Son of Spartacus

2

A party led by Pindar ran to the steps leading up on to the wall and made for the nearest of the sentries. In the compound, dark figures raced towards the barrack doors, a savage roar tearing from the throat of each man as the raiders surged forward. Brixus did his best to keep up, but was hampered by his old wound and swiftly overtaken by most of his men. The two unarmed guards who stood at the entrance quickly recovered from their surprise and, dropping their jars, they turned and raced back inside.

Roused by the commotion, the first of the defenders had already reached the barrack doors, armed with a short sword and dagger. Barefoot, he was a well-built man with grey hair and lined features. From the swiftness of his reaction and the steady manner in which he planted his feet squarely on the ground, it was clear he had once been an experienced soldier. He glanced at the wave of men converging on him and then shouted back over his shoulder.

‘To arms! Form up on me.’

A handful of men managed to join him before the raiders charged into them. The ex-soldier neatly ducked a swinging club and slammed his sword into the side of the first raider, knocking him off his feet. He collapsed with a groan, clutching his side, and tripping up one of his comrades who sprawled in front of the guard and was despatched with a swift thrust between his shoulder blades.

Despite the courage and example of the ex-soldier, the guards outside the barracks were outnumbered and in moments the raiders had cut down two of the defenders and forced the rest back inside the entrance. Over the shoulders of his men and the flickering gleam of blades, the ex-soldier could see that the rest of the guards had armed themselves to join those at the open door. Only a handful of men on either side could the narrow gap, and as each casualty fell he was quickly replaced with neither side gaining the advantage.

Outside, Brixus hissed a low curse. He had hoped to surprise his enemy quickly enough to burst in upon them and slaughter the guards in their barracks before they could arm themselves and form ranks. It was too late for that now and he had to change his plan before he lost too many men. His fellow gladiators were the only men he knew he could depend on. The rest were escaped slaves who had joined his growing band, keen to wreak their revenge on their former oppressors, but lacking the training and discipline of seasoned fighters. If they saw too many of their comrades fall, then their courage would probably fail them.

Sheathing his sword, he stepped round the men crowding the entrance and grasped the edge of the door.

‘Stand back!’ he ordered those nearest him. ‘You and you, help me close this door.’

With men on either side, Brixus began to push. At first there was no resistance, but as the defenders saw what was happening, the ex-soldier bellowed an order. ‘Hold the door open!’

While the desperate fighting continued in the narrow gap, the raiders braced their boots and shoved the rough wooden surface with all their strength as the defenders resisted from the other side. The door slowed down and then stopped.

‘Taurus!’ Brixus called out through gritted teeth. ‘Over here! Now!’

The giant plucked one of the raiders aside and threw his weight against the door beside his leader. At once it began to move again, steadily closing until the gap was too narrow for anyone to pass through. The pale shaft of light cast from the lamps shrank and then vanished as the door closed on the frame.

‘Hold it shut,’ Brixus ordered and gestured to the nearest of his men to help Taurus, before he drew back and looked around the compound. A short distance away, beside one of the granaries, he saw a heavy cart. Summoning several men, he hurried across the compound and grasped the yoke. Straining against the dead weight of the vehicle, the raiders pulled it across to the barracks where the door shuddered under the impact of bodies and weapons from within. The cart was manoeuvred close to the wall and worked along the door, pinning itin place. The guards could only open it a small way, enough to let out a sliver of light.

‘What now?’ asked Taurus.

‘Take your men and get some dry feed from the stables, then pile it up round the barracks. The rest of you, cover the windows and don’t let any of them out.’

While the barracks was surrounded and bales of hay piled the walls, a handful of the guards guessed the fate that the raiders had in store for them and tried to escape through the small windows set high in the building. Seeing them, the raiders thrust their spears up, forcing the men back inside. Once Brixus was satisfied that preparations were complete, he ordered oil to be poured over the combustible materials and told Pindar to light a torch from the brazier above the gatehouse. When Pindar returned he handed the torch to Brixus, who limped up to the cart blocking the door.

‘You inside, hear me! Throw out your weapons and surrender.’

There was a brief pause before a voice answered. ‘And let ourselves be slaughtered like cattle? No chance. I’ll die like a man.’

