Festus continued in a calm tone. ‘If the woman concerned is indeed held among the other slaves owned by Decimus, then he is committing a serious crime, sir. That is why Caesar, my master, sent us here to search for her and see to it that she is set free, and that those responsible for her kidnapping are brought to account.’
‘Caesar sent you?’ Servillus laughed mockingly. ‘Look at you. You appear and stink like common vagrants.’
‘That is because we have been held in one of your cells for much of the day, sir.’
The governor ignored the comment as he leaned forward and pointed at Festus. ‘You are a liar. The very idea that you represent Julius Caesar is laughable.’
‘But we can prove it!’ Marcus blurted out. ‘I have a document signed by Caesar. A letter of introduction.’
‘What’s this?’ Servillus demanded. ‘Damned impudence!’
‘Sir,’ Euraeus intervened. ‘This matter is easily resolved. If the boy claims to have such a letter, then let him produce it.’
‘Indeed! So, boy, where is this document of yours, eh? Show it to me.’
‘I can’t, sir,’ Marcus conceded. ‘It’s in a leather case in my pack, back in the guest room. If you let me fetch it this can all be settled and you’ll see that we are telling the truth.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ the governor snapped. ‘Optio, you go. Search these scoundrels’ baggage for this document and if you find it, bring it back here at once.’
‘Yes, sir!’ The optio saluted and strode out of the chamber, back down the corridor. The governor turned his attention to Marcus and the others. ‘We’ll know the truth soon enough. I warn you, if you are lying to me it will go ill with you.’
‘I’m telling the truth,’ Marcus said firmly. ‘As you shall see.’
The governor poured himself a cup of wine and eased himself back in his chair, sipping occasionally, as they waited for the optio to return. Euraeus stood to one side with the faintest of smiles on his lips. Looking at him, Marcus had a vague sense of foreboding, but it instantly faded as he heard footsteps in the corridor. When the optio entered the chamber he strode across the tiled floor to the dais, halting in front of the desk to salute.
The governor lowered his cup and leaned forward. ‘Well?’
‘No sign of any letter, sir. Nor a leather case.’
Marcus felt his hopes sink like a stone. ‘It was there. You must have found it!’
The optio glanced over his shoulder and scowled. ‘There was nothing there. You lied.’
Marcus’s jaw sagged and he turned to Festus. ‘It was there. I know it. Tell him.’
Festus shook his head. ‘It’s too late, Marcus. We’ve been trapped. All very neat. I imagine this is all your doing, Euraeus.’
The Greek feigned surprise and touched a hand to his chest. ‘Me? You accuse me?’
‘How much did Decimus reward you for your services, I wonder?’
Servillus slapped his hand down on the table. ‘Enough of your nonsense! This little drama of yours is over. There is no letter. You are not here on Caesar’s business and you clearly think me a fool who can be sold such a pack of lies. Well, I tell you, I am no fool and I can see the truth clearly enough. The three of you are the men who robbed Pindarus, and killed him when he caught you in the act. You fled Stratos and came here thinking to trick me into providing you with food and a roof over your heads while you hid from justice. Now justice has found you out, and you will pay the price for your crimes.’ He paused and looked at each of them in turn before he smiled cruelly.
Marcus could not help trembling as he awaited his fate.
‘There is only one fit punishment for your crimes. That, three days from now, on the second day of the spectacle you three shall be taken from your cell to the arena and there tied to stakes before wild animals are released to tear you apart, for the sake of justice, and the pleasure of the mob.’
16
‘Condemned to the beasts …’ Lupus moaned quietly to himself as he sat squeezed into the corner of the cell. ‘Sweet Gods, spare us … Spare us.’
The sun had risen shortly before and a thin shaft of light had penetrated the gloom, illuminating the grim scene once again for those in the cold, stinking confines of the small space. It had been a miserable night for the three prisoners once they had been roughly shoved back through the narrow entrance and the door to the cell thudded behind them. The iron bolt had rasped home and the footsteps of the soldiers and the jailer had receded, then there was a brief silence before Festus slumped on to the straw with a dry rustle. Marcus stood by the door for a moment in the darkness, scarcely able to believe the fate that lay in store for them. He heard Lupus trying to stifle his sobs in the far corner and felt some pity for his friend.
Marcus had already faced death in the arena. He had also learned that it did no good to allow himself to be paralysed by fear. Fear changed nothing. All a person could do was choose whether to surrender to that fear, or deal with it and continue the struggle. That was fine as far as it was possible to fight, Marcus reminded himself, but they would be tied to stakes while being torn apart by wild animals. They would be quite helpless and could only pray that it was all over quickly.
He turned away from the door and felt his way along the wall to the pile of straw at the rear of the cell, trying not to imagine the slavering jaws of the beasts as they tore into his flesh. As he felt the straw give under his feet Marcus lowered himself into it and curled into a ball to try and sleep. There was no sound apart from the easy breathing of Festus and the faint choked gasps of Lupus. No one felt like speaking, each in his own private world of despair. For Marcus, whose failure would also condemn his mother to the hell of permanent slavery, the sense of guilt was almost as hard to bear as his fear of the horrific death awaiting him.
By the morning, some of the fear and misery had faded from his mind and he looked up as a wooden tray scraped through the gap at the bottom of the door.
‘Here’s your rations,’ the jailer growled from outside. ‘Eat ’em up. Don’t want to disappoint the beasts with some half-starved streaks of nothing!’
He laughed harshly to himself as he shuffled away along the passage.
Festus crossed the room to pick up the tray and bring it back to the two boys sitting on the straw. There was a loaf of dried bread, some hard cheese and a cooked bone with some meat still attached to it, besides a jug of water. He broke the bread and cheese into roughly equal portions and pressed them into the hands of the boys. Marcus took his readily and made himself chew on the crust of his bread. Lupus simply stared down at the food in his lap until Festus leaned over and put his hand on the youth’s shoulder.
‘You have to eat.’
‘Why? What’s the point?’
‘You have to keep your strength up. We might find a way out of this.’
Lupus laughed nervously. ‘How? How can we get out? We’re finished, Festus. It’s over. We’re going to die.’
Festus clenched his fingers into the boy’s shoulders and gritted his teeth as he spoke with cold determination. ‘We ain’t dead until we’re dead. Anything can happen between now and the day they plan to take us into the arena. If anything does happen then you need to be in a fit state to respond to events. Understand? Now eat your food.’
Lupus pursed his lips, then reluctantly tore a corner from his portion of bread and began to chew.
‘That’s better.’ Festus nodded. ‘Don’t give up hope.’
They ate in silence and since neither of the boys was keen on the bone Festus shrugged and took it for himself, working his teeth hard to tear off what meat there was on the joint. Afterwards he made Lupus and Marcus get up and carry out a set of exercises, pushing the scribe hard in order to keep his mind occupied and tire his body out. As the sun reached its zenith Festus ended the session and the boys, sweating and breathing hard, collapsed on to the straw. Lupus had not slept the previous night and now, finally, exhaustion took hold of him and he was soon fast asleep.