‘I know. And I honour my promises, Marcus. But you must not forget your place.’ Caesar drew himself up and stared down with an imperious expression. ‘I am a proconsul of Rome, and you are my servant. I will not have you speak to me like that again. Not if you want my help. Is that clear?’
For a moment Marcus wanted to shout his defiance into Caesar’s face. Tell him that he did not care who Caesar was. All that mattered was saving his mother. Then he took control of his thoughts again, angry with himself for being weak- minded. He was exhausted, but that was no excuse. He had to be strong and control his feelings. Caesar had the power of life and death over him, and the power to determine whether his mother was found and set free, or left to rot in a chain-gang. He could not save his mother without Caesar’s help. He took a deep breath and replied bitterly. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Caesar continued to stare at him for a moment before nodding. ‘That’s better. You must remember your place in this world, Marcus. I will always be in your debt for the services you have rendered me, but there is a limit to what I am prepared to tolerate from you. Overstep the mark again and there will be consequences. Understand?’
‘I understand, sir … I apologize.’
‘And I accept your apology.’ Caesar smiled and patted him on the shoulder, as if the tense exchange had been instantly forgotten. ‘Don’t concern yourself over Decimus. When the time is right he will be called to account for the wrongs that he did to you and your family. In the meantime we should consider ourselves fortunate that Crassus has seen fit to place Decimus in my hands. I wish I knew precisely what Crassus was up to. It’s possible that he merely wants to place yet another spy in my camp.’
‘Another spy?’ Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean there are others, sir?’
‘Of course there are. I know most of the identities of those who are working for my political rivals, and my political enemies. I make sure that I feed them enough information to keep their masters happy without giving away my real plans. Just as they have uncovered some of my spies and are careful not to reveal too much to them in turn.’ Caesar paused as he saw the shocked expression on Marcus’s face. He laughed heartily. ‘Surely you aren’t really surprised, my boy? Not after all the plots and conspiracies you experienced in Rome last year?’
Marcus flushed with embarrassment. He did not want to seem foolish in the eyes of this man. He had come to admire Caesar, despite the ruthless streak of ambition that ran through him like a marble pillar. He shook his head. ‘I’m not really surprised, sir. It’s just that I had not realized the full scale of it.’
Caesar shrugged. ‘That’s politics for you. The greatest game there is. And the stakes are as high as they come. For now, Pompeius and Crassus are prepared to share power with me, but that cannot last forever. There will come a time when the three of us become two, and then one. That will be the best outcome for Rome. A cure for all the petty squabbling that prevents Rome from achieving even greater glory than she already enjoys. All that matters is that I am the last man standing. On that day I will be sure to reward all those who have helped me win power. And you have done far more to deserve my gratitude than most, Marcus.’
‘How many years will that take?’ Marcus asked anxiously. ‘My mother may not survive that long, sir. She has to be rescued before then.’
‘And she will be. As soon as I have the opportunity. But I have a greater reward in mind for you, Marcus. What is it that all men crave, no matter their age? Fame and power. For me that is achieved by claiming imperium — the authority and respect that is conferred upon Rome’s greatest heroes. For you there is a different route to glory. You have the potential to be a great gladiator, perhaps one of the greatest of all time. For as long as men fight in the arena the name of Marcus Cornelius will be revered. You cannot tell me the prospect does not stir your heart, eh?’ Caesar concluded with a smile.
Marcus was tempted by the vision that Caesar held out to him. He knew that he fought well, and took a quiet satisfaction in his skill and the knowledge that Titus would have been proud of him. He wondered what Spartacus would have felt. Pride, yes. But also shame at the prospect of Marcus fighting and killing in order to satisfy the bloodlust of the Roman mob. Spartacus and thousands of his followers had died to put an end to slavery, an end to gladiator fights and an end to the danger of Rome continuing to extend its brutal power over the rest of the known world. They had sacrificed everything to prevent men like Caesar winning his imperium, a prize that was bought at the expense of countless others buried in the foundations of their fame. The same fate would befall him, Marcus realized. If he ever did become a hero of the arena, then it would only add to the popularity of his patron, Caesar. With a chilling sense of certainty, he knew that was all the proconsul really cared about. Everyone else was a means to that end.
Marcus swallowed and forced himself to nod. (I can think of no greater honour, sir.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ A faint look of relief flitted across Caesar’s face. ‘Now go and prepare your kit. It’s going to be a tough campaign, even if it will be over quickly. You can use my authority to get whatever you need from the army’s stores. Make sure you have a decent supply of writing materials. I have a feeling there will be some interesting things to note down in the days to come. It’s a shame that Lupus is not here to share them with us, but I am sure you will fulfil his duties well.’
‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘Of course you will. You may go, Marcus.
He bowed his head, and slipped the strap of his satchel over his head as he left the headquarters tent. Outside, night had fallen and the camp was lit by fires and torches that struggled to stay alight in the steady drizzle. A cold breeze was blowing in from the west, towards the Apennines, and Marcus shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter about him. As he made his way towards the quartermaster’s tent, Marcus made a mental note of the supplies he required. Not so much that it would overburden his horse and yet he needed to stay as dry and warm as possible. A spare cloak impregnated with fat and a good tunic should be enough. That and a leather cover for his weapons and writing materials.
Once again his mind turned back to the matter of Decimus. It was a stroke of fortune that Crassus had sent him to join Caesar’s army. Now that it was no longer necessary to track the man down, Marcus wondered if there was any way he could force the ruthless moneylender to reveal the location of his mother. Despite what Caesar had said, Marcus intended to keep an eye on Decimus and, if the chance came, there would be a confrontation. Once he had the information he needed Marcus resolved to take his revenge.
The rain stopped shortly before dawn, but the sky remained covered by an endless blanket of dull grey clouds that cast a gloom over the flat landscape around Ariminum. The men chosen by Caesar for his campaign had packed their tents into the allotted wagons. Each man’s spare kit was attached to the stout marching yokes, together with his shield. As the order to form up was bellowed across their ranks, the legionaries hefted the yokes and rested them across their right shoulders before taking their place in the column. Marcus heaved his two bags on to the horns of his saddle. One contained his spare clothes and rations and the other his writing implements. His sword hung from his side, and a dagger and throwing knives were in the scabbards attached to his broad leather belt. Swinging up into the saddle, Marcus walked his horse over to join the small group of headquarters staff assigned to accompany Caesar.
When all was ready Caesar gave the order to advance and the long column trudged forward in two sections. The first was commanded by Caesar, the second by Legate Balbus. Cavalry led each of the two forces, followed by the commander and his staff, then their infantry, and the baggage train and its escort came last. Marcus turned in his saddle, hoping to catch sight of Decimus, but it was impossible to make out much detail amid the wagons clustered to the rear of the legionaries.