Son of Spartacus - Scarrow Simon - Страница 23

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He led his men down into the valley. Lupus followed, his eyes switching from side to side as he took in the details of the secret camp of the rebels. Around him the walls of the valley looked impenetrable. There seemed no way in except for the narrow pass they’d come through. A perfect hiding place, he reflected. No wonder the slaves had managed to evade the Roman armies sent to hunt them down. The Romans could be unaware that such a powerful enemy was gathering its strength and preparing to attack.

Lupus felt a pang of concern for Caesar and Marcus. They were expecting to fight scattered bands of ragged brigands. They could have no idea what would face them when they marched into the mountains to do battle.

January was drawing to an end and winter closed its icy grip around the mountains. Biting rainstorms lashed the foothills and frequently brought hail with them, battering the men of Caesar’s column as they made for the town of Mutina that would serve as their base. Cavalry patrolled further into the hills along the line of march, trying to gather intelligence on the location and numbers of the rebels. When they returned they told of wild blizzards howling through the mountain passes and thick ice forming on the roads and tracks that wound across the Apennines. Messengers had been sent ahead to the towns along the road with orders for their inhabitants to provide food and shelter for Caesar’s column, while further supplies were stockpiled at Mutina.

Marcus, riding with the headquarters staff, had never before experienced conditions like these. He had been careful to pick a cloak freshly worked with animal fat and as water-proof as possible. Even so, the cold rain, driven on by a freezing wind, soon penetrated to the clothes he wore beneath and soaked him to the skin. He had also collected a pair of leather mittens, and these too soon succumbed to the foul weather as he grimly followed the other riders behind their leader.

Caesar suffered the same discomforts as his men yet seemed oblivious to the cold. Every so often he would let some of his officers draw alongside and engage them in cheerful conversation. Sometimes about affairs back in Rome, but more often about the glorious future that awaited them all in Gaul once the rebels had been crushed. He even spared a few moments for Marcus to discuss his career in the arena.

‘I’ve decided that you shall fight as a retiarius,’ Caesar announced as they rode in a brief spell between rainstorms. Overhead, the sky was clear and bright and the wind had dropped. Fresh clouds were visible above the mountains, waiting to roll down their slopes and engulf the men marching along the road. Marcus had drawn back his hood and was relishing the warmth of the sun on his skin and wet hair.

‘You have the right build for a netman,’ Caesar continued. ‘Slender but strong and you move with speed and grace. I saw as much when you fought Ferax back in Rome. Of course, things might change. Some boys who are thin in their youth pack on the muscle later. If that happens to you, I shall have to reconsider your category. A Thracian or even a Samnite would be more suited to a heavier build. But let’s hope you retain your current build. I’d hate to see you lumbering around the arena when you could be giving the crowd a good show with your turn of speed.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Marcus acknowledged, trying hard to control the fit of shivering that had taken over his body. He was too cold and tired to feel bitter about his former master deciding his destiny. Besides, his mind was fixed on the fact that Decimus was riding with the baggage train. Marcus had caught sight of him on only a handful of occasions since leaving Ariminum and he could not shake the urge to take his revenge. The long days riding had reminded him of all there was to avenge beyond the suffering of his family. Aristides, a slave who had been like a grandfather to Marcus, had also been killed by the moneylender. Even Cerberus, the dog Marcus had rescued from a cruel trader and trained to be his loyal companion, had been clubbed to death by Dedmus’s men when they attacked the farm. A simple death would be too goody Marcus resolved. He must be made to suffer, as his victims had.

‘You’re not really listening to me, are you?’ asked Caesar.

Marcus instantly pushed all thought of Decimus aside and struggled to recall what Caesar had just said. Marcus was vaguely aware of some comment concerning the fortune some famous retiarius had made during the time of Sulla’s dictatorship. He cleared his throat.

‘Yes, sir. It would be nice to make a large sum of money.’

Caesar stared at him indulgently. ‘Marcus, that was a while back, before I began to talk about your training. You’re not paying attention.’

Marcus lowered his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I am tired. My mind was drifting.’

‘Drifting, eh? You’re considering Decimus again, aren’t you?’

Marcus thought about denying it but dared not risk being seen through by Caesar again, so he nodded. ‘I can’t stop thinking about him. And what he did to my family and friends. I’m sorry, sir, but it is eating me inside to know that he is so close but I can do nothing about it.’

‘All in good time, Marcus. Remember,’ Caesar warned, ‘you need my permission to act. For now it serves my purpose to have him close, but not too close, if you understand me. If Crassus has tasked him with doing me any harm, then Festus and my bodyguards, including you, will make his life difficult.’

‘Difficult, yes, sir,’ Marcus responded. ‘But not impossible. Why take the risk? Why not just have him and his men arrested?’

‘Because they pose no risk to me at present. If they did, then I would do as you say. But for now I am content to have Festus watch them. If they attempt anything we shall catch them, and then I will have proof of Crassus’s treachery. Enough to give me a little power over him, since I doubt the Senate would look too kindly on any man conspiring to murder a proconsul.’ Caesar smiled wryly. ‘In any case, I am not yet convinced that is his plan. I think Crassus has simply sent the man to spy on me, report back, and make a small fortune for his master in the process. Now that would be typical of Crassus!’

Marcus was not so sure. ‘If you say so, sir.’

Caesar’s expression became serious again. ‘There’s one thing that might complicate matters, and that’s if Decimus recognizes you. He must already know that you are a member of my household, since that agent of his attempted to poison me.’

‘Thermon.’

Caesar nodded. ‘So far Decimus has not seen you here and let’s hope he assumes that you are still in Rome. If he does find out, then he will know he’s in danger.’

‘Danger, sir?’

‘Of course. You are the only witness to his murder of your father and the kidnapping of you and your mother. If he is ever prosecuted for that crime, then he would face exile or execution. Which means that it would be dangerous for you if he knew you were here. Bear that in mind and stay clear of the man, and his followers. That’s an order.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Caesar looked at Marcus shrewdly. ‘I know you are a freed man now, but you are part of my army in this campaign and that makes you subject to military discipline. An order from your general is just as binding as an order from your master. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir. Perfectly.’

Caesar nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good. Now I need a little time to think about the campaign.’ He waved his hand back towards the staff officers riding a short distance behind. Marcus bowed his head and reined in to allow the proconsul to draw ahead. But he could not heed his warning. Much as he respected Caesar, Marcus had his own ambitions, which he placed above his duty to obey a superior.

The column reached Mutina at the end of the fourth day after marching from Ariminum. The officers and soldiers had already been assigned billets in the town and the horses and mules were led to pens in the livestock market and fed. Marcus remained with Caesar until late evening at the villa of a local magistrate that had been made available to the proconsul and his staff. Waiting for Caesar were numerous reports of the escalating number of raids by the rebels on estates and mines along the entire length of the Apennines. More concerning was the increased boldness and ambition of the rebels’ activities. Armed bands were now striking out some distance from the mountains against targets that had been considered safe. Caesar dictated orders to Marcus for the towns running along the mountains to increase their vigilance, ready to deal with any sudden attack. It was late at night before he finished and gave Marcus permission to return to his billet for some sleep. Marcus had been assigned the humble home of one of the magistrate’s freedmen, a short distance along the same street as the villa.

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