Simon Scarrow - Gladiator - Vengeance

He looked up and met his mother’s intense gaze steadily. ‘That day may come, Mother. But only when the moment is right. And only if I choose to continue my father’s fight. You said we should not let the past rule us. Well, I believe that. I am free. I am not the slave of any other man, and I am not the slave of any other man’s dream.’

Marcus’s mother opened her mouth as if to protest, but no words came. At length she shook her head and looked down. ‘You are right. Your father would be proud of you, as I am proud of you.’

Marcus embraced the words, warmth spreading through his heart.

‘Do your friends know?’

‘Lupus does. He learned the truth from Brixus later on.’

‘And the man, Festus?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘I dare not tell him.’

‘Why not?’

‘I met Festus after I was bought from the owner of the gladiator school. At the time Festus was serving as the leader of Julius Caesar’s bodyguards.’

Her eyes opened wide, staring. ‘Caesar? Then … then we’re in terrible danger. We have to get out of here, Marcus. Before he returns from the town.’

‘No. Festus is my friend. I don’t think we have anything to fear from him.’

Cerberus suddenly stirred and his ears perked up as a low growl rumbled in his throat. A twig cracked on the path leading up past the cave and Marcus quietly drew his sword, indicating to his mother to get to the back of the cave, taking the dog with her. She slipped her hand into Cerberus’s collar and crept back towards the still slumbering Lupus. Marcus moved to a rock at the side of the cave mouth and crouched down out of sight. His ears strained to pick up any more sounds and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots drawing closer. They grew louder in volume then stopped for a beat.

‘Marcus?’

He felt a surge of relief as he recognized Festus’s voice and stood up, sheathing his sword before he stepped out on to the path. Caesar’s bodyguard stood staring at him with an intense expression. He carried a net bag over his shoulder and swung it carefully to the ground, revealing the contents: bread, cheese and fruit. His hand released the end of the bag and Festus rested it on the handle of his dagger. In his other hand he held a thin wooden board on which a notice had been painted.

‘I think you should see this, Marcus.’

He held it up for him to read.

Wanted for the MURDER of Procrustes, a citizen of Leuctra. Authorities are looking for MARCUS, a boy of approximately 13 years, travelling with TWO accomplices, a boy answering to the name of LUPUS and a man named FESTUS. Marcus has brown hair, brown eyes, of average height for his age, but better built. He has a distinguishing scar on his shoulder. A brand, in the shape of a sword piercing the head of a wolf. A reward of 10,000 denarii is offered by Governor Servillus for their capture.

Marcus looked up and saw the cold expression in the man’s face as he spoke. ‘I found this in the market square. There are more like it in every public space in Tegea. Would you care to tell me why you think Governor Servillus is prepared to offer such a huge fortune to get his hands on you?’

‘I–I have no idea.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Marcus. You’d better tell me what is going on. You’d better tell me what that mark on your shoulder means. I saw that look on the official’s face back in the arena. He recognized the mark. He knew it meant something important. So you’d better tell me about it. Right now. I want to hear the truth, all of it, from your own lips, Marcus.’

He took a step towards Marcus as he tightened his grip on the handle of his dagger.

‘It is the mark of Spartacus,’ Livia said as she emerged from the rear of the cave. ‘It is the mark that was placed on his son many years ago.’

She stepped forward, between Festus and Marcus, and he saw that she also carried a sword, taken from the packs at the rear of the cave. She raised it and pointed it at Festus. ‘Marcus is also my son. He is all I have in the world. I have lost the man I loved, and the man I came close to loving. I have lost my home, my dignity and almost every shred of the will to go on. I will die before I let you harm Marcus.’

As she spoke, Cerberus padded out of the cave and stood by Marcus’s side. Sensing the tension between the humans, he lowered his head and let out a low growl as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Festus stood still, his expression unreadable as he stared at Livia and then Marcus. ‘The son of Spartacus. The greatest threat that Rome has ever faced on our own soil. A bitter enemy of my master, Julius Caesar, and all Romans … including me.’

Marcus did not like the flat tone of his voice. He knew well enough how swiftly the bodyguard could spring into action and how lethal he could be with a weapon in his hand. So he drew his sword again and braced his muscles to react the instant Festus made a hostile move. But the man did not move as he pursed his lips and his brow creased into a puzzled frown.

‘By rights I should strike you down here and now. While you live there are bound to be fools who will take up arms against their masters the moment they hear that the standard of Spartacus has been raised once again.’

Livia raised the sword. ‘If you even think about it, I will cut you down.’

Festus glanced at her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really? Do you think I could not kill you before you laid a scratch on me? Lower the sword and back away. I won’t warn you again.’

Marcus kept his eyes fixed on Festus as he spoke quietly and urgently. ‘Mother, do as he says. Please.’

She hesitated, the point of the sword wavering in the air between herself and Festus. Then she shook her head. ‘I won’t let him harm you, Marcus. I’d die before that happens.’

Festus smiled coldly. ‘You will certainly die before that happens, unless you back off.’

Marcus reached out with his left hand to take her sword arm and eased it away from the bodyguard. Then he placed himself in front of her, directly opposite Festus, no more than two sword lengths away.

‘Festus, there will be no new slave revolt. I will not raise my father’s standard. There would be no point in doing it when there is no hope of success. Brixus wanted to use me to provoke a new rebellion when I was held in his camp last winter, but I refused. You have nothing to fear from me, Festus. All I want is to live out my life in freedom, and take care of my mother. Would you really stand in the way of such a simple desire? Do you really want to hand me over to the most powerful men in Rome so that they can parade me and my mother through the streets in chains before executing us in front of a howling mob? Festus, I have fought at your side. We have faced great dangers together in the last few months. Just a few hours ago you risked your life to save my mother. Does none of that mean anything to you?’

‘That was all before I discovered who you really are,’ Festus growled. ‘You have betrayed me, Marcus. After everything that we have been through. I risked my life for you, and, as you say, we have fought side by side. I thought of you as a friend. More than a friend. And now it seems I have never really known you at all.’ Festus took a step towards Marcus. ‘So great a secret.’ He shook his head. ‘So great the possible consequences for Rome … And for me.’

‘Festus — ’ Marcus began.

‘No!’ Festus spat. ‘I will not listen. I am Caesar’s man … If I let you go then I betray my master and turn my back on all the years that I have protected him and his interests. In the end I turn my back on Rome.’

But as Marcus watched his friend, his body seemed to sag, and he sighed wearily. ‘And yet … A bond has been forged between us, Marcus. When you arrived at Caesar’s house in Rome, I thought you no more than a typical young gladiator, a violent, thoughtless thug, and I admit I resented having you placed in my charge, no matter that Caesar said you had potential. But you proved me wrong. I came to see that you have courage, quick wits and a good heart. In time I regarded you as a comrade, a friend, and in the last few months as a son. A son any man would be proud to call his own.’ He looked earnestly at Marcus and the boy felt burdened with guilt.