Simon Scarrow: Son of Spartacus

‘You won’t lead it as such. That is my duty. As I said earlier, you will be the figurehead of our cause. That’s all.’

Marcus reflected a moment and shook his head. ‘I will not be used like that. I will not be the reason why men, women and children rush to join a futile cause. I will not have their blood on my hands.’

‘But I need you,’ Brixus insisted angrily, then paused to calm himself. ‘I mean we need you. Would you betray all those slaves who still believe in your father and what he fought for?’

‘I am not betraying them. I simply want to save them from a pointless death.’

‘It is not a pointless death, Marcus. While men are prepared to fight, and die, for a cause they believe in, that cause lives on and one day it may triumph. If men do nothing they are simply doomed to a pointless and painful life.’

‘But they are still living,’ Marcus countered. He felt the truth of Brixus’s words but could not accept the suffering and bloodshed it entailed. And he could not bear to be responsible for luring so many people to their deaths. He shook his head. ‘No. I cannot do it. In time, perhaps the Romans themselves will put an end to slavery.’

‘Pah! You live in the clouds, boy. Rome will never — never — renounce slavery. It is the foundation of all their power. It is slaves who farm their fields, toil in their mines, or shed their blood in the arena. Without us Rome is nothing, which is why this can only stop if we have the courage and endurance to see it through to the bitter end.’ His eyes burning with zeal, Brixus leaned towards Marcus and thrust his finger at him. ‘Even if we fail, if all of us are crushed and crucified, then our example will kindle the rebellious fire that burns in the hearts of all those who are not free. That is what makes men into heroes, Marcus. Your father was a hero. You have a duty to follow in his footsteps. Or will you betray him? Are you too much of a coward to honour his memory?’

Angrily, Marcus gritted his teeth as he replied. ‘I am no coward. I would face any danger, no matter how great, for something I believe in. I do not believe you can defeat Rome. Besides, I never knew my father. He was dead before I ever breathed in this world. I will not be the slave of a dead man’s legacy. It is my life, Brixus. Mine. I was raised on a small farm on a Greek island. The man who raised me, the man I loved as a father, was killed in front of my eyes. My mother and I were sold into slavery. That is the story of my life, and I will not rest until my mother is free. That is what I am prepared to fight for, and die for if I must. Only that.’

Brixus looked at him with an understanding expression. ‘Of course, Marcus. I can see that. But that is the boy in you speaking. You have had your childhood taken from you and you want it back. Few people in this camp have even had the chance to enjoy what you have known and lost. That is a monstrous injustice. Perhaps you are too young to grasp that. But you will. That is what it means to be a man. To understand there are more important things in the world than yourself, and your dreams.’

‘It is not a dream!’ Marcus snapped back, his eyes smarting with the effort of fighting back tears. He wished he could explain the pain that tore at his heart every time he thought of his mother. The terrible guilt that ate away at him because he failed to save her. ‘I will free my mother. She is all that is important to me.’

‘Marcus … We all have mothers. I lost mine when she was sold by my master. I could do nothing to stop it. Do you think I am any different from you? Was my loss any less than yours?’

Marcus’s throat felt too tight to speak. If he tried, he knew his voice would catch and he would choke on a wave of grief and tears. Fortunately, Brixus spoke again, with great sympathy.

‘Marcus, join us and you will be fighting for your mother, and every mother and child who has suffered as you have, and more. Is that so much to ask? That is the only question that matters now.’

He reached over and gently squeezed Marcus’s arm. ‘You are tired. It is best if you rest now that you have eaten and are warm. Stay here by the fire and sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning. I’m sure you will see the truth of my words then.’

Marcus looked at him. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘You will.’ Brixus’s expression hardened. ‘There are only two sides in this conflict, Marcus. Those who fight for liberty and those who don’t.’ He let his hand fall away, then rose to his feet and looked down. ‘For the sake of our friendship, I hope you choose the right side.’

Lying curled up on the animal skins beside the fireplace, Marcus could not sleep despite his exhaustion. He could not shake from his thoughts the last words that Brixus had spoken. There was no mistaking the threat. He must either agree to be the figurehead for the new rebellion, or he would become the enemy of Brixus. That would put Marcus’s life in danger, and consequently that of his mother. Yet if he agreed to do as Brixus demanded, he would be little more than a puppet to dangle in front of his supporters and lure them towards almost certain death.

Marcus was sure the new rebellion was doomed to fail. Even if Brixus did manage to inspire a mass uprising, the vast majority of fighters would be field hands or household slaves who stood little chance of survival against the Roman legions. It would be a bloodbath. Tens of thousands would die, and after the rebellion was crushed the Romans would rule their slaves with even greater cruelty and suspicion than they did now.

The time was not right for rebellion. Rome was too strong and the slaves were too weak. It would be wiser to wait for a better opportunity, Marcus reasoned. Those who opposed slavery needed to bide their time. But what if that time never comes, a voice wondered at the back of his mind. How long should slaves endure before they seize the chance to throw off their chains? Ten years? Twenty? A lifetime? The voice mocked him. In that case, it would be better not to even think of rebellion.

Marcus felt torn in two by the desire to fight the evil of slavery and the knowledge that Brixus’s struggle could only lead to defeat and death. In the end, he knew what he must do, even though it left a leaden sense of despair weighing down his heart.

The dull glow of the embers provided just enough illumination for him to see his way to the entrance of the hut. Easing the furs back, Marcus warily rose into a crouch and padded across to the leather curtain. He paused and listened, but there was no sound of movement outside. He took a breath and eased the flap aside to peer round the edge. The open space beyond seemed empty apart from a single sentry bending over a small fire, building it up with some fresh logs. The rest had gone out and the dull glows around the valley indicated that most of the other campfires had been allowed to die down to avoid any tell-tale smoke come the dawn. Overhead, the sky was mostly obscured by cloud and there were only a few clear patches sprinkled with stars. It was likely that more snow was on the way, Marcus realized. A fresh fall of snow would help to hide his tracks.

He watched the sentry squat down and hold his hands out to warm them over the flames flickering about the newly added logs. The man appeared settled for the moment so Marcus slipped out of the hut and, staying low, followed the wall until he was out of sight. Then he paused to remember the layout of the valley he had seen after his blindfold was removed. He retraced the direction from which Brixus and his men had joined the crowd, then saw a distinct dip in the wall of the valley against the lighter background of the night sky. That seemed as likely a spot as any to find the secret entrance.