‘Athens, eh?’ the officer mused. ‘Well, young Rufinus, I’d watch yourself. They’re nothing but a bunch of thieves in Athens. Thieves, and worse, philosophers. Nothing in this world so dishonest as a man who thinks for a living.’ He laughed and waved Marcus on as he turned his attention to the next person in the queue.
‘Let me through, I say!’ The voice cried out again, closer this time. Marcus forced himself to walk unhurriedly up to the arch and into its shadow. The crunch of footsteps echoing off the stones on either side sounded unnaturally loud.
‘Close the gate!’ a voice called out.
‘What?’ the officer called back. ‘On whose authority?’
‘The magistrate! One of the killers has been seen. Not far from here. Close the gate now and we’ll have him!’
Marcus stepped out into the sunlight and had only walked a few more paces before he heard a howl of protest from those who were still stuck inside the town. Then the hinges groaned in protest as the gates began to close. He continued a short distance before he dared look back, just as the gates thudded into place, barring the exit. Relief washed over him as he turned away to walk casually along the road leading north from Stratos.
As Festus had instructed he walked over a mile, to be safe, eventually stopping where the road passed through an olive plantation with terraces of trees that spread across the rolling hills on either side. He sat in the shade of a poplar tree and waited until there was no one in sight before leaving the road to work his way round the town towards the south. The countryside was dotted with small farms and their surrounding olive groves and strips of crops, and Marcus had to pick his way carefully to avoid being seen. Once he blundered into an angry man with two hunting dogs who threatened to unleash them if Marcus didn’t get off his land at once.
It took the rest of the morning to make his way round the town and rejoin the road leading south towards Athens. By now the sun was high above and the air was hot and still, and Marcus was sweating freely. He took his canteen out of his pack for a few swigs of warm water before replacing the stopper and continuing on. A few miles south of Stratos the road passed into a forest of pine and cedar trees at the foot of a mountain and the air filled with the comforting fragrance of the pines. He was close to the crossroads now and Marcus increased his pace, keenly anticipating the reunion with his friends. He rounded a final corner and ahead lay the clearing where the two roads met.
There was no one there. Marcus felt his heart sink, fearing that Festus and Lupus had failed to escape. The thought of continuing his quest alone momentarily tipped him into a deep pit of despair before he angrily forced the thought aside. If that was what fate had in store for him then he would deal with it, like he had dealt with everything else since that terrible day when Thermon and his thugs had destroyed his peaceful home on Leucas.
There was still some chance that Festus would find a way to escape. Marcus had worked with him long enough to know just how tough and resourceful Caesar’s bodyguard was. With a sigh, he crossed the clearing and sat down heavily beside the milestone to wait.
There was only a short pause before he heard a twig crack in the trees nearby and turned round in alarm, one hand reaching for the throwing knife in a concealed sheath near the top of his pack.
‘Marcus?’ a voice called out cautiously.
He relaxed and eased himself. ‘Yes, Lupus, it’s me. You can come out.’
A figure appeared from behind one of the trees and moved out into the dappled sunlight. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ Lupus could not help smiling. ‘I was starting to worry.’
‘I got out just in time,’ Marcus told him. ‘What about you? Any problems?’
Lupus shook his head. ‘I was afraid, but I tried to look calm and unconcerned like Festus. But all the time I thought they would see through me. Anyway — ’ his tone brightened — ‘we’re all here. Together again.’
Marcus looked round. ‘Where’s Festus?’
‘He told me to wait here and look out for you. He said he needed to find something.’
‘Find something?’ Marcus frowned. ‘What?’
‘This!’ Festus’s voice called out and both boys turned to see him striding out of the forest. He held two hares up in one hand while a sling dangled from the other. ‘Dinner! Now let’s get off the road and find somewhere quiet to roast these beauties. I’m starving!’
8
‘That’s the sharp end,’ said Marcus as he carefully handed the training sword to Lupus. ‘You don’t want to hold that.’
The other boy made a face. ‘Oh, ha ha. Very funny. I’m not an idiot, thanks.’
‘Just starting with the basics.’ Marcus grinned and then his expression became serious. ‘Try the grip and when you’re happy that you are in control of the sword, give it a few swings to test the weight.’
He stood aside to give his friend some space in the small clearing where they had set up camp half a mile into the forest. Once the ground had been cleared of pine needles and a hearth made with stones piled round, Festus had taken out his tinderbox and started a fire to roast the hares after gutting and skinning them. Marcus had a keen edge to his appetite and savoured the meat. It was hard to remember how bleak things had looked just a few hours earlier. Now, with food in his belly and the conversation of his companions, his optimism had returned.
It was after they had eaten and rested that Festus suggested they start Lupus’s training. They began with strengthening exercises, making the scribe hold a large rock as he performed squats. Then they made him raise the rock overhead, again and again, until at last Lupus dropped it and bent forward, hands resting on his knees as he gasped for breath.
‘A good start,’ said Festus. ‘But you’ll need to do that every day from now on. Dawn and dusk, until your muscles are toned. And then as often as necessary to stay that way. After you’ve had a breather, Marcus will introduce you to the sword.’
Now, as he watched his friend try out a few cuts and thrusts, Marcus could only wonder at Lupus’s poor technique. Then he relented. It was not fair to pass judgement so easily. After all, Marcus had spent most of the last two years training to fight and only that had made fighting techniques second nature to him. Before that he had been no more aware of the art than Lupus. There had been no call for it in the peaceful farm where he grew up.
Recalling his childhood, Marcus felt a deep, wounding sense of loss. He had been raised in a loving home, and ranged freely over the surrounding farm as he played sometimes with the children from the nearest village. At the end of the day he would return home, with Cerberus panting at his heels, and the smell of woodsmoke and food from the kitchen would waft across the small courtyard. Invariably Titus would be sitting on the small stone bench, greeting him with a smile on his craggy face as he ruffled his hair and asked what his little soldier had been up to that day. Then they would go in to eat and later, as night fell over the farm, Marcus would go to bed where his mother told him a story while lightly stroking his brow, and sometimes sang to him -
‘Marcus!’ Festus called from the side of the clearing where he sat, rubbing linseed oil into the Parthian bow he had taken out of his weapons pack. ‘You can’t leave him to wave the sword around like that forever. You’re supposed to be teaching him. Not daydreaming.’
‘Sorry.’ Marcus stepped forward as Lupus lowered his wooden sword. His face was beaded with sweat and he was breathing hard.
‘Heavier than … I thought.’
Marcus nodded. ‘The training weapons are designed that way. Helps build muscle and confidence for when you move on to a real weapon. Right then, we’ll start working on your technique. Let’s go over here.’
He led Lupus to the trunk of a pine tree he had chosen earlier. There were no branches for the first eight feet of its height and the trunk was about the thickness of a man’s torso.