Gladiator: Vengeance (14 page)

The governor lowered his cup and leaned forward. ‘Well?’

‘No sign of any letter, sir. Nor a leather case.’

Marcus felt his hopes sink like a stone. ‘It was there. You must have found it!’

The optio glanced over his shoulder and scowled. ‘There was nothing there. You lied.’

Marcus’s jaw sagged and he turned to Festus. ‘It was there. I know it. Tell him.’

Festus shook his head. ‘It’s too late, Marcus. We’ve been trapped. All very neat. I imagine this is all your doing, Euraeus.’

The Greek feigned surprise and touched a hand to his chest. ‘Me? You accuse me?’

‘How much did Decimus reward you for your services, I wonder?’

Servillus slapped his hand down on the table. ‘Enough of your nonsense! This little drama of yours is over. There is no letter. You are not here on Caesar’s business and you clearly think me a fool who can be sold such a pack of lies. Well, I tell you, I am no fool and I can see the truth clearly enough. The three of you are the men who robbed Pindarus, and killed him when he caught you in the act. You fled Stratos and came here thinking to trick me into providing you with food and a roof over your heads while you hid from justice. Now justice has
found you out, and you will pay the price for your crimes.’ He paused and looked at each of them in turn before he smiled cruelly.

Marcus could not help trembling as he awaited his fate.

‘There is only one fit punishment for your crimes. That, three days from now, on the second day of the spectacle you three shall be taken from your cell to the arena and there tied to stakes before wild animals are released to tear you apart, for the sake of justice, and the pleasure of the mob.’

‘Condemned to the beasts …’ Lupus moaned quietly to himself as he sat squeezed into the corner of the cell. ‘Sweet Gods, spare us … Spare us.’

The sun had risen shortly before and a thin shaft of light had penetrated the gloom, illuminating the grim scene once again for those in the cold, stinking confines of the small space. It had been a miserable night for the three prisoners once they had been roughly shoved back through the narrow entrance and the door to the cell thudded behind them. The iron bolt had rasped home and the footsteps of the soldiers and the jailer had receded, then there was a brief silence before Festus slumped on to the straw with a dry rustle. Marcus stood by the door for a moment in the darkness, scarcely able to believe the fate that lay in store for them. He heard Lupus
trying to stifle his sobs in the far corner and felt some pity for his friend.

Marcus had already faced death in the arena. He had also learned that it did no good to allow himself to be paralysed by fear. Fear changed nothing. All a person could do was choose whether to surrender to that fear, or deal with it and continue the struggle. That was fine as far as it was possible to fight, Marcus reminded himself, but they would be tied to stakes while being torn apart by wild animals. They would be quite helpless and could only pray that it was all over quickly.

He turned away from the door and felt his way along the wall to the pile of straw at the rear of the cell, trying not to imagine the slavering jaws of the beasts as they tore into his flesh. As he felt the straw give under his feet Marcus lowered himself into it and curled into a ball to try and sleep. There was no sound apart from the easy breathing of Festus and the faint choked gasps of Lupus. No one felt like speaking, each in his own private world of despair. For Marcus, whose failure would also condemn his mother to the hell of permanent slavery, the sense of guilt was almost as hard to bear as his fear of the horrific death awaiting him.

By the morning, some of the fear and misery had faded from his mind and he looked up as a wooden tray scraped through the gap at the bottom of the door.

‘Here’s your rations,’ the jailer growled from outside. ‘Eat ’em up. Don’t want to disappoint the beasts with some half-starved streaks of nothing!’

He laughed harshly to himself as he shuffled away along the passage.

Festus crossed the room to pick up the tray and bring it back to the two boys sitting on the straw. There was a loaf of dried bread, some hard cheese and a cooked bone with some meat still attached to it, besides a jug of water. He broke the bread and cheese into roughly equal portions and pressed them into the hands of the boys. Marcus took his readily and made himself chew on the crust of his bread. Lupus simply stared down at the food in his lap until Festus leaned over and put his hand on the youth’s shoulder.

‘You have to eat.’

‘Why? What’s the point?’

‘You have to keep your strength up. We might find a way out of this.’

Lupus laughed nervously. ‘How? How can we get out? We’re finished, Festus. It’s over. We’re going to die.’

Festus clenched his fingers into the boy’s shoulders and
gritted his teeth as he spoke with cold determination. ‘We ain’t dead until we’re dead. Anything can happen between now and the day they plan to take us into the arena. If anything does happen then you need to be in a fit state to respond to events. Understand? Now eat your food.’

