Simon Scarrow: Son of Spartacus

‘You know this boy?’ Mandracus stepped in and took the sword from Marcus’s hand.

‘Know him?’ A smile of delight and triumph spread across Brixus’s face. ‘This is Marcus. The Marcus. The one I have often told you about.’

‘Him?’ Mandracus’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘This runt? This is the son of Sp-?’

Brixus rounded on him angrily. ‘Quiet, you fool! We’ll not speak of this in front of the others. Have the other prisoners taken to one of the huts and placed under guard. No one is to speak to them, is that clear?’

Mandracus nodded and turned to carry out his orders.

‘Marcus.’ Brixus stood in front of him and clasped his shoulders, speaking in an undertone so that his words would not be overheard. ‘I cannot tell you how much good it does my heart to see you again. Come, we must talk. You have arrived at the hour of our greatest need.’

Marcus was aware that the other prisoners were looking at him in astonishment. Then Brixus placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder and steered him towards the entrance of the leader’s hut. Behind them, the men of the newly arrived column slumped down on the ground by the fires and began to warm themselves. Marcus could see the weariness in their faces and already there came the sound of wailing as the first casualties were made known, shrill cries of grief that pierced the night sky.

Brixus swept the leather curtain aside and gestured to Marcus to enter. Despite its size and the icy temperature outside, the hut felt warm. A large fire was crackling in the centre, tended by a woman feeding split logs into the blaze. Marcus looked for Decimus and saw him sitting against the wall a short distance from the entrance. He glanced round nervously as Marcus and Brixus entered.

‘Who is that?’ Brixus demanded, following the direction of Marcus’s gaze. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘He’s one of the prisoners,’ Marcus explained. ‘The Roman who destroyed my family and sold my mother and me into slavery.’

Brixus thought a moment before he recalled the details of his last conversations with Marcus over a year ago. ‘Decimus?’

Marcus nodded.

‘The moneylender from Greece? Then what is he doing here?’

‘He is working for Crassus. He was responsible for an attempt on Caesar’s life last year.’

Brixus raised his eyebrows and shook his head in wonder. ‘What’s the matter with these stuck-up Roman nobles? Not satisfied with punishing us slaves, they turn on each other! They’re scum. Utter scum. No better than the meanest street dogs… What do you want me to do with him, Marcus? Shall I have him crucified? Like they crucified those who surrendered at the end of your father’s revolt? Or burned alive, perhaps? The people out there would like that.’

Marcus thought for a moment. There was blood on Decimus’s hands. Not just that of Titus, but countless others he had cruelly exploited and ruined on his path to riches. The offer was tempting.

Decimus had heard every word and now shuffled forward on his knees. ‘I made a deal with Mandracus. He promised to set me free if I paid a ransom. A million sestertii. It could be yours. All yours.’

Brixus regarded him with loathing and disgust before shaking his head. ‘Any deal you made with my subordinate is not binding with me, Roman. I know about you from Marcus. It is for him to decide your fate.’

Marcus looked up in surprise. ‘Me?’

‘Yours is the grievance. You decide.’

‘The boy?’ Decimus shook his head in disbelief. ‘You can’t let a boy decide whether I die or not.’

‘I can decide what I like. Well, Marcus?’

Marcus frowned. There was still something he could get out of this if he played his part well. He curled his lips into a sneer. ‘I would like to see him die, by my own hand. His death is long overdue.’

‘No!’ Decimus protested. ‘Marcus, wait. I’ll give you the million sestertii. Enough to set you up for life. You could buy your farm back. Or buy a bigger one. Have slaves of your own.’

Marcus stabbed his finger into Decimus’s chest and shouted. ‘If you want to live, tell me exactly where my mother is! Which estate did you send her to? Where in the Peloponnese? Speak now! Or I swear I will cut your heart out!’

Decimus flinched in terror at the boy’s violent expression and opened his mouth to reply. Then his eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

‘I will tell you nothing. If you want to see her again, then you must set me free. That is the only deal I will make with you. My life for hers.’

Brixus stepped over the moneylender and grasped him by the collar of his tunic. ‘Say the word, Marcus, and I’ll have Mandracus beat the truth out of him.’

‘He can try.’ Decimus smiled thinly. ‘But how will you know I am telling the truth? You need me alive, Marcus. I will tell you where she is, once I am away from this place, and safe. Only then.’

‘And he’s supposed to trust you?’

‘I give him my word.’

‘Hah? Your word?’ Brixus spat. ‘I’d sooner trust a snake. Marcus, kill him. You can find your mother on your own.’

Marcus glared at the moneylender, his heart welling up with despair and frustration. Decimus had the advantage and there was little he could do about it — unless there was some way to hold Decimus to his side of the bargain. He turned to Brixus. ‘There is another man among the prisoners who I would have you keep safe. A tall, thin man. Bald and with a beard. His name is Thermon.’

He turned back to Decimus. ‘If you fail to keep your word, I will give Thermon to Caesar. He would have some interesting stories to tell about your business interests, as you call them.’

Decimus sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘You learn quickly, my boy. In time you might well be as successful as I am, and a dangerous rival. We have a deal then, and a means to enforce it.’

The leather curtain swished aside as Mandracus ducked into the hut. He saw the others and gestured to Decimus guiltily. ‘I was going to tell you about him as soon as I could.’

‘Never mind,’ Brixus replied. ‘I know all about him. Have your men take him away. He is to be kept apart from the others. Guard him closely. He must not escape. And if he tries to, then I want him taken alive.’

‘Yes, Brixus. As you wish. Come on, you!’ Mandracus hauled Decimus to his feet and pushed him out of the hut.

Brixus turned to Marcus and let out a low whistle.

‘A strange day indeed.’ Then his expression fell and he rested a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘I have bad news for you. There was a boy captured by Mandracus when he ambushed Caesar’s party earlier this month.’

Marcus felt a surge of hope in his breast. ‘Lupus!’

‘Yes, Lupus.’

‘Where is he? You said bad news?’ Marcus felt a stab of anxiety. ‘I’ve not seen him here. Send for him.’

‘I can’t.’ Brixus pursed his lips. ‘He was with me when I marched against Caesar. The last I saw of him was in the battle — just before we charged the Roman line.’

Marcus swallowed. ‘Captured?’

‘I don’t know, Marcus.’

‘Or killed?’

Brixus sighed. ‘A slave taken under arms faces a death sentence. It would be better if he were dead. Better than crucifixion.’

‘Crucifixion?’ Marcus’s guts turned to ice. ‘No … Not Lupus. Caesar wouldn’t let that happen. Lupus is his scribe. Or was.’

‘None of that will matter if he has been captured with a sword in his hand.’

Marcus stood silent, remembering his friend. Then he looked at Brixus with a guarded expression. ‘I never took Lupus for the fighting kind. I’m surprised he was prepared to go into battle.’

‘There are many in our camp who have never fought before they joined us. But they soon discover that freedom is a cause worth fighting for, or dying for if need be. That is what your father taught us. Many remember the lesson and honour his legacy.’ He placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘When word spreads that a new Spartacus has risen to lead the rebellion, then slaves the length of Italia will flock to join his standard. This time nothing will stand between us and freedom. We will have our victory over Rome.’