Marcus felt himself torn between his heart and his head, but he knew that Festus was right. He forced his feelings to one side and nodded.
‘Good. Then we’ll get some sleep, after Lupus has done his sword exercises.’
The scribe groaned and shook his head. ‘Not tonight. I’m shattered.’
‘You may be shattered, lad, but you’ll be dead if you don’t know how to use a blade. Better get it right while you have the chance. It’s more than likely you’ll be fighting for your life very soon. Marcus, you sort him out. Don’t go easy on him.’
‘Why me?’ asked Marcus. ‘You’re the one with training experience.’
‘I’m also the one who’s telling you to do it. Besides, you need something to take your mind off your worries. Now get to it, boys!’
They approached Tegea late the following afternoon and took a path leading off the road as soon as they came in sight of the town. They found a shallow cave below a cliff on the hills overlooking the town and downed packs while Festus gave his instructions, and some coins, to Marcus.
‘Here, that’s for some provisions. Buy us enough to get through the next two days. Make for the marketplace. If you want to find out where the estate is that’s the best place to start asking. But be subtle. Last thing we want is to alert Decimus that someone is snooping around.’
‘I know what to do,’ Marcus replied firmly.
‘Very well. Better tie Cerberus to a tree. We can’t afford to have him track you down in the town. A dog like that will draw some attention to himself.’
A smile flickered across Marcus’s face. With his large size and fierce appearance Cerberus would do more than draw attention. He’d frighten people. He took the chain they had bought in Athens from his pack and slipped the loop over the dog’s head before tying the other end to the trunk of a tree. Cerberus thought it was a game and wagged his tail happily, until the moment that Marcus left the cave. Then the dog lurched towards its master and was drawn up swiftly at the end of his leash. He lowered his shaggy head and began to whine, but Marcus steeled himself against the sound as he started down the path towards Tegea.
The marketplace of Tegea was bathed in the red, ruddy glow of the sun and the colours of the cloth, fruit, vegetables and other wares for sale seemed to be ablaze in intensity. Marcus slowly passed between the food stalls, stopping every so often to examine the produce and listen in as discreetly as possible to conversations that sounded promising. Already many of the stallholders were packing up for the day so he hurried over to a baker and bought some bread, and then some dried fruit and cheese from another stall.
‘That’ll be … eight asses,’ the trader concluded, holding out his hand.
Marcus reached into his purse to fish out the small bronze coins and paid them over. ‘There.’
The trader took the coins with a nod of thanks and tucked them into his own purse as he glanced at Marcus. ‘I know pretty much all my customers. Never seen you before.’
‘I’m from Lerna,’ Marcus replied casually, recalling the name of the small town they had passed earlier in the day. ‘Or was. My father’s sent me to look for work. Not enough land to support us all.’
The trader clicked his tongue. ‘Hard times, lad.’
Marcus nodded. ‘I don’t suppose there are any large farms near Tegea that might need field hands? I’m a hard worker.’
The trader noted his powerful physique. ‘Farm boy, eh? Well, there’s only one place nearby that might take people on. If you don’t mind working alongside chain gangs.’
‘Oh, where’s that then?’
‘Up there.’ The trader raised his hand and pointed up the slope of a large mountain outside the town, on the opposite side to the cave where Festus, Lupus and Cerberus were waiting. Marcus followed the direction he was indicating and saw a distant roof among some trees. As his eyes scanned the area he saw more buildings, and terraces of trees and vines.
‘Looks like a big place.’
‘Certainly is. One of the biggest estates in the Peloponnese. Mind you, that’s what you’d expect given that it’s owned by one of the biggest bloodsucking leeches in the whole of Greece. Squeezes us for every tax he can get his greedy hands on. That’s why he’s the only one who can afford to take on field hands. If you want some work, that’s where I’d suggest you go. The estate of Decimus.’
