Gladiator: Vengeance

21

‘Seen anything new?’ Festus asked as he crawled forward beneath the low boughs of the sapling and eased himself into place alongside Marcus. They were lying on a ledge, a short climb above the cave, which had a clear view of Decimus’s estate. Lupus had taken the first watch, and was resting in the cave. Now Festus had made his way up to take over from Marcus.

Marcus consulted the waxed tablet he had borrowed from Lupus and glanced over the notes. ‘The men on the gate were relieved at noon, the others shortly afterwards. Still the same number on watch.’

‘Hmmm.’ Festus strained his eyes and stared down at the villa. It was an elaborate affair, with an outer courtyard for visitors arriving on litters, in wagons or on horseback, with stables and shelters for slaves and servants waiting for their masters. A colonnade and arch led into the main courtyard, neatly divided in four by two wide paths that intersected round a fountain. Neatly kept hedges lined the paths and a profusion of flowers and shrubs were laid out in geometric patterns in each quarter of the courtyard. Another large colonnade ran round the garden and joined the main house, a sprawling two-storey structure facing south to make use of the natural light and warmth of the sun. There were two guards on each of the courtyard entrances and each of the small entrances at the rear of the main house, for the use of slaves and servants, was also guarded. A group of four men patrolled the grounds round the villa.

‘Decimus won’t be an easy man to reach,’ Festus mused. ‘Have you seen him yet?’

Marcus paused briefly. ‘I think so. A man in a yellow tunic came out of the house earlier and walked round the garden. Same build and bald. If it’s him, he doesn’t seem to bother wearing a wig in the privacy of his own home.’

‘That’ll be him then.’ Festus gave a slight smile before he turned to Marcus with a more serious expression. ‘Any sign of your mother?’

Marcus shook his head. He gestured towards the line of trees a hundred paces from the villa. Beyond lay several long, low buildings with small slits to let in air and light — the barrack blocks of the slaves working on the estate. A wall surrounded the dismal-looking buildings and there was only one entrance, fortified by a tower on each side. At the moment the slaves were working in the fields, orchards and groves of the estate. Marcus had seen them emerge from the barrack first thing in the morning as he lay concealed close to the work camp. Gaunt figures in rags, chained in fours, stumbled into line and waited until the guards marched them through the gates to work. There had been plenty of women among them and some children, but Marcus had not been able to identify his mother.

‘She may not be working in the fields,’ Festus mused. ‘Decimus might have placed her with the household slaves. It’s possible, but unlikely. If she’s a house slave then she won’t be in chains. And if that’s the case, from what you have said, I imagine she’d take every chance to try and escape. So I’d wager she’s in with the field slaves. It won’t be easy getting into the work camp to search each barrack block for her.’

Marcus thought the problem through. ‘Then we find Decimus first. We get into the villa, track him down and force him to tell us where she is.’ Marcus’s eyes widened with excitement as he developed his idea. ‘Better still, we get him to send for her. That way we don’t risk going into the work camp.’

Festus sucked in a deep breath. ‘Even assuming we can do that, we still have to get into the villa in the first place.’

‘I think I know a way. It’s time to put that Parthian bow of yours to work …’

The three of them waited until the moon was hidden by a passing cloud before they emerged from cover a short distance from Decimus’s estate. It was close to midnight, as far as Marcus could calculate the passing of the last few hours as they lay in a ditch at the rear of the villa. The patrol had passed by shortly before and exchanged a brief greeting with the two men on the small gate leading into the slaves’ quarters. Now they had turned the corner of the villa and were out of sight.

‘Lupus, off you go,’ Festus whispered.

