Gladiator: Vengeance (7 page)

‘You still may replace me, once this is all over and we return to Rome,’ Festus continued.

‘I’m not going back to Rome,’ Marcus replied quietly.

‘No?’ Now it was Festus’s turn to look surprised. ‘Why not?’

‘It was always my plan to return home after I rescued my mother.’

‘Home? That farm on Leucas you told me about?’

Marcus nodded.

Festus sighed. ‘You’d best forget that, Marcus. You told me your father got into debt trying to make the farm pay its way, right? So the chances are it has been sold on. It’s almost certain someone else owns the farm now. You can’t go back there.’

‘But it belongs to us,’ Marcus protested angrily. ‘It’s our farm.’

‘It was. It isn’t now. That is the way of things.’ Festus tried to sound gentle. ‘You cannot return to the past, lad. The Gods have decided on a different destiny.’

‘No. I will return to my home. With my mother. I will find a way. I swear it.’

Festus smiled sadly. ‘Very well then, Marcus. But one step at a time. First we must reach Athens and discover where Decimus is, and the estate where your mother is held. I had hoped we could find him without using official channels. There’s a
risk someone might warn him of our presence if we do that. But it can’t be helped now. Get some sleep. There’s a long road ahead of us.’

Festus settled back, arms folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. Marcus sat up a while longer, staring into the red glow of the embers, his heart filled with longing for home. The word conjured up so many feelings in his heart, with memories of all he valued most in the world. All the things that had been taken from him. The very thought of home had been a lifeline to him amid the raging storm of his life these last two years. The idea that there was no longer a home to return to filled him with anger and despair.

It was a long time before the seething emotions began to subside. The fire had died out long before Marcus finally lay down, huddled beneath his cloak, to fall into a troubled sleep.

They left the forest before first light and took the road south, leading away from Stratos. They walked fast, keeping a watch on the way ahead and leaving the road every time they saw other travellers. They bypassed every village they encountered so there would be no chance of anyone recalling that a man and two boys had passed through. The news of Pindarus’s death and the reward for those held responsible for his murder would follow hot on the heels of Marcus and his companions, so it was essential to remain one step ahead of their pursuers until they reached the comparative safety of Athens, over two hundred miles away.

Once they had crossed the Achelos river Festus led them into the mountains of Aetolia, a largely uninhabited region where lonely shepherds tended the flocks of goats and sheep
grazing on the slopes. There were very few villages, usually no more than a loose collection of stone huts, and they were forced to live off the land. Fortunately there were plenty of streams, gushing down rocky channels, and hares to hunt, as well as larger game. On the third day after fleeing Stratos, Marcus managed to bring down a small deer with his slingshot, the heavy missile knocking the animal cold before it even knew a human was nearby. They ate heartily that night and there was enough meat for two haunches to be put aside for the following days, with the burden shared between them.

They stuck to the mountains, passing Mount Parnassos where the snow still capping its lofty peak gleamed in the sunlight. That evening Festus decided they were sufficiently far from Stratos to risk stopping in the town of Delphi. Formerly one of the most important places in Greece, thanks to the Oracle in the temple of Apollo, Delphi had been visited by kings, generals and statesmen who sought to know their futures from the Oracle. The decline in the power of Greece and the rise of Rome had not treated the town kindly and Marcus noted the rundown nature of the streets after they entered the gate to find cheap accommodation for the night.

They took a dingy, airless room at the back of a small inn and wearily set down their packs as they surveyed their
surroundings. The walls were cracked and stained and the large wooden frame of the only bed was covered with a torn mattress, from which grey, dusty straw poked out. Festus indicated the bed.

‘You two share that. I’ll sleep on the floor.’

Lupus made a face. ‘I would have been more comfortable sleeping in the open.’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Festus responded. ‘There are too many farms surrounding Delphi. If we were caught sleeping on their land someone might ask difficult questions. This is safer. Now rest for a bit, then we’ll go out to find something to eat when it’s dark.’

‘After that I want to look over the Temple of Apollo,’ Lupus announced, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Festus shook his head. ‘Not a good idea. Let’s just eat and turn in. We still have three more days on the road, at least, before we reach Athens. Besides, we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves.’

‘But we’re far away from Stratos,’ Lupus replied. ‘We’re safe here. Surely? And plenty of people will be visiting the temple. We won’t attract any attention. Come on, Marcus, what do you say?’

Marcus thought about it. He understood why Festus was
concerned. But perhaps the bodyguard was being overcautious. In any case, he had heard about the famous Oracle when living on Leucas and was curious to see the temple for himself. He turned to Festus.

‘I don’t see that there’s much risk in having a look.’