21
‘Seen anything new?’ Festus asked as he crawled forward beneath the low boughs of the sapling and eased himself into place alongside Marcus. They were lying on a ledge, a short climb above the cave, which had a clear view of Decimus’s estate. Lupus had taken the first watch, and was resting in the cave. Now Festus had made his way up to take over from Marcus.
Marcus consulted the waxed tablet he had borrowed from Lupus and glanced over the notes. ‘The men on the gate were relieved at noon, the others shortly afterwards. Still the same number on watch.’
‘Hmmm.’ Festus strained his eyes and stared down at the villa. It was an elaborate affair, with an outer courtyard for visitors arriving on litters, in wagons or on horseback, with stables and shelters for slaves and servants waiting for their masters. A colonnade and arch led into the main courtyard, neatly divided in four by two wide paths that intersected round a fountain. Neatly kept hedges lined the paths and a profusion of flowers and shrubs were laid out in geometric patterns in each quarter of the courtyard. Another large colonnade ran round the garden and joined the main house, a sprawling two-storey structure facing south to make use of the natural light and warmth of the sun. There were two guards on each of the courtyard entrances and each of the small entrances at the rear of the main house, for the use of slaves and servants, was also guarded. A group of four men patrolled the grounds round the villa.
‘Decimus won’t be an easy man to reach,’ Festus mused. ‘Have you seen him yet?’
Marcus paused briefly. ‘I think so. A man in a yellow tunic came out of the house earlier and walked round the garden. Same build and bald. If it’s him, he doesn’t seem to bother wearing a wig in the privacy of his own home.’
‘That’ll be him then.’ Festus gave a slight smile before he turned to Marcus with a more serious expression. ‘Any sign of your mother?’
Marcus shook his head. He gestured towards the line of trees a hundred paces from the villa. Beyond lay several long, low buildings with small slits to let in air and light – the barrack blocks of the slaves working on the estate. A wall surrounded the dismal-looking buildings and there was only one entrance, fortified by a tower on each side. At the moment the slaves were working in the fields, orchards and groves of the estate. Marcus had seen them emerge from the barrack first thing in the morning as he lay concealed close to the work camp. Gaunt figures in rags, chained in fours, stumbled into line and waited until the guards marched them through the gates to work. There had been plenty of women among them and some children, but Marcus had not been able to identify his mother.
‘She may not be working in the fields,’ Festus mused. ‘Decimus might have placed her with the household slaves. It’s possible, but unlikely. If she’s a house slave then she won’t be in chains. And if that’s the case, from what you have said, I imagine she’d take every chance to try and escape. So I’d wager she’s in with the field slaves. It won’t be easy getting into the work camp to search each barrack block for her.’
Marcus thought the problem through. ‘Then we find Decimus first. We get into the villa, track him down and force him to tell us where she is.’ Marcus’s eyes widened with excitement as he developed his idea. ‘Better still, we get him to send for her. That way we don’t risk going into the work camp.’
Festus sucked in a deep breath. ‘Even assuming we can do that, we still have to get into the villa in the first place.’
‘I think I know a way. It’s time to put that Parthian bow of yours to work …’
The three of them waited until the moon was hidden by a passing cloud before they emerged from cover a short distance
from Decimus’s estate. It was close to midnight, as far as Marcus could calculate the passing of the last few hours as they lay in a ditch at the rear of the villa. The patrol had passed by shortly before and exchanged a brief greeting with the two men on the small gate leading into the slaves’ quarters. Now they had turned the corner of the villa and were out of sight.
‘Lupus, off you go,’ Festus whispered.
After a moment’s hesitation, the scribe summoned up his courage then rose into a crouch and headed away along the ditch. Festus reached for his bow case and nodded to Marcus as they eased themselves out of the ditch into the knee-high grass of the meadow that stretched up to the villa. They kept flat as they worked themselves close to the wall that gleamed dully in the moonlight. They had prepared for the night’s action as best they could. Their faces were blackened with a paste made from charred wood and mud, and the same mixture had been rubbed into their tunics. Each of them wore a sword belt and carried daggers and throwing knives. Cerberus had been left at the cave with a marrowbone that Marcus had bought at the market to keep him busy. He would return for the dog when it was all over. If things did not work out as he wanted, then Marcus hoped that Cerberus would be found and looked after by a new owner.
