Gladiator: Vengeance (4 page)

‘Is that him?’

Lupus raised his hand and pointed across the street as a figure emerged from the gate. Through the opening Marcus could just make out the large yard beyond and the bars of some of the holding cells, before the guard closed the gate and slid the bolt across. Marcus switched his gaze to the fat man who had come out of the small prison where the slaves were held before auctions. His mind went back to the time when he had been in a cart that had passed through those same gates. He and his mother had been huddled in the bottom of a cage, sitting on soiled straw. The auctioneer had come out to inspect them. He was the kind of man that made an impression for all the wrong reasons. Overweight, sweaty and cruel.

‘Yes, that’s him all right.’

Festus nodded. ‘Then we need to prepare. Lupus, you follow him and find out where he lives. Then come and find us back at the inn. Understand?’

Lupus frowned. ‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘I know that. But you don’t have anything to prove to me. I don’t want any heroics.’ He tapped the boy on the chest. ‘Just play safe.’

‘I know what I have to do.’

‘Good.’ Festus glanced up and saw that the auctioneer had turned the corner and was struggling to get round a woman carrying two large baskets from a yoke across her shoulders. ‘Then get after him, before you lose sight of the man.’

Lupus dashed across the street, dodging a pile of donkey manure that had fallen from the back of a cart, and closed in on his quarry. Marcus watched him with a slight shake of the head.

‘He’s not used to this kind of work. I hope he doesn’t give himself away. You should have let me do it.’

‘Too much of a risk,’ Festus replied. ‘You recognized him quickly enough. Who is to say he couldn’t do the same?’

‘But there are slaves passing through his cells all the time. Hundreds, thousands maybe. I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me.’

Festus pursed his lips. ‘Maybe, but why take the risk? Lupus
will do all right. He’s smart, even if he’s not much use in a fight. And that we need to remedy as soon as possible.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s time we taught our young friend that the sword is mightier than the pen.’ Festus smiled. ‘While we’re tracking down your mother, and Decimus, we’ll teach Lupus how to use a few weapons, and try to get him in shape. I’ve a feeling we’ll need all the muscle we can get before this is over.’

Marcus raised his hands in despair. ‘But … Lupus? Are you serious? Put a blade in his hands and he’s likely to be more of a danger to us than anyone else.’

Festus turned to face him, hands on hips. ‘You think Lupus was any less promising than you were before you started training at the gladiator school?’

Marcus thought for a moment and nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I was raised on a farm and I worked it alongside Titus and the few slaves we had. Lupus has always been a scribe. I doubt he would have survived what I had to go through even before I reached the school.’

Festus sucked his cheek and nodded. ‘Fair point. Still, we’ll make the best of him that we can in the time. Better to have someone who knows how to use a sword at our side rather than not. I’m sure he can pick the basics up.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Marcus replied doubtfully.

‘Let’s pray we don’t get ourselves into a situation where Lupus needs to draw a blade.’

‘How likely is that?’

Festus stared at him a moment, then gestured for Marcus to follow as he turned and headed back down the street in the direction of the inn where they had taken a room.

The hours passed but there was no sign of Lupus. Marcus had been fretting as the afternoon had drawn on. He sat on the worn bedroll with his back to the cracked plaster of the wall and rested his chin on his knees as he tried not to fear what might have become of his friend. Opposite him Festus lay asleep, snoring gently. Marcus wondered how he could rest so easily. In the end he could bear it no longer and, rising quietly, left the small room. He closed the latch behind him and stepped into the small courtyard behind the inn. In the past the rooms the landlord rented out must have been used for stores, or even animal pens, Marcus thought. He could still detect the residual acrid smell of goats. The doors to some of the other rooms were open to allow what breeze there was to pass through from the opening high on the wall inside. The only other occupants of the courtyard were six men sitting
in a shaded corner playing dice as they shared a large jar of wine.