‘Then die you will,’ Brixus shouted back. A cold smile flickered across his lips. ‘Let your deaths be a beacon to every Roman and slave alike. For liberty!’

He stepped forward and applied the torch to the straw piled up beneath the cart. The flame caught at once and spread through the dry lengths with a light crackle, then a growing roar, as the flames licked up and burned fiercely. They spread round the edge of the barracks and smoke billowed into the air, the lurid orange clouds lit up by the savage fire.

There were shouts from inside the barracks, and cries of panic as the men appeared at the windows, but were beaten back by the heat. The raiders stood in a loose circle about the burning building, dark figures silhouetted against the brilliant glare of the flames, their long shadows stretching behind them into the darkness. Before long the flames had caught the roof timbers, and sections of tile collapsed inside. There were no more shouts, just piercing shrieks of agony muffled by the occasional sharp reports of timbers bursting. The screams continued for a while and then there was only the roar of the fire.

Brixus climbed up on to the edge of the well and surveyed the small crowd before him, their faces lit up by the slowly dying fire of the barracks. To one side stood the steward who ran the estate for Ids wealthy master, with his wife and two sons barely I in their teens. They looked down at the ground, afraid to meet the eyes of their captors. Brixus turned his attention back to the crowd. Their expressions were mostly fearful, but some looked at him with hope in their eyes. They would be the to his side, Brixus reflected as he gathered his to address the slaves who had just been the long, low shed where they were shut in when not at work in the; fields and groves of the estate. As the locking bar had been withdrawn and the doors opened, the familiar stench of sweat and human waste billowed out from inside and he cursed the Romans for treating these people little better than animals.

Holding his torch aloft, Brixus had entered the building, fighting back his nausea as the slaves cowered away from him. Most of them were chained together by the ankle to prevent any attempt at escape when they were out in the fields. Only a handful — children and older men and women — had their irons removed. They wore little more than rags, soiled and torn, and their filthy skin was covered in bruises and scars from the beatings of their overseers.

‘I am Brixus,’ he announced. ‘A lieutenant of Spartacus. I have come to set you free.’

He turned to his followers. ‘Get the chains off them and lead them out of here. Keep ’em together so I can speak to them when they’re ready.’

Now the slaves stood before him, anxious to learn what would become of them.

Brixus drew a deep breath and spoke loudly to be heard over the distant crackle of the flames still consuming what was left of the barracks.

‘Your lives of back-breaking toil are over, my friends. There will be no more whips. No more chains. No more slowly starving on the thin gruel provided by your masters. See how well they lived while you endured so much suffering, exhaustion and hunger?’ He thrust his arm towards the steward and his family.

The slaves glanced towards the man who had controlled every aspect of their lives and there was silence before a voice muttered angrily. Others joined in, waving their fists.

Brixus raised his hands and called out to them. ‘Enough! Enough! You will have your revenge shortly. For now, listen to me.’

When they had fallen silent, he continued. ‘As I said. You are no longer slaves, but free. Now you may choose what to do with your lives. You are masters of your fate.'

‘What happens when news of this attack gets out?’ a voice asked. ‘They will come here and punish any slave they find.’

‘Then come with us,’ Brixus replied.

‘And go where? The Romans will hunt us down like dogs.’

‘No, they won’t. I told you my name. I am Brixus, loyal to what Spartacus died for. When the rebellion ended I survived, along with many others. When I escaped again I made for the hills and mountains of the Apennines and joined those of the slave army who still remained in hiding. Since then we have been adding to our number by raiding the estates of those who call themselves our masters, and setting their slaves free. I lead but one of the bands of rebels who hide in the mountains. The Romans have tried to hunt us down, but we have eluded them. Now we are fighting back, hunting them down in turn and destroying their patrols and burning their outposts to the ground. They are becoming afraid of us. Every Roman soldier we kill, every villa we destroy, every slave we set free adds to their fear.’ Brixus paused to give emphasis to his next words. ‘One day soon we will be strong enough to rekindle the rebellion that Spartacus once led and there will be a new war against those who would keep us as slaves.’

There were excited cries of approval from the crowd, then an old man at the front took a step forward.

