Decimus flinched in terror at the boy’s violent expression and opened his mouth to reply. Then his eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

‘I will tell you nothing. If you want to see her again, then you must set me free. That is the only deal I will make with you. My life for hers.’

Brixus stepped over the moneylender and grasped him by the collar of his tunic. ‘Say the word, Marcus, and I’ll have Mandracus beat the truth out of him.’

‘He can try.’ Decimus smiled thinly. ‘But how will you know I am telling the truth? You need me alive, Marcus. I will tell you where she is, once I am away from this place, and safe. Only then.’

‘And he’s supposed to trust you?’

‘I give him my word.’

‘Hah? Your word?’ Brixus spat. ‘I’d sooner trust a snake. Marcus, kill him. You can find your mother on your own.’

Marcus glared at the moneylender, his heart welling up with despair and frustration. Decimus had the advantage and there was little he could do about it — unless there was some way to hold Decimus to his side of the bargain. He turned to Brixus. ‘There is another man among the prisoners who I would have you keep safe. A tall, thin man. Bald and with a beard. His name is Thermon.’

He turned back to Decimus. ‘If you fail to keep your word, I will give Thermon to Caesar. He would have some interesting stories to tell about your business interests, as you call them.’

Decimus sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘You learn quickly, my boy. In time you might well be as successful as I am, and a dangerous rival. We have a deal then, and a means to enforce it.’

The leather curtain swished aside as Mandracus ducked into the hut. He saw the others and gestured to Decimus guiltily. ‘I was going to tell you about him as soon as I could.’

‘Never mind,’ Brixus replied. ‘I know all about him. Have your men take him away. He is to be kept apart from the others. Guard him closely. He must not escape. And if he tries to, then I want him taken alive.’

‘Yes, Brixus. As you wish. Come on, you!’ Mandracus hauled Decimus to his feet and pushed him out of the hut.

Brixus turned to Marcus and let out a low whistle.

‘A strange day indeed.’ Then his expression fell and he rested a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘I have bad news for you. There was a boy captured by Mandracus when he ambushed Caesar’s party earlier this month.’

Marcus felt a surge of hope in his breast. ‘Lupus!’

‘Yes, Lupus.’

‘Where is he? You said bad news?’ Marcus felt a stab of anxiety. ‘I’ve not seen him here. Send for him.’

‘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?

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.