Son of Spartacus

24

THE COAST OF GREECE,THREE MONTHS LATER

‘That’s Lechaeum off the starboard bow there.’ The captain of the merchant ship raised his arm and pointed along the rocky coastline. Marcus followed his direction and saw a sprawl of white buildings with red tiled roofs spilling down the side of the hill towards the sea.

‘We should reach the port before the end of the day with this breeze,’ the captain added. Then, briefly looking up to ensure the broad sail was drawing well, he made his way back towards the stern.

Marcus continued to watch the passing coastline of the Peloponnese as the ship rose and fell on the easy swell of the Gulf of Corinth. A handful of seagulls followed the ship, swooping round the top of the mast against the clear blue sky. It was a good day to be alive, he reflected, as the wind blew in his dark hair and the fresh sea air filled his lungs with its salty tang.

Despite the tense aftermath of the rebels’ surrender, Caesar had kept his word. The slaves were returned to their masters unharmed and there had been no repercussions for the ringleaders. The intense heat of the fire had reduced Brixus’s hut to ashes. No bones were found in the smouldering remains, but the blaze had been so fierce that it had consumed everything, even the sturdy timbers holding up the roof. Caesar had proclaimed that Brixus set fire to the hut before taking his own life, and no one dared question his verdict that the matter was closed. As for Decimus and his men, they had disappeared at once, no doubt making for Rome and the safety of the house of Crassus.

Later, back in Ariminum, Caesar had met Marcus for the last time and reunited him with Lupus. Since he was about to march on Gaul, surrounded by an army with a personal bodyguard of five hundred veteran legionaries, he no longer required his household protectors. Accordingly, Festus and two of his men had been instructed to accompany Marcus to Greece. Lastly, Caesar had presented Marcus with a scroll bearing his proconsular seal.

‘That’s a letter of introduction. I’ve asked anyone to whom it is presented to offer you assistance in finding your mother.’

Marcus bowed his head. ‘I am grateful, Caesar.’

‘I should think so. I do not take kindly to being manipulated by anyone, let alone a boy of twelve. My obligations to you are fulfilled, young Marcus. We shall not meet again. If you ever appear at the door of any of my houses I shall have you thrown into the streets.’

‘I understand.’

With that they had parted, and Marcus left the general in his study to complete his plans for the campaign in Gaul. As he approached the door of the house commandeered by Caesar for his headquarters, he had heard footsteps behind him.

‘Marcus, wait!’

He had turned to see Portia, breathless and agitated.

‘I’m told you are leaving.’

‘Banished, more like.’ Marcus smiled. ‘Your uncle never wants to see me again.’

‘Oh … Portia looked crestfallen. ‘Then I shall never see you again.’

Marcus nodded sadly.

‘How is Tribune Quintus?’ be asked.

Disappointed by the question, Portia had shrugged. ‘He suffered dreadfully in the cold. Frostbite, the surgeon says. But he should recover in time to join my uncle.’

‘That’s good.’ Marcus nodded again.

They had stared at each other a moment before she took his hands and squeezed them gently. Marcus felt something pressed into his palm, then she turned and ran, brushing the corner of her eye.

Marcus had stood by the heavy gate to the street as Caesar’s doorman opened it. With a last glance at Portia’s retreating back, he left the house. Outside he had opened his hand and seen a heavy golden ring in his palm. A ruby gleamed brilliantly in its setting, like a tear of blood.

Now, standing on the deck of the ship, Marcus recalled the scene. Through the cloth of his tunic he felt the chain round his neck and the bulk of the ring at the end of it. Though saddened at the prospect of never seeing Portia again, there had never been any question of their friendship being more than a closely guarded secret. It was for the best, he decided reluctantly.

‘What’s the matter, Marcus?’

He turned to see Lupus, standing with feet apart, one hand grasping a rope to steady himself on the heaving deck.

‘It’s nothing.’ Marcus made himself smile back. ‘Just thinking.’

‘You should be rejoicing. You’re back in Greece. We’ll soon find your mother, you’ll see.’

Marcus nodded. Then both of them turned to the other side of the ship as a deep groan sounded across the deck. Festus stood hunched over the rail and his body heaved as he tried to vomit again.

Lupus chuckled. ‘There’s one at least who’ll rejoice at the prospect of reaching shore. Who’d have thought that tough old Festus would have the constitution of a lamb the moment he stepped on board ship?’

Marcus laughed, then looked fondly at his companion. ‘You’re in a fine mood today.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Lupus grinned. ‘I am free. For the first time in my life. It’s the first thought that fills my mind every morning. There is no better thing in this world.’ His expression grew more serious. ‘And I have you to thank for it.’

Marcus felt a warm glow of pleasure. Even though he had prevented a bloody massacre, those he had saved were still slaves. Only Lupus had been freed from bondage. But it was a start, he told himself. One small step along the way to … what? A greater destiny? Perhaps. But for now only one thing mattered. The single purpose that had carried him through Porcino’s gladiator school, the vicious streets of Rome and the icy perils of the Apennine mountains — his burning desire to rescue his mother. Now that time had come.