They crawled steadily through the grass until they reached the woodpile beside the wall, twenty paces from the entrance to the slave quarters and the two guards. Then, hidden by the logs, they stood up. While Marcus kept watch Festus took out his bow and braced the tip against his boot, leaning into it as he strung the weapon. Once the loop of the drawstring had settled over the horn he eased his grip gradually until it was ready to use and took out three arrows from the case. Festus had decided to use hunting arrows with their big barbed heads so that the impact would stun the victim and the wound would bleed profusely. He fitted the first arrow and eased himself up, ready to strike, while they waited for Lupus to make his appearance.
One of the guards leaned against the wall while his companion stood rubbing the small of his back as his head tilted towards the heavens. All was still and Marcus began to wonder if Lupus had the courage to go through with their plan. Beside him, he could sense Festus’s tense impatience as he stood ready to draw his bow. The guard let out a low groan as he stretched his back. Then he turned his face from the sky, and froze.
‘Who’s there?’ he called out.
A figure had emerged from the shadows and was casually pacing along the wall towards the gate. A surge of relief flowed through Marcus and he heard the faint creak of the bow as Festus drew back his right arm.
‘Is that you, Pythos?’ The guard took a pace towards Lupus while his comrade pushed himself away from the wall and turned towards the person approaching. Marcus held his breath as Festus took aim. This was the most dangerous part of the plan. If Festus missed his target then the arrow might hit Lupus, even though he had moved out a short distance from the wall to get clear of Festus’s line of sight.
There was a dull twang as the arms of the bow snapped forward and launched the hunting arrow towards the nearest of Decimus’s men. It struck with a sharp whack, like a stick hitting a sheet of wet leather, and the guard pitched forward with a pained grunt to fall face first in the grass, groaning as he writhed feebly, struggling to reach behind his back for the arrow shaft. The other guard was still distracted by the approaching figure of Lupus, but the commotion behind caused him to turn and look back.
‘Mantippus? You all right?’
He froze in shock, just long enough for Festus to draw his bow again, adjust his aim and loose his second arrow. The barbed head punched through his throat, severing blood vessels so that the guard could only claw helplessly at the shaft of the arrow. Blood filled his throat, mouth and lungs as he collapsed on to his knees with a horrible gurgling noise.
‘Come on,’ Festus commanded quietly, handing his bow to Marcus. They moved out from behind the logpile to join Lupus by the still moving bodies of the guards. ‘Keep watch, lads. I’ve got some quick work to do here.’
While Marcus crouched down and kept his eyes fixed on one corner of the wall, Lupus did the same for the other end. Festus took out a heavy cosh hanging from his belt and struck each of the guards about the head so they lay unconscious as they bled out. Then he dragged the bodies to the entrance by the slave quarters. He propped the man he had shot in the throat against the wall and dumped the other behind the woodpile before turning to Lupus.
‘You stay here. Stand by the gate. When the patrol comes round again they may call out to you. If it happens, then you’ll have to say something. Keep it short and keep it quiet.’
‘What if they come close enough to make me out?’
‘It’s dark, and they won’t be close enough to see you properly.’
‘If they do?’
‘Then you’ll have to make a run for it. Head for the cave. We’ll meet there. Otherwise, we’ll see you back here on the way out. Is that clear?’
Lupus nodded and Festus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good lad. Right then, Marcus, boots off. We go as quietly as possible from here on in.’
They unlaced their boots and left them beside the door, then Festus muttered, ‘Let’s go.’
He lifted the latch on the door and eased it open before leading Marcus inside the villa. Marcus felt his heart pumping as they entered a small, gloomy yard surrounded by the doors to the slave quarters. He could hear snoring and some muttered conversation and he wondered briefly if his mother was there.
