‘I’ll tell him what I can,’ Lupus replied. ‘But I don’t think it will be much help. Caesar does not take his slaves into his confidence… Some perhaps. He seems to have a high opinion of Marcus.’
Mandracus glanced round sharply. ‘The boy who was with you at the ambush?’
Lupus nodded.
‘Tell me about him.’
‘Why? You said earlier that Brixus would also want to know about him. What’s so special about Marcus?’
‘Just curious. It’s probably nothing,’ Mandracus replied carefully. ‘Brixus has mentioned a boy gladiator he once knew in the past. Your friend Marcus might know something about him.’
Lupus finished eating and held his hands up to the fire, then rubbed them together. ‘Not much to tell. The master … I mean Caesar, bought him from a gladiator school near Capua over a year ago. Caesar’s niece had fallen into the school’s arena as Marcus was facing two wolves. He saved her from them and Caesar recognized that he had potential, so he bought him to join us in Rome as part of Caesar’s bodyguard.’
‘I see. And what does Marcus look like?’
‘You saw for yourself at the ambush.’
Mandracus nodded. ‘True, but it was only a fleeting glimpse, in the middle of a fight. I can’t recall any details.’
Lupus shrugged. ‘He’s tall for his age, and thin. No, not thin. Sinewy would be a better word for it. He thinks quickly and has sharp reflexes, and he’s as brave as they come.’ He smiled with pride as he recalled his friend.
The man was also smiling. ‘Sounds like someone I used to know … Well now, young Lupus. Get some sleep, there’s a long march ahead before we reach the camp of Brixus.’
Now they had reached the camp, but Lupus could not see any sign of movement, let alone the rebel army that was growing in strength day by day according to Mandracus. The man laughed at his side, then patted him heavily on the shoulder.
‘Follow me.’
Mandracus led the way along a narrow path running beside the stream and they entered the trees at the foot of the crags. A short distance further on the trees gave way to a narrow strip of rocky open ground. Walls of dark rock, dotted with moss, rose up ahead. A waterfall tumbled down into a small pool where the water churned white and wild before it fed the stream running between the trees. Mandracus paused and cupped a hand to his mouth to call up towards the top of the crags.
‘Approaching the camp!’
Lupus followed the direction of the man’s gaze and saw a figure emerge at the top of the crag, dark against the sky as he looked down at them.
‘Who goes there?’ a voice shouted.
‘Mandracus! Returning from patrol!’
‘Mandracus? Then pass, friend!’
The brigand made his way towards the foot of the waterfall, followed by Lupus and the others. It was then that Lupus saw the spur of rock and realized there was a narrow gap in the cliff, a defile, that stretched away at an angle to the waterfall. It remained quite invisible until you were almost at the foot of the waterfall. Two men stood just inside the defile, armed with spears, shields, armour and helmets of the same design used by the Roman legions. They looked relieved as they caught sight of Mandracus and approached to exchange a clasp of hands at their safe return. Then one of them saw Lupus and paused.
‘Who is this?’
‘Him?’ Mandracus chuckled. ‘New recruit. And he may have some useful information for the general. Is Brixus in camp?’
One of the sentries nodded. ‘He’s summoned the leaders of all the bands in the mountains. They’ve been arriving for several days now. You’re the last one. What’s going on?’
‘Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, you big ox! You’ll find out soon enough.’ Mandracus put a hand on Lupus’s shoulder and steered him into the defile. ‘In the meantime, get back to your duty.’
The sentries stood aside and the small column of rebel fighters entered the defile. The air was cold and moist from the spray churned up by the waterfall. Lupus shivered as he picked his way forward. Although the path had been cleared enough to permit a horse to pass through, the ground was uneven and the route turned one way and then the next as it wound through the chasm. Overhead, the grey sky was a miserable thin strip caught between the rocks and the limbs of stunted shrubs and small trees growing precariously from the ledges. After about a quarter of a mile the cliffs on either side started to grow apart and light shone into the defile. Then, as they rounded a last bend in the path, Lupus had his first sight of the rebel camp and he paused to take in a sharp breath of astonishment.
Ahead, the path led down a gentle slope into a small valley, seemingly walled in on every side by cliffs and crags. A stream coursed down the far side and crossed the valley floor before it passed underground, heading in the direction of the waterfall. But that was the least remarkable sight that greeted his eyes. Before him lay a vast camp of tents and more permanent shelters. In among the tents were pens for animals and several larger buildings, the nearest of which had its doors open, and Lupus saw a man doling out bowls of grain to a queue of people. In the centre of the valley stood a large round hut, surrounded by an open area ringed with a stockade. Smaller round huts were arranged around the compound.
‘There must be thousands living here,’ Lupus said. ‘Tens of thousands!’
Mandracus smiled at the boy’s awed expression. ‘That’s right. An army of us. Waiting for the day when we will rise up and complete the work that Spartacus began.’ He pointed to the largest hut. ‘Come, that’s where we’ll find Brixus.’
He led his men down into the valley. Lupus followed, his eyes switching from side to side as he took in the details of the secret camp of the rebels. Around him the walls of the valley looked impenetrable. There seemed no way in except for the narrow pass they’d come through. A perfect hiding place, he reflected. No wonder the slaves had managed to evade the Roman armies sent to hunt them down. The Romans could be unaware that such a powerful enemy was gathering its strength and preparing to attack.
Lupus felt a pang of concern for Caesar and Marcus. They were expecting to fight scattered bands of ragged brigands. They could have no idea what would face them when they marched into the mountains to do battle.
13
January was drawing to an end and winter closed its icy grip around the mountains. Biting rainstorms lashed the foothills and frequently brought hail with them, battering the men of Caesar’s column as they made for the town of Mutina that would serve as their base. Cavalry patrolled further into the hills along the line of march, trying to gather intelligence on the location and numbers of the rebels. When they returned they told of wild blizzards howling through the mountain passes and thick ice forming on the roads and tracks that wound across the Apennines. Messengers had been sent ahead to the towns along the road with orders for their inhabitants to provide food and shelter for Caesar’s column, while further supplies were stockpiled at Mutina.
Marcus, riding with the headquarters staff, had never before experienced conditions like these. He had been careful to pick a cloak freshly worked with animal fat and as water-proof as possible. Even so, the cold rain, driven on by a freezing wind, soon penetrated to the clothes he wore beneath and soaked him to the skin. He had also collected a pair of leather mittens, and these too soon succumbed to the foul weather as he grimly followed the other riders behind their leader.