread and he tried to move. But he could only shuffle his head from side to side as he clawed at the blanket of snow.

‘No…’ he muttered to himself. ‘No! NO! I am not dead! I do not want to die! No!’

His shouts were muffled and the effort made it harder to breathe, so he stopped and gasped for air. Then he heard them. Voices. They seemed far away at first but gradually came closer, more distinct.

‘Here!’ he cried out. ‘In here!’

There was a pause before he heard them again, near at hand. Then a scraping sound. He sensed movement around him, and a faint gleam to one side. It became a glow as the sound grew louder, and then there was a rush of noise and light and the flow of fresh air. He gulped down several breaths as a hand grasped him under the shoulders, hauling him out of the snow and ice into the open.

‘Mandracus! Over here! I’ve got one of ‘em. A boy.’

Any relief that Lupus felt over his rescue instantly faded as he sat up and took in the scene around him. The pass was filled with a chaotic jumble of snow. There was a man wrapped in furs standing over him. Other men were frantically digging as they searched for their comrades. Some had already been rescued, along with several horses, and they sat nearby, caked in a layer of ice and shivering.

Mandracus picked his way over the debris towards them, his expression angry and dark. He loomed in front of Lupus and glared at him.

‘I lost over twenty of my men, killed by your master and his friends, or buried alive.’

‘Please, please don’t hurt me,’ Lupus begged as he sat trembling.

‘Hurt you?’ Mandracus frowned. ‘I won’t hurt you, boy. I’ve set you free. You are one of us now. For better or worse. Your days as a slave are over.’

Lupus could hardly believe what he had heard. When it did finally penetrate his confusion, he looked up with a surge of hope. ‘I’m free?’

Mandracus nodded. ‘Of course. Do as you wish. I will not stop you. After all, if you want to escape from me, you would simply run back to slavery. But there is one thing I would know. I want the name of your leader. I have a debt to settle with him. What is his name?’ he demanded.

‘Gaius Julius Caear.’

‘The consul?’ Mandracus could not hide his surprise. ‘That was him?’

‘Not any more. His term of office is over. He’s a proconsul now,’ Lupus explained. ‘On his way to take up a new command.’

‘Then what is he doing in the mountains? With such a small escort? Explain.’

‘Before he leaves for Gaul, Caesar has been tasked with putting an end to Brixus and his rebels.’

‘Oh, really?’ Mandracus smiled. ‘Tell me, how close are you to your master?’

Lupus struggled to his feet and stood proudly before the man. ‘I am Caesar’s scribe. I’ve served him for many years.’

‘Good. Then I’m sure you’ll have plenty to tell Brixus when I take you to him. He’ll want to know all he can about his enemy. Who else was in your party?’

‘No one of importance. Just his bodyguards.’

‘What about the other boy?’

‘Marcus?’ Lupus shrugged. ‘Not much to say. He’s my friend. Marcus was training as a gladiator when Caesar bought him.’

A strange gleam appeared in Mandracus’s eyes as he muttered to himself. ‘A boy gladiator… Where was he training? Which school?’

‘Porcino’s school in Capua is what he said.’ Lupus frowned. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I’ll tell you later. But first we must find Brixus. He’ll be keen to hear all that you’ve told me, and more.’ Mandracus looked round at the survivors. ‘Perhaps this was worth it,’ he mused as he turned his attention back to Lupus. ‘Perhaps Brixus is right. The time has come to raise the standard of rebellion, and Spartacus, once again …’