Lupus pursed his lips, then reluctantly tore a corner from his portion of bread and began to chew.

‘That’s better.’ Festus nodded. ‘Don’t give up hope.’

They ate in silence and since neither of the boys was keen on the bone Festus shrugged and took it for himself, working his teeth hard to tear off what meat there was on the joint. Afterwards he made Lupus and Marcus get up and carry out a set of exercises, pushing the scribe hard in order to keep his mind occupied and tire his body out. As the sun reached its zenith Festus ended the session and the boys, sweating and breathing hard, collapsed on to the straw. Lupus had not slept the previous night and now, finally, exhaustion took hold of him and he was soon fast asleep.

‘He’s not coping with this,’ Festus said quietly.

Marcus stretched his shoulders. ‘Are you surprised? You think I’m coping?’

Festus turned to look at him searchingly. ‘You’re doing well enough, Marcus. You seem calm, under the circumstances.’

‘You think?’ Marcus lowered his head into his hands and his voice caught as he spoke in a low tone. ‘I’ve failed. My mother will spend the rest of her days suffering. Starved, beaten and never knowing what happened to me.’ He swallowed hard, feeling the urge to surrender to his grief, to slip back into his childhood and be looked after. He craved a return to that life. But it was gone. Even if, by some miracle, he escaped from the death sentence, his experiences had changed him. Marcus had discovered too much about the darkness of this world to ever be free of that knowledge. It was as if a part of him had already died and he grieved for that small boy he had once been. ‘I’ve failed …’

Festus shook his head. ‘Marcus, it’s not as simple as that. If you had failed then you would have been defeated long before now. You would never have survived the gladiator school and that Celt, Ferax. Nor any of the other perils that you have faced, and triumphed over. No, you have held true to your course and your mother would be proud of you. Your father too, if he were alive.’ Festus smiled fondly. ‘If I’d had a son like you I would have been just as proud.’

‘What good is that to me now? It’s over, Festus.’

‘Not until you draw your last breath. That’s how it is for gladiators, of all people. And you, Marcus, are a gladiator
through and through. Perhaps the finest I have ever known. If – when – you grow into a man, then you will become a legend. I am certain of it.’

Marcus turned to look at him, a faint spark of hope and determination rekindling in his heart. He forced himself to smile at his companion, and friend. ‘Thank you.’

‘Be strong, Marcus. Not just for yourself, but for Lupus too, and me.’

Marcus drew a deep, calming breath and nodded. ‘I will.’

The jailer returned for the tray and water jug late at dusk. He was not alone. Two soldiers came with him and stood, hands resting on the handles of their swords, as the door opened and the jailer pointed to Marcus.

‘You, pick up the tray and bring it here.’

Marcus did as he was told then crossed the cell and held the tray out. The jailer took it then stepped back into the passage. ‘Outside.’

Marcus hesitated and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘Do as you’re told and don’t cheek me. Not unless you want a hiding.’

‘Wait!’ Festus called out, rising to his feet. ‘What do you want with him?’

‘None of your business!’ the jailer snapped as he reached for Marcus’s shoulder and grabbed him firmly before wrenching him through the door. At once he slammed the door shut and slid the bolt back just before Festus reached the grille and clasped his fingers round the iron bars.

‘What’s going on?’

The jailer snatched the small club from his belt and held it up. ‘Back off! Or I’ll break your fingers.’

Festus released his grip and retreated. The two soldiers took Marcus firmly by the arms and led him down the passage towards the steps.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he demanded.

‘You’ll see,’ one of the soldiers replied. ‘Someone wants a word with you.’

They climbed the steps into the yard behind the palace and steered Marcus towards a stable where a figure stood in the shadowed interior. In the light from a small torch burning in a bracket Marcus recognized the man waiting for them.

‘Decimus.’

It was months since he had last seen the man, in the secret valley of the Apennines where they’d been held by the slave rebels led by Brixus. Decimus had been dishevelled and afraid then. Now his features were comfortably filled out, and he
wore a neatly styled wig with oiled ringlets. The very picture of a rich and powerful man, his tunic was cut from expensive cloth and his boots were fine, soft calf’s leather. He smiled with satisfaction as Marcus stood before him, grasped on each side by the two soldiers.

‘I wondered if we would meet again, son of Titus.’

Now it seemed there was nothing to lose, Marcus was tempted to tell Decimus the truth about his father. But he realized that could worsen the situation for his mother, if she still lived. And there would be wider repercussions if it became known that Spartacus had fathered a son. It would send a shiver through the hearts of Roman slave owners, who would treat their slaves even more harshly.

