‘Someone has to get inside Milo’s gang to find out their plans, master.’
‘Don’t you imagine I’ve thought of that?’ Clodius sniffed. ‘The street gangs are a close-knit bunch. A man has to prove himself over and again before he is allowed to join, and after that he has to work his way up through the ranks to the inner circle of the gang leaders. It takes a long time — years. We haven’t got that long. Besides, if a man turns up wanting to join during the middle of a gang war, then he’s bound to arouse suspicion. It won’t work.’
Marcus had already thought through this and nodded. ‘That is true, master. But what if we didn’t send a man? What if we sent a boy instead? Someone young enough to be overlooked.’
Clodius and Caesar fixed their attention on Marcus, then Caesar responded, ‘You, you mean.’
‘Yes, master. Why not? I am observant. I am skilled with weapons and I do not carry the mark of any of the gangs. Few people know me in Rome so I will not be recognized. Even when I’ve been out, my head has been covered. If I could get close to Milo and his gang I might overhear their plans, or at least give warning when there is trouble, master.’ He paused as he saw the doubtful look on Caesar’s face.
‘It’s too dangerous, and what makes you think they will be so foolish as to discuss important matters within earshot of you. .’
Marcus couldn’t help a slight smile. ‘Because that’s exactly what you do, master. You speak openly in front of your slaves. Why should Milo be any different?’
Clodius laughed as Caesar looked uncomfortable. ‘He has a good point there! Many a powerful Roman has come unstuck once his slaves are tortured for evidence to use against him. You’d think we’d have learned by now, but it seems not. Marcus is right, Caesar. He might succeed where a grown man would not. It’s worth a try at least.’
Marcus stared intently at Caesar, trying to guess what was going through the consul’s mind. ‘Master, I know I can do this,’ he said.
Caesar clasped his hands behind his back and paced up and down the study, while Clodius examined the fingernails of his expensively manicured hands. Marcus looked at him, wondering how this could be the same man who had wildly hurled himself into a vicious street fight just hours before.
‘All right,’ Caesar concluded. ‘It’s worth a try. I can’t say I’m happy about putting a valuable slave in danger, but there is no gain without risk, as my good friend and business associate, Crassus, would say.’ He fixed Marcus with a hard stare. ‘Naturally you will expect a reward for this service?’
‘I would be grateful for one,’ Marcus replied, not sure how far he dare push the situation. In his mind’s eye he saw his mother, cold, hungry and imploring him to help her.
‘I’m sure you would.’ Caesar placed his hand on Marcus s shoulder. ‘You may be young, but you know the meaning of honour and have the courage to see it through. Rare qualities. If you stay in my service you will be a formidable gladiator one day, Marcus. And I shall be proud of you.’
‘And what if he doesn’t want to be a gladiator?’ Clodius interrupted. ‘What if he wants to be freed?’
Marcus tensed his muscles nervously. It was as if Clodius had read his mind. It wouldn’t help his cause if Caesar knew how much Marcus hated the idea of being a gladiator. Marcus had learned that Caesar was not a man to accept the views of those who disagreed with him.
‘Then I shall reconsider his situation at the appropriate time,’ Caesar replied dismissively. ‘Until then, Marcus, you will do what you can to save me from my enemies, eh?’
‘Yes, master. When should I begin?’
‘At once. It wouldn’t surprise me if Cato and Bibulus wanted to finish this quickly after the events of today.’ He stared Marcus straight in the eye. ‘You should be aware of the risks. If Milo discovers who you are, then he will show no mercy.’
Marcus stiffened his spine and stood as tall as he could. ‘I understand, master. But I have faced danger before, more than once. I am not afraid and I know what I’m doing.’
Caesar suddenly let out a loud laugh. ‘Oh you do, do you? I wish I could say that!’
Festus charged Lupus with the task of preparing Marcus for going undercover. He had found a worn and tattered tunic and some old sandals to give Marcus the appearance of the runaway he would claim to be. The plaque that hung round his neck to mark him as a slave had been removed, and now his skin had to be covered with a mix of soot and ink, to make him suitably grimy for a street urchin, as well as covering the brand from Porcino’s gladiator school.
‘Take off your tunic,’ Lupus said, ready to apply some of the mixture to Marcus’s skin.
Marcus hesitated. No one had seen his scar since Brixus had identified it as the mark of Spartacus. Now here he was, in the house of Spartacus’s most powerful enemy. To reveal it here was horribly dangerous.
‘Come on,’ urged Lupus. ‘Or do you want Milo to work out who you are?’
Marcus realized there was no way to avoid it without causing suspicion. He held his breath and pulled off the tunic.
‘What’s that on your shoulder?’ Lupus asked. He tilted his head for a closer inspection. ‘It looks like. . a sword thrusting through the head of a wolf.’
Marcus snatched up the ragged tunic and made to pull it over his head until Lupus stopped him. ‘Wait. I’ll have to cover this up too. Hold still.’
He was silent as he worked the mixture in uneven streaks on Marcus’s back so that the dirt looked natural. ‘Where did you get the mark?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marcus lied. He could hardly breathe for fear that his true identity would be exposed. What if Caesar chose this moment to walk in? ‘It’s always been there. Since before I can remember. ’
‘Then you must have been branded as an infant.’ Lupus shook his head. ‘By the gods, who would do such a thing to a baby? I doubt your father would have used such an unpatriotic image — the wolf is a symbol of Rome. What about your mother?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘I told you. I don’t know anything about it. Can we hurry this up?’
‘Well, whoever it was, they were no friend of Rome. Now hold still.’
Lupus finished applying the grime and paused to admire his handiwork before he stepped away from Marcus. ‘Put on your tunic.’
Marcus sighed with relief and Lupus looked him over with a grin. ‘You look like the lowest-born scum of the gutters. Perfect.’
That night Lupus and Marcus left the house by a small side gate. Lupus had been ordered to lead Marcus to The Pit on the Aventine Hill, the heart of the district controlled by Milo and his gangs. Festus was too well known to guide Marcus and had decided two young boys stood a better chance of making their way unnoticed through the streets.
They crept round the inside of the Servian wall to avoid the heart of the city, where small groups of rival gang members still prowled and clashed in the darkness. Despite the season there was a chill in the air and Marcus shivered as they made their way through the quiet streets. Above, on the towers along the wall, the glare of braziers provided occasional light to show their way. They climbed the Caelian Hill before descending the far side where rickety tenement blocks were packed together, just as they were in the Subura. Lupus slowed the pace and proceeded more cautiously as they entered the Aventine district. They encountered only a handful of shadowy figures, all of whom gave them a wide berth as they passed by. At length Lupus stopped in a small square, beside an old public fountain. He drew out a small dagger and worked away at the mortar of a large brick at the base of the fountain. When it came free he cut away at the brick until it was half as deep, sweeping away the fragments. Then he carefully replaced the brick so that it matched those on either side.
‘If you need to send a message, put it behind the brick.’ He paused to look at Marcus in the gloom. ‘You can write?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. I’ll check this as often as I can, by night. If you discover anything we need to know urgently, Festus says you’re to come straight to the house. Is that clear?’