After a moment’s hesitation, the scribe summoned up his courage then rose into a crouch and headed away along the ditch. Festus reached for his bow case and nodded to Marcus as they eased themselves out of the ditch into the knee-high grass of the meadow that stretched up to the villa. They kept flat as they worked themselves close to the wall that gleamed dully in the moonlight. They had prepared for the night’s action as best they could. Their faces were blackened with a paste made from charred wood and mud, and the same mixture had been rubbed into their tunics. Each of them wore a sword belt and carried daggers and throwing knives. Cerberus had been left at the cave with a marrowbone that Marcus had bought at the market to keep him busy. He would return for the dog when it was all over. If things did not work out as he wanted, then Marcus hoped that Cerberus would be found and looked after by a new owner.

They crawled steadily through the grass until they reached the woodpile beside the wall, twenty paces from the entrance to the slave quarters and the two guards. Then, hidden by the logs, they stood up. While Marcus kept watch Festus took out his bow and braced the tip against his boot, leaning into it as he strung the weapon. Once the loop of the drawstring had settled over the horn he eased his grip gradually until it was ready to use and took out three arrows from the case. Festus had decided to use hunting arrows with their big barbed heads so that the impact would stun the victim and the wound would bleed profusely. He fitted the first arrow and eased himself up, ready to strike, while they waited for Lupus to make his appearance.

One of the guards leaned against the wall while his companion stood rubbing the small of his back as his head tilted towards the heavens. All was still and Marcus began to wonder if Lupus had the courage to go through with their plan. Beside him, he could sense Festus’s tense impatience as he stood ready to draw his bow. The guard let out a low groan as he stretched his back. Then he turned his face from the sky, and froze.

‘Who’s there?’ he called out.

A figure had emerged from the shadows and was casually pacing along the wall towards the gate. A surge of relief flowed through Marcus and he heard the faint creak of the bow as Festus drew back his right arm.

‘Is that you, Pythos?’ The guard took a pace towards Lupus while his comrade pushed himself away from the wall and turned towards the person approaching. Marcus held his breath as Festus took aim. This was the most dangerous part of the plan. If Festus missed his target then the arrow might hit Lupus, even though he had moved out a short distance from the wall to get clear of Festus’s line of sight.

There was a dull twang as the arms of the bow snapped forward and launched the hunting arrow towards the nearest of Decimus’s men. It struck with a sharp whack, like a stick hitting a sheet of wet leather, and the guard pitched forward with a pained grunt to fall face first in the grass, groaning as he writhed feebly, struggling to reach behind his back for the arrow shaft. The other guard was still distracted by the approaching figure of Lupus, but the commotion behind caused him to turn and look back.

‘Mantippus? You all right?’

He froze in shock, just long enough for Festus to draw his bow again, adjust his aim and loose his second arrow. The barbed head punched through his throat, severing blood vessels so that the guard could only claw helplessly at the shaft of the arrow. Blood filled his throat, mouth and lungs as he collapsed on to his knees with a horrible gurgling noise.

‘Come on,’ Festus commanded quietly, handing his bow to Marcus. They moved out from behind the logpile to join Lupus by the still moving bodies of the guards. ‘Keep watch, lads. I’ve got some quick work to do here.’

While Marcus crouched down and kept his eyes fixed on one corner of the wall, Lupus did the same for the other end. Festus took out a heavy cosh hanging from his belt and struck each of the guards about the head so they lay unconscious as they bled out. Then he dragged the bodies to the entrance by the slave quarters. He propped the man he had shot in the throat against the wall and dumped the other behind the woodpile before turning to Lupus.

‘You stay here. Stand by the gate. When the patrol comes round again they may call out to you. If it happens, then you’ll have to say something. Keep it short and keep it quiet.’

‘What if they come close enough to make me out?’

‘It’s dark, and they won’t be close enough to see you properly.’

‘If they do?’

‘Then you’ll have to make a run for it. Head for the cave. We’ll meet there. Otherwise, we’ll see you back here on the way out. Is that clear?’

Lupus nodded and Festus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good lad. Right then, Marcus, boots off. We go as quietly as possible from here on in.’

