Simon Scarrow - Son of Spartacus

‘You know him better than I do, Marcus. Do you think he will come looking for us?’

‘He might. But it would make sense for him to find fresh supplies and shelter first.’

‘But he can’t afford to let the rebels get away with taking hostages.’

‘Why not? We’re dead, Decimus. Face it.’

‘No. Why would they take us prisoner if they meant to kill us? Perhaps there is a way out. I have money. I can offer them a ransom for my life. But not yours, alas.’

‘And your men? What about them?’

‘I can always hire more men.’

Marcus stared at the dim outline of the man, a short distance away. There was no limit to the callousness of Decimus. If only his hands were free, he could throw himself on the moneylender. Without weapons, he might not win a fight with a fully grown man, but he could do him some injury.

‘Don’t take it too hard, boy. That’s just the way life is. These rebels are like any other men. They have their price, and I can afford to pay it.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper that only Marcus would hear. ‘It’s too bad for everyone else. Especially you. A few more years’ training and you would have been one of the heroes of the arena. Another little boost for Caesar’s reputation. He was right to buy you from Porcino’s school. He’s as shrewd a man as ever put on a senator’s toga. He may turn out to be one of the greatest Romans who ever lived.’

‘So why have you been plotting to kill him? You’re a Roman. If Rome needs men like him, then why kill him?’

‘Because I think Caesar believes that Rome needs hin› more than he needs Rome. That makes such men very dangerous. In any case, my political beliefs happen to coincide with an opportunity to do business with Crassus.’

‘Business?’

‘I am a businessman, young Marcus. I do what I do for money. That is why I work for Crassus. He rewards me with tax-collecting contracts. That’s how a man gets rich in this world. In return I provide Crassus with the services of my employees who have the skills needed to remove obstacles in the path of his ambition. Over the years I have recruited a few men who have proved very useful indeed.’

‘Men like Thermon?’ Marcus interrupted bitterly. ‘Murderers.’

‘Murder is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as providing a special service at a premium price.’

‘I take it that you and your men did not join Caesar’s army to buy slaves then?’

‘Why not? Might as well make a little extra on the side.’

‘But you were sent to kill him, weren’t you?’

‘If the opportunity presented itself. I had thought to blackmail that young tribune over there to help one of my men get close to Caesar, but now I have more pressing concerns. I need to strike a deal with these rebel scum and buy my freedom.’

A gust of wind moaned over the sheep pen. Marcus glanced up at the sky and noticed a band of cloud to the north. There would be more snow before the dawn came. But that was of little concern to him. If he was to die, then there was one thing he had to know. One last comforting thought to cling to.

‘Decimus, there’s something you must tell me.’

‘You want to know if your mother still lives?’

‘Yes.’

The man was silent for a moment before he spoke again. ‘I wonder what would be most merciful to tell you. If I said she was alive, then it would comfort you, until you considered what being alive means to her. You know I sent her to an estate of mine in the Peloponnese. A place where the slaves work until exhaustion or sickness finishes them off. On the other hand, if I told you she was dead, you would know you had nothing to live for. So, my boy, which would you prefer?’

‘I just want the truth,’ Marcus replied firmly. ‘Whatever it may be.’

‘The truth …’ Decimus raised his hands and blew into them. ‘The truth is that she still lives. She is too beautiful a creature to kill, and too proud for me not to want to break her.’

Marcus sighed with relief at the news that his mother was alive. Then the rest of the words struck home, a tingle of surprise raising the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘You… You have feelings for her?’

‘Of course. I am only flesh and blood, as your father was. Why would I not be drawn to her as he was? Yet she was his wife. A few years ago, when Titus came to me for a loan, he brought her with him to Stratos. That’s when I first saw her. The next time was at the wretched little farm of yours, when I called in person for the first instalment of the loan repayment. Even then, I knew Titus could never repay it and would sink into debt. That’s when I made my offer to her. Leave him and come with me and I would write off the loan. Otherwise Titus would lose everything. The farm, Livia, and you. Sold into slavery to pay off the debt.’ Decimus chuckled drily. ‘And you know what she did? She spat in my face and told me she would rather die than be mine. What do you think of that, eh? Your mother has courage. Even more than that fool, Titus. Yes, I think there is more of her in you than there ever was of him … Now she will stay on my estate, working the fields, until the day she begs me for forgiveness.’

The surprise that Marcus had felt gave way to disgust as he listened to the man talking about his mother. The thought of this vile, repulsive snake wrapping his coils round her made Marcus feel sick to the very depths of his stomach. He must not let it happen. He must find a way to escape, or to survive. And if Decimus did succeed in buying his way out of captivity, then as soon as Marcus was free, he would hunt him down. He silently swore an oath to all the Gods that he would not rest until Decimus was destroyed.

The man stirred and struggled to his feet, looming over Marcus in the darkness.

‘I’ve enjoyed our little chat. But something tells me I would be rash indeed to spend the night close enough that you might feel tempted to harm me. Sleep well, young man, if you can. Don’t try to take advantage of me during the night. Thermon will be watching you.’

‘Thermon? Here?’

‘Oh, yes. I always keep him close. Though he has had to change his appearance, thanks to you.’

Marcus’s mind raced. Thermon had been in Decimus’s party of henchmen all along? He recalled their faces, but at first none reminded him of the man he had only seen clearly on a handful of occasions. Then it hit him. Of course, the bald man with the beard. Biding his time, waiting for the order and the opportunity to strike at Caesar.

Decimus shuffled away, leaving Marcus hunched into his corner, his mind filled with dark thoughts of hatred and revenge.

Early the next day, as the sun shone bleakly through a thin mist, one of the rebels came to wake the prisoners. Two men had died during the night. They had shed their armour and cloaks the previous day in an effort to escape and their tunics had not kept them warm enough. In the pale light of dawn they sat hunched up where they had died, their faces frozen into peaceful expressions of slumber.

The rebel kicked them to make sure they were not feigning death, then grunted dismissively before stirring the rest to their feet with further kicks and blows from a thick club in his fist. Marcus and the others rose stiffly, joints cold and painful as they stumbled from the sheep pen to stand waiting in the narrow lane outside. Around them, the rebels emerged from their shelters, stretching and grumbling. Some had already started to eat, chewing on strips of dried meat and the bread they had captured in the wagons. Marcus looked at them, his lips working hungrily. He had not eaten for a day and his belly growled in protest. But no food or drink was offered to the prisoners, and shortly afterwards the Romans were blindfolded as the column began the day’s march.