Overhearing the gossip of the other slaves, Marcus had learned that Caesar’s only child, his beloved Julia, had been married to General Pompeius shortly before Marcus arrived in Rome. Now it seemed that Caesar had come to regard Portia as a replacement for the daughter who had left his household.
‘Anyway,’ Portia continued, ‘it is quite safe for you to talk to me, Marcus.’
He wanted to believe her, but still felt the need for caution. ‘What shall we talk about then?’
Portia looked surprised. ‘Why, it’s several days since you arrived and I want to know how you’re settling in. What do you think of our house?’
‘House?’ Marcus gestured around the garden. ‘I thought this was a palace. Is this how all Roman lords live?’
‘This is quite modest by comparison with others.’ Portia smiled. ‘You should see the great houses of Crassus and Pompeius. Now those really are like palaces. But Uncle Gaius prefers to live here, surrounded by the common people. He says it helps keep the mob on his side. He does have another house, a much grander place than this, close to the Forum. That came with the job when he was elected chief priest a while back. But he only uses it for official purposes. This is our real home.’ Portia patted his arm fondly. ‘Anyway, Marcus, talk to me. I want to know what you think of Rome. This is the first time you’ve been here, isn’t it?’ She reached her hand over and prodded him. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’
‘Exciting?’ Marcus was surprised by the question and couldn’t help a bitter smile. ‘I’m as excited as a slave can be.’
‘Come now, you are part of my uncle’s household. You’re no longer at that grim little gladiator school where he found you. I’d have thought you’d be more grateful at the way things have turned out.’
Marcus didn’t like her tone and a burst of indignation flared in his heart. ‘And I would have thought your uncle might be grateful that I saved your life.’
Portia winced, then bowed her head and looked down at her hands resting in her lap. She was silent for a moment before she continued humbly.
‘I am grateful, Marcus. Really I am. And so is my uncle, though he wouldn’t dream of being indebted to a slave. I’m sorry for the way I spoke just then.’ She glanced shyly at him. ‘I don’t want to be your enemy. I want to be your friend. I suppose I’m feeling a bit lonely. I don’t really have many friends. . Please don’t hate me.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ Marcus replied stiffly, then stabbed his thumb at the brass plaque hanging from his neck on a thick chain. His name and that of his master were neatly engraved on its shiny surface. ‘It’s just this that I hate. I shouldn’t be a slave. I was born free and lived that way until less than a year ago — until my mother and I were kidnapped by a tax collector and my. . father. . was killed. One day I will find her and set her free. And I will have my revenge, and kill that tax collector, Decimus. I swear it.’
Portia looked shocked. ‘What happened?’
‘My father got into debt. He borrowed money from Decimus and when he couldn’t repay it, Decimus sent his thugs in. Their leader, a man called Thermon, killed my father, and took my mother and me away to be sold into slavery to cover the debt.’ Marcus’s heart filled with sorrow at the memory and he looked away.
Portia was silent, then spoke softly. ‘Then you will need to win your liberty, Marcus, so you can search for your mother.’
Or I could escape, thought Marcus. Briefly, he considered the possibility. He would not get far with a slave’s collar round his neck. And once caught, he’d be dragged back to Caesar’s house where his master would punish him harshly. It would be expected of him, to make sure an example was given to the other slaves in the household, as well as the slaves in all the households across Rome. Marcus sighed. There was little to be gained from escaping right now. It would be far better to follow his original plan and see if he could plead his case directly to General Pompeius, while keeping the secret of his true identity.
Marcus cleared his throat. ‘If I serve your uncle well, perhaps he will set me free. Until then, I will protect you with my life.’
Portia smiled. ‘Thank you. And, Marcus — maybe I can help you. I’d like to, if I could.’
A brief silence fell between them, then Marcus spoke again. ‘Perhaps. But you must know that I can never be a real friend to you. Not while I am a slave and you’re the niece of a consul.’
Portia paused before she replied. ‘I imagine you think I’m a pampered brat. Just like all those other silly girls riding in litters about the city. Well, perhaps I am in some ways. But my uncle is powerful and that means many men and women want to be counted among his friends. So they toady up to him, and their sons and nieces toady up to me. No one treats me like a normal person. To them I am a means of winning Caesar’s favour. I am thirteen years old. By this time next year I may well be married. My uncle will want to use the wedding to further his political ambitions.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I don’t want your sympathy. I have always known that would be my fate, and I accept it. But before it happens I’d like to have had at least one true friend in my life, Marcus. When I fell into that arena I saw my death in the eyes of those wolves. But you saved me. And that means we share a real bond. Doesn’t it?’
Marcus recalled that Titus had once told him that when one soldier saved the life of another, they were as brothers. But his feelings for Portia were more than that, though he hardly dared admit it, even to himself. Despite his knowledge of their different lives, he desperately wanted her words to be true. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Then you can be my secret friend, and I will be yours. I can talk freely to you and you to me. In time, I may even be able to help you win your freedom. ’
More than anything, Marcus wanted someone with whom he could speak freely, but there was no question of even hinting at his true identity to Portia. For her, her uncle, and for every Roman, the spectre of Spartacus haunted their dreams. He meant an end to their way of life.
Still, he forced himself to smile. ‘Thank you, Mistress Portia.’
She looked hurt. ‘Just Portia when we are alone. Please.’
‘As you wish, Portia.’
She smiled. ‘There! It’s settled. We are friends, and we will talk like this whenever we can. I want you to tell me how Festus trains you, what you think about Rome, and I’ll tell you all that goes on in the finest houses of the city.’
Marcus forced a smile.
Portia was about to speak again when a shout carried across the garden.
‘Marcus! Marcus! Where are you, boy?’
Marcus recognized the harsh tone of Flaccus, the household’s steward, and turned to Portia as he rose from the bench.
‘I have to go.’
‘Yes.’ She took his hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘We’ll talk again soon, I hope.’
Marcus nodded as Flaccus bellowed his name again and he hurried from the sheltered corner along the path at the side of the garden. Emerging into the shaded colonnade that ran across the end of the house, he caught sight of the steward — a short, overweight man in a green tunic. Flaccus was bald, except for a heavily oiled fringe that ran around his head, and his heavy cheeks wobbled as he turned towards the sound of Marcus’s light footsteps.
‘Where in Hades have you been?’ he scowled.
‘Here in the garden, sir,’ Marcus replied as he stopped in front of the man.
‘Well, don’t let me catch you at it again. When you’re not needed you stay in the slave quarters until you’re called for. Understand?’ He shot out a hand and cuffed Marcus’s ear.
The blow knocked Marcus’s head to one side and his ears filled with a dull ringing. He blinked and glared back at the steward. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘See that you do, or next time I’ll give you a hiding you won’t forget.’ The steward rested his fat fingers on his hips and stared coldly down at Marcus.
‘I know what you did at that gladiator school, and I know the master favours you, but don’t think that makes you special. You’re no better than the rest of us slaves. I’m the steward here. You answer to me. And if you cross me, you’ll regret it. I’ll treat you no differently from the kitchen boys. Is that clear?’