Gladiator: Vengeance

22

In the morning there was a clear view from across the valley of the devastation caused by the fire. Smoke still trailed up into the blue sky from the blackened ruins of Decimus’s villa. Small groups of curious onlookers were walking up from the town towards the estate. Festus had left the cave at first light to make his way into Tegea to purchase rations and find out what the accepted explanation was about the cause of the fire. If suspicions had been aroused, then they would have to leave Tegea as swiftly as possible.

With Festus gone, Marcus was left to keep watch. Both his mother and Lupus were still asleep in the shadows at the rear of the cave, but the light from the morning sun would soon wake them. Cerberus lay at his side, head resting between his huge paws and his eyes all but closed as his nostrils stirred with each easy breath. As Marcus looked round at his mother, curled up in a ball with her back to him, he felt confused.

He had lived for this moment ever since the time they were parted when she had begged him to make his escape alone. He had dreamt about rescuing her and eagerly anticipated the release of all the love and longing that he had been forced to bottle up inside. Behind it all had been the desire to return his life to the way things were before. He had always considered that to be his aim, without ever really questioning if it was likely to happen.

Now that he and his mother were free again, the future suddenly seemed uncertain. Not only was a return to the farm fraught with difficulties, but he had changed. He had grown up during the last two years and was now more a man than a boy. And he knew that his mother had changed too. Although Marcus was overjoyed to be reunited with her, his emotions were confused. After all, she had butchered a man in front of him. And there had been the shock of finding her dining alongside the man Marcus knew as a bitter enemy. Back in Athens, Decimus had taunted him with the image of his mother in chains and starving. That was a lie, Marcus realized, told to make his misery as acute as possible. He cursed the moneylender under his breath before his thoughts returned to the previous night.

After their escape from the villa she had clutched him tightly as she sobbed. Then, as Festus urged her to put aside her feelings and escape, she had become silent and withdrawn. They had sat in silence, side by side, with their backs to the rock as they watched the flames devouring the villa. The lurid red of the fire bathed the surrounding landscape and the roar of the flames carried clearly in the still night air. Eventually, as the fire began to die down they had both fallen asleep, curled up next to one another as they had done sometimes when he was a small boy.

Turning back to resume his watch over the approaches to the cave, Marcus wondered how Festus was getting on. They would need food for the road now that the bodyguard was keen to put some distance between them and Tegea, without attracting any attention along the way. He hoped the fire would be regarded as a tragic accident for Decimus and Thermon. With luck their bodies, and those of the guards they had disposed of, would have burned sufficiently to conceal the wounds, and in the shock of the blaze no one would recall the small band of fugitives fleeing into the darkness.

‘A sestertius for your thoughts.’

Marcus turned sharply to see that his mother had stirred and was sitting up watching him. She smiled uncertainly and stood up, then trod lightly across the floor of the cave in order not to wake Lupus, and sat down beside Marcus.

‘My poor Marcus.’ She put her arm round him and drew him towards her. ‘My poor boy. I had always hoped that one day I might escape from Decimus and try to find you.’ She smiled uncertainly at him. ‘But it was you who found me. No longer the child I knew. You’ve become a young man … You remind me of your father.’ Tears glistened in her eyes and she quickly kissed his forehead. They sat in silence for a moment and Marcus felt her stifling a sob. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to ask, but he did not know where to begin. She sensed his uneasiness and drew back a little to look at him. ‘What are you thinking?’

Marcus sighed heavily. ‘I’m not sure. The only thing that I lived for over the last two years was to find you. I had to save you. I thought you were being held in chains and worked to death. I wasn’t prepared to see you in that room. At his table, eating at his side …’

His mother was silent for a moment. ‘Does it matter? We are free, that’s what counts. What do you think has been keeping me alive while we have been apart, Marcus? I lived for the same thing. I did what I had to do in order to survive, and, so I thought, to keep you safe from harm.’

He looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

She frowned briefly and her bottom lip trembled before she swallowed and continued. ‘Decimus told me that his men had recaptured you after we were separated. He said that you were taken to his house in Athens to serve as a slave there. As long as I did what he asked, you would be safe from harm.’

Marcus fought to control a new wave of hatred for Decimus. The man had deserved to die. Even now that he was dead, the suffering he had inflicted on them continued, with an agonizing new twist. He had lied to them both, using his lies to force his mother to do his bidding.

‘I’m glad that it was you who killed him,’ he said harshly. ‘You deserved vengeance more than me.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘No. I don’t think so. Decimus stole your childhood. Nothing can make up for that. And now I see that you are no longer my young son.’ She examined his features in detail for the first time by the light of day. ‘You have grown. You look strong and there is a hard glint to your eyes. You have changed,’ she concluded sadly and shook her head as if reluctant to accept her judgement. ‘Changed … You will never be the same Marcus I knew, the one I had frozen in time during every moment of the last two years.’

Marcus felt tears fill his eyes and took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I am your son, Mother. I always will be. I owe my very life to you and swear by all that is sacred that I will protect you. We will never be separated again. Not now.’

Marcus’s mother smiled. ‘We must try not to let the past ruin what we have. We must do what all free people do, and live in hope. We are free and our fate is our own to decide again. Hold on to that, my dear Marcus. Hold on to that and move on. Don’t let the shadow of Decimus linger over us.’

‘I’ll try. But it won’t be easy.’

‘It never is, living with the past,’ she said with feeling. ‘I know, believe me. It was the same when I lived with your father …’ She glanced at him quickly before she continued. ‘Titus.’

Marcus felt a nervous tremor ripple down his spine. He knew that the time had come to let his mother know that he had learned the truth about the identity of his real father. He shifted so that he could face her. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I know about Spartacus.’

He reached a hand up and patted the material of his tunic over the brand on his shoulder. ‘I know about this, and what it means.’

