Simon Scarrow - Gladiator - Vengeance

Lupus dashed across the street, dodging a pile of donkey manure that had fallen from the back of a cart, and closed in on his quarry. Marcus watched him with a slight shake of the head.

‘He’s not used to this kind of work. I hope he doesn’t give himself away. You should have let me do it.’

‘Too much of a risk,’ Festus replied. ‘You recognized him quickly enough. Who is to say he couldn’t do the same?’

‘But there are slaves passing through his cells all the time. Hundreds, thousands maybe. I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me.’

Festus pursed his lips. ‘Maybe, but why take the risk? Lupus will do all right. He’s smart, even if he’s not much use in a fight. And that we need to remedy as soon as possible.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s time we taught our young friend that the sword is mightier than the pen.’ Festus smiled. ‘While we’re tracking down your mother, and Decimus, we’ll teach Lupus how to use a few weapons, and try to get him in shape. I’ve a feeling we’ll need all the muscle we can get before this is over.’

Marcus raised his hands in despair. ‘But … Lupus? Are you serious? Put a blade in his hands and he’s likely to be more of a danger to us than anyone else.’

Festus turned to face him, hands on hips. ‘You think Lupus was any less promising than you were before you started training at the gladiator school?’

Marcus thought for a moment and nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I was raised on a farm and I worked it alongside Titus and the few slaves we had. Lupus has always been a scribe. I doubt he would have survived what I had to go through even before I reached the school.’

Festus sucked his cheek and nodded. ‘Fair point. Still, we’ll make the best of him that we can in the time. Better to have someone who knows how to use a sword at our side rather than not. I’m sure he can pick the basics up.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Marcus replied doubtfully.

‘Let’s pray we don’t get ourselves into a situation where Lupus needs to draw a blade.’

‘How likely is that?’

Festus stared at him a moment, then gestured for Marcus to follow as he turned and headed back down the street in the direction of the inn where they had taken a room.

The hours passed but there was no sign of Lupus. Marcus had been fretting as the afternoon had drawn on. He sat on the worn bedroll with his back to the cracked plaster of the wall and rested his chin on his knees as he tried not to fear what might have become of his friend. Opposite him Festus lay asleep, snoring gently. Marcus wondered how he could rest so easily. In the end he could bear it no longer and, rising quietly, left the small room. He closed the latch behind him and stepped into the small courtyard behind the inn. In the past the rooms the landlord rented out must have been used for stores, or even animal pens, Marcus thought. He could still detect the residual acrid smell of goats. The doors to some of the other rooms were open to allow what breeze there was to pass through from the opening high on the wall inside. The only other occupants of the courtyard were six men sitting in a shaded corner playing dice as they shared a large jar of wine.

Marcus wandered out of the courtyard into the street and looked both ways for any sign of Lupus, but there was little movement. It was a quiet neighbourhood on the fringe of Stratos, which was why Festus had picked it so they could avoid drawing attention to themselves. Most of the customers at the inn were passing through Stratos, heading north or south along the road that passed through the town. The kind of people among whom three travellers would be easily lost. He settled against the wall and waited for his friend to return. More hours passed and the shadows lengthened across the street. The men playing dice eventually finished the game and headed into the inn for supper, and Marcus was left with the distant sounds of urban life: the occasional cry of an infant, a snatch of conversation and the braying of a donkey.

At length, his anxiety got the better of him and he decided to wake Festus and tell him they should go and look for Lupus. As he slipped the latch and entered the room Marcus saw that his companion was already awake, sitting on his bedroll as he worked a sharpening stone up and down the edge of his sword. He paused and looked up at Marcus.

‘He’s not come back,’ said Marcus. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Do? Nothing.’

Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘Nothing? What if something has happened to him?’

‘If that’s the case, then what could we do about it?’

‘Go and look for Lupus. What else?’

‘I see, we go and look for him in the dark, in the streets of a town we don’t know.’ Festus continued sharpening his sword as he tutted. ‘What good will that do? Be patient, Marcus. We just have to wait for him to return. Sit down and rest.’

Despite his concerns Marcus knew Festus was right. He forced himself to return to his bedroll and lie down. But he could not sleep. Instead he lay with his eyes open, staring at the rafters of the room. Every so often there was a soft scuttling noise as a rat scurried across one of the beams, the only sound to interrupt the rhythmic scrape of the stone grating along the edge of Festus’s sword. Outside dusk closed in around Stratos and then night fell over the town. Unable to see his blade, Festus finally set it aside and there was silence for a moment before he spoke.

‘Marcus.’

‘Yes?’

‘If we find Decimus, what are your plans?’

Marcus took a deep breath. ‘I will kill him.’

‘What if he has Thermon with him? And others? He is sure to be guarded.’

Marcus remembered the cold-blooded killer that Decimus used for his most dangerous tasks. It was Thermon and his men who had killed Titus and kidnapped Marcus and his mother.

‘Makes no difference,’ Marcus responded. ‘One way or another, I’ll find a way to get close enough to stick a blade in Decimus’s heart. He’ll see me and know that I have had my revenge.’

‘And then what?’ asked Festus. ‘His guards will cut you down. You’ll be killed.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘No? Maybe not. But your mother will. She’ll be left alone in the world. Grieving for you, and your father.’

She had been grieving for Marcus’s real father for many years already, Marcus reflected. She had never forgotten Spartacus, and once Marcus had discovered the truth about his past, those moments in his childhood when he had seen her look at him and quietly weep suddenly made sense. With a stab of guilt he realized that if he acted as recklessly as he wanted, then he would only add to her misery. Marcus sighed in frustration.

‘Listen to me, Marcus.’ Festus spoke softly in the darkness. Only his outline was dimly visible against the drab gloom of the plastered wall. ‘Sometimes in this life, we must be prepared to take only those opportunities that are genuinely offered to us. We have to deny ourselves the goals we desire, however strong the urge. I should have tried to teach you that when I was training you for Caesar. But he only wanted you to be good with weapons.’

‘It’s not surprising. That’s all I was to Caesar, a weapon. Little more than a tool for him to use.’

‘That’s true, I suppose,’ Festus conceded. ‘But he did admire you. There was something he saw in you that set you apart from others. That’s what he told me. Something special …’

Not for the first time Marcus felt a tingle of icy fear trace its way down his spine. Nothing escaped the attention of his former master. Although he might not know the truth about his real father, Caesar had his suspicions that there was more to his past than Marcus had revealed to him.