Gladiator: Son of Spartacus (25 page)

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.

‘I swear, on the life of my niece, that I will not harm those rebels who choose to surrender.’

Marcus felt a wave of relief sweep through his heart and was about to offer his gratitude when Caesar held up his hand to still the boy’s tongue.

‘I further swear, on Portia’s life, that if you are misleading me, or if the rebels escape, then I will have Festus nail you to a cross planted on top of the nearest mountain so that all might see what happens to those who defy Caesar. Is that clear?’

Marcus nodded.

‘Then there’s no time to waste. You can tell me where to find the rebels while Festus gives the order for my soldiers to assemble.’

Marcus cleared his throat. ‘That’s not quite all, sir. There are two other things I would like your word on.’

Caesar glared at him. ‘Speak.’

‘You are to release Lupus. Set him free. When the rebellion is over, you will give me some men, and a letter of authority to help me find and release my mother.’ Marcus nodded his head. ‘That’s what you agreed with me, months ago.’

‘I agree,’ Caesar said harshly. ‘There. Festus, give the order.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Festus bowed his head and hurried out of the tent to pass on the proconsul’s command. Inside the tent Caesar breathed deeply through his nose as he regarded the boy who had been his slave and one of his most promising gladiators. ‘I’ll thank you for my cloak before you leave. Wait in front of the tent.’

Marcus did as he was told and tried not to show his fear as he walked away. Outside the first dull gleam of light struggled to break through the mist that wreathed the mountains to the east. A handful of snowflakes swirled on the light breeze sweeping over the makeshift shelters that Caesar’s men had erected. Marcus shivered. Not because of the cold, but for fear of what the coming day held.

23

Dull grey clouds hung low in the sky as Festus turned to Marcus. ‘You ready?’

Marcus stood still for a moment. The dense ranks of legionaries stood formed in their cohorts, plumes of steamy breath rising up amid the dark shafts of their javelins. Behind them Caesar and his officers sat on their horses, waiting. In front of the Romans stretched the open space that led up to the entrance to the rebel camp. Even though he knew where the gap in the rocks was, Marcus could not make it out as he stared at the cliff rising above the forest that stretched away either side of the entrance.

Nothing moved. There was no sign of life, yet Marcus could sense the eyes of the rebels watching them, waiting for the Romans to make their first move. Then, for a chilling moment, Marcus was seized by a terrible fear that Brixus and the others might already have escaped. But there was only one way to find out. He nodded. ‘Ready.’

‘Then let’s go.’

They set off across the snow accompanied by two legionaries carrying brass horns. They had gone a short distance when the air was split by three shrill blasts of the horns, repeated at intervals of twenty paces to give clear warning of their approach. Festus had explained this was the procedure followed when the general of an army wished to open negotiations with his opposite number. It was important that those sent forward to speak on behalf of the general were not taken for scouts, attempting to infiltrate the enemy’s lines. Marcus flinched at the first sound of the horns, but kept his attention fixed on the cliffs ahead. There was still no movement and the only sound beside the flat blasts of the horns was the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots.

‘Where are they?’ Festus muttered. ‘Should have shown themselves by now ... If you’re trying to pull the wool over Caesar’s eyes, boy, you know what’ll happen to you.’

Marcus tried not to think about the appalling fate that Caesar had promised him should the camp prove to be abandoned. He swallowed nervously and continued trudging forward across the open ground towards the cliff.

‘Are you sure there’s a gap in the rocks?’ asked Festus. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

‘Trust me, it’s there.’

In a blur of motion an arrow shot out from the rocks and struck the snow with a soft thud, a few feet in front of the small party approaching. They stopped and looked at the shaft quivering before them, dark against the snow. Then Festus cupped a hand to his mouth and called out.

‘Show yourselves! We have come to speak with Brixus!’

There was a brief pause before Marcus saw a figure emerge from the rocks at the foot of the cliff. He recognized him at once. ‘Mandracus.’

‘You know him?’ Festus spoke softly.

‘Yes, he’s Brixus’s second in command.’

‘Stay where you are, Romans!’ Mandracus shouted. ‘Take one step closer and I’ll have you filled with arrows! What do you want?’

‘To negotiate,’ Festus replied. ‘I speak for Caesar.’

Mandracus was still for a moment, then half turned towards the rocks as if conferring with someone hidden from view. Then he nodded and cautiously made his way across the open ground, stopping twenty paces away. He glanced over the men and fixed his gaze on Marcus.

‘Caesar’s little spy got away after all. So you betrayed us.’

Marcus felt his heart skip a beat. It was madness to be here. Mandracus might reveal the truth about his father’s identity at any moment.

‘I led the Romans here, yes,’ Marcus replied.

Mandracus smiled thinly. ‘Then I was right to warn Brixus about you. If only he had returned to the camp later, you would be dead and the secret of the camp still safe. But nothing can be done about it now. What do you and your Roman friends want to negotiate about?’

