Gladiator: Son of Spartacus

by Simon Scarrow

  12

  Lupus was close to exhaustion. They had been marching for three days before they reached the main rebel camp. Three days of toiling up steep mountain paths, frequently lost amid the low clouds that shrouded the peaks of the Apennines. Lupus could not hope to recall the route they had taken. He had tried at first, in case he got the chance to slip away and find his way back to the road to rejoin Marcus and the others accompanying his master. Despite the clouds and the occasional blizzards that had shrouded the paths, Mandracus and his men never missed their step and unerringly made their way to their destination. The paths were too difficult for his horsemen so they were ordered to continue their patrol, raiding villas and farming estates to liberate more slaves and loot enough food to feed them. Lupus saw few people along the route. A handful of shepherds, some of whom cheered Mandracus and his band and offered them food and shelter if they needed it. Others simply turned and fled.

  They passed through a small village perched above a stream. It was too poor for anyone there to own a slave and they simply watched warily as the rebels passed through. There was no attempt to hinder them, not even to close the small gate in the low crumbling wall that had once protected the village. Looking from side to side, Lupus could see that the people were poor and hungry, and probably lived lives every bit as hard as the slaves passing by. It was clear that the rebels’ war was being waged against the rich and powerful. Even though the villagers were freeborn Romans, they had more in common with the rebels than with those who ruled over them.

  At last, footsore, hungry and bone-tired, the small column of rebels reached the approaches to the main camp. As the first shadows of dusk settled over the mountains, Mandracus halted his men and called Lupus forward. The boy stood nervously in front of him and Mandracus smiled wolfishly.

  ‘Now you’ll see why the Romans can never defeat us.’ He waved a muscular arm over the surrounding scenery. They were standing in a shallow valley just above the snow line. Tree-covered slopes curved up on either side and at the end of the valley where the sides curved round to meet, like half a bowl. There were no signs of settlement or life of any sort, other than a small brook that emerged near the base of some crags to the left. The water gushed over the rocks as it wound its way down to the floor of the valley. In places the water had frozen, leaving glistening ice formations over which the water ran, adding yet more ice. The place felt desolate and Lupus shivered.

  At first he had longed for the comforts of Caesar’s house back in Rome and silently cursed the day his master had taken him as an escort to Ariminum. But Lupus found there was more to his captors than he had first thought. Initially they had terrified him, and he feared for his life. It took a while before he truly believed they had no intention of harming him. Bach night, Mandracus and his men had sat round a fire, eating whatever rations they had found in recent days and talking good-humouredly before they settled down to sleep. They shared their food with Lupus, and treated him with a rough fondness that surprised him.

  ‘You’re free now, lad!’ Mandracus grinned as they made camp the first night. ‘No more masters giving you orders. Here we are just comrades. No masters and no slaves. We live off the land, as well as off those who use slaves to make themselves rich. You’ll get used to it soon enough. I imagine you’re still feeling a bit anxious, aren’t you?’

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘Well, don’t. No one’s going to eat you. Speaking of which,’ the rebel leader rummaged in his sidebag and drew out a small loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. ‘Here. Eat this. You need to keep your strength up.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lupus shuffled closer to the fire and let the warmth of the flames seep into his tired muscles. He swallowed the first mouthful and turned to Mandracus. ‘What will happen to me after you’ve taken me to Brixus?’

  ‘That’s up to Brixus,’ the man replied, then bit off a small piece from a strip of dried beef. ‘He’ll want to question you about Caesar, and your friend Marcus, before he decides what to do next. I dare say he will offer you the chance to join the rebel army.’

  ‘If I refuse?’

  ‘You won’t refuse. Trust me. Once you understand what this is all about. Once Brixus has explained his plans to you, then you’ll want to stay and fight with us and put an end to slavery.’

  ‘You seem very sure of it.’

  ‘Let’s just say that Brixus can be very persuasive. It’s probably wisest not to refuse the offer.’

  Lupus nodded and ate some more food before he spoke again. ‘I’m not sure that I would want to live on the run all the time. Even though I was a slave, I was treated well enough.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Mandracus muttered. ‘But most slaves aren’t as pampered as you were, Lupus. Most are worked to death. Many in mines and on farming estates. Those are the worst places to be. That’s where I was before Spartacus and his men found me all those years ago. Seems like a lifetime now. I’ve been free ever since. Yes, I’ve been hunted and I’ve often wondered how long it will all last. But I am still free, and I have a wife and two young girls, and they have known nothing but freedom.’

  ‘It must be a hard life, here in the mountains.’

  ‘Life is hard.’ Mandracus admitted. ‘It’s a struggle. But we treat each other with respect, we share what we have and we can choose our own fate. That is something a slave can never do. Thanks to people like your former master. And now it seems that he has resolved to crush us.’ He stared into the flames and Lupus saw his expression harden when he spoke again. ‘Caesar will find that we are a much tougher nut to crack than he imagines. You should be able to give Brixus some insight into Caesar’s thinking when he questions you.’

