But the wolf that faced him now was something altogether different. It was much larger and had a shaggier coat. It had also been starved and goaded, as the burn marks on the pelt clearly showed. As it watched Marcus, the flesh on each side of its muzzle crinkled, revealing the fangs. The wolf snarled. It would show him no mercy, Marcus realized. When the time was right, it would pounce and tear his throat out. It was this prospect that unleashed the flood of terror that swept through his body. His legs trembled.
Taurus released the rope and the gate thudded down. Moving over to the next rope, he hauled on that one, raising the gate and letting out the second wolf. The animals turned to face each other and snarled. For a moment Marcus hoped that they might turn on themselves, but the bond of their nature, the scent of blood and the prospect of the hunt instinctively united them. The first wolf padded out along the perimeter of the arena, eyes fixed on Marcus. It paused at a patch of bloodstained sand to sniff and then lick the surface. He watched it in fascinated horror, and so missed the movement of the other wolf as it crept closer, almost on its belly. When Marcus turned towards it he saw, with a start, that it was no more than fifteen feet away. He retreated a pace, and a snarl behind him made him glance over his shoulder. The other beast had also moved closer.
Looking from wolf to wolf, Marcus backed away, edging towards the side of the arena below the spectators. His skin had grown cold with sweat and he dared not blink as he moved slowly and steadily, crouching low and holding out the blade as he moved. Every so often one of the wolves would rise slightly, make a short run towards him and stop. Soon he sensed the stockade close behind him and halted, knowing that they would spring on him at any moment.
‘He’s afraid!’ a young boy’s voice called down, close by.
‘Of course he is,’ replied the girl. ‘I think you would be too, if you were in his boots.’
Marcus glanced up briefly and met the girl’s eyes, and saw pity there.
‘What’s there to be afraid of?’ said the boy. ‘They’re only like dogs. You have only to speak commandingly and those wolves would roll over like puppies.’
‘I don’t think so,’ a man’s voice responded, and Marcus recognized it as the leader of the party. The man who called himself Caesar. ‘They’re quite wild. Quite lethal.’
‘I can’t see properly!’ the other boy’s voice piped up. ‘Tell him to move out where we can see him, Uncle Julius.’
The man ignored the boy and there was silence as the spectators lined the rail and leaned forward to view the boy facing the two wolves. Marcus could only wait for them to make a move. All was still and silent, except for the pounding of blood in his ears. Then there was a blur of motion as one of the wolves leapt at him. Marcus ducked down as the creature slammed into the stockade and twisted to snap at him, its claws gouging. He cried out as his wounded arm burned in agony and thrust his dagger. He missed, struck again and was rewarded with a yelp. Far from discouraging the wolf, the wound only seemed to enrage the beast and it lunged, clamping its teeth round the leather armour covering Marcus’s shoulders. It began to crush the joint between its powerful jaws.
Marcus stabbed again and again, feeling a warm gush over his hand. Still the wolf held on to his shoulder, shaking and worrying it now, as the other wolf braced itself to leap at Marcus from the side.
There was a gasp from above, then the girl cried out, ‘They’re going to eat him! Someone help! Please!’
‘Portia! Get back from the rail!’
Marcus heard a shrill cry and then the girl’s body tumbled on to the sand beside him. In an instant the other wolf swerved towards her. Portia threw up her arm. The wolf’s jaws opened and snapped round her elbow. She screamed in pain.
Marcus had to help her. He stabbed and stabbed in a blind frenzy at the wolf that was still attacking his shoulder. Finally, with a gurgling growl it released its grip on him and collapsed, dragging the knife from his hand. Without thinking, Marcus sprang towards the other wolf, clamping his hands round the beast’s throat, crushing his fingers into its windpipe. The wolf snarled and shook its head, causing the girl to scream again in agony as the teeth tore into her flesh. Marcus released his grip, balled a hand into a fist and struck the animal’s snout as hard as he could. The wolf released Portia and backed off a few paces, before turning and bracing its powerful legs for another attack.
‘Behind me!’ Marcus shouted, thrusting himself between the girl and the wolf. ‘Stay behind me.’
As he stared at the wolf, time seemed to slow and Marcus was aware of many things at once. The panicked cries from the spectators. Taurus clambering down from the stockade wall. Porcino standing frozen in horror. The agony in his arm and the terror in his heart. The wolf readying itself to leap. And the glint of the dagger in the sand, no more than six feet to his right. Marcus braced his legs, raised his hands and, as the wolf came towards him, he jumped to his right, colliding with it in mid-air and knocking them both to the ground. There was a writhing mass of fur, claws and teeth snapping viciously, right in front of his face. Wincing, Marcus grabbed the wolf’s lower jaw with his left hand and thrust it up, away, with all his might. At the same time his right hand groped frantically across the sand. His fingers grazed the blade of the dagger, felt for the handle and then closed round it, just as the wolf tore free of his left hand. The shaggy head drew back, the jaws opened, hot breath closed over his face like a warm cloth and the wolf lunged for his throat.
The blade flashed through the air, the point smashing into the wolf’s ear, shattering the skull and piercing the animal’s brain. Its body jerked and it collapsed on top of Marcus, where it trembled for a moment before it was still. The hot musky smell of the animal filled his nostrils as the fur smothered his face. He struggled to free himself but the pain in his left arm was unbearable and the loss of blood was making him feel dizzy. Hands pulled the dead wolf away and several faces swam overhead.
‘The – the girl – is she safe?’ Marcus muttered.
Then he passed out.
26
Marcus dreamt he was at home on the farm. It was a bright day in late spring, the land was alive with the fresh buds of flowers and leaves gleamed on the trees. The sun bathed him in its warm embrace and butterflies flitted through the air as other insects buzzed drowsily. He had been out hunting but had failed to catch anything. Nevertheless, he was happy and filled with contentment as he started down the track between the olive groves that led to the gate. His heart lifted as he saw his mother and father waiting for him there, smiling as they beckoned to him. Marcus broke into a run as he went towards them, arms outstretched.
Then, when he was no more than twenty paces from them, his parents began to fade away, to become like shadows.
‘No…’ Marcus moaned, shifting.
As they dissolved into nothing, the farm too began to disappear and darkness thickened in the air around him, blotting out the landscape. He cried out in despair, ‘Mother! Father! Don’t leave me!’
Then there was a sharp pain that burned down his side and his eyes opened a crack as he woke. He was in a plain whitewashed room. A door gave out on to a colonnade, overlooking a neat courtyard garden. He recognized it at once and realized that he was in Porcino’s villa. There was a scraping sound close to his side and he turned his head to see a man sitting on a stool.
‘I am not your father, alas.’ The man smiled. ‘Although I have known a few women in my time and it’s possible.’