Festus sighed with frustration. ‘All right then. But stay close-lipped, and if I say we head back here, then there’ll be no arguments. Is that understood?’

The boys nodded and Festus shook his head. He sat down, propping his head against his pack and closing his eyes as he muttered, ‘I pray to the Gods that nothing bad will come of this.’

The meal, a stew of goat and herbs, was nowhere near as satisfying as the meals they had cooked for themselves in the mountains, but it was filling. They paid the bill and left the inn, one of many small establishments lining the square opposite the entrance to the temple precinct. With Lupus leading, the three of them passed between the columns and tall studded gates to make their way inside the wall that separated the sacred ground from the outside world. A paved courtyard stretched round the temple, illuminated by several large braziers fed with bundles of wood by junior officials of the temple in plain white tunics.

The three visitors looked up in awe as they slowly approached the steps leading to the door. Above them, the pediment carried a painted relief of the God Apollo driving a gilded chariot that shone fiery red in the glow of the braziers. On closer inspection Marcus decided that the whole precinct had a rundown appearance. Much of the faded ochre paint on the columns was peeling. The gold that had once flowed into the hands of those running the temple had all but dried up.

‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Lupus commented.

Festus shrugged. ‘Big. Yes. Seen better back in Rome. At least our temples and shrines are looked after properly.’

‘But they are only copies of the Greek originals,’ Lupus replied with a touch of irritation. ‘So much of what we have was inspired by the Greeks. An amazing civilization.’

‘If they were so amazing, I wonder how they became part of our empire and not the other way round,’ Festus answered drily.

Lupus ignored him as he craned his neck to inspect the relief of Apollo. Marcus followed his example briefly, then lowered his gaze to look around the precinct. A handful of other people stood admiring the temple, while a wizened priest sat on the steps behind a small altar. He looked bored, but soon stood when he saw Marcus and his companions draw closer to the temple.

‘Good evening, sirs. Care to make a donation to the upkeep of the temple?’ He rattled a small wooden box. His voice dropped and his eyes narrowed beneath their bushy brows as he stared at them. ‘Or, for a more generous payment, you could be given a glimpse of your future …’

Festus shook his head and laughed. ‘Away with you! We’ll not be taken in by your racket.’

‘Racket?’ The priest frowned, then drew himself up to his full height, some inches shorter than Festus, and touched his spare hand to his breast. ‘Sir, do you dare to scorn the Oracle, here on the very ground that was sanctified by the God Apollo?’

Lupus nudged Festus in the ribs. ‘Thought we weren’t trying to draw any attention to ourselves …?’

Festus muttered a curse, then bowed his head in apology. ‘I am sorry. I am a weary traveller. I spoke without thought.’

‘Then you are forgiven, my boy.’ The priest made a gesture with his hand, then held out the box again. ‘And I’m sure a little something extra would go some way to appeasing Apollo.’

As Festus growled and reached for his purse Marcus took a step towards the priest, a strange gleam in his eyes. ‘Wait, you said you could see into the future.’

The priest tutted. ‘That’s what we do here, as I am sure you’re aware. For a small fee.’

Marcus stared back at him. ‘How much?’

‘The great men who have come here to know their destiny paid great sums for the privilege. But for ordinary mortals a lesser sum is acceptable.’

‘How much?’ Marcus asked again, impatient with the old priest. ‘To tell me my future. How much?’

The priest eyed the three visitors shrewdly and tilted his head slightly to one side. ‘You are clearly Romans of modest means. But Apollo takes an interest in all mortals for a small sum. Shall we say … five denarii?’

‘What?’ Festus’s eyebrows rose in shock. ‘FIVE denarii! Are you mad?’

The priest pointed a gnarled finger. ‘I’ve already warned you. Do I call the temple guards to throw you out?’

‘Pay him,’ Marcus said firmly.

Festus turned to look at him in astonishment. ‘It’s too much, Marcus.’

‘There’s something I must know,’ Marcus countered. ‘The money was entrusted to me as well by … by our former master. Please, Festus, pay him.’

Marcus stared at the bodyguard intently for a moment before
the latter shook his head and took out five silver coins from his purse. He hesitated a moment before slapping them down on the altar. ‘There. I hope it’s worth it.’

The priest hastily scraped the coins into his palm, then raised one to bite on it with his remaining teeth. He held it up and squinted before nodding and feeding the coins into the slot on top of his box. Closing his eyes, he raised his face towards the night sky and his lips moved silently.

‘Well?’ Festus demanded.

‘Shhh!’ The priest’s brow furrowed. ‘I was just beseeching divine Apollo to accept your humble offering. Do not tax his patience any further, Roman, if you want him to look kindly on this boy’s desire to know his fate.’