‘It was always my intention to find you,’ Marcus answered coolly. ‘And to kill you once I had freed my mother.’

‘Well now, that’s not going to happen,’ Decimus chuckled. ‘In two days you will be dead. You and your friends. Torn to pieces. I’ll be there to enjoy the moment when my revenge against your father is complete. It’s been a long road since that day when he gave me this.’ Decimus patted his leg, wounded by Titus, which had led to Decimus being discharged from the legion where they had both served. ‘In a way, I should be grateful to your father. If I had stayed in the army I might have been
dead by now. As it was, it opened up a new life for me. I made my fortune and found a way into the ranks of the most powerful men in Rome. Be that as it may, I still wanted revenge. And now I have it. Titus is dead, you are about to join him, and your mother will be left to eke out what is left of her life.’

‘Then she’s alive,’ said Marcus, a flush of relief surging through his heart.

‘Of course. I wouldn’t put an end to her suffering too soon. Right now, she languishes in chains on my estate in Laconia. I saw her when I was there a month ago.’ He pretended to look concerned. ‘She’s not doing well, alas. Thin, dirty, a mere shadow of the person you once knew. You would be hard pressed to recognize her. A pity, she was a fine-looking woman once, and I dare say, a loving mother, eh?’

Marcus tried to take a step towards Decimus as a savage growl rumbled in his throat, but the soldiers tightened their grip. Decimus regarded him with an amused expression and then continued. ‘I have to say, I am impressed by your persistence, young man. You’ve been something of a thorn in my side for a while now. Interfering with my schemes in Rome then coming here to hunt me down. I had no idea you were so close. Luckily, more than a few men on the governor’s staff are in my pay. It was simple enough to arrange your arrest once I
connected you to the murder in Stratos. That was your work, I assume?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘We did not kill Pindarus. We are not murderers, like you.’

‘Murderer?’ Decimus made a hurt expression. ‘I am a simple businessman, Marcus. I make money, lots of money. If that means removing someone who stands in my way, then that’s too bad. It’s not personal, you understand. Just sound business practice. But it’s different for you and your family. Revenge is a very personal thing indeed. And I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me to see you suffer.’

‘You won’t get away with this. Caesar knows we are here. If he finds out what you have done then you’re finished.’

‘But he won’t find out. As far as he will know you travelled to Greece and disappeared. And what the beasts leave will be thrown into a mass grave. Your belongings will be disposed of, starting with this.’

Decimus reached into his tunic and pulled out a scrolled document. He unrolled it so Marcus could see the signature and seal of Caesar. ‘My friend, Euraeus, took the precaution of removing this from your room after you were arrested. Now it’s time to destroy the evidence that gives your story any credibility.’

Decimus rolled the document up and moved towards the
torch. As he held the scroll to the flames Marcus could not help gasping. ‘No …’

The end of the letter caught fire and Decimus held it in front of Marcus as the yellow tongues of flame lapped up the side of the letter, scorching it. The papyrus crackled briefly and turned black then started to crumble. Decimus released it just as the flames came near the tips of his fingers and it dropped to the floor where it burned out.

Marcus lifted his eyes from the small pile of blackened ashes and met Decimus’s mocking smile. Something snapped inside him and released a torrent of pure rage. He let out a savage snarl and at the same time lifted his right boot and slammed it down on the toes at the end of the sandal of the man next to him. The soldier let out a gasp of pain and momentarily slackened his grip. Marcus wrenched his arm free and swung his fist round and struck the other man in the groin as hard as he could. The soldier doubled over with a groan and Marcus leapt at Decimus, fingers curved like claws. The man had no time to react, except to open his mouth to let out a cry, but it never came as Marcus piled into him, clamping his hands round Decimus’s throat and squeezing with all his might. Decimus staggered back and caught his heel on the edge of a flagstone and fell on to his back. Marcus went with him, teeth bared, as
he tried to throttle the life out of the man who had tormented him the last two years of his life.

Decimus recovered quickly from his shock and grabbed the boy’s wrists, straining to pull them away from his throat as he gasped. ‘For the Gods’ sake, get this fiend off me!’

The first soldier limped over and bunched his hand into a fist. He raised it high, but Marcus was oblivious to the danger. His mad, glaring eyes were fixed rigidly on the face of the man beneath him. Then he felt a mighty blow to his temple and everything went white. But he still clung to his enemy. He never felt the second blow, only another blinding flash of light and then darkness and oblivion.