They unlaced their boots and left them beside the door, then Festus muttered, ‘Let’s go.’

He lifted the latch on the door and eased it open before leading Marcus inside the villa. Marcus felt his heart pumping as they entered a small, gloomy yard surrounded by the doors to the slave quarters. He could hear snoring and some muttered conversation and he wondered briefly if his mother was there.

He touched Festus’s arm and whispered, ‘What if she’s here? We should check this place first.’

‘No. We can’t risk it. We start waking people up, they’ll make a noise and the rest of Decimus’s thugs will be down on us like a ton of bricks. We stick to the plan. Come on.’

They made for a small arch on the far side of the slave quarters and entered a narrow service passage leading along the length of the private garden towards the rear of the main villa. Marcus trembled as the walls pressed in on either side while ragged wreaths of cloud hid the stars above. At the end of the passage was a door leading into the kitchen, a large space with enough cooking hearths and large work tables for the villa’s slaves to produce a banquet for their master and his guests. Storerooms were set off to one side and the air was filled with the smells of woodsmoke, roast meat and the heady aroma of spices.

A dim light burned in the far corner of the kitchen and Marcus saw a handful of figures sitting round a table on which a single oil lamp provided just enough illumination for them to see.

‘They ain’t ever going to bed at this rate,’ one of the kitchen slaves muttered. ‘Same as last night. Same as it’s been since he got back from Athens. Him, and that man of his.’

‘Aye, and that Thermon’s a dark one,’ another voice added. ‘Right nasty-looking bugger. Sitting there, plotting with the master.’

‘And he’s looking scared, is Decimus,’ the first voice responded. ‘Never seen him so on edge. And he’s taking it out on us. All of us, even his favourite.’

Marcus felt his blood stir at the mention of Thermon, but Festus plucked his tunic and they set off round the edge of the large room, keeping to the shadows as the slaves continued grumbling about being kept up to wait on their master. There was a heavy curtain over a doorway at the far end of the kitchen and they gently eased the material aside as they slipped out into a corridor beyond. Marcus heard the sound of more conversation ahead where a light glowed at the end. As they padded down the passage, Marcus could see that there was a large room ahead and the voices echoed off the high walls of the triclinium, the dining chamber of the villa. It was Decimus’s voice that Marcus recognized first.

‘You’ll have to oversee the collection of taxes in Corinth for me.’

‘Me?’ a dry, deep voice replied. ‘That ain’t my speciality. Why not find someone else? Or better still, go yourself. The boys and I can keep you safe.’

‘No. I’m staying here. Until it’s over. We’ll put a price on their heads, dead or alive. Big enough that there won’t be a man in Greece who wouldn’t stick a knife in their hearts to claim the reward.’

There was a muted exchange with another person in the room as Marcus and Festus crept closer, sticking to the wall as they edged towards the entrance to the triclinium. As they reached the corner Festus held his hand up to stop Marcus, then eased himself forward and peered round before moving back into the shadows of the corridor.

‘Three of them,’ he said softly. ‘Two men and a woman. No one else. We’re in luck. When I give the word we move in quickly. We’ll deal with the other man and I’ll handle Decimus while you take care of the woman. Keep her guarded and keep her quiet.’

‘I can handle Decimus.’

‘I know you can. But we need him alive.’

Marcus felt a surge of anger. ‘I know that.’

‘Marcus, hate can turn a person’s mind. Make them do something they know they shouldn’t. It’s better we don’t take the risk. Now, draw your sword.’

Marcus swallowed his feelings and eased his blade from his scabbard as Festus readied another arrow. ‘Ready?’

Marcus swallowed. ‘Ready.’

