He ran until the shouts of his pursuers had almost faded before stopping to rest briefly. He leaned his back against a wall and gasped for breath as he thought. It was vital he escaped to warn Caesar. If they caught him, then both Marcus and Caesar were as good as dead.
23
Marcus knew he had to keep running. He followed the alley, hoping it led to the Forum. But no alleys led off on either side and soon it ended abruptly against a towering wall of brick and stone. With a shock Marcus realized it was the city wall. He’d been heading in the wrong direction. With a muttered curse he turned and ran back, towards the junction where he’d chosen the dead end. As he reached it he caught the flicker of a torch in the alley to his right. Just fifty paces away, the flaring glow illuminated a party of eight or ten men.
Marcus turned in the opposite direction. Hugging the side of the alley, he prayed he wouldn’t crash into anything. His pursuers stopped at each junction to peer down the alleys. It gave Marcus a small lead while they considered which route to take.
But in looking back he hadn’t see the body lying at the side. He tripped and pitched forward, gashing his left knee on a broken brick. The body wriggled away and an old man’s shrill voice cut through the air. ‘Oi! Watch where you’re bleedin’ going!’
Now the men were looking at him. Their leader beckoned and they ran towards Marcus and the old man. Overcome with panic, Marcus scrambled to his feet, but a claw-like hand fastened round his ankle.
‘Not so fast! Let’s see if you’ve anything worth taking.’
Another hand on his calf groped up towards his belt. Marcus kicked out with his other leg, glancing off the man. He adjusted his aim and kicked again. The man shrieked and he loosened his grip just long enough for Marcus to tear free and run on.
One of the pursuers called out, ‘That’s him!’
There was a burning pain in his knee, and Marcus felt the warm flow of blood down his shin. From his training he knew that a fast-bleeding wound could weaken a fighter quickly. He needed cover so he could put a dressing over the cut to stem the flow. Once again he darted left into the first alley he came across, followed by another right. But the men were close behind and saw the change in direction. He tried the tactic a few more times without success and then he was running along a wider street, the pounding of boots behind him as the men called out to their companions to join the chase. Every nerve in his body screamed with terror and desperation. He saw a corner ahead, a sharp left round the wall of a shrine. Diving round it, he saw a small square on the far side, where several alleys branched off. There was also a low wall beside the shrine and darkness beyond. It was an instant decision - Marcus rolled himself over the wall and dropped down on the far side. He dropped for another ten feet before landing on a steeply sloped pile of rubbish that flowed down a natural gully in the hillside. The stench filled his nostrils as he half slithered and half rolled down. The men entered the square and he heard shouting before the torch flickered above the wall.
A voice called, ‘Over the wall!’
‘Not on your life,’ a man replied. ‘There’s an alley over here this way!’
Marcus reached the bottom with a thud, winded by the impact. He squatted on his heels, one hand braced on the ground as he breathed hard and looked around. The gully had ended in a rubbish dump on a small patch of open ground. He searched for something he could use as a bandage and grabbed a nearby piece of worn sacking. Ripping off a strip, he wound it tightly round his knee. Then he was on his feet again. He headed for the nearest alley but the men were descending the hill. He took the first opening that led away from them but there were shouts from other directions now, and the only safe route seemed to be straight ahead. Marcus took it and ran as hard as he could. Then he slithered to a halt as the way opened up and he saw the wharf running along the Tiber. A hundred paces to his right stood a group of men beneath a torch. The way to the left seemed open, so Marcus turned and ran, once again forced away from the heat of the city. To his right were barges and smaller craft, and to his left the warehouses, all securely locked. A short distance ahead a trestle bridge spanned the river and Marcus ran towards it.
A figure stepped out from the shadows. Filled with panic, Marcus prepared to take the man on. This was his only escape route. He had to keep going.
But as he drew closer, the figure called out quietly, ‘Marcus, stop.’
‘Kasos . . . ?’ Marcus said as the boy emerged from the gloom.
