Decimus howled in pain and rage. ‘You’ll pay for that!’
He punched his spare fist into her stomach and Livia folded up with a light groan, still trying to force the knife away, now with both hands.
‘Hold him!’ Festus shouted, racing forward. Marcus had already sprung towards them and punched the guard of his sword into Decimus’s jaw, snapping his head back. He punched again, quickly, and Decimus’s eyes rolled in a daze. Festus dropped his sword and clasped the other man’s hands, forcing them away from Livia so that she fell to one side. With a powerful blow, Festus sent the moneylender sprawling on to a couch, and the knife clattered to the floor at his feet. Before either Festus or Marcus could act, they heard a shrill scream of savage rage as Livia snatched up the knife and leapt on to Decimus, stabbing at his throat. Blood sprayed into the air as he tried in vain to ward off her assault.
‘Please!’ he begged. ‘No! Please …’
‘Animal!’ she shrieked. ‘Vile murderer! Scum! Pig! Die! DIE!’
Marcus looked on aghast, trembling in grief and fear at the sight of the mother he had sought for two years — the mother who had loved and nurtured him — bringing the blade up high to strike again. The man stopped pleading as his efforts to protect himself became more feeble, and then his hand flopped at his side. Festus reached out and firmly grasped Livia’s right wrist, taking the knife from her.
Decimus lay still, silenced, sprawled on the floor in his blood-drenched tunic.
‘That’s enough,’ Festus said gently. ‘Enough. He’s dead.’
‘D-dead?’ she mumbled, then lowered her head as her shoulders heaved. Her bloodied fingers opened and the blade dropped on to Decimus’s chest. Then she pulled herself off the body and turned towards Marcus. Dark strands of her hair mingled with the red flecks on her face as she cried.
Before Marcus knew what he was doing he had his arms about her and drew her head into his chest, feeling her shudder as she wept and held him tightly. He felt overcome with a seething mixture of emotions — love, relief, grief and tenderness. He recalled the times that she had held him this way when he was younger, to comfort him when he was hurt or afraid, and his heart swelled with devotion to his mother.
‘Marcus … My boy … My child.’ Her voice was raw as she gasped the words through her tears.
‘We have to go,’ Festus interrupted. ‘Now. Before anyone comes to see what all the shouting was about. Back the way we came.’
He helped Livia to her feet and Marcus steadied her with his arm as they headed for the corridor. Festus remained by the body. He took one last look at Decimus, then stepped towards the nearest of the stands that carried the oil lamps lighting the room, knocking it to the ground. He did the same to the others as he followed Marcus and his mother. As pools of burning oil spilled out, the flames caught on to the rich fabrics covering the couches, eagerly spreading as the fire took hold of the furniture.
Making their way down the corridor, they saw the slaves emerge from the kitchen, their anxious expressions illuminated by the flames in the room behind the dark outline of the three people heading towards them.
‘Fire!’ Festus shouted. ‘There’s a fire! Run!’
The slaves hesitated for an instant before the first turned and ran back into the kitchen. His companions followed, leaving Marcus and the others to reach the kitchen unopposed. They hurried through it, and down the service corridor to the slave quarters. By the time they reached the small courtyard it was filled with slaves looking up at the orange hue in the high windows of the villa’s banqueting hall. The crackle of the blaze was clearly audible and the first brilliant tongues of flame pierced the wooden window frames.
Marcus ignored them as he helped his mother out through the gate. Lupus was waiting outside, sword poised until he saw that it was his friends. His relieved expression quickly gave way to anxiety as he looked at Livia.
‘Is she all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied and turned to smile at Marcus. ‘Really.’
‘No time for this,’ Festus interrupted. ‘We have to hide these bodies behind the woodpile and escape as fast as we can. Lupus, help me. Marcus, get your mother away from here. Down there, in the trees.’ Marcus steered his mother across the grass meadow and the others hurried after him a moment later as the flames began to burst through the roof of the villa, casting long, flickering shadows ahead of the figures fleeing into the night.
22
In the morning there was a clear view from across the valley of the devastation caused by the fire. Smoke still trailed up into the blue sky from the blackened ruins of Decimus’s villa. Small groups of curious onlookers were walking up from the town towards the estate. Festus had left the cave at first light to make his way into Tegea to purchase rations and find out what the accepted explanation was about the cause of the fire. If suspicions had been aroused, then they would have to leave Tegea as swiftly as possible.
With Festus gone, Marcus was left to keep watch. Both his mother and Lupus were still asleep in the shadows at the rear of the cave, but the light from the morning sun would soon wake them. Cerberus lay at his side, head resting between his huge paws and his eyes all but closed as his nostrils stirred with each easy breath. As Marcus looked round at his mother, curled up in a ball with her back to him, he felt confused.
He had lived for this moment ever since the time they were parted when she had begged him to make his escape alone. He had dreamt about rescuing her and eagerly anticipated the release of all the love and longing that he had been forced to bottle up inside. Behind it all had been the desire to return his life to the way things were before. He had always considered that to be his aim, without ever really questioning if it was likely to happen.
Now that he and his mother were free again, the future suddenly seemed uncertain. Not only was a return to the farm fraught with difficulties, but he had changed. He had grown up during the last two years and was now more a man than a boy. And he knew that his mother had changed too. Although Marcus was overjoyed to be reunited with her, his emotions were confused. After all, she had butchered a man in front of him. And there had been the shock of finding her dining alongside the man Marcus knew as a bitter enemy. Back in Athens, Decimus had taunted him with the image of his mother in chains and starving. That was a lie, Marcus realized, told to make his misery as acute as possible. He cursed the moneylender under his breath before his thoughts returned to the previous night.
After their escape from the villa she had clutched him tightly as she sobbed. Then, as Festus urged her to put aside her feelings and escape, she had become silent and withdrawn. They had sat in silence, side by side, with their backs to the rock as they watched the flames devouring the villa. The lurid red of the fire bathed the surrounding landscape and the roar of the flames carried clearly in the still night air. Eventually, as the fire began to die down they had both fallen asleep, curled up next to one another as they had done sometimes when he was a small boy.
Turning back to resume his watch over the approaches to the cave, Marcus wondered how Festus was getting on. They would need food for the road now that the bodyguard was keen to put some distance between them and Tegea, without attracting any attention along the way. He hoped the fire would be regarded as a tragic accident for Decimus and Thermon. With luck their bodies, and those of the guards they had disposed of, would have burned sufficiently to conceal the wounds, and in the shock of the blaze no one would recall the small band of fugitives fleeing into the darkness.