Gladiator Page 6

  ‘So what will you do with us?’ Marcus asked anxiously.

  Decimus looked down through the bars. ‘I could have you killed, young man. Quietly strangled and have your bodies thrown off a cliff into the sea. I could do that.’ He paused to let his words have their effect. Marcus recoiled in terror.

  ‘However, as I live with the memory of the wrong your father did to me, so you will live with the memory of how you were made to pay for his deed.’ Decimus stroked his pointed chin. ‘I have a farming estate in the Peloponnese. It is in a small valley surrounded by hills. It is hot in summer and bitterly cold in winter, and I spend as little time there as possible. However, the soil is good for barley and the slaves of the estate are worked hard to add to my fortune. That’s where I will send you, to live out your days working, under the whip, as a slave in my fields. There you will die, forgotten and unmissed. General Pompeius will never, ever, learn of your fate, or that of Titus.’

  He took a deep breath and smiled faintly. ‘A fitting revenge, don’t you think?’

  Marcus felt a brief moment of dread, but then he was seized by rage and a desire to clamp his hands around the throat of the tax collector. With a shrill, animal cry, he lunged through the bars, clawing at the man’s tunic.

  ‘Marcus!’ his mother shouted. ‘It won’t help us!’

  She pulled him back and held his arms tightly as Decimus chuckled. ‘Quite a temper on him. But there is courage too. He is a soldier’s son and no mistake.’

  Livia’s eyes blazed. ‘He is … my son.’

  Decimus looked puzzled by her response but before he could say anything, Livia looked at him pleadingly.

  ‘Whatever happened between you and Titus happened years ago. He is dead and you have had your revenge. There is no need to inflict this on me and the boy.’

  ‘Ah, if only that were possible. You must understand this from my perspective, my dear. If I let you both go now, with Titus dead, it would only be a matter of time before the boy sought to avenge his father. Isn’t that right?’ He smiled at Marcus.

  Marcus glared back and nodded slowly. ‘One day I will find you, and I will kill you.’

  His mother’s shoulders sank in despair. ‘Decimus, he is only ten. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Show him mercy and he will remember mercy.’

  ‘If I show him mercy, I will merely be signing my own death warrant. He must disappear like his father, as must you.’

  Livia thought quickly. ‘Let him go. Send me to your estate. As long as I am your hostage, he will do you no harm. Isn’t that right, Marcus?’

  Marcus looked into her eyes and understood that she was begging him to agree. But there was never a moment’s doubt in his sense of determination to do his duty and see that justice was done to the memory of his father. Of course he was afraid, scared out of his wits by the terrible fate Decimus had prepared for them, but there was a cold hard fury – stronger than his fear, stronger even than his grief or his concern for his mother. He shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, mother. But this man is right. While I live I will think only of paying him back for what he has done.’

  ‘You see?’ Decimus raised his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘What is a man to do? I’m sorry, but there it is. You will both go to the estate, and there you will work until you die. Farewell.’ He nodded solemnly and then, before he turned away, he stared a moment into Marcus’s hate-filled eyes. ‘You would have grown into a fine man, Marcus. It is a shame that it should end this way. I respect you and would be proud to have a boy like you for a son. Such a pity …’

  Then he walked away, at the same slow pace, with a slight rolling gait. Livia watched until he had disappeared out of the entrance to the yard before turning on her son.

  ‘You little fool!’ She grabbed his arm and held him in a tight grip, making Marcus wince. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed? You’re just like your father, all fine principles and no common sense. I told him he could never win. I told him …’ She stopped abruptly and clenched her teeth.

  ‘Mother, you’re hurting me,’ Marcus said, glancing at his arm.

  Her gaze dropped and then she let go of him and covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. So sorry. Forgive me.’ She started to cry.

  ‘Mother, don’t,’ Marcus said. He felt as if his heart was being torn apart. He touched her cheek gently. ‘I love you. I’m sorry.’

  She lowered her hands and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Oh, Marcus, my little boy. What is to become of us?’