Marcus wandered out of the courtyard into the street and looked both ways for any sign of Lupus, but there was little movement. It was a quiet neighbourhood on the fringe of Stratos, which was why Festus had picked it so they could avoid drawing attention to themselves. Most of the customers at the inn were passing through Stratos, heading north or south along the road that passed through the town. The kind of people among whom three travellers would be easily lost. He settled against the wall and waited for his friend to return. More hours passed and the shadows lengthened across the street. The men playing dice eventually finished the game and headed into the inn for supper, and Marcus was left with the distant sounds of urban life: the occasional cry of an infant, a snatch of conversation and the braying of a donkey.

At length, his anxiety got the better of him and he decided to wake Festus and tell him they should go and look for Lupus. As he slipped the latch and entered the room Marcus saw that his companion was already awake, sitting on his bedroll as he worked a sharpening stone up and down the edge of his sword. He paused and looked up at Marcus.

‘He’s not come back,’ said Marcus. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Do? Nothing.’

Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘Nothing? What if something has happened to him?’

‘If that’s the case, then what could we do about it?’

‘Go and look for Lupus. What else?’

‘I see, we go and look for him in the dark, in the streets of a town we don’t know.’ Festus continued sharpening his sword as he tutted. ‘What good will that do? Be patient, Marcus. We just have to wait for him to return. Sit down and rest.’

Despite his concerns Marcus knew Festus was right. He forced himself to return to his bedroll and lie down. But he could not sleep. Instead he lay with his eyes open, staring at the rafters of the room. Every so often there was a soft scuttling noise as a rat scurried across one of the beams, the only sound to interrupt the rhythmic scrape of the stone grating along the edge of Festus’s sword. Outside dusk closed in around Stratos and then night fell over the town. Unable to see his blade, Festus finally set it aside and there was silence for a moment before he spoke.

‘Marcus.’

‘Yes?’

‘If we find Decimus, what are your plans?’

Marcus took a deep breath. ‘I will kill him.’

‘What if he has Thermon with him? And others? He is sure to be guarded.’

Marcus remembered the cold-blooded killer that Decimus used for his most dangerous tasks. It was Thermon and his men who had killed Titus and kidnapped Marcus and his mother.

‘Makes no difference,’ Marcus responded. ‘One way or another, I’ll find a way to get close enough to stick a blade in Decimus’s heart. He’ll see me and know that I have had my revenge.’

‘And then what?’ asked Festus. ‘His guards will cut you down. You’ll be killed.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘No? Maybe not. But your mother will. She’ll be left alone in the world. Grieving for you, and your father.’

She had been grieving for Marcus’s real father for many years already, Marcus reflected. She had never forgotten Spartacus, and once Marcus had discovered the truth about his past, those moments in his childhood when he had seen her look at him and quietly weep suddenly made sense. With a stab of guilt he realized that if he acted as recklessly as he wanted, then he would only add to her misery. Marcus sighed in frustration.

‘Listen to me, Marcus.’ Festus spoke softly in the darkness.
Only his outline was dimly visible against the drab gloom of the plastered wall. ‘Sometimes in this life, we must be prepared to take only those opportunities that are genuinely offered to us. We have to deny ourselves the goals we desire, however strong the urge. I should have tried to teach you that when I was training you for Caesar. But he only wanted you to be good with weapons.’

‘It’s not surprising. That’s all I was to Caesar, a weapon. Little more than a tool for him to use.’

‘That’s true, I suppose,’ Festus conceded. ‘But he did admire you. There was something he saw in you that set you apart from others. That’s what he told me. Something special …’

Not for the first time Marcus felt a tingle of icy fear trace its way down his spine. Nothing escaped the attention of his former master. Although he might not know the truth about his real father, Caesar had his suspicions that there was more to his past than Marcus had revealed to him.

‘You are free now, Marcus,’ Festus continued. ‘Free to choose what you will do with your life. You do not have to be a slave to the desire for revenge. There is only death awaiting you if you choose to pursue Decimus. That would be a waste. Worse, a tragedy. I urge you to think again. Whatever Decimus has done to you and your family, your first duty is to rescue
your mother. Then, if you still wish to hunt him down, I give you my word that I will do all in my power to help you.’

