Simon Scarrow - Son of Spartacus

‘Ah! That warms the heart. Here, boy. Have some.’

He held the flask out to Lupus. For a moment the boy hesitated, then he reached out and took the wineskin with a nod of thanks. Taking out the stopper, he sniffed the contents and could not help wrinkling his nose at the sharp, acidic odour. The men chuckled at his reaction and Lupus forced himself to control his expression. Steeling himself, he put the nozzle in his mouth and raised the skin up as he tilted his head back. For a moment there was nothing and then a jet of the wine sloshed into his mouth, sharp and burning on his tongue. He lowered the wineskin and spluttered, to the accompaniment of laughter from the guards round the fire.

‘Rough stuff, eh?’ said the guard. ‘Even for those of us who aren’t used to the wines of the richest households in Rome.’ lie gestured towards Lupus’s plain but well-made cloak. ‘It’s Mir you ain’t ever had to work in the fields. You’re a house slave. No doubt raised on the fine scraps from the master’s table. Never done a real day’s work in your life, I suppose?’

Lupus flushed angrily but dared not reply.

‘Thought so.’ The guard nodded. ‘Well, now you’re no better than the rest of us. We’re all the same here, lad. And you’ll fight alongside the rest of us when the time comes.’

Lupus swallowed anxiously. ‘If I refuse?’

‘Best not to.’ The guard drew a finger across his throat. ‘You’re either with us, or you’re one of the enemy. So which is it?’

Lupus felt a shaft of terror pierce his heart. He saw the other men looking at him closely, many with scarred faces, weathered by years of toil or fighting.

‘Well?’ The man spoke again. ‘Are you with us?’

Lupus hesitated, and was about to reply when a figure emerged from the darkness and joined those by the fire.

‘What’s this? Are you lot teasing our new recruit?’ Mandracus chuckled as he stood beside Lupus and smiled at him. ‘Ignore ‘em, lad. They just like their bit of fun.’

Lupus raised an eyebrow. ‘Fun?’

Mandracus placed a hand on his shoulder and steered Lupus away from the fire. ‘Anyway, Brixus wants to see you. Now.’

They made their way towards the entrance of the large hut. The lintel over the doorway forced Mandracus to duck as he swept the leather curtain to one side and waved Lupus through. The interior was perhaps eighty feet across, and a fire in the centre provided enough illumination to reach the walls and the framework of timbers that supported the roof above. A woman in an old tunic was using a small knife to cut strips of meat from the carcass of a goat, dicing them up before adding them to a steaming cauldron suspended from an iron frame over the fire. Beyond the fire stood a large table with stools arranged round it. At the far end was a large wooden rhair where a man was sitting, scrutinizing the new arrival.

‘Lupus, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, master,’ Lupus replied instinctively. Despite the gloom of the interior, he saw the brief look of irritation that flitted across the man’s face.

‘There are no masters here, Lupus,’ the man said evenly. ‘No masters and no slaves. Understand?’

He nodded.

‘Then come closer. Sit down at the table.’

Lupus crossed the beaten earth and took the nearest stool at the end of the table. Mandracus took the stool opposite. Once they were settled the other man leaned forward and stared at Lupus. ‘I am Brixus, general of the rebel army.’

Brixus’s hair was dark and tightly curled. A jagged line of puckered white scar tissue extended from his brow on to his cheek. His eyes were sunken beneath a thick brow and his skin was creased with age. Yet his shoulders were broad and his arms were well muscled. Lupus could imagine that Brixus would have been a formidable fighter in his time. He radiated an aura of toughness and ruthlessness, cruelty even.

‘There’s no need to be afraid of me.’ Brixus smiled, revealing gaps in his teeth. ‘We’re on the same side. You’re going to join the fight to put an end to slavery. Mandracus and his men have set you free from your master, but you can never be truly free until Rome has been humbled and forced to accept terms. That you must know. We are engaged in a fight to the death. Either we triumph over Rome or we are crushed. Do you understand?’

Lupus nodded slowly as he considered the situation, and then grasped the seemingly impossible challenge faced by Brixus and his followers. He felt his pulse quicken as he framed his response, not daring to antagonize the two men.

‘Do you really think you can defeat Rome?’

‘Why not?’ Brixus shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘We came close last time, under Spartacus. But we were divided at the moment of victory. Some wanted to use our advantage to escape from Italia and return home, while others wanted to stay with Spartacus, continue the war and bring Rome to it’s knees. There were bitter arguments before our army split in two. Divided, we were no longer a match for the legions and were defeated one at a time.’ Brixus shook his head sadly at the memory, then eased himself back into his chair before he continued. ‘It won’t happen this time. There will be no division. No debate. I will not permit it. Together, we will overcome Rome and her legions.’

Lupus chewed his lip before he responded. ‘How can you overcome them? You have an army of thousands here. But for every man you have, Rome has ten or more legionaries. You are outnumbered.’

Brixus swept an arm around the hut. ‘Do you think this is all that stands in the way of Rome? This is but the largest of the rebel camps. There are many others, all of them waiting for a sign to rise up and follow me. When that time comes we shall be ready for the legions.’

‘What will the sign be?’ asked Lupus.

Mandracus made to reply but Brixus cleared his throat to warn him off, then called out to the woman stirring the cauldron. ‘Bring us a bowl each, and then leave.’

‘Yes, master,’ she replied and scrabbled for some silver bowls and spoons in a small chest beside the fireplace. She used an iron rod to lift the cauldron off the stand and lower it on to the floor. Ladling a steaming spoon of stew into each bowl, she hurriedly brought them over to set down on the table before ducking out of the tent.

‘I thought there were no slaves here,’ Lupus said warily. ‘What about her?’

Brixus laughed. ‘That woman is the wife of a Roman lanista, young Lupus. Or was, until we raided his school, killed him and his staff and set the gladiators and the household slaves free. By all accounts she treated her slaves like animals. Now she’s being taught a lesson.’ He smiled coldly. ‘It’s good to see the Romans having a taste of their own medicine, eh? Now, I expect you are cold and hungry, boy. So eat.’

Lupus picked up his spoon and filled it before blowing over the steaming mixture. The rich aroma rising from the bowl made him realize how hungry he was and he tucked in eagerly, relishing the warmth and the full flavour. As he ate, his mind worked feverishly. What did he know that would help Brixus?

They ate in silence, until Brixus finished and pushed his bowl away with a satisfied smack of his lips. He patted his fist against his chest and let out a burp, then smiled as he leaned back in his chair and regarded Lupus.

‘Mandracus tells me that you belong — excuse me — belonged to Julius Caesar.’

Lupus hurriedly finished chewing a hunk of meat and swallowed as he lowered his spoon. ‘That’s right. I was his scribe,’ he said proudly.

‘A scribe?’ Brixus raised his eyebrows appreciatively. ‘Then you must be a very clever lad. Clever enough to be taken into Caesar’s confidence, a little. Or perhaps clever enough to over-hear things that maybe you shouldn’t.’