Festus rose up and stepped into the chamber, Marcus hurrying forward at his side. It was a large space, some fifteen paces across and thirty or so in length, with couches and low tables arranged round a large open space. At the far end three people were seated round a table, on which several silver trays carried the remains of a meal. Their backs were towards Festus and Marcus. Decimus, instantly recognizable from his bald head, sat in the middle. To his left lay Thermon in a plain black tunic. To his right lay a thin woman in a finely embroidered green stola. She had ornately styled dark hair. At first the diners ignored the sound of light footsteps and then Decimus turned to look over his shoulder as he spoke harshly.

‘I did not send for … What the?’

Thermon looked up and instantly sprang to his feet, lowering into a crouch as he snatched up a knife from the table. Festus stopped, fifteen feet away, took aim and loosed an arrow. The shaft blurred through the air as Thermon leapt to one side. The woman let out a cry of shock as the barbed head gashed his shoulder. He sprang forward as Festus frantically tried to fit another arrow. He had only pulled back the arrow a short way before Thermon crashed into him. Even so the arrow pierced the other man’s chest as they tumbled on to the floor.

Marcus glanced at Decimus and saw that he was still too shocked to react and then turned to help his friend. Thermon had his weight on top of Festus, the knife clenched in his fist as he strained to stab it into the bodyguard’s throat. Festus had a fist clamped round his opponent’s wrist, trying to hold the blade off, but inch by inch it drew closer.

Marcus reached the struggling men in an instant and did not hesitate as he slashed his sword into the back of Thermon’s skull. He heard the bone crack and Thermon let out a loud grunt, before Festus thrust him away and rolled to one side. Marcus glanced down and saw that Thermon’s eyes were blinking wildly as his jaw shuddered. A dark pool of blood was spilling out across the tiled floor round his head.

‘He’s done for,’ said Festus as he drew his sword. ‘Let’s deal with Decimus.’

Decimus had already grasped the danger he was in and surged up from his couch as he plucked a knife from the table. Without a moment’s hesitation he grabbed the woman who had been lying on the couch next to him and spun her round so that she faced the intruders. Clamping one arm across her chest he brought his knife hand up with the point barely an inch from the woman’s slender throat. She let out another quick cry of terror and clenched her eyes shut.

‘Come any closer, and I’ll kill her!’ Decimus snarled. ‘I mean it!’

Festus gave a dry laugh. ‘We’ve come for you, Decimus. Nothing’s going to stop us.’

‘Come for me?’ Now it was Decimus who laughed. ‘Nonsense. You’ve come for that boy’s mother.’

At his words the woman opened her eyes and Marcus focused his attention fully on her for the first time since they had entered the room. As he recognized her familiar features he felt the strength drain from his limbs and he lowered his sword in shock.

‘Mother …’

She gasped and made an impulsive gesture to reach out as she tried to step away from Decimus. ‘Marcus … My Marcus.’

Decimus wrenched her back harshly. ‘Stand still, you bitch! Don’t you dare move again, if you want to live.’

Her voice trembled as she spoke. ‘You told me that he was being held — ’

‘Shut up!’ Decimus shouted in her ear. ‘Shut your mouth!’

Festus lowered his sword and held out his other hand. ‘Let her go, Decimus. If you want to live. She’s the one we’ve come for. Let her go, and we’ll leave.’

‘Ha!’ he spat. ‘You think me a fool? The moment she’s out of my hands I’ll end up like Thermon down there.’

Marcus glanced aside and saw Thermon’s body twitching as he bled out. Then his eyes snapped back to his mother as he spoke in a clear, cold voice. ‘Let her go.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Decimus grinned, then drew a deep breath and called out at the top of his voice. ‘Guards! Slaves! On me! Help! Help!’

Marcus and Festus looked on helplessly as he raised the alarm. It was Livia who reacted first. Bunching her fist, she drove her elbow back and up into Decimus’s face. There was a light crunch as his nose broke and he let out a gasp of pain and surprise, loosening his grip. With her other hand she snatched at his knife hand and wrestled it away from her throat.

Decimus howled in pain and rage. ‘You’ll pay for that!’