‘That’s right. I was with the men who saw you come down the hill. I knew they’d block the way to the Boarium. This was the only way left open to you.’ Kasos smiled faintly. And now you are caught in a trap.’
Marcus braced himself, ready to spring at the boy. Kasos stood his ground but made no move to attack. He smiled coldly. ‘Not much fun staring certain death in the face, is it?’
‘I won’t go down without a fight,’ Marcus growled through gritted teeth. ‘You can count on it.’
For a moment the two boys were still and then Kasos chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help you.’
‘What?’ Marcus was stunned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You could have finished me off easily, and no one would have stopped you,’ Kasos said bitterly. ‘You spared my life, now I’m returning the favour. Then we’re even and I owe you nothing. Now if you want to live, you’d better come with me, over the bridge.’
Marcus shot a look to both sides. More men had emerged on to the wharf in either direction.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, nodding. ‘So let me by.’
‘Not so fast,’ Kasos replied. ‘They know I’m here. I was sent to keep watch. If you escape they’ll know I let you. I need a story to tell Milo.’ He reached to his waist and the pale slither of a blade gleamed dully. Marcus held out his hands, ready to grapple, but Kasos quickly drew the blade across his own arm.
‘What are you doing?’ Marcus whispered.
‘I’ll say I tried to stop you. There was a fight, then you fell into the river and drowned.’
Marcus saw another party had emerged on to the wharf. He recognized Milo and his two guests, both with their heads covered, advancing beneath the light of a torch. He had no choice. He must trust Kasos.
‘All right. Lead the way.’
Kasos nodded and turned on to the bridge. The heavy wooden planks sounded hollowly under their boots. They passed far enough over the Tiber to clear the boats rafted up below and then they were over the main flow, a dull, glistening surface that reflected the torches and braziers that flickered across the city.
‘Here,’ said Kasos as he stopped. ‘Climb over the side of the bridge and swing yourself down to hide underneath, in the trestle. Once you’re out of sight I’ll call the others. I’ll use this to convince them you fell in. Got it from one of the barges.’ He tapped a small sack of gravel with his boot. ‘No one will see you under the bridge. Wait till the morning when it’s safe to come out and join the crowd on the wharf.
Marcus took in the plan quickly. Then he turned to Kasos with a searching expression, still unsure if he should trust the other boy. ‘Why are you really doing this?’
‘I told you why,’ Kasos replied, then gave a soft laugh as he continued. ‘Besides, I’ll be Milo’s blue-eyed boy once you’ve gone. Just swear to me you’ll never, ever return to The Pit.’
‘You have my word.’ Marcus smiled grimly and offered his hand.
Kasos stared at it briefly and then shook it firmly. ‘Now, over the side.’
Marcus clambered on to the rail and carefully lowered himself down until his feet found a grip on one of the supporting timbers. Kasos turned back to keep an eye on the wharf as Marcus worked himself under the walkway.
But before he lost sight of the other boy, he called softly, ‘Kasos!’
Kasos turned and looked down.
‘Thank you,’ Marcus said.
Then Kasos was gone. Marcus found a thick timber support and wedged himself into it. Moments later h
e heard Kasos shout overhead.
‘Over here! I’ve got him. Over here!’
There was a loud splash from the river below, then the drumming of boots overhead.
‘What happened?’ Milo demanded. ‘Where is he?’
‘In the Tiber,’ Kasos replied. ‘We were fighting and I pushed him over the rail.’
Footsteps sounded directly above Marcus. He kept as still as he could, his breathing shallow as his limbs began to tremble from exhaustion. This might be a trick, after all - Kasos could betray him at any moment.
‘Anyone see him?’ asked Milo.
There was no reply as the last ripples from the sack of gravel faded away and the river continued its peaceful flow.
‘He’s gone,’ a voice decided. ‘Probably drowned.’
‘Maybe,’ Milo responded. ‘But I’ll leave a few men here in case he managed to reach one of the boats. Kasos, and the rest of you, back to the wharf and wait for us there.’
Footsteps rumbled overhead once again.
