Son of Spartacus - Scarrow Simon - Страница 45

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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.’

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