Simon Scarrow - Gladiator

‘Marcus, I don’t have much time. Listen to me. I don’t expect you to understand all this at once. You are the son of Spartacus. That means you are an enemy of slavery and that means you are an enemy of Rome. If they ever discovered your true identity, you would be in grave danger. Never tell another soul what I have told you. But there’s more to this than you know. The spirit of Spartacus survived his defeat. He lives on in the hearts of slaves across the Roman Empire. If ever there was another rebellion, there would be thousands who would flock to join the banner of his son. That day may never come. But if it does, then it is your destiny to strive to complete your father’s work. Do you understand?’

‘Destiny?’ Marcus felt his mind reeling. He shook his head. ‘No! My destiny is to win my freedom and save my mother from slavery. That’s all.’

‘For now, perhaps. But it does not change who you are and what you stand for. In time you will accept that.’ Brixus leaned back. ‘I have told others what I know. That is why I escaped, to pass the word on to other slaves who still remember Spartacus. Even now they are whispering that his son lives.’

Marcus glared at him. ‘Then you put my life at risk.’

‘No. All that is known is that you live and that you are a gladiator like your father before you.’

‘That is already too much knowledge,’ Marcus said bitterly. ‘If those who control Rome get to hear of this, then they will stop at nothing to find me.’

‘Then you had better do your best not to arouse suspicion,’ Brixus suggested. ‘Marcus, I know it is a dangerous secret, and I feel sorry that the burden is laid on such young shoulders, but you are your father’s son. If ever there comes a time for the slaves to rise up against their masters again, they will need a figurehead. They will need you.’ Brixus looked round again, shuffled over to the edge of the cart and lowered his legs to the ground. ‘I must leave. I have already seen a wanted sign with my description on it near the inn.’

‘Where will you go?’ Marcus did not want him to leave. Not when one question after another was building up inside.

‘I will remain at liberty for as long as I can. I will travel wherever there are slaves and tell them that the Great Revolt is not finished. Hope lives. Wherever you see a master beating a slave, look for me, Marcus, and I will be there. And so will the spirit of Spartacus, and that of his son.’

He leaned forward and grasped Marcus by the hands. ‘Look after yourself. You are as a son to me.’

He turned and hurried away, through the gateway of the yard and into the street. Marcus was tempted to run after him, but then he recalled his mother and he knew that he must remain in the cart. He must go to Rome and do all that he could to reverse the great wrong that had been done to his family…

He paused and smiled bitterly to himself. His family was a lie. Titus did not share his blood and was not his to avenge.

As he sat and waited for Brutus to bring him some scraps of food, Marcus felt a vague sense of purpose stirring inside him. He had never been a free Roman. Not really. It was slave blood that ran in his veins and always had. His bond was with the slaves, not the free. He had started this quest to right the wrong that had been done to him and his mother. Now there was a far greater injustice looming over him and soon he must decide what he would do about it. He could choose to follow the path Brixus had laid out for him, or he could create his own destiny. Either way, he must go to Rome. He reached over his shoulder, his fingertips brushing along the scar tissue of the brand, and he whispered softly to himself.

‘Father…’