He punched his spare fist into her stomach and Livia folded up with a light groan, still trying to force the knife away, now with both hands.

‘Hold him!’ Festus shouted, racing forward. Marcus had already sprung towards them and punched the guard of his sword into Decimus’s jaw, snapping his head back. He punched again, quickly, and Decimus’s eyes rolled in a daze. Festus dropped his sword and clasped the other man’s hands, forcing them away from Livia so that she fell to one side. With a powerful blow, Festus sent the moneylender sprawling on to a couch, and the knife clattered to the floor at his feet. Before either Festus or Marcus could act, they heard a shrill scream of savage rage as Livia snatched up the knife and leapt on to Decimus, stabbing at his throat. Blood sprayed into the air as he tried in vain to ward off her assault.

‘Please!’ he begged. ‘No! Please …’

‘Animal!’ she shrieked. ‘Vile murderer! Scum! Pig! Die! DIE!’

Marcus looked on aghast, trembling in grief and fear at the sight of the mother he had sought for two years — the mother who had loved and nurtured him — bringing the blade up high to strike again. The man stopped pleading as his efforts to protect himself became more feeble, and then his hand flopped at his side. Festus reached out and firmly grasped Livia’s right wrist, taking the knife from her.

Decimus lay still, silenced, sprawled on the floor in his blood-drenched tunic.

‘That’s enough,’ Festus said gently. ‘Enough. He’s dead.’

‘D-dead?’ she mumbled, then lowered her head as her shoulders heaved. Her bloodied fingers opened and the blade dropped on to Decimus’s chest. Then she pulled herself off the body and turned towards Marcus. Dark strands of her hair mingled with the red flecks on her face as she cried.

Before Marcus knew what he was doing he had his arms about her and drew her head into his chest, feeling her shudder as she wept and held him tightly. He felt overcome with a seething mixture of emotions — love, relief, grief and tenderness. He recalled the times that she had held him this way when he was younger, to comfort him when he was hurt or afraid, and his heart swelled with devotion to his mother.

‘Marcus … My boy … My child.’ Her voice was raw as she gasped the words through her tears.

‘We have to go,’ Festus interrupted. ‘Now. Before anyone comes to see what all the shouting was about. Back the way we came.’

He helped Livia to her feet and Marcus steadied her with his arm as they headed for the corridor. Festus remained by the body. He took one last look at Decimus, then stepped towards the nearest of the stands that carried the oil lamps lighting the room, knocking it to the ground. He did the same to the others as he followed Marcus and his mother. As pools of burning oil spilled out, the flames caught on to the rich fabrics covering the couches, eagerly spreading as the fire took hold of the furniture.

Making their way down the corridor, they saw the slaves emerge from the kitchen, their anxious expressions illuminated by the flames in the room behind the dark outline of the three people heading towards them.

‘Fire!’ Festus shouted. ‘There’s a fire! Run!’

The slaves hesitated for an instant before the first turned and ran back into the kitchen. His companions followed, leaving Marcus and the others to reach the kitchen unopposed. They hurried through it, and down the service corridor to the slave quarters. By the time they reached the small courtyard it was filled with slaves looking up at the orange hue in the high windows of the villa’s banqueting hall. The crackle of the blaze was clearly audible and the first brilliant tongues of flame pierced the wooden window frames.

Marcus ignored them as he helped his mother out through the gate. Lupus was waiting outside, sword poised until he saw that it was his friends. His relieved expression quickly gave way to anxiety as he looked at Livia.

‘Is she all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she replied and turned to smile at Marcus. ‘Really.’

‘No time for this,’ Festus interrupted. ‘We have to hide these bodies behind the woodpile and escape as fast as we can. Lupus, help me. Marcus, get your mother away from here. Down there, in the trees.’ Marcus steered his mother across the grass meadow and the others hurried after him a moment later as the flames began to burst through the roof of the villa, casting long, flickering shadows ahead of the figures fleeing into the night.