Street fighter

24

‘Are you certain about what you heard?’ asked Caesar. Marcus stood next to the kitchen table, wearing only a loincloth, as Festus cleaned his cuts. Even he had been surprised when he’d taken off his ragged tunic and seen the full scale of the injuries he’d suffered during his escape. His knee was especially bad, a deep gash that had torn the flesh and would leave a nasty scar. He hadn’t wanted to remove his tunic in full view, but Festus left him no choice. At least his shoulder faced away from the rest of the room. Marcus prayed that the filth Lupus had applied still disguised his brand.

‘Yes, master,’ Marcus replied. ‘There’s no mistake. They intend to kill you once you have announced the senators will be forced to swear obedience to the new law.’

‘And you are sure that it was Bibulus you saw with Milo?’

‘It was Bibulus.’

‘And the other man? He never revealed his face to you?’

‘Not once, master. But there was something about his voice I recognized.’

‘Hmmm.’ Caesar stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘This is quite a turn-up. There’s a handful of men I suspect capable of having me killed, but Bibulus is not one of them. He lacks the stomach for it. I thought he was like Cato, all bluster and high principle. Now it seems he has a more ruthless streak. I wonder who talked him into it?’

There was a knock on the door frame and Flaccus entered the room. He looked surprised at the injuries covering Marcus’s body.

‘What is it?’ asked Caesar.

‘Publius Clodius is in the atrium, master. He says you sent for him.’

It was the first thing Caesar had done after Marcus returned shortly after dawn.

‘That’s correct. Show him in.’

‘Do you wish to receive him in your study, master?’

‘No. Send him here.’

Flaccus glanced round the kitchen before he bowed his head and spoke in a disapproving tone. ‘As you wish, master.’

He backed out of the doorway and shortly afterwards returned with Clodius. The young aristocrat clasped arms with Caesar before turning his attention on Marcus.

‘Well, well, the spy returns. And quickly too. I take it your mission was a failure.’

Before Marcus could reply, Caesar cut in. ‘Certainly not. Young Marcus found out a great deal before he was discovered and forced to flee. We know the enemy’s plans in detail now.’

‘Oh?’ Clodius turned his gaze on Marcus. ‘Well, there’s obviously more to you than meets the eye, young gladiator. You have done a man’s job. I congratulate you.’

Marcus felt his heart swell with pride and he bowed his head in thanks.

Clodius turned to Caesar. ‘So what are they up to?’

Once Caesar had briefly outlined the plot, Clodius pondered a while before responding. ‘Clearly, you can’t attend the Senate with a killer close at hand. You’ll have to postpone your amendment until the danger has passed. I always thought it was a step too far to insist on the Senate taking an oath never to repeal the Land Bill. You know how touchy they are when too much power seems to be in the hands of one individual.’

‘And you can imagine how touchy I am about politics stooping to the level of murder. My murder in particular,’ Caesar retorted.

‘Quite,’ Clodius sniggered. ‘So what do you intend to do about it?’

‘I will not show them I am afraid. That would only make them more confident. So it’s business as usual. I shall go to the Senate and put my amendment to the senators.’

Festus paused from dabbing the dirt and grit out of Marcus’s cuts. ‘No, master. Why place yourself in the way of an assassin’s knife? You can’t take the risk.’

‘Any life worth living is a risky business, my dear Festus. But I take your point and I fully intend to reduce the danger posed to me. First, I will have Marcus join me when I attend the Senate. The other side has seen his face, so it would be best if he wore a hood. He is to watch for any sign of the signal he spoke of. The instant that happens, you and your men must close ranks about me, Festus. At the same time, I want Clodius and his gangs to take control of the approaches to the Senate House. We won’t give Milo a chance to create any diversion.’ Caesar looked round at the others. ‘As long as we are all vigilant, there is little danger.’

Clodius chuckled. ‘It’s your decision, Caesar.’

Marcus wondered if his master was truly as calm as he appeared. But a sudden insight struck him. In some ways, men like Caesar were the same as gladiators. They were raised to face danger without showing fear and, if the need arose, to meet their end with dignity before the eyes of the world. Their contests might be fought in very different arenas, but the stakes were essentially the same: life and glory, or death.

Caesar turned his attention to Marcus. ‘Once again, I owe you my thanks. You are as brave as any soldier I have ever commanded, and I will see you are rewarded when the time is right.’

Marcus nodded, his most treasured hope rekindled in his heart. But he knew he must wait until the threat to Caesar had passed, when his master would be as well disposed towards him as possible. Then he could ask for his reward.

Caesar turned to Festus. ‘Have you finished with him?’

Festus wrung the last drops of water out of the cloth as he replied. ‘Yes, master.’

‘Then you can go, Marcus. Get some rest.’

‘Yes, master.’

He turned to leave but had taken no more than two paces before Caesar called out, ‘Wait!’

Marcus stopped and began to turn when Caesar spoke again.

‘Stay where you are. What is that mark on your shoulder?’

Marcus’s stomach clenched in icy terror. He heard footsteps behind and then the touch of Caesar’s fingers on the scar on his back. He fought the urge to shudder. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously before he dared reply.

‘I don’t know, master. It has always been there.’

Caesar was silent as he examined the mark. ‘It’s a brand of some kind. What is that? A wolf’s head. . and a sword. . I think I’ve seen that somewhere before. Marcus, turn round.’

