Beside him the general, weighed down by his elaborately decorated breastplate, was struggling to his feet. He looked over and saw the dead slave, and Titus stooping over the body as the centurion ripped his blade free.
‘By the Gods, that was a close escape!’ Pompeius looked down at the slave’s body. ‘He would have killed me, but for you, Centurion Titus.’
Titus did not reply as he used the slave’s grimy tunic to wipe the blood from his sword blade. Then he sheathed the weapon and stood erect again. The general smiled faintly at him. ‘I owe you my life. I shall not forget that.’
Titus nodded his thanks.
‘You should have a reward.’ The general stroked his chin and then gestured towards the slaves that had been taken prisoner. ‘Help yourself to one of them, in my name. That is a fitting prize for saving my life, but know this also, Centurion. If you ever need my help, then you have my word that I will do whatever I can for you.’
‘You are too kind, my general.’
‘No. You saved my life. There is no reward too great for such an act. Now choose a prisoner to be your slave – a good woman, perhaps.’
‘Yes, sir. What of the rest? Are they to be shared among the men?’
General Pompeius shook his head. ‘Normally, I would be glad to do so. But every slave throughout the empire needs to be taught a lesson. They need to be shown what awaits those who rise up against their masters.’ He paused, and his expression hardened. ‘Once you have made your choice, give the order for those captured under arms to be crucified. They will be nailed up along the road from Rome to Capua, where the revolt began.’
Titus felt a cold chill down his spine at the general’s brutal command. For a moment he felt the urge to object. The slaves were beaten. Their revolt was crushed. What need was there for such barbaric punishment? But then his training and discipline took over and Titus saluted his general, before turning to pick his way across the battlefield towards the prisoners to choose the one who would be spared before most of the rest were led away to a long, painful death.
1
THE ISLAND OF LEUCAS, TEN YEARS LATER
Marcus knew there would be trouble the moment old Aristides came running into the courtyard early one summer morning. Marcus had been playing happily with Cerberus, trying to train the coarse-haired hunting dog to sit and then lie down at his command. But Cerberus had just cocked his head to one side, tongue hanging out, and stared blankly at his young master. As soon as he saw Aristides, he bounded over to the old man and wagged his tail.
The goatherd was gasping for breath, and leaned on his staff and swallowed until he had recovered enough to speak.
‘Three men.’ He pointed a trembling finger towards the track that climbed the hill from Nydri. ‘Big men…soldiers, I think.’
Marcus’s father was sitting at the long weathered table in the shade of a trellis entwined with grapevines as thick as his wrist. Titus Cornelius had been busy working on the accounts of the farm, but now he lowered his stylus on to the waxed slate and rose from his bench to stride across the small courtyard.
‘Soldiers, you say?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘I see.’ Titus smiled faintly before he continued in a mild tone. ‘And what would you know about soldiers, old man? Animals, yes. But soldiers?’
Aristides straightened up and stared directly at his master. ‘Two of them have spears, and they’re all carrying swords.’
Marcus glanced at his father, noting the brief flicker of anxiety in his expression. Marcus had never seen his father look worried before. His craggy face was marked by several scars, relics of his service in the legions of General Pompeius. He had been a centurion – a battle-hardened officer – when he had taken his discharge and left the army. He had bought the farm on the island of Leucas and settled down with Marcus’s mother, who had given birth to him a few months earlier. Since then Titus had made a steady income from a small herd of goats tended by Aristides, and the grapevines that covered his land. Marcus remembered happier times when he was a small boy, but for the last three years the rains hadn’t come and drought and blight had ruined the crops. Titus had been forced to borrow money. Marcus knew it was a lot – he’d heard his parents whispering about it at night when they thought he was asleep, and he continued to worry about it long after they had fallen silent.
The soft shuffle of feet made Marcus turn to see his mother emerging from her room to one side of the courtyard. She had been weaving a new tunic for him, but had abandoned her loom as soon as Aristides had spoken.
‘They have spears,’ she muttered, then stared at Titus. ‘Perhaps they’re going into the hills to hunt boar.’
‘I don’t think so.’ The old centurion shook his head. ‘If they’re hunting boar, then why carry swords? No, this is something else. They’re coming to the farm.’ He took a pace forward and patted Aristides on the shoulder. ‘You did well to warn me, old friend.’
‘Old?’ The goatherd’s eyes twinkled briefly. ‘Why, I am less than ten years older than you, master.’
Titus laughed, a deep hearty laugh that Marcus had known all his life and always found reassuring. Despite a hard life in the legions, his father had always been good-humoured. At times he had been tough with Marcus, insisting that he fight his own battles with some of the children down in Nydri, but there had been no doubting his affection.
‘Why are they coming here?’ his mother asked. ‘What do they want with us?’
Marcus saw his father’s smile fade. ‘Trouble,’ he growled. ‘That’s what they want with us. Decimus must have sent them.’
‘Decimus?’ As Livia spoke, Marcus saw her raise a hand to her mouth in horror. ‘I told you we should have had nothing to do with him.’
‘Well, it’s too late for that now, Livia. I’ll have to deal with him.’
Marcus was scared by his mother’s reaction. He cleared his throat. ‘Who is Decimus, father?’
‘Decimus?’ Titus sneered and spat on the ground. ‘Just some blood-sucking swine whom someone should have taught a lesson years ago.’
Marcus stared back blankly and Titus chuckled, reaching forward to ruffle his dark curls fondly. ‘He’s quite a piece of work, our Decimus. The richest moneylender on Leucas, and thanks to his influence with the Roman governor, he’s now the tax collector as well.’
‘An unfortunate combination of businesses,’ Livia added quietly. ‘He’s ruined several of the farmers around Nydri already.’
‘Well, he won’t ruin this one!’ Titus growled. ‘Aristides, bring me my sword.’
The goatherd raised his eyebrows anxiously and then hurried inside the house as Cerberus stared after him for a moment and then trotted back to Marcus’s side. He stroked the dog’s head affectionately. Livia moved to grasp his father’s thick arm.
‘What are you thinking, Titus? You heard Aristides. There are three of them, armed. Soldiers, he said. You cannot fight them. Don’t even think about it.’
Titus shook his head. ‘I’ve faced tougher odds and won. As you know well enough.’
His mother’s expression hardened. ‘That was a long time ago. You haven’t been in any kind of fight for over ten years now.’
‘I won’t fight them if I don’t have to. But Decimus will have sent them to collect money. They will not leave without it.’
‘How much money?’
Titus looked down and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Nine hundred sestertii.’
‘Nine hundred!’