And yet Marcus knew the struggle was not as simple as that. He remembered the tales that Titus had told him when he was a young boy. Titus had fought the Gauls, Parthians and other barbarians, and the vivid descriptions of their atrocities had chilled Marcus’s blood. It had also convinced him there were worse people in this world than those of Rome. There had to be a middle way between the traditions of Rome and those who wanted an end to slavery. Or was that just the wishful thinking of a young boy? Yet here he was, riding beside the men marching to hunt down and kill those who opposed slavery. Part of Marcus thought he was on the wrong side. That he should take his chance and run away to join Brixus and his men. But then he remembered his mother. Her best chance of survival rested on Caesar helping Marcus to track her down and set her free. With a leaden feeling in his heart, Marcus knew he was trapped. He had to remain at Caesar’s side and serve the Roman general until his mother was safe. After that, finally, he could decide his own future.
The column continued into the mountains, and the road gave way to a narrow track hemmed in on either side by forests of pine trees enveloped in mists and cloud. The grey skies steadily darkened and there were frequent showers of rain. Marcus hunched in his saddle and daydreamed of sitting in front of a fire at Portia’s house in Ariminum when the current campaign was over. There, with Festus and Caesar, he would tell Portia of their experiences, and perhaps she would secretly give Marcus a knowing look.
As quickly as the thought occurred to him, Marcus thrust it from his mind. He must not let himself even think about her in that way. She could never be more than a friend, and then only in private, hidden from those who would be horrified at the prospect of friendship between them.
As the rain gave way to sleet and snow, the column passed the remains of a handful of other small villas that had been raided by the rebels. Only ruins remained, and Marcus sensed the anger welling up in the men around him. When the time came for them to fight, they would show little mercy.
At the end of the first day the column reached a small town perched on a cliff above a stream. While the men set up their tents on the open ground outside the town walls, Caesar and his entourage found accommodation in the house of an affluent mule-breeder. Publius Flavius glumly told his guests about the constant raids on outlying farms and villages in the area. A shepherd had driven his flock into the town the previous day, claiming to have seen a party of rebels — no more than a hundred of them, on foot — making for a villa in a valley not ten miles away. Caesar ordered Marcus to take down the details as he listened patiently, then reassured Flavius that the threat would soon be extinguished.
The following morning the temperature dropped and snow began to fall, blanketing the tiled roofs of the town and drifting across the track that led further into the mountains. Caesar inspected the path with a frustrated expression before turning to issue orders to his closest followers.
‘We’ll take the cavalry and ride on. The rest of the column will follow as best they can. I’m keen to catch up with those slaves seen by the shepherd. If we can capture them, they’ll provide us with useful intelligence about Brixus. With a bit of luck, they might even know where he is.’
Festus puffed his cheeks out and cleared his throat. ‘Is that wise, sir?’
‘Wise?’ Caesar asked tonelessly, but Marcus saw the dangerous glint in his eyes, the prelude to one of his angry outbursts. ‘Why would it not be wise, Festus?’
‘Sir, it would mean dividing the force yet again.’
‘I have more than enough mounted men to take on a hundred rebels. Besides, the infantry and the wagons are holding us up. If we stay together the enemy will escape. I won’t let that happen. My mind is made up. Give the orders to the cohort commanders. Meanwhile, the cavalry are to set off as soon as they are ready.’
Festus bowed his head. ‘Yes, sir.’
As the head of his bodyguard strode off to relay the orders, Caesar caught Marcus’s eye.
‘The chase is on, eh, Marcus?’
Marcus nodded, despite his doubts. He agreed with Festus. Caesar was taking a risk. But clearly there was no changing his mind.
‘If Fortuna favours us,’ Caesar continued, rubbing his hands together to warm them, ‘then we might discover where Brixus is hiding by the end of the day. Think on that. We find and destroy Brixus and his rabble, and so break the spirit of those who would follow him. The slaves will learn their lesson. No one defies Rome. Then I will be free to turn my attention to Gaul.’
‘Yes, sir. And I can seek out my mother.’
Caesar flashed him a look of irritation. ‘Of course. Did you think I had forgotten?’
Marcus did not dare reply, having made his point, and Caesar turned away and called for a groom to bring his horse.
The snow continued to fall through the morning as the horsemen followed the track, often in single file to negotiate the drifts that had formed. On either side the boughs of the pine trees were heavily laden and the dull thrumming of the horses’ hoofs was muffled as they rode on. Then, at noon, shortly after the snow had stopped falling, the track descended into a small valley and there was a cry from one of the men scouting ahead. Marcus and the others looked up expectantly as a rider galloped back along the road. He reined in sharply and snow sprayed into the air as he thrust an arm out.
‘There’s a fire ahead, sir!’
‘A fire?’ Caesar grasped his reins tightly. ‘Then we may have them! Let’s go!’
He spurred his horse forward and the rest of the column rippled into motion, horses thundering along the track, their steamy breaths whipped out from flaring nostrils. All thought of the cold disappeared from Marcus’s mind as he urged his mount to keep up with Caesar and Festus. The rest of the bodyguard and staff officers galloped behind, followed by the cavalry.
Ahead, the other scouts were waiting on a small rise that afforded a view along the valley. As they crested the ridge, Marcus saw that the trees fell away on either side, with open land ahead, nestling between the mountains. Aged walled enclosures showed that the land had been used as pasture for many years. A stream meandered along the valley floor into a small lake and ahead, beside a mill, stood a collection of farm buildings enclosed by a wooden stockade. Bright flames licked up from the windows in the largest building and black smoke billowed into the still winter air. Marcus could see figures moving, stark against the snow, as they carried off their spoils, piling them on to several small carts and a wagon hitched to mules a short distance from the villa.
Marcus galloped down the far side of the rise to the flat road approaching the farm, not much more than half a mile away. The wind roared in his ears and his heart was beating wildly with excitement. Immediately ahead, the horses of Festus and Caesar were kicking up a spray of snow that made it difficult for him to see beyond them. He urged his mount on, steering it to one side, then saw the distant figures scrambling into activity as they spotted the horsemen charging towards them.
‘Don’t let them escape!’ Caesar shouted. ‘I want prisoners!’
Ahead, the men who had attacked the villa were sprinting across the open ground towards the safety of the treeline, abandoning their loot. Even as they raced across the snow-covered fields, Marcus could see most of them would escape well before the Roman cavalry reached the scene. Once they disappeared into the depths of the forest where the snow had not penetrated, there would be no tracks to follow and they could escape. Marcus felt relieved by that.
The last of the rebels had already vanished from sight as Caesar savagely reined in outside the villa. Behind him, the rest of his men caught up and the air was filled with the snorting of horses and chink of bits.