  ‘I’ll tell him what I can,’ Lupus replied. ‘But I don’t think it will be much help. Caesar does not take his slaves into his confidence... Some perhaps. He seems to have a high opinion of Marcus.’

  Mandracus glanced round sharply. ‘The boy who was with you at the ambush?’

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘Why? You said earlier that Brixus would also want to know about him. What’s so special about Marcus?’

  ‘Just curious. It’s probably nothing,’ Mandracus replied carefully. ‘Brixus has mentioned a boy gladiator he once knew in the past. Your friend Marcus might know something about him.’

  Lupus finished eating and held his hands up to the fire, then rubbed them together. ‘Not much to tell. The master ... I mean Caesar, bought him from a gladiator school near Capua over a year ago. Caesar’s niece had fallen into the school’s arena as Marcus was facing two wolves. He saved her from them and Caesar recognized that he had potential, so he bought him to join us in Rome as part of Caesar’s bodyguard.’

  ‘I see. And what does Marcus look like?’

  ‘You saw for yourself at the ambush.’

  Mandracus nodded. ‘True, but it was only a fleeting glimpse, in the middle of a fight. I can’t recall any details.’

  Lupus shrugged. ‘He’s tall for his age, and thin. No, not thin. Sinewy would be a better word for it. He thinks quickly and has sharp reflexes, and he’s as brave as they come.’ He smiled with pride as he recalled his friend.

  The man was also smiling. ‘Sounds like someone I used to know ... Well now, young Lupus. Get some sleep, there’s a long march ahead before we reach the camp of Brixus.’

  Now they had reached the camp, but Lupus could not see any sign of movement, let alone the rebel army that was growing in strength day by day according to Mandracus. The man laughed at his side, then patted him heavily on the shoulder.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Mandracus led the way along a narrow path running beside the stream and they entered the trees at the foot of the crags. A short distance further on the trees gave way to a narrow strip of rocky open ground. Walls of dark rock, dotted with moss, rose up ahead. A waterfall tumbled down into a small pool where the water churned white and wild before it fed the stream running between the trees. Mandracus
paused and cupped a hand to his mouth to call up towards the top of the crags.

  ‘Approaching the camp!’

  Lupus followed the direction of the man’s gaze and saw a figure emerge at the top of the crag, dark against the sky as he looked down at them.

  ‘Who goes there?’ a voice shouted.

  ‘Mandracus! Returning from patrol!’

  ‘Mandracus? Then pass, friend!’

  The brigand made his way towards the foot of the waterfall, followed by Lupus and the others. It was then that Lupus saw the spur of rock and realized there was a narrow gap in the cliff, a defile, that stretched away at an angle to the waterfall. It remained quite invisible until you were almost at the foot of the waterfall. Two men stood just inside the defile, armed with spears, shields, armour and helmets of the same design used by the Roman legions. They looked relieved as they caught sight of Mandracus and approached to exchange a clasp of hands at their safe return. Then one of them saw Lupus and paused.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Him?’ Mandracus chuckled. ‘New recruit. And he may have some useful information for the general. Is Brixus in camp?’

  One of the sentries nodded. ‘He’s summoned the leaders of all the bands in the mountains. They’ve been arriving for several days now. You’re the last one. What’s going on?’

  ‘Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, you big ox! You’ll find out soon enough.’ Mandracus put a hand on Lupus’s shoulder and steered him into the defile. ‘In the meantime, get back to your duty.’

  The sentries stood aside and the small column of rebel fighters entered the defile. The air was cold and moist from the spray churned up by the waterfall. Lupus shivered as he picked his way forward. Although the path had been cleared enough to permit a horse to pass through, the ground was uneven and the route turned one way and then the next as it wound through the chasm. Overhead, the grey sky was a miserable thin strip caught between the rocks and the limbs of stunted shrubs and small trees growing precariously from the ledges. After about a quarter of a mile the cliffs on either side started to grow apart and light shone into the defile. Then, as they rounded a last bend in the path, Lupus had his first sight of the rebel camp and he paused to take in a sharp breath of astonishment.

  Ahead, the path led down a gentle slope into a small valley, seemingly walled in on every side by cliffs and crags. A stream coursed down the far side and crossed the valley floor before it passed underground, heading in the direction of the waterfall. But that was the least remarkable sight that greeted his eyes. Before him lay a vast camp of tents and more permanent shelters. In among the tents were pens for animals and several larger buildings, the nearest of which had its doors open, and Lupus saw a man doling out bowls of grain to a queue of people. In the centre of the valley stood a large round hut, surrounded by an open area ringed with a stockade. Smaller round huts were arranged around the compound.

  ‘There must be thousands living here,’ Lupus said. ‘Tens of thousands!’

  Mandracus smiled at the boy’s awed expression. ‘That’s right. An army of us. Waiting for the day when we will rise up and complete the work that Spartacus began.’ He pointed to the largest hut. ‘Come, that’s where we’ll find Brixus.’

  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.

  13

  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.’