He touched Festus’s arm and whispered, ‘What if she’s here? We should check this place first.’
‘No. We can’t risk it. We start waking people up, they’ll make a noise and the rest of Decimus’s thugs will be down on us like a ton of bricks. We stick to the plan. Come on.’
They made for a small arch on the far side of the slave quarters and entered a narrow service passage leading along the length of the private garden towards the rear of the main villa. Marcus trembled as the walls pressed in on either side while ragged wreaths of cloud hid the stars above. At the end of the passage was a door leading into the kitchen, a large space with enough cooking hearths and large work tables for the villa’s slaves to produce a banquet for their master and his guests. Storerooms were set off to one side and the air was filled with the smells of woodsmoke, roast meat and the heady aroma of spices.
A dim light burned in the far corner of the kitchen and Marcus saw a handful of figures sitting round a table on which a single oil lamp provided just enough illumination for them to see.
‘They ain’t ever going to bed at this rate,’ one of the kitchen slaves muttered. ‘Same as last night. Same as it’s been since he got back from Athens. Him, and that man of his.’
‘Aye, and that Thermon’s a dark one,’ another voice added. ‘Right nasty-looking bugger. Sitting there, plotting with the master.’
‘And he’s looking scared, is Decimus,’ the first voice responded. ‘Never seen him so on edge. And he’s taking it out on us. All of us, even his favourite.’
Marcus felt his blood stir at the mention of Thermon, but Festus plucked his tunic and they set off round the edge of the large room, keeping to the shadows as the slaves continued grumbling about being kept up to wait on their master. There was a heavy curtain over a doorway at the far end of the kitchen and they gently eased the material aside as they slipped out into a corridor beyond. Marcus heard the sound of more conversation ahead where a light glowed at the end. As they padded down the passage, Marcus could see that there was a large room ahead and the voices echoed off the high walls of the triclinium, the dining chamber of the villa. It was Decimus’s voice that Marcus recognized first.
‘You’ll have to oversee the collection of taxes in Corinth for me.’
‘Me?’ a dry, deep voice replied. ‘That ain’t my speciality. Why not find someone else? Or better still, go yourself. The boys and I can keep you safe.’
‘No. I’m staying here. Until it’s over. We’ll put a price on their heads,
dead or alive. Big enough that there won’t be a man in Greece who wouldn’t stick a knife in their hearts to claim the reward.’
There was a muted exchange with another person in the room as Marcus and Festus crept closer, sticking to the wall as they edged towards the entrance to the triclinium. As they reached the corner Festus held his hand up to stop Marcus, then eased himself forward and peered round before moving back into the shadows of the corridor.
‘Three of them,’ he said softly. ‘Two men and a woman. No one else. We’re in luck. When I give the word we move in quickly. We’ll deal with the other man and I’ll handle Decimus while you take care of the woman. Keep her guarded and keep her quiet.’
‘I can handle Decimus.’
‘I know you can. But we need him alive.’
Marcus felt a surge of anger. ‘I know that.’
‘Marcus, hate can turn a person’s mind. Make them do something they know they shouldn’t. It’s better we don’t take the risk. Now, draw your sword.’
Marcus swallowed his feelings and eased his blade from his scabbard as Festus readied another arrow. ‘Ready?’
Marcus swallowed. ‘Ready.’
Festus rose up and stepped into the chamber, Marcus hurrying forward at his side. It was a large space, some fifteen paces across and thirty or so in length, with couches and low tables arranged round a large open space. At the far end three people were seated round a table, on which several silver trays carried the remains of a meal. Their backs were towards Festus and Marcus. Decimus, instantly recognizable from his bald head, sat in the middle. To his left lay Thermon in a plain black tunic. To his right lay a thin woman in a finely embroidered green stola. She had ornately styled dark hair. At first the diners ignored the sound of light footsteps and then Decimus turned to look over his shoulder as he spoke harshly.
Gladiator: Vengeance Page 17