‘We’re here to discuss the terms of your surrender,’ Festus intervened.

‘That’s what I thought.’ Mandracus nodded. ‘All right, we’ll talk. But not to you. To him.’ He pointed at Marcus. ‘And him alone. You and the others stay here.’

‘No. I speak for Caesar. Not the boy.’

Mandracus shrugged. ‘It’s him or nobody. And if you attempt to attack, you will discover just how impregnable our camp is. If Caesar wants to talk, we’ll speak with the boy. Those are our terms.’

Neither Caesar nor Festus had anticipated this and now the bodyguard frowned as he rubbed his chin anxiously. He looked down at Marcus and spoke in an undertone. ‘Well? Are you prepared to do as he says?’

At that moment there was nothing Marcus dreaded more than being left in the clutches of Brixus and his followers. Yet unless he was prepared to risk his life, it would cost the lives of many more. He nodded quickly before he could change his mind.

‘All right. But if there’s any sign of danger then run for it. I’ll wait here and come for you the instant you raise the alarm.’

Marcus smiled faintly at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Very well,’ Festus called out to Mandracus. ‘The boy will go with you. But I warn you, harm one hair on his head and I will kill you with my bare hands.’

Mandracus laughed at the threat. ‘You’re welcome to try any time, Roman. Come, boy.’

Marcus felt his heart beating wildly as he forced himself to step away from Festus and cross the snow towards Mandracus. Then the two of them continued towards the cliff. As they drew near, Marcus could see that the opening of the narrow gorge was filled with armed men waiting in silence. At their head stood Brixus, ready for battle in his polished greaves and breastplate, some ten paces in front of his fighters. His face was set like that of a statue.

‘I do not know what to say to you, Marcus,’ he began. ‘There are no words to describe the depths of your treachery. Why did you do it?’

‘I told you, back in your hut. This rebellion is doomed to fail. You don’t have enough trained men. This is not the right time. If they were better prepared and there were more of them, there might be a chance of success. As it is, you can only lead them to defeat and death.’

‘That was why I needed you, Marcus. With the son of Spartacus at the head of our army we would have drawn slaves to our ranks in droves. Even without training, the sheer numbers would have overwhelmed Rome in the end.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Marcus replied simply. ‘And your battle with Caesar’s men the other day proved me right. If I truly thought that you stood a good chance of defeating Rome, then I would willingly have joined the rebellion.’

‘Instead you betrayed us.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘I wanted to prevent pointless bloodshed.’

Brixus sighed bitterly. ‘Your father would be ashamed if he could see what you have done.’

‘My father died before I was born. I never knew him. I am not Spartacus. I am Marcus and I will lead my own life as I wish.’ Marcus spoke with as much pride as he could summon. ‘I am not yours to command, any more than I am Caesar’s.’

Mandracus took a step closer, his fist clenched round the handle of his dagger. ‘I’ve heard enough. Shall I silence his tongue, Brixus?’

‘No ... Let him live. Death would be too gentle a mercy. Let him carry the burden of shame and guilt that he has earned this day. Let that be his reward for betraying us.’

Mandracus pursed his lips and reluctantly released his grip. ‘As you wish.’

Brixus turned his attention back to Marcus. ‘Your secret is safe with me, since you have disowned your father, a man I loved as a brother. You are no son of his, it seems. Perhaps in time you will change your mind. I pray that you live long enough to understand and accept your destiny. Until then …’ His voice caught and he paused to clear his throat. ‘What does Caesar want from us?’

Marcus forced his exhausted mind to recall what had passed between Caesar and Festus some hours earlier. ‘Caesar demands that you surrender at once. In return he gives his word that those who throw down their arms will be spared. All slaves will be returned to their owners as soon as possible.’

‘And why should I trust a Roman aristocrat any further than I can spit him?’

‘He gave a solemn oath, in front of witnesses.’

‘And you think he will stand by his oath?’

‘This oath, yes,’ Marcus replied confidently. ‘Besides, he needs a quick conclusion to the rebellion, and will do whatever it takes to end it.’

‘We don’t need to listen to this!’ Mandracus interrupted. ‘Let Caesar do his worst. While we control the gorge the Romans cannot force their way into the camp. We can hold them off as long as we want.’

‘True.’ Brixus nodded. ‘But they could simply lay siege to us and starve us into surrender. There is no other way out of the valley for us all. Caesar does not need to force the issue.’

Marcus said nothing. He knew the proconsul needed the rebels to surrender at once. If forced to starve the rebels out, he would lose valuable time. Marcus had known Caesar long enough to believe that he would order an immediate attack on the camp. It would cost many lives and would fail, and Caesar would still be forced to starve the rebels out of their stronghold. In that ease he would show no mercy to any who survived.

Brixus was gazing towards the Roman lines, and the cluster of officers waiting beyond. ‘This guarantee of yours, does it include us all?’

Marcus nodded. ‘Everyone. Even you and Mandracus.’