‘I can’t.’ Brixus pursed his lips. ‘He was with me when I marched against Caesar. The last I saw of him was in the battle — just before we charged the Roman line.’
Marcus swallowed. ‘Captured?’
‘I don’t know, Marcus.’
‘Or killed?’
Brixus sighed. ‘A slave taken under arms faces a death sentence. It would be better if he were dead. Better than crucifixion.’
‘Crucifixion?’ Marcus’s guts turned to ice. ‘No … Not Lupus. Caesar wouldn’t let that happen. Lupus is his scribe. Or was.’
‘None of that will matter if he has been captured with a sword in his hand.’
Marcus stood silent, remembering his friend. Then he looked at Brixus with a guarded expression. ‘I never took Lupus for the fighting kind. I’m surprised he was prepared to go into battle.’
‘There are many in our camp who have never fought before they joined us. But they soon discover that freedom is a cause worth fighting for, or dying for if need be. That is what your father taught us. Many remember the lesson and honour his legacy.’ He placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘When word spreads that a new Spartacus has risen to lead the rebellion, then slaves the length of Italia will flock to join his standard. This time nothing will stand between us and freedom. We will have our victory over Rome.’
Marcus forced himself to smile in response. He felt anxious about the dream that Brixus held out. Though he had come to accept that he was the son of Spartacus, would his blood inheritance be enough to guarantee that Marcus would rise to the same greatness?
20
Brixus released Marcus’s shoulder and smiled wearily. ‘I am a poor host. What am I thinking? You’re cold and hungry, and no doubt exhausted. Come, let’s sit by the fire while I send for food and drink, and we can talk.’
He clapped his hands and called out harshly. ‘Servilia!’
The woman crouching by the fire cringed like a whipped dog, then scrambled to her feet and scurried across the hut, bowing her head as she stood before him. By the glow of the fire Marcus could see bruises amid the grime on her skin, and the locks of her long dark hair were matted with filth.
‘I want meat, bread and watered wine. And dried figs if there are any left.’
‘Yes, master.’
‘At once. Now go.’
She turned and scuttled to an arch that led into a small lean-to at the rear of the hut. As she disappeared, Brixus led Marcus to the fire where he gratefully sank down on the skins arranged at one side of the hearth. The warmth of the flames felt good and Marcus allowed himself to indulge briefly in the comfort, releasing the terror he had faced in front of the crowd. Even though he was out of danger, it took a while for the tension in his muscles and the trembling of his limbs to subside.
Brixus slipped his sword belt over his head and let the scabbard drop to the ground beside another pile of animal skins. He unbuckled the straps fastening his cuirass and placed that beside his sword, before slumping down with a sigh of contentment.
‘Your limp has improved,’ Marcus observed. ‘Much better than it was back in Porcino’s ludus.’
‘Well, it was never quite as bad as I made out.’ Brixus grinned. ‘Once I received the wound I vowed I would never again fight in the arena for the pleasure of the Romans. Even though the injury would have slowed me down, I could not trust Porcino not to make me fight again. I played it up enough to fool his surgeon and he pronounced me unfit for the arena. That’s how I was sent to the kitchens.’
‘I see.’ Marcus nodded. ‘But how did you come to be here, in charge of this camp?’
‘After I spoke to you that last time, when you were on the road to Rome, I made my way north into the mountains. It wasn’t long before I encountered one of the rebel bands. They brought me here. Mandracus was their leader and he had fought for Spartacus in the last revolt, even though he was only a boy at the time, not much older than you are now. He recognized me, and when I told him that the son of Spartacus lived and would one day lead a new rebellion against Rome, he was persuaded to let me take command. After that we increased the scale of the attacks on the enemy and recruited more people. They were anxious at first and slow to join us, but when news of our victories spread, and with that the promise of the heir of Spartacus, they flocked to our side.’ His eyes blazed with excitement. ‘Marcus, we have over ten thousand men under arms in camps like this up and down the Apennines. With you as our figurehead, that number will grow even more swiftly. Soon we shall march down from the mountains to face the Roman legions on the battlefield, and this time the victory will be ours.’
The slave woman emerged through the small entrance at the side of the hut, balancing a tray stacked with meat and bread in one hand, and carrying ajar and two silver cups in the other. She scuttled across to the fire and set the meal down between Brixus and Marcus, then backed away nervously, out of reach, and stood with her head bowed, in silence. Brixus ignored her as he piled some meat on a wooden platter and offered it to Marcus.
‘Here. I expect you’re hungry.’
Marcus took the platter and began to eat at once, quickly, tearing at the cold mutton with his teeth and chewing hard. Brixus watched with a smile, then passed him a small roundel of bread and a cup of watered wine. Marcus nodded his thanks and continued eating until his belly felt comfortably full. He eventually pushed the platter aside with a sigh.
Brixus was eating in a more measured manner and looked up. ‘Want some more, or something else? Fruit? Fig and date pie?’
‘No. I’m fine. Thanks.’
Brixus clicked his fingers at the woman. ‘Some more logs on the fire. Then get out and leave us alone.’
‘Yes, master.’ She hefted some logs from the pile beside the fire and added them to the blaze, before backing away to the side of the hut where she disappeared through the side exit. As the leather curtain dropped back into place, Marcus stared at it, frowning, before he spoke.
‘I thought you were fighting to end slavery.’
‘Eh?’ Brixus frowned briefly, until he got the point. ‘Oh, her. Don’t concern yourself with her, Marcus. It’s time some Romans learned what we slaves had to endure.’
‘I don’t understand. Either you are against slavery or you are for it.’
‘Of course I am against it. And when Rome no longer claims to own us, then Servilia can go free too. Until then, she is my slave.’
‘But-’
‘That’s enough, Marcus. I will not discuss the matter. She deserves to be treated as she once treated others until there’s an end to it. Is that clear?’
Marcus nodded, surprised and a little intimidated by the cruel edge to Brixus’s words. A silence fell between them and Marcus stared into the flames, deep in thought. He was worried about Brixus’s plan. Apart from the prospect of being the figurehead of the new rebellion, he was unsure that the rebels could overwhelm Rome’s legions. Even if tens of thousands of slaves escaped from their masters to join the rebellion, they would lack the training and experience of the legionaries. Only a small proportion of the rebels were gladiators or had some fighting experience. Marcus had seen at first hand the huge advantage that a trained fighter had over a raw recruit, no matter how eager that recruit might be.
‘You can’t win this, Brixus,’ he said quietly. ‘You cannot defeat Rome.’
The rebel leader stared back at him. ‘And why is that?’
‘You know only too well. Look what happened when you went up against Caesar. You were defeated.’
‘We were not defeated,’ Brixus replied sharply. ‘We fought like lions. My followers have the courage to see this through.’