‘If he’s drowned, then we can continue with the plan,’ said Bibulus. ‘Caesar will know nothing.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said the familiar voice of the man whose hood remained up. ‘My master will not be pleased if we fail.’
‘We won’t fail,’ Bibulus insisted. ‘Soon Caesar will be dead and all the insults and indignities I’ve endured will be avenged.’
Milo chuckled. ‘And I thought the street gangs were the ones who are supposed to have no scruples. Truly, there is nothing more devious and lethal than a politician with a grudge.’
Their footsteps faded away and Marcus was left shivering as he perched on the support beam. His body felt sore and bruised from his tumble down the gully and he was exhausted, but he dared not sleep for fear of falling into the river. So he raised his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms round them and composed his mind to stay alert through the remaining hours of darkness.
24
‘Are you certain about what you heard?’ asked Caesar. Marcus stood next to the kitchen table, wearing only a loincloth, as Festus cleaned his cuts. Even he had been surprised when he’d taken off his ragged tunic and seen the full scale of the injuries he’d suffered during his escape. His knee was especially bad, a deep gash that had torn the flesh and would leave a nasty scar. He hadn’t wanted to remove his tunic in full view, but Festus left him no choice. At least his shoulder faced away from the rest of the room. Marcus prayed that the filth Lupus had applied still disguised his brand.
‘Yes, master,’ Marcus replied. ‘There’s no mistake. They intend to kill you once you have announced the senators will be forced to swear obedience to the new law.’
‘And you are sure that it was Bibulus you saw with Milo?’
‘It was Bibulus.’
‘And the other man? He never revealed his face to you?’
‘Not once, master. But there was something about his voice I recognized.’
‘Hmmm.’ Caesar stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘This is quite a turn-up. There’s a handful of men I suspect capable of having me killed, but Bibulus is not one of them. He lacks the stomach for it. I thought he was like Cato, all bluster and high principle. Now it seems he has a more ruthless streak. I wonder who talked him into it?’
There was a knock on the door frame and Flaccus entered the room. He looked surprised at the injuries covering Marcus’s body.
‘What is it?’ asked Caesar.
‘Publius Clodius is in the atrium, master. He says you sent for him.’
It was the first thing Caesar had done after Marcus returned shortly after dawn.
‘That’s correct. Show him in.’
‘Do you wish to receive him in your study, master?’
‘No. Send him here.’
Flaccus glanced round the kitchen before he bowed his head and spoke in a disapproving tone. ‘As you wish, master.’
He backed out of the doorway and shortly afterwards returned with Clodius. The young aristocrat clasped arms with Caesar before turning his attention on Marcus.
‘Well, well, the spy returns. And quickly too. I take it your mission was a failure.’
Before Marcus could reply, Caesar cut in. ‘Certainly not. Young Marcus found out a great deal before he was discovered and forced to flee. We know the enemy’s plans in detail now.’
‘Oh?’ Clodius turned his gaze on Marcus. ‘Well, there’s obviously more to you than meets the eye, young gladiator. You have done a man’s job. I congratulate you.’
Marcus felt his heart swell with pride and he bowed his head in thanks.
Clodius turned to Caesar. ‘So what are they up to?’
Once Caesar had briefly outlined the plot, Clodius pondered a while before responding. ‘Clearly, you can’t attend the Senate with a killer close at hand. You’ll have to postpone your amendment until the danger has passed. I always thought it was a step too far to insist on the Senate taking an oath never to repeal the Land Bill. You know how touchy they are when too much power seems to be in the hands of one individual.’
‘And you can imagine how touchy I am about politics stooping to the level of murder. My murder in particular,’ Caesar retorted.
‘Quite,’ Clodius sniggered. ‘So what do you intend to do about it?’
‘I will not show them I am afraid. That would only make them more confident. So it’s business as usual. I shall go to the Senate and put my amendment to the senators.’
Festus paused from dabbing the dirt and grit out of Marcus’s cuts. ‘No, master. Why place yourself in the way of an assassin’s knife? You can’t take the risk.’