Marcus propped himself up on his elbow and stared at the outline of the man opposite him. ‘You would do that for me? Why?’

There was a brief silence before Festus replied. ‘We are comrades in arms. Caesar ordered me to help you. My mission will only be complete when you are satisfied it is all over. Only then. I will stand by you, Marcus. Come what may. To the very end.’

Before Marcus could try to respond, he heard the sound of footsteps running across the courtyard. A moment later the door opened and Lupus stood outlined in the door frame.

‘I’ve found the auctioneer’s home!’

Lupus’s eyes were gleaming with excitement in the dim glow of the oil lamp that Festus lit on his return.

‘I’m sorry it took so long, but Pindarus spent most of the afternoon at the bathhouse.’

‘Pindarus?’ Marcus interrupted.

‘That’s his name. I overheard one of his friends call him that. After he left the slave pens he went to the baths. I followed him inside. He met with some men and they talked business most of the time. I was close enough to overhear.’

‘He didn’t seem suspicious?’

‘No, Marcus. I’m sure of it. He was too busy talking to notice me. I just kept to myself and looked down at the floor.’

‘It was an unnecessary risk,’ said Festus. ‘I told you to follow him. That’s all.’

‘And that’s what I did. But when he went into the bathhouse I was afraid I might lose track of him. I thought it would be best to keep close enough to see him. That’s how I was able to overhear what he and his friends were talking about.’ Lupus leaned towards Festus. ‘I heard him mention Decimus’s name!’

‘What?’ Festus started. ‘Are you certain?’

Lupus nodded. ‘As far as I could make out it seems that Decimus is sending a man to the auction in three days’ time to buy some slaves for his estate.’

Marcus and Festus exchanged a look of surprise before Marcus beamed with delight. ‘The Gods favour us! Finally. We just have to wait for the man and then follow him when he leaves Stratos with the slaves that he’s bought. He’ll lead us straight to the place where my mother is being held.’

Festus thought a moment and frowned. ‘It sounds too good to be true. But perhaps you’re right. This is the work of providence. Or it seems like it. But what if there’s more than one estate? Decimus is a rich man. He’s made a fortune since he went into business with Crassus. A man like Decimus may have more than one such property. We have to be certain we find the right one before we go charging in.’

Marcus felt his surge of hope begin to subside.

‘What if we follow Decimus’s man, then ambush him and force him to tell us if he knows where Marcus’s mother is?’ Lupus suggested.

‘He won’t be alone,’ Festus mused. ‘Decimus’s agent is bound to have some men with him to guard the slaves he buys. It’s too dangerous to take them on. It would be safer if we followed him back to the Peloponnese. Then we can spy on the estate and make enquiries among the local people to see if they know anything about your mother.’

‘What if we don’t find anything?’

‘Then we find out if Decimus owns any other properties and scout those out as well.’

‘It could take some time,’ said Lupus.

There was a brief silence before Marcus spoke again. ‘There’s something else to consider. If Pindarus is a good businessman, then he should keep detailed records of every sale that goes through his auction house. While my mother and I were never officially sold, there might be some record of our being there, and where we were being sent on to before I escaped. What do you think, Festus?’

The bodyguard thought for a moment. ‘It’s risky, but worth a try. The question is, where would he keep such records? It’s most likely he keeps everything at his business, in an office.
That’s where we should look first. The trouble is the place is locked and kept under guard.’

‘What if he keeps them in his home?’ asked Marcus. ‘If the slave pens are kept under guard then it might be better to search his house first.’

Festus considered the idea and nodded. ‘Assuming we can get inside.’ He turned to Lupus. ‘What is his house like? How many doors off the streets are there?’

‘Three,’ Lupus answered. ‘I checked. One at the front and a smaller one down a side alley, and then there’s a yard at the back, where the slaves can come and go.’

‘How many slaves did you count?’