He did as he was told and forced himself to look steadily into Caesar’s piercing gaze. Marcus felt an icy fist clench round his heart. This is it, he thought in terror, he knows! It took all his resolution to keep his face as expressionless as possible while Caesar’s eyes bored into him.

‘Where did you get that brand?’

‘I don’t know, master. I didn’t even know it was a brand until recently,’ he replied truthfully. ‘I always thought it was a scar.’

‘ Did your parents not tell you anything about it?’

‘No, master.’

Caesar stared at him a long time, frowning. ‘I’ve seen it before. I’m sure of it.’

‘I’m told the lad’s father was a centurion,’ said Festus. ‘It could be something to do with that. You know what soldiers are like about their secret clubs and religions, master.’

‘No.’ Caesar shook his head. ‘That wasn’t it.’

“Well, I’m sure it’s of no consequence now,’ Clodius interrupted impatiently. ‘We have more important things to worry about.’

‘Yes.’ Caesar nodded, though he still stared at the mark in puzzlement. He shook his head. ‘You’re right. Marcus, you may go.’

Marcus bowed his head and left, walking as swiftly as he dared. His heart pounded in his chest. Outside, in the corridor, he slumped against the wall and breathed deeply as his mind raced. The symbol was a closely guarded secret. Only Spartacus and his inner circle shared the brand. How could Caesar recognize it? Perhaps he had seen something similar once. After all, the wolf and the sword were not uncommon symbols. Marcus gritted his teeth as he put aside such hopeful thoughts. The head of a wolf — the beast that had suckled Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome — impaled on a gladiator’s sword revealed an obvious challenge to Rome. Lupus had said as much. Caesar was sure to realize that, even if he didn’t know the precise origins of the symbol. Marcus felt sick with dread as he continued down the corridor to the slave quarters.

Lupus was not there and Marcus was relieved to be alone with his thoughts. He lay down on the bedroll and stared at the ceiling. Now he was resting, the aches and pain from his cuts made themselves felt and he winced at the throbbing in his knee. He found himself reliving the events of the previous night with the terror of being caught and tortured for information. He’d been so thankful to return to the safety of Caesar’s house, but Caesar had seen the mark of Spartacus and reminded him this was all an illusion. Once Caesar recalled what the mark meant, he would see Marcus’s connection to a sworn enemy. Then there would be no reward for Marcus. Both he and his mother would be killed.

He heard a rustle of soft footsteps and looked towards the door. Portia stood in the threshold, her face ashen as she looked down at him.

‘By the gods, Marcus. What have they done to you?’

Marcus reached for the worn blanket beside the bedroll and pulled it over his body. ‘I’m all right, mistress. Just tired.’

‘Where have you been? Festus said you were doing something for my uncle.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Have you been beaten for something? Was it Flaccus? Let me know and I’ll deal with him.’

‘No, mistress. I just had a fall.’

‘A fall?’ Portia arched an eyebrow. ‘Just the one?’

Marcus laughed, and then winced from his bruises.

Portia stepped closer and crouched at his side, tentatively resting her fingers on his shoulder. ‘You’re in pain. I should send for my uncle’s surgeon.’

‘No. I don’t need anything, apart from rest,’ Marcus replied. ‘You shouldn’t be here, mistress. If they found you — ’

‘I would say I’m enquiring after the health of my bodyguard. Perfectly innocent.’ She smiled. ‘And stop calling me “mistress, please. We’re alone — probably for the last time. I’m to marry Pompeius’s nephew as soon as this business at the Senate is over. Uncle’s arranging a feast to celebrate his success, and my marriage, a few days from now.’

‘So soon? I thought the wedding was supposed to be late summer?’

‘It was. Pompeius asked to move it forward. Uncle thinks he wants to be sure the alliance between them is secure.’

This was a bitter blow, thought Marcus. ‘And what about our plans for taking me with you as your bodyguard?’

She shook her head sadly. ‘My uncle won’t let you go.’

‘You asked him?’

‘I did. He said you were far too valuable to him.’ She forced a smile. ‘It seems I’m not the only one who thinks highly of you.’

Marcus let out a sigh. It was as he’d thought — everything depended on winning Caesar’s favour now. And Marcus would miss Portia’s friendship.

Portia’s chin trembled. ‘It seems I must say goodbye to everything I have always known, and you. I owe you something I can never repay. You saved my life.’

‘I saved both our lives.’ Marcus smiled back.

She stared at him a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him. ‘I shall never forget you, Marcus.’

Marcus held up his hand to still her tongue. ‘Nor I you. Goodbye, Portia.’

She smiled, then turned away and left the room. Marcus heard her foodsteps fade and then the house was quiet again. Only the distant sounds of other slaves talking as they worked in the garden came to Marcus’s ears, above the faint hum of the city. He lay back on his bedroll and stared at the ceiling again, his heart weighed down by yet another burden. Despite all his training, Marcus was suddenly struck with as deep a grief as he had ever known. He realized there was something worse than fear — worse than the terror of facing an opponent in a fight, worse than being hunted through the streets of Rome by a bloodthirsty gang — and that was the knowledge you are alone in the world.

Easing himself on to his side, he curled up into a ball, no longer able to fight the sorrow that had been building up in him for so long.