Simon Scarrow: Gladiator

Now, after the visit of Decimus’s men, Marcus was determined to complete Cerberus’s training with a more dangerous set of skills. When he explained his ideas to Aristides, the goatherd puffed his cheeks and scratched his head.

‘I’m not so sure that is a wise idea, Marcus. At the moment the dog has a good nature. He loves people. If I do as you ask and we train him to attack, then you may lose that side of him. He will become a very different animal indeed.’

Marcus had already made his mind up. If, or more likely when, Decimus sent more men to the farm, then his father would need all the help he could get. He looked steadily into Aristides’ eyes and nodded. ‘We must do it.’

Aristides sighed, looked down at the dog and sadly caressed its ear. ‘Very well, then. We’ll start today.’

While they trained the dog, Titus told everyone to keep an eye open for any men approaching the farm. He organized a rota for himself and Aristides to keep watch during the nights. He took the first and last turns. Each night, as Marcus made his way to his bed, he saw his father seated on a stool just inside the courtyard gate, his drawn sword resting across his thighs and a large copper dish propped up beside him to be beaten if Titus had to sound the alarm. Marcus worried about it constantly, but no one came in the days that followed, and then the days stretched into a month and still Decimus sent no men, or even any message.

Life on the farm continued with its usual routines, and after Marcus had carried out his daily duties he devoted his time to training Cerberus. Just as Aristides had warned him, the dog became tense, seemingly wary of everyone except Marcus and the goatherd.

One night, as he was dropping off to sleep – the pale yellow glow of an oil lamp flickering on the simple chest that was the only furniture in his room – his mother came and sat on his bed.

‘I haven’t seen much of Cerberus lately,’ she said, stroking his hair. ‘He’s never around the house. There was a time when I had to watch him carefully to make sure the scamp didn’t sneak anything from the kitchen.’

‘I’m keeping him in the storeroom again.’

‘Why? He’s no trouble to have in the house.’

‘It’s to do with his training,’ Marcus explained. ‘Aristides said it would be best if he was kept away from other people for a while.’

His mother raised her eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Well, the old man must be right. He knows his animals well enough.’

Marcus nodded, then smiled at his mother. She stared back at him, and her hand froze on his head. A momentary look of pain crossed her face and Marcus felt a stab of alarm. ‘Mother, what is it?’

She withdrew her hand quickly. ‘Nothing. Really. Just that you reminded me of your father for a moment. That’s all.’ She patted his cheek and leaned forward to kiss him. She got up to leave, but before she could, Marcus put a hand on her arm. ‘Will we be all right?’ he asked softly.

‘Pardon?’

‘Will the men come back?’

She was silent a moment before she nodded. ‘Don’t worry. Titus will protect us. He always has.’

Marcus was comforted by that and for a moment his mind wandered. Then he asked, ‘Was father a good soldier?’

‘Oh yes. One of the very best.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I knew that as soon as I saw him.’

‘When did you meet him?’

Her eyes opened again and she paused a moment before responding. ‘I met Titus soon after the revolt was put down.’

‘The slave revolt? The one that was led by the gladiator?’

‘Yes. Spartacus.’

‘Father told me about that once. He said that Spartacus and his rebels were the greatest threat that Rome ever faced. He said they were the toughest and bravest men he had ever fought. He was there at the final battle with the slaves.’ Marcus recalled the story that his father had told him. ‘He said that it was the fiercest battle he had ever been in. The slaves did not have much armour, and hardly any weapons, but they fought to the end. Only a handful surrendered.’

‘Yes…’

‘If father could defeat Spartacus and the slaves, then he must be able to beat Decimus’s men.’

‘That was over ten years ago,’ she said. ‘Titus is an older man now. He is not a centurion any longer.’

‘But he will protect us, won’t he?’

She smiled faintly and stroked his cheek. ‘Yes. Of course. Now get to sleep, my darling boy.’

‘Yes, mother,’ he replied sleepily, and rolled on to his side, nestling his head down into the bolster. She continued stroking his hair for a while, until his eyes closed and his breathing became even. Then she rose up and crossed quietly to the door. She stood there a while and Marcus drowsily opened his eyes a fraction to look at her, wondering at her strange expression when he’d spoken of Spartacus. By the wan glow of the lamp he could see that her eyes were glistening, and a tear began to roll down her cheek. She sniffed and abruptly cuffed the tear away before turning to the oil lamp and puffing out the flame. The room was plunged into darkness, as Marcus heard her feet padding softly away down the corridor.

He lay there, restless. Why had his mother been crying? Was she scared, like him? He had always thought of his father as a tough, strong man. He was never ill, and worked his farm in the cold wind and rain of winter and the blazing heat of summer without a word of complaint or any sign of discomfort. Marcus knew he was older than Marcus’s mother. Much older. His face was battered and creased and his thinning hair was streaked with grey. By contrast, she was slender, dark-haired and quite beautiful, Marcus thought. How had she come to marry him? The more he thought about it, the more questions formed in his head. It was funny, he reflected, just how little he knew about his parents. They had always been there, always together, and he had taken them for granted. Yet now he thought about it, they seemed an unlikely couple. He felt an itch on his back, on his right shoulder blade, and he reached round to scratch. His fingertips traced their way over the strangely shaped scar tissue that had been there as long as he could remember. He lightly dug his nails in and rubbed, until the itch had gone.

He rolled on to his back and stared into the darkness of the rafters above. He resolved that from now on he would put every spare hour into training Cerberus. If those men came back, from what his mother had said, there was no guarantee that his father could beat them again. Marcus would have to stand by his side. He was big enough to handle a meat cleaver, or one of his father’s light hunting javelins. And he would have Cerberus with him. He half-smiled at the thought, reassured by the idea that Cerberus would protect them. Then he drifted off into a troubled sleep, haunted by vague images of dark figures stealing through the night towards the farm.

The next morning was hot, although the sky was hazy enough to hide the mountains on the mainland across the narrow strip of sea from Leucas. The air was still and, apart from the light rhythmic sawing sound of the cicadas, all was quiet. Hundreds of crows were swooping from one patch of trees to the next, like swirling scraps of black material.

‘There’ll be rain,’ Aristides remarked, squinting up into the sky. ‘I can feel it.’

Marcus nodded. He had been helping Aristides select ten of the younger goats to be sold in the market in Nydri. It had not been easy as the animals were skittish for some reason and the two of them had to move very carefully in order not to alarm the kids. Once a noose had been dropped over their necks it had been easy enough to lead them to join the others in the stock pen a short distance from the farm. They had just caught the last one and now they were resting in the shade of an olive grove.