Lupus thought a moment. ‘Three in the yard.’

Festus stroked his jaw. ‘It’s likely that’s where they will sleep. Pindarus and his family will be in the main house. If we wait until the middle of the night we might get over the wall and find his study, then see if any records are kept there. You and I will do the job, Marcus. Lupus will stay outside in the street to keep watch.’

‘What for?’ Lupus demanded. ‘Why can’t I come with you?’

‘Because two will make less noise than three,’ Festus said firmly. ‘No arguments. Now I suggest we all get some rest. We’ll need our wits about us later on.’

A waxing moon hung in a clear, starlit sky and cast a pale light over the slumbering town of Stratos. Three barefoot figures hugged the shadow of a wall as they crept along the street towards the house of Pindarus. Lupus was leading the way and he paused to point across the road at an imposing door set in a high wall. On either side were the locked shutters of shops rented out by the auctioneer.

‘That’s the one,’ Lupus whispered. ‘The house has two alleys running down each side.’

Marcus looked at the other houses and noted that the area was similar to the wealthier neighbourhoods of Rome where narrow passages divided many of the larger houses from each other. These would provide good cover for the three of them as they went about their mission.

Festus looked each way along the street but nothing moved, except for the dark shape of a cat boldly making its way down the middle of the road as if it owned the town. He gestured for the two boys to follow and they padded across the street, then ducked into the alley at the side of the house of Pindarus. The walls rose up one on each flank, two storeys high, but ahead Marcus could see they dropped down where the garden began. Festus stopped when he came to the lowest point in the wall and turned to the boys.

‘I’ll need a leg-up. Both of you, make a step.’

Marcus and Lupus intertwined their fingers and offered their hands up to Festus. He used Marcus first, trusting the tougher of the two to bear his weight most readily. Resting his hand on Marcus’s back, he pushed himself up and quickly found Lupus’s hand. Marcus grunted with the effort of bearing the man’s weight but held him up.

‘All right, lads,’ Festus whispered. ‘Lift me, nice and steady.’

Straining his muscles, Marcus braced his back against the wall for support. Beside him he could hear Lupus groaning lightly with the effort. Festus was right about him, Marcus reflected briefly. Lupus needed toughening up.

‘I’m going to use your shoulders,’ said Festus. ‘Ready, Marcus?’

‘Ready.’

He felt Festus’s foot lighten as the bodyguard drew himself up to the tiles on top of the wall. Festus scrabbled for Marcus’s shoulder and then thrust himself up. The sound of his heavy breathing and scuffling as he struggled astride the wall sounded deafening in the confined space of the alley and Marcus glanced anxiously in both directions, but there was no sign they had attracted any attention.

‘Your turn, Marcus.’

He saw Festus reaching a hand down to him, and used Lupus
to step up against the wall. His fingers groped in the air and then he felt the man’s powerful grip clamp round his wrist, and he clutched at Festus’s forearm as the latter drew him up the side of the wall on to the tiles running along the top. Marcus felt his heart pounding in his chest, partly from the effort but mostly from the anxious excitement of the moment. Looking down into the garden, he saw a long arrangement of paths, neat flower beds and ornately clipped shrubs. The sound of water tinkling in a fountain came from the far end, close to the slave quarters at the very rear of the property. The main house itself was dark and silent.

‘Come on,’ Festus hissed as he swung his legs down and lowered himself cautiously behind a large bush from which a sweet scent rose into the cool night air. Marcus followed suit and eased himself down before dropping the last few feet and landing softly on the soil. Both of them waited a moment before Festus emerged on to the path beside the flower bed. Fortunately, it was paved rather than gravelled and they made almost no sound as they followed it up to the rear of the main house. An outdoor dining area stood to one side, in the Roman style with long, low stone couches on which cushions could be spread for the comfort of guests. Next to the dining area was a portico with a corridor leading into the darkened interior of the house.

‘How are we going to see our way inside?’ Marcus asked as loudly as he dared.