  At first light the driver of the wagon came to collect them, holding a club and watching them warily as he ordered them to climb back into the cage. As soon as the cage door was closed and locked, the driver clambered on to his bench, picked up his whip and cracked it over the heads of his mules. The wagon lurched forward and then rumbled out of the slave auctioneer’s yard. Marcus shuddered as the wagon passed the stage where he had stood the day before. For an instant he relived the terror he had felt at the thought of being parted from his mother. The market square was empty, apart from the handful of beggars sleeping in the arches of the portico.

  As they passed through the town gates and down a broad street lined with small houses, Marcus felt his mother nudge him.

  ‘We must escape,’ she whispered with a nervous glance towards the driver. ‘We have to find a way to get out of here.’

  ‘How can we?’

  His mother smiled faintly. ‘There is a weak spot.’ She nodded towards the driver. Marcus looked up at the broad shoulders of the man sitting on the bench, slightly hunched forward as he held the reins and occasionally clicked his tongue to encourage the mules to keep up their pace.

  ‘Him?’ Marcus raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘He’s too big for us to manage. We’re not strong enough.’

  ‘There is a way, Marcus, but you must do exactly as I say.’

  8

  The wagon soon passed out of the sprawling slum that surrounded the town and emerged into open countryside. Stratos stood on the bank of a river that flowed out towards the Ionian Sea. On either side of the lazily flowing current the land was covered with fields of wheat as far as the slopes of the forested hills that rose steeply from the plain. Soon the wagon was labouring up the narrow track that had been cut into the slope of a hill. The tall pines on either side created pleasant shade and the warm air was filled with the scent of the trees. The slope was thickly carpeted with soft brown pine needles, broken up by clusters of ferns and the odd outcrop of rock. There was no one else in sight and the wagon had not passed anyone along the route so far. Marcus and his mother were far from relaxed, however.

  ‘This spot will do,’ Livia muttered. ‘Marcus, I’m going to pretend to be ill. I’ll do what I can to make it look convincing, but you must do your part. You have to convince him that you think I’m dying. Can you do that?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Then let’s hope your best is good enough.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘He’ll stop and come to have a closer look. You have to persuade him to open the cage. I watched him do it when we arrived in Stratos. I don’t think his eyes are good. He leaned forward to see as he fitted the key to the lock. That’s the moment we must strike. When I say “now”, we kick the door of the cage back into his face, as hard as we can. If we take him by surprise, then we can get out of here before he recovers.’

  ‘Then what, mother?’

  ‘Then we run, like the wind.’

  ‘No, I meant where do we go?’

  She frowned briefly. ‘We’ll think that through later. Best to find General Pompeius, I should think. If anyone can see that we have justice, and have Decimus punished, then it has to be Pompeius. He has great power and, besides, he owes Titus a favour.’

  ‘What favour?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘Titus saved the General’s life in the final battle against Spartacus. Pompeius has to honour that debt.’ Livia eased herself away from the side of the cage and lowered herself
into the soiled straw lining the bottom. ‘Ready?’

  Marcus nodded, but he wasn’t sure. His heart beat more quickly.

  His mother worked up some spit and then began to force it out of her mouth in a sticky, foaming dribble. She curled into a ball, clutching her hands to her stomach. She winked at Marcus, then rolled her eyes up and began to shudder as she let out a low, animal groan. The effect was quite startling and even though he knew she was acting, Marcus could not help becoming alarmed. He gripped her shoulder and cried out in a concerned tone. ‘Mother? … Mother?’ Then his voice rose to an anguished pitch. ‘Mother!’

  The driver glanced round. ‘Keep yer mouth shut, you.’

  ‘My mother’s sick!’ Marcus cried out. ‘She’s really sick. You must help her!’

  His mother started to shake violently and roll from side to side as she groaned in apparent agony.

  The driver sighed with frustration and pulled back on the reins. ‘Whoah! Whoah there, blast you!’

  The mules clopped to a halt and stood patiently in their traces. The driver lowered the reins and twisted round to look down into the cage. ‘What’s wrong with ’er, then?’

