Son of Spartacus

As he approached the door of the house, squeezed between a bakery and a wine seller, Marcus stopped in the street, deep in thought. He was exhausted and the column would be setting out for the mountains at first light. Caesar was right to advise a good night’s rest. It might be a long time before he got the chance to sleep in a comfortable dry bed again. But there was no shaking the need to find out what Decimus was up to. Caesar had ordered Marcus to avoid the man, but he had made no mention of avoiding Festus. Marcus smiled to himself. Pulling up the hood of his cloak, he strode past the door of his billet and made for the centre of town.

Mutina had once been an important trading centre between Roman dominions and those of the Gauls and other tribes from the north. Now, with the expansion of Roman power towards the Alps, the town had become something of a backwater, relying more on farms and small industries to generate its wealth. But there was no hiding the fact that the town was in decline. Marcus noticed that some of the houses he passed were in a sad state. The paint on many of the public statues had been neglected and was flaking away to reveal the plain stone beneath. The heart of the town still flourished, however, and the sounds of revelry filled the air as Marcus emerged into the forum.

Every i

Marcus stopped outside the first i

‘Excuse me,’ he said, pulling back his hood. ‘I’ve been sent from headquarters to find one of Caesar’s officers. Any idea where they might be?’

A tall, burly man with thick stubble on his cheeks turned to look down at Marcus. ‘Officers? Who cares a stuff for them, eh? Bunch of stuck-up wasters.’

‘Oil’ one of his companions called out. ‘Leave it out, Publius. Boy’s only asking a question.’ He pushed his surly comrade aside and stood in front of Marcus with an apologetic expression. ‘Ignore him. He’s just a grumbler.’

‘Too right I am!’ his comrade cut in. ‘Why aren’t we resting up in winter quarters? Ain’t right that we’ve been ordered to get out and fight in the middle of winter. Ain’t going to be in good shape when the real campaign starts in spring.’

‘Ah, shut it!’ his companion said crossly, before turning back to Marcus. ‘So what do you want, young ‘un?’

‘I need to find the staff officers. Have you seen them?’

‘Hmm?’ The soldier scratched his chin. ‘Best try the Jolly Boar. Over there by the Temple of Jupiter. It’s supposed to be the classiest i

Marcus shook his head. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

The man frowned and then clicked his fingers. ‘Yes! It was in Rome. I was on leave there last year. Saw you fight that Celt boy. You’re Marcus Cornelius, right?’

Again, Marcus shook his head. It was already possible that rumours of his fight with Quintus were spreading through the ranks. Marcus was determined to keep his presence secret from Decimus for as long as possible. It would be better to deny his identity for now…

‘I am just a servant of Caesar,’ Marcus replied flatly. The soldier looked disappointed and waved his hand dismissively. ‘Off you go then, boy!’

Marcus turned away to head across the forum towards the i

From inside, Marcus could hear excited chatter and cheering before there was a brief lull, then a crescendo of noise. He squeezed through the door and saw at once that the i

He picked out Quintus easily enough. Portia’s young husband was gri

Now that he had them in sight, Marcus stared at Decimus for a while. He recalled vividly the cruel expression in the man’s face when the moneylender had told Marcus and his mother of their fate as they lay in a holding cell of the slave market back in Greece. Marcus edged round the room and made his way towards Festus, where he positioned himself with his back to Decimus and the others.

Festus’s eyebrows rose briefly in surprise. He leaned across the table. ‘What are you doing here?’ he growled.

‘Caesar’s dismissed me for the evening. I thought I’d have a look around the town.’

‘Pollux! Do you think I’m a fool, Marcus? You’ve come to spy on Decimus.’

‘How was I supposed to know he’d be here?’

‘Where else would he be in a one-mule dump of a town like Mutina? You’d better get out of here before he spots you.’

‘I’ll go in a moment. But first you tell me what he’s been up to. Caesar thinks there’s more to his being here than buying up prisoners.’

Festus shrugged. ‘If that’s true, then there’s been no sign of anything suspicious. He sticks close to his men over there and they travel in the wagon. There’s been no messages delivered to them, and none sent anywhere.’

‘That’s all?’

‘That’s all I’ve seen.’

‘And no sign of Thermon?’

‘No. None of ‘em look like the man who tried to kill Caesar. See for yourself.’

Marcus half turned cautiously, and looked over the rim of his shoulder. From where he sat, he had a side-on view of the table, and in the dim light cast by the i

‘You’d better go,’ said Festus. ‘Before you are seen.’

Marcus nodded and rose from the table. He paused. ‘Keep a close eye on Decimus. He can’t be trusted. And he’s… evil.’