Festus pointed into the darkness. ‘By the front door. I’ll wager there’s a lamp burning beside the shrine to the household Gods. We’ll use that.’

Marcus followed him into the dark corridor. They proceeded slowly, feeling their way cautiously along the wall. Some twenty feet further on, the corridor opened out into the atrium and a small amount of moonlight shone through the opening above the shallow pool that collected the rainwater. A staircase led up to the second level of the house where the bedrooms were arranged round a landing overlooking the pool. A faint sound of snoring came from above. On the far side was another short length of corridor, at the end of which a wan yellow glow came from a tiny flame.

‘I thought so,’ Festus muttered. ‘Wait here.’

He padded round the edge of the pool and returned a moment later with a small oil lamp. The wavering flame gave just enough light for them to make their way back down the corridor in the direction of the garden. Festus stopped outside the first door and eased it open. He leaned in and raised the lamp high enough to see the interior, then backed out. ‘Just a storeroom.’

The door on the next room let out a dull creak from the hinges as Festus opened it and both of them froze, straining their ears for a few heartbeats. But no one stirred and Festus resumed, easing the door open very slowly, while Marcus winced at each creak of the hinges. When there was enough space to squeeze through, Festus entered the room. Marcus followed and saw by the dim glow of the lamp a desk and a wall covered in sectioned shelves that were piled with scrolls and waxed tablets.

‘Looks promising,’ Festus whispered. ‘Let’s get started.’

He set the lamp down on the desk and indicated the shelves. ‘You start at that end and I’ll begin with the other.’

‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Marcus asked.

‘Anything with a reference to Decimus, Thermon, or any estate in the Peloponnese. Your name, and your mother’s, of course.’

Marcus nodded and padded to the end of the shelves, taking down a small pile of documents, then returning to the desk to look through them. There were bills of sale, inventories of each week’s auctions, a running record of expenses and commissions relating to each sale, and a daily log. Pindarus was clearly in the habit of recording his business affairs in detail and Marcus felt his spirits rise. Such a man would have made some reference to the events of two years ago. Marcus and Festus worked
methodically and silently through the scrolls and slates, section by section, being careful to replace them as they had been found. It was a while before it dawned on Marcus that he had been reading through documents in date order. He paused and looked up at the shelves, counting back to where he had started.

‘Of course!’

‘Shhhh!’ Festus hissed.

‘Sorry.’ Marcus pointed to the shelves. ‘I’ve worked it out. Each shelf, starting from the top left, represents six months. Which means that the one we are looking for is …’ Marcus counted the shelves silently and then pointed. ‘It should be that one.’

He crossed to it from the desk and bent down to retrieve the documents. Placing them in the light of the lamp’s flame he opened a scroll and pointed to the date. ‘There. It’s the same year, two months from the date we were kidnapped by Thermon’s men.’

Festus replaced the documents he had been looking at and began to sift through those Marcus had brought to the table. They examined them eagerly and Marcus felt a rising sense of excitement as he wound his way through the scroll on which Pindarus had neatly completed his log at the end of each day. Then he stopped.

‘Here it is …
Arrival of cart with six slaves; two Nubians (nameless), two boys from Lesbos (Archaelus and Demetrius), one woman (Livia), her son (Marcus). Placed in cell XIV for auction next day.
’ Marcus looked up triumphantly.

‘Read on,’ Festus ordered. ‘Does it say anything about Decimus?’

Marcus began to wind the scroll, then stopped and looked up quickly.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I heard something. Outside in the corridor.’

Festus turned towards the door as a shuffling noise came closer. Then the handle turned and the door swung inwards. Blocking the door frame was Pindarus, in a flimsy linen nightshirt, oil lamp in hand. His flabby jaw dropped in astonishment as he stared wide-eyed at the two figures poring over the documents on his desk.

Festus reacted first, throwing down the waxed slate he was examining as he snatched out his dagger and raced towards the door.

His movement broke the brief spell and Pindarus lurched backwards, screaming in a high-pitched voice. ‘Help! Thieves! Murder!’