  ‘She’s sick.’ Marcus swallowed nervously and made a frightened face. ‘I think she’s dying. Please, help her!’

  ‘Dying?’ The driver squinted. ‘She ain’t dying. She’ll have to get over it when we stop for the night.’

  ‘That’s too long,’ Marcus replied desperately. ‘She needs help now.’

  ‘Help? Well, what can I do? I’m just a bloody wagon driver.’

  Marcus thought quickly. ‘If she dies, you’ll have to answer to Decimus. I’ll tell him you just sat there and watched it happen.’

  The driver scowled at him, then climbed down from the bench and walked back along the side of the wagon. There was a faint rustle of straw as Marcus’s mother braced her sandals against the iron bars of the cage door. The driver paused as he reached the back of the wagon.

  ‘So what’s wrong with ’er?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Marcus replied anxiously. ‘She needs shade, and water.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ The driver scratched his head doubtfully.

  Livia started to make retching noises.

  ‘Don’t go and be sick!’ the driver growled. ‘You go and puke your guts up in this heat and we’ll be stuck with the stink of it for the rest of the journey.’

  ‘Then let her out,’ Marcus snapped. ‘Before she throws up.’

  The driver thought a moment. ‘All right, then. But just her. You stay in the cage and I’ll get her out.’

  Marcus nodded.

  The driver groped for the thong around his neck and brought the key out. Then he squinted again and leaned forward to fit the key into the lock. Marcus tensed his muscles as his heart beat wildly. At the same time he forced himself to look as though his only concern was for his mother, as he held her hand in both of his. There was a metallic rattle as the key started to turn, then a loud click as the bolt slipped back.

  ‘Now!’ Livia screamed. As she kicked her legs out, Marcus threw himself towards the door of the cage, crashing into it hard. The iron bars of the door flew back, smashing into the driver’s face. He cried out in pain and surprise and fell on to the road. Marcus scrambled out of the cage and jumped to one side, away from the driver, who sat on his backside in the road as blood streamed from his broken nose. Livia grabbed the edges of the cage door and thrust herself out, landing heavily beside Marcus. She grabbed his hand.

  ‘Run!’

  They sprinted to the side of the track. Behind them the driver heaved himself up on to his feet and bellowed, ‘Stop!’

  It was a foolish reaction, and one that allowed Marcus and his mother to gain a few more paces before the driver started after them, heavy sandals scrabbling over the rutted earth of the road. Livia had started towards the side of the road and now they were slithering and sliding through the soft heaps of pine needles as they scrambled down the slope.

  ‘Stop!’ the driver shouted after them. ‘Stop right now, or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you when I catch yer!’

  Marcus risked a glance back and saw that the driver was perhaps thirty feet behind them. He was slightly ahead of his mother and pulled her hand. ‘Come on!’

  She grimaced, struggling to keep up over the difficult ground. Around them the slope was dappled by shafts of sunlight passing between the branches of the pine trees, the contrast between light and shadow making it hard to concentrate on the ground ahead.

  That was when it happened.

  With a sudden cry Marcus’s mother pitched forward as her foot struck a rock buried in the soft pine needles. She hit the ground hard, driving the breath from her lungs as she rolled down the slope. Marcus dropped to his knees at her side.

  ‘My ankle!’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Ohhh, my ankle.’

  Marcus glanced down and saw that the flesh was torn along the side of her foot and blood was pulsing out of it. She squeezed his hand tightly as she tried to stand. At once she let out a scream of agony and collapsed back on to the ground. Biting back on her pain, she stared at her son. ‘Run, Marcus. Run!’

  He shook his head frantically. ‘No! I can’t leave you.’

  She released his hand and thrust him away. ‘Run!’

  The driver was only a short distance away now, a triumphant look in his eyes. Marcus returned his mother’s gaze. ‘I can’t leave you. I can’t.’

  ‘Run!’ she shouted. ‘Save yourself. Find Pompeius. Go!’