Festus glanced at Marcus and raised his eyebrows. Marcus was not put off by his cynicism but watched the priest closely, hoping fervently that the God of the temple would take pity on him and tell him the one thing he needed to know more than anything else: would he succeed in rescuing his mother?

The priest cocked an ear, as if listening, then nodded and bowed his head before he opened his eyes and turned to Marcus.

‘Mighty Apollo deigns to answer your request, my boy. Quite a privilege.’ He shot a quick look of annoyance at Festus. ‘Despite the bad manners of your companion. A word
of warning, though. If the Oracle replies, it may be that the answer is not clear at first. But if you think it through, then you will know the meaning of the words. Now, follow me.’

He turned and started stiffly making his way up the steps with Marcus a few paces behind him.

‘Oi!’ Festus called out, indicating himself and Lupus. ‘What about us?’

The priest glanced back. ‘Yes, yes. You too. Might as well. But keep your mouths shut and show some respect.’

At the top of the stairs he led them through the columns towards the large doors of the inner sanctum. A brazier stood on either side, casting an eerie glow over the columns that towered up on either side. The priest paused in front of the doors and reached to the side for a brass-capped stick. He solemnly struck the door three times and cleared his throat.

‘Oh, mighty Apollo! Is your mouthpiece, the blessed Pythia, prepared to offer guidance to he who would know his destiny?’

There was a pause and then a voice spoke, loud and deep, as if echoing from the back of a great cave.

‘Come!’

The doors began to move, and there was a rumbling groan from the iron hinges. Marcus felt his pulse quicken as he looked past the priest into the darkness at the heart of the temple. He
strained his eyes but could pick out nothing beyond the doors, save the flagstones nearest the entrance. The priest entered, gesturing to Marcus and the others to follow him inside. Their footsteps echoed off the walls rising invisibly around them. Marcus could see no sign of the person who had called on them to enter. The dim form of the priest stopped and struggled down on to his knees. Marcus and the others waited a short distance behind him.

‘Philetus, who would speak to me?’ A voice spoke softly from the darkness. A woman’s voice, yet it was dry, and Marcus could not decide if it was an old woman, or young.

The priest turned and waved Marcus forward with a whisper. ‘Go on, boy. Slowly. And stretch your arms out in front of you.’

‘Wait,’ Lupus hissed. ‘Is it safe?’

Marcus smiled briefly at his friend. ‘I’ll know soon enough.’

He took a calming breath and raised his arms as instructed, then stepped forward cautiously. As he proceeded into the darkness, his eyes and ears strained to pick out any sign of movement. Then he heard it, a soft breathing, like the faint rasp of leaves disturbed by the gentlest of breezes. He slowed down and stopped as he became aware of a dark shape ahead. Then he felt his hands being taken and nearly jumped. But he
resisted the impulse to snatch them back. A musty odour filled his nostrils. The hands were cold and the skin leathery. Fingers softly stroked the back of his hands while the other person’s thumbs firmly applied pressure to his palms in order to hold them in place.

There was a long intake of breath before the voice came again. Louder now and more commanding. ‘I am Pythia. Servant of the Oracle. Ask me your question, and if it pleases him, Apollo will reply through me …’

Marcus swallowed nervously and tried to sound calm as he spoke, but was conscious that his voice betrayed his age as well as his anxiety. ‘My name is Marcus. I am on a quest to find and rescue my mother. I wish to know if I will succeed.’

There was a brief silence before Pythia replied in a rasping rhyme:

Marcus frowned. ‘What does that mean? Will I save my mother? Tell me!’

‘Poor boy,’ Pythia replied with a hint of pity. ‘It is for you to discern the meaning of the Gods. I only convey their message.’

‘That’s not enough,’ Marcus said desperately. ‘I need to know! Tell me!’

He grasped her hands tightly. The woman tried to pull her hands free but Marcus clung on, bracing his boots.

‘Let me go,’ the woman hissed. ‘I command you to let me go.’

‘Not until you tell me.’

‘Sacrilege! Release me, before you anger the Gods!’

‘Tell me,’ Marcus pleaded. ‘What does it mean? Bathed in blood?’

Suddenly she stopped struggling and stood still before him. Then she whispered. ‘Blood … Blood … Blood everywhere. A land bathed in blood and fire. An eagle brought down, broken and maimed. I see … I see a man astride the eagle, sword in hand. Your father … Your true father … He sees you. He sees you! He calls to you …’

Marcus felt his blood chill in his veins and a terrifying icy sensation rippled up his spine and through his scalp as he listened.