Marcus’s mother had paled. Her expression filled with fear.

‘You know?’ she repeated. ‘By the Gods, Marcus, how did you ever find out? Who told you?’

‘After we were separated I was taken to a gladiator school in Capua for training. There was a man there who saw the brand and recognized it. He told me.’

She closed her eyes and spoke softly. ‘They made you into a gladiator … The Gods could not be more cruel. Your father suffered the same fate. He swore he would dedicate his life to making sure no other man ever had to suffer that. And now his son, his only son, has had to endure the very thing that tormented his soul every day that he led the fight against Rome.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Is there no end to it? No end to our suffering?’

She looked at him again. ‘What was the name of the man who told you about Spartacus?’

Marcus heard the pain in her voice as she spoke the name. He swallowed before he replied. ‘Brixus.’

She looked blank for a moment and then smiled warmly. ‘Brixus. He survived then. That’s good. He was one of the best. He would have died at the side of Spartacus if he had been fit enough to fight in that last, terrible battle where it all ended. I’m glad he is still alive. So few of us were spared when they rounded up the prisoners.’ Her eyes suddenly glinted. ‘And yet they failed to extinguish the blaze that Spartacus started. There is still a spark of hope that will one day light the beacon and signal to every slave that the rebellion lives on. You are that beacon, Marcus.’

Marcus had come to know that slavery was a crushing burden and those who lived under it endured a constant black despair like a dark, bottomless pit. It filled him with a sense of unspeakable horror. With a flash of insight, Marcus grasped the powerful force that had driven Spartacus to revolt against slavery, despite the terrible risks and great odds that faced him. What depths of courage he must have possessed, Marcus thought. To not only take on Rome, but to confront the meaning of slavery every day. To carry in his heart a full awareness of the horror that slavery entailed. It was that knowledge that had driven Spartacus to fight Rome, right up until he drew his last breath. Marcus felt a sense of awe for the man who had fathered him and began to understand the depth of devotion from his followers — men like Brixus and Mandracus who had kept the flame of rebellion burning and fed the hope that all slaves silently guarded like a treasure.

Marcus began to see a new future now that he was reunited with his mother. He could not return to the life he had lost. That path was closed to him now. He had grown beyond that and there was a burden he must shoulder, like his father before him. There was a struggle against a monstrous injustice in which he must take part. And there was no alternative to that struggle other than the shame of bowing down before the greatest evil known to humanity. At last he understood his father’s heart and for the first time saw the dim features of the face of his father in his mind’s eye. The careworn strain in his expression, the determination in his steely eyes and the faint smile of approval as he knew that he had not died in vain. That the great cause, for which he had given his life, lived on in his only son.

He looked up and met his mother’s intense gaze steadily. ‘That day may come, Mother. But only when the moment is right. And only if I choose to continue my father’s fight. You said we should not let the past rule us. Well, I believe that. I am free. I am not the slave of any other man, and I am not the slave of any other man’s dream.’

Marcus’s mother opened her mouth as if to protest, but no words came. At length she shook her head and looked down. ‘You are right. Your father would be proud of you, as I am proud of you.’

Marcus embraced the words, warmth spreading through his heart.

‘Do your friends know?’

‘Lupus does. He learned the truth from Brixus later on.’

‘And the man, Festus?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘I dare not tell him.’

‘Why not?’

‘I met Festus after I was bought from the owner of the gladiator school. At the time Festus was serving as the leader of Julius Caesar’s bodyguards.’

Her eyes opened wide, staring. ‘Caesar? Then … then we’re in terrible danger. We have to get out of here, Marcus. Before he returns from the town.’

‘No. Festus is my friend. I don’t think we have anything to fear from him.’

Cerberus suddenly stirred and his ears perked up as a low growl rumbled in his throat. A twig cracked on the path leading up past the cave and Marcus quietly drew his sword, indicating to his mother to get to the back of the cave, taking the dog with her. She slipped her hand into Cerberus’s collar and crept back towards the still slumbering Lupus. Marcus moved to a rock at the side of the cave mouth and crouched down out of sight. His ears strained to pick up any more sounds and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots drawing closer. They grew louder in volume then stopped for a beat.

‘Marcus?’

He felt a surge of relief as he recognized Festus’s voice and stood up, sheathing his sword before he stepped out on to the path. Caesar’s bodyguard stood staring at him with an intense expression. He carried a net bag over his shoulder and swung it carefully to the ground, revealing the contents: bread, cheese and fruit. His hand released the end of the bag and Festus rested it on the handle of his dagger. In his other hand he held a thin wooden board on which a notice had been painted.

‘I think you should see this, Marcus.’

He held it up for him to read.

Wanted for the MURDER of Procrustes, a citizen of Leuctra. Authorities are looking for MARCUS, a boy of approximately 13 years, travelling with TWO accomplices, a boy answering to the name of LUPUS and a man named FESTUS. Marcus has brown hair, brown eyes, of average height for his age, but better built. He has a distinguishing scar on his shoulder. A brand, in the shape of a sword piercing the head of a wolf. A reward of 10,000 denarii is offered by Governor Servillus for their capture.

Marcus looked up and saw the cold expression in the man’s face as he spoke. ‘I found this in the market square. There are more like it in every public space in Tegea. Would you care to tell me why you think Governor Servillus is prepared to offer such a huge fortune to get his hands on you?’

‘I–I have no idea.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Marcus. You’d better tell me what is going on. You’d better tell me what that mark on your shoulder means. I saw that look on the official’s face back in the arena. He recognized the mark. He knew it meant something important. So you’d better tell me about it. Right now. I want to hear the truth, all of it, from your own lips, Marcus.’

He took a step towards Marcus as he tightened his grip on the handle of his dagger.