  She pushed him away again and struggled up on to her knees as she turned to face the driver. Marcus backed away a few paces, then turned and ran. His heart filled with fear for his mother, but at the same time he knew that she was right. If he stayed, they would both be taken. If he escaped, then he might find some way to rescue her. He took one last look back, and saw his mother throw herself at the legs of the driver. She wrapped her arms round the man’s knees and cried out, ‘Run, Marcus.’

  Then her voice was cut short as the driver angrily tried to thrust her aside. Marcus ran on, down the slope, heading for a place where the pine trees grew more closely together and would make it harder for the driver to follow him. His mother cried out again, her voice growing more distant and deadened by the forest. ‘Run!’

  ‘Stop, you little bugger!’ the driver shouted.

  Marcus reached the thicket and rushed on, thrusting the slender branches aside and ignoring the scratches to his hands and arms. The shouts behind gradually became more faint and then there were only the sounds of his feet scuffing through the pine needles, the swish of the branches and the deep sobs of despair that were wrenched from him as he fled, further and further away from his mother.

  9

  Marcus ran on for a mile or more, his eyes brimming with tears. His heart was beating wildly and the heat of the morning sun beneath the boughs of the pine trees drenched him with sweat. The run through the trees had left his face and hands scratched and bleeding, and his muscles ached from the effort. Yet the pain on his skin and in his limbs was nothing compared to the agony that engulfed his heart. He stopped and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he struggled for breath. He strained his ears to listen for any sounds of pursuit above the blood pounding through his head, but there was nothing except for the faint caws of crows, swirling across the forest.

  As he recovered his breath, Marcus tried to think about his situation, but it was impossible to concentrate while images of his mother, injured and at the mercy of the driver, flooded through his mind. Her shouts to him to run still echoed in his head. Marcus straightened up and turned back to stare uphill towards the road. He felt like a coward. He also felt more afraid of being alone than he did of the driver, and the punishment that the driver had threatened him with. With a sharp intake of breath Marcus decided what he must do. He turned around, searching the ground until he saw what he was looking for. A short distance away was a fallen tree. He ran over and snapped off the
largest branch that he could handle. Hurriedly stripping off some of the small twigs, Marcus gripped the end of the branch and swung it round, one way and the other, then he whacked it down on the tree trunk. The blow jarred his arms, but the branch did not snap.

  ‘That’ll do,’ he muttered to himself, then set off up the slope, climbing back in the direction from which he had fled. He knew that he had little chance against the burly driver, unless he could find some way to surprise him. If Marcus could do that, then he might be able to knock him unconscious, even kill him. Then he could rescue his mother and take the wagon somewhere to find help. His thoughts stilled for a moment. Could he really kill the driver if he had the chance?

  ‘Yes,’ he growled to himself. He would do it, if he had to.

  As Marcus emerged from the thicket of pine trees he had used to escape from the driver, he crouched low and picked his way over the carpet of pine needles, making no noise. His eyes and ears strained to pick up any signs of life ahead. There was no movement, apart from the faint shimmer of light and shadows on the ground. When he reached the place where he had left his mother, Marcus knelt down. The needles were disturbed and there was a smear of blood on a rock. He stared at the blood for a moment as a wave of anxiety gripped his body. Then he swallowed, grasped his makeshift club more tightly and crept up towards the road. As his eyes drew level with the rutted surface Marcus paused and glanced cautiously from side to side. The road was empty.

  There was no sign of the wagon.

  He climbed on to the road and stood in silence, staring in the direction the wagon had been headed. He did not know what to do. No idea at all. His first instinct was to run after the wagon and see through his plan to attack the driver and rescue his mother. But the panic and fear that had seized him earlier had begun to recede and he was able to think more clearly. He could follow the wagon and wait for the chance to strike, but having been tricked once the driver would be on his guard. If Marcus was caught, then it would all have been for nothing and he and his mother would be condemned to the living death of working in a slave gang on Decimus’s estate. And there was little doubt that the driver would give him a severe beating as well, before throwing him back into the cage.