The surviving legionaries and Decimus and his men had been joined by a handful of mule drivers as they stood on the track guarded by several of the rebels. There they had been securely bound as Mandracus ordered the rest of his men to strip the bodies of undamaged armour and weapons. Any wounded Romans had their throats cut, while the injured rebels were carefully loaded on to the carts and wagons. The dead were carried into the villa, where a pyre was built using any combustible material left from the morning raid.

By the time the rebels were ready to move out it was dusk and the snow had stopped falling. A pale blue hue hung across the valley, where the dark forms of bodies and pools of blood lay either side of the track. The lurid red flames rising from the stockade added to the sombre scene, and Marcus shivered miserably as he and the others awaited their fate in silence. Mandracus took a last look around and swept his arm along the track.

‘Move out!’

Marcus waited until the man ahead of him lurched forward, and hurriedly marched a few feet to give himself some slack, then concentrated on maintaining the gap. He thought it strange that Mandracus was leading them in the direction of Caesar. With a brief flicker of hope, he wondered if Caesar might send a message back to the baggage train, so the rider would see them and raise the alarm with the main column. Then, no more than a mile along the track, Mandracus turned off, taking a smaller path that meandered through a forest and headed into the heart of the mountain range.

They stopped for the night in an abandoned village, where the prisoners were herded into a small sheep pen and left with-out food or water. Around them the rebels found shelter in what remained of the houses and huts of the silent village. No fires were lit, but as night fell the sky cleared and the stars shone like tiny shards of ice.

Marcus explored the pen and found a corner out of the wind containing the musty remains of a pile of straw. He pulled as much of it over his body as he could with his bound hands and sat hunched over his knees, shivering. One by one the other men settled down to endure the freezing night as best they could.

It was impossible to sleep and, in any case, Marcus knew that sleep was dangerous. Titus had told him that once, recalling a campaign he had fought in the mountains of Macedonia. Pompeius’s army had been forced to spend several nights in the open and there were men who fell asleep never to wake again. Come dawn their comrades discovered them frozen stiff. Marcus was not going to let the same thing happen to him. As soon as he felt his eyelids droop he sat up stiffly and pinched his cheeks hard.

At some point during the night, he heard someone shuffling towards him in the darkness, then a voice rasped.

‘Boy, is that you? In the corner there.’

At first Marcus did not recognize the voice and kept still, holding his breath.

‘I know you can hear me, boy … It’s Marcus, isn’t it? Titus told me about you once, when he came to do business with me.’

Marcus felt a familiar anger flare up in his heart. He drew a slow breath to calm his body so that his voice would not tremble when he spoke. He did not want Decimus to think that he was afraid of him. ‘What do you want?’

‘A word.’

‘Why would I want to talk to you, Decimus? After everything you have done to me and my family. All I ever want to hear is you begging for your life before I kill you.’

‘Kill me?’ Marcus heard a low chuckle, then the man’s voice caught as a bout of shivering seized his body. ‘You? What makes you think you could ever harm me? I have powerful friends. Men who depend on me. You are just one step up from being a common slave. Be realistic, Marcus. There’s nothing you could ever do to harm me.’

‘I won’t have to. Not now. I just hope the rebels get round to killing you before me.’

Decimus was silent for a moment. ‘Fair enough … But there’s a chance that Caesar might find us first.’

So that’s what he wanted to ask Marcus about. He laughed quietly. ‘I doubt it. Caesar has his own problems now that he has lost his baggage train.’

‘You know him better than I do, Marcus. Do you think he will come looking for us?’

‘He might. But it would make sense for him to find fresh supplies and shelter first.’

‘But he can’t afford to let the rebels get away with taking hostages.’

‘Why not? We’re dead, Decimus. Face it.’

‘No. Why would they take us prisoner if they meant to kill us? Perhaps there is a way out. I have money. I can offer them a ransom for my life. But not yours, alas.’

‘And your men? What about them?’

‘I can always hire more men.’

Marcus stared at the dim outline of the man, a short distance away. There was no limit to the callousness of Decimus. If only his hands were free, he could throw himself on the moneylender. Without weapons, he might not win a fight with a fully grown man, but he could do him some injury.

‘Don’t take it too hard, boy. That’s just the way life is. These rebels are like any other men. They have their price, and I can afford to pay it.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper that only Marcus would hear. ‘It’s too bad for everyone else. Especially you. A few more years’ training and you would have been one of the heroes of the arena. Another little boost for Caesar’s reputation. He was right to buy you from Porcino’s school. He’s as shrewd a man as ever put on a senator’s toga. He may turn out to be one of the greatest Romans who ever lived.’

‘So why have you been plotting to kill him? You’re a Roman. If Rome needs men like him, then why kill him?’

‘Because I think Caesar believes that Rome needs hin› more than he needs Rome. That makes such men very dangerous. In any case, my political beliefs happen to coincide with an opportunity to do business with Crassus.’

‘Business?’

‘I am a businessman, young Marcus. I do what I do for money. That is why I work for Crassus. He rewards me with tax-collecting contracts. That’s how a man gets rich in this world. In return I provide Crassus with the services of my employees who have the skills needed to remove obstacles in the path of his ambition. Over the years I have recruited a few men who have proved very useful indeed.’

‘Men like Thermon?’ Marcus interrupted bitterly. ‘Murderers.’

‘Murder is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as providing a special service at a premium price.’

‘I take it that you and your men did not join Caesar’s army to buy slaves then?’

‘Why not? Might as well make a little extra on the side.’

‘But you were sent to kill him, weren’t you?’

‘If the opportunity presented itself. I had thought to blackmail that young tribune over there to help one of my men get close to Caesar, but now I have more pressing concerns. I need to strike a deal with these rebel scum and buy my freedom.’

A gust of wind moaned over the sheep pen. Marcus glanced up at the sky and noticed a band of cloud to the north. There would be more snow before the dawn came. But that was of little concern to him. If he was to die, then there was one thing he had to know. One last comforting thought to cling to.

‘Decimus, there’s something you must tell me.’

‘You want to know if your mother still lives?’

‘Yes.’

The man was silent for a moment before he spoke again. ‘I wonder what would be most merciful to tell you. If I said she was alive, then it would comfort you, until you considered what being alive means to her. You know I sent her to an estate of mine in the Peloponnese. A place where the slaves work until exhaustion or sickness finishes them off. On the other hand, if I told you she was dead, you would know you had nothing to live for. So, my boy, which would you prefer?’

‘I just want the truth,’ Marcus replied firmly. ‘Whatever it may be.’