‘I too fought for Spartacus. But we were an army. Tens of thousands of us. And the Romans still beat us. You are the leader of a band of runaways and brigands. What chance have we got if we join you? What freedom do you really offer? A few months as fugitives in the hills, in the depth of winter, before we are hunted down, caught and punished. Last time they crucified thousands in order to teach us a lesson. How much greater do you think their anger will be a second time?’ The old man turned to his comrades and raised a hand to draw their attention. ‘I say we’d be better off here. When the soldiers come, we’ll explain that we had no part in tonight’s action.'

‘You old fool!’ Brixus shouted him down. ‘Do you think they will listen to you? No. It will make no difference to their desire for revenge. They will make an example of you just the same. Stay here and you will die.’

‘We all die, Brixus,' the old man replied. ‘One way or another.'

‘Then all that matters is how you die,’ Brixus replied. ‘You can choose to spend the rest of your days living in your own filth, surviving on scraps at the whim of your masters, or you can seize your freedom here and now. Be your own master. Taste the sweet air of freedom. Of course there is a price, as with all things that are worth having. You will have to fight to stay free. Better to fight on your feet than spend your life grovelling on your knees to some fat Roman pig. What is your death now but simply an end to suffering? An end to a life that has no value. Together we can stop this. Have freedom instead of slavery. But only if we have the courage to fight for that freedom. Who here will join me?’

‘Me!’ a voice cried out and was instantly echoed by many others. The old man looked over his shoulder and shook his head in dismay.

When the shouting had died down Brixus spoke again. ‘Brothers and sisters, the age of slavery will soon come to an end. The bands of rebels will join together and the dream of Spartacus will become a reality.’

‘Spartacus is dead!’ the old man shouted back.

'Yes, he is dead,’ Brixus acknowledged. 'But his dream lives on. And more than his dream. The bloodline of Spartacus continues. Soon, very soon, the rebels will be united and fighting together under one banner and one leader, and that leader will be one who is fit to assume the mantle of the great Spartacus, for he is none other than his son! He will lead us and fulfil the destiny and dream of his father, the same dream that is shared by every slave in the Roman Empire.’

‘The son of Spartacus?’ The old man shook his head. ‘It’s not possible. I was there. He had no son.’

‘The son was born shortly after the end of the rebellion. He bears the secret mark of Spartacus. I have seen it. I have met the boy.'

The crowd had fallen silent, listening to his words with rapt attention, hope burning in almost every face.

‘Where is he?’ some cried out. ‘Where is the boy?’

‘I know where he lives,’ said Brixus. ‘He follows in the footsteps of his father, and already it is clear that he will become as great a gladiator as Spartacus in his time. Greater perhaps. He is still young. But when the time comes he cannot avoid his destiny. He will answer the call, and lead us all to freedom!'

‘Freedom!’ his followers shouted and the cry was echoed by the newly liberated slaves. Even the old man joined in, his eyes sparkling with emotion. Brixus allowed the cheering to continue for a while before he raised his hands and called for silence.

‘There is one last task before we leave this place tonight.’ He turned and pointed to the steward and his family. ‘We must show the Romans what fate lies in store for those who would oppress their fellow man. Bring me the youngest boy.’

One of his men strode over to the family, grabbed the boy’s arm and wrenched him away. He struggled to free himself, reaching out a hand towards his mother as her face wrinkled with grief. The steward held her back as he spoke clearly and defiantly to his son.

‘Show no fear to these scum. No tears. Remember, you are a Roman.’

Brixus laughed, and some in the crowd jeered.

Set in front of Brixus, the boy stood as tall as he could manage and tried to look calm and defiant.

‘Are you afraid of me?’ asked Brixus.

‘You should be. What is your name?’

'Lucius Pollonius Secundus. Though you can call me young master.’

Brixus smiled. ‘Arrogant to a fault. You are a true Roman. The question is, are you a clever Roman, Lucius? Do you think you can remember every detail of what has happened here tonight?’

‘I shall never forget it.’

‘That is true.’ Brixus nodded. Then he turned to Taurus. ‘Crucify the others. This one is to be chained to the foot of his father’s post. He will be the one to tell Rome that a new rebellion is coming, and this time the heir of Spartacus will lead us to victory, and the annihilation of Rome.’