‘Any life worth living is a risky business, my dear Festus. But I take your point and I fully intend to reduce the danger posed to me. First, I will have Marcus join me when I attend the Senate. The other side has seen his face, so it would be best if he wore a hood. He is to watch for any sign of the signal he spoke of. The instant that happens, you and your men must close ranks about me, Festus. At the same time, I want Clodius and his gangs to take control of the approaches to the Senate House. We won’t give Milo a chance to create any diversion.’ Caesar looked round at the others. ‘As long as we are all vigilant, there is little danger.’
Clodius chuckled. ‘It’s your decision, Caesar.’
Marcus wondered if his master was truly as calm as he appeared. But a sudden insight struck him. In some ways, men like Caesar were the same as gladiators. They were raised to face danger without showing fear and, if the need arose, to meet their end with dignity before the eyes of the world. Their contests might be fought in very different arenas, but the stakes were essentially the same: life and glory, or death.
Caesar turned his attention to Marcus. ‘Once again, I owe you my thanks. You are as brave as any soldier I have ever commanded, and I will see you are rewarded when the time is right.’
Marcus nodded, his most treasured hope rekindled in his heart. But he knew he must wait until the threat to Caesar had passed, when his master would be as well disposed towards him as possible. Then he could ask for his reward.
Caesar turned to Festus. ‘Have you finished with him?’
Festus wrung the last drops of water out of the cloth as he replied. ‘Yes, master.’
‘Then you can go, Marcus. Get some rest.’
‘Yes, master.’
He turned to leave but had taken no more than two paces before Caesar called out, ‘Wait!’
Marcus stopped and began to turn when Caesar spoke again.
‘Stay where you are. What is that mark on your shoulder?’
Marcus’s stomach clenched in icy terror. He heard footsteps behind and then the touch of Caesar’s fingers on the scar on his back. He fought the urge to shudder. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously before he dared reply.
‘I don’t know, master. It has always been there.’
Caesar was silent as he examined the mark. ‘It’s a brand of some kind. What is that? A wolf’s head . . . and a sword . . . I think I
’ve seen that somewhere before. Marcus, turn round.’
He did as he was told and forced himself to look steadily into Caesar’s piercing gaze. Marcus felt an icy fist clench round his heart. This is it, he thought in terror, he knows! It took all his resolution to keep his face as expressionless as possible while Caesar’s eyes bored into him.
‘Where did you get that brand?’
‘I don’t know, master. I didn’t even know it was a brand until recently,’ he replied truthfully. ‘I always thought it was a scar.’
‘ Did your parents not tell you anything about it?’
‘No, master.’
Caesar stared at him a long time, frowning. ‘I’ve seen it before. I’m sure of it.’
‘I’m told the lad’s father was a centurion,’ said Festus. ‘It could be something to do with that. You know what soldiers are like about their secret clubs and religions, master.’
‘No.’ Caesar shook his head. ‘That wasn’t it.’
“Well, I’m sure it’s of no consequence now,’ Clodius interrupted impatiently. ‘We have more important things to worry about.’
‘Yes.’ Caesar nodded, though he still stared at the mark in puzzlement. He shook his head. ‘You’re right. Marcus, you may go.’
Marcus bowed his head and left, walking as swiftly as he dared. His heart pounded in his chest. Outside, in the corridor, he slumped against the wall and breathed deeply as his mind raced. The symbol was a closely guarded secret. Only Spartacus and his inner circle shared the brand. How could Caesar recognize it? Perhaps he had seen something similar once. After all, the wolf and the sword were not uncommon symbols. Marcus gritted his teeth as he put aside such hopeful thoughts. The head of a wolf - the beast that had suckled Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome - impaled on a gladiator’s sword revealed an obvious challenge to Rome. Lupus had said as much. Caesar was sure to realize that, even if he didn’t know the precise origins of the symbol. Marcus felt sick with dread as he continued down the corridor to the slave quarters.
Gladiator: Street fighter Page 16