Son of Spartacus - Scarrow Simon - Страница 29

Festus bowed his head. ‘Yes, sir.’

As the head of his bodyguard strode off to relay the orders, Caesar caught Marcus’s eye.

‘The chase is on, eh, Marcus?’

Marcus nodded, despite his doubts. He agreed with Festus. Caesar was taking a risk. But clearly there was no changing his mind.

‘If Fortuna favours us,’ Caesar continued, rubbing his hands together to warm them, ‘then we might discover where Brixus is hiding by the end of the day. Think on that. We find and destroy Brixus and his rabble, and so break the spirit of those who would follow him. The slaves will learn their lesson. No one defies Rome. Then I will be free to turn my attention to Gaul.’

‘Yes, sir. And I can seek out my mother.’

Caesar flashed him a look of irritation. ‘Of course. Did you think I had forgotten?’

Marcus did not dare reply, having made his point, and Caesar turned away and called for a groom to bring his horse.

The snow continued to fall through the morning as the horsemen followed the track, often in single file to negotiate the drifts that had formed. On either side the boughs of the pine trees were heavily laden and the dull thrumming of the horses’ hoofs was muffled as they rode on. Then, at noon, shortly after the snow had stopped falling, the track descended into a small valley and there was a cry from one of the men scouting ahead. Marcus and the others looked up expectantly as a rider galloped back along the road. He reined in sharply and snow sprayed into the air as he thrust an arm out.

‘There’s a fire ahead, sir!’

‘A fire?’ Caesar grasped his reins tightly. ‘Then we may have them! Let’s go!’

He spurred his horse forward and the rest of the column rippled into motion, horses thundering along the track, their steamy breaths whipped out from flaring nostrils. All thought of the cold disappeared from Marcus’s mind as he urged his mount to keep up with Caesar and Festus. The rest of the bodyguard and staff officers galloped behind, followed by the cavalry.

Ahead, the other scouts were waiting on a small rise that afforded a view along the valley. As they crested the ridge, Marcus saw that the trees fell away on either side, with open land ahead, nestling between the mountains. Aged walled enclosures showed that the land had been used as pasture for many years. A stream meandered along the valley floor into a small lake and ahead, beside a mill, stood a collection of farm buildings enclosed by a wooden stockade. Bright flames licked up from the windows in the largest building and black smoke billowed into the still winter air. Marcus could see figures moving, stark against the snow, as they carried off their spoils, piling them on to several small carts and a wagon hitched to mules a short distance from the villa.

Marcus galloped down the far side of the rise to the flat road approaching the farm, not much more than half a mile away. The wind roared in his ears and his heart was beating wildly with excitement. Immediately ahead, the horses of Festus and Caesar were kicking up a spray of snow that made it difficult for him to see beyond them. He urged his mount on, steering it to one side, then saw the distant figures scrambling into activity as they spotted the horsemen charging towards them.

‘Don’t let them escape!’ Caesar shouted. ‘I want prisoners!’

Ahead, the men who had attacked the villa were sprinting across the open ground towards the safety of the treeline, abandoning their loot. Even as they raced across the snow-covered fields, Marcus could see most of them would escape well before the Roman cavalry reached the scene. Once they disappeared into the depths of the forest where the snow had not penetrated, there would be no tracks to follow and they could escape. Marcus felt relieved by that.

The last of the rebels had already vanished from sight as Caesar savagely reined in outside the villa. Behind him, the rest of his men caught up and the air was filled with the snorting of horses and chink of bits.

‘Decurion!’ Caesar thrust his hand towards the first officer to arrive on the scene. ‘Take your squadron and go after them. On foot if necessary.’

‘Yes, sir!’ The decurion snapped a salute and bellowed to his men to follow him as he galloped across to the line of trees f stretching along the edge of the valley. Briefly, Caesar turned to look at the villa before dismounting and handing his reins to one of the bodyguards. Festus and Marcus followed suit and joined him inside the wall.

The fire had taken hold of the main building and already tongues of flame were stabbing up into the air between the roof tiles. A large section of the roof gave way and crashed into the blaze with an explosion of sparks that swirled high into the air. One of the adjoining buildings was already alight as the fire spread.

Caesar raised an arm to shield his face from the heat. ‘Look for survivors! I’ll check this side of the villa. Festus, take Marcus and search the other side!’

Festus pulled Marcus towards the side of the building, where the double doors of a long shed stood open. While Festus strode ahead, Marcus struggled to keep up. As they reached the end of the shed, a wiry man with grey hair lurched into view. A club swung from one arm, and a small chest was tucked under the other. With astonishing speed, he raised his club and slashed at Festus’s head. The glancing blow threw Festus into the snow at his feet with a deep groan. At once the man raised the club again, ready to strike at his head.

‘No!’ Marcus yelled, hurling himself forward. He snatched at the man’s bony wrist and both of them tumbled back across the threshold of the shed, sprawling to the earthen floor inside. The impact winded the man but Marcus had rolled to his feet and was ready to strike before the man could rise. Marcus kicked him in the side and smashed a fist on to the back of his head. Raising a hand to protect himself, the man released his club and Marcus snatched it up, then delivered a quick, savage blow across his shoulders. With an explosive grunt the man slumped to the ground, moaning. Marcus stood over him, both hands tightly grasping the club. When he was sure the fight had gone out of the man, he crouched beside Festus and shook his shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m seeing double and my head feels like a house landed on it,’ Festus growled. ‘Next stupid question?’

Marcus grinned, then turned his attention back to the other man. Sinewy and tough, the rebel looked in his fifties at least. Marcus regarded him warily. ‘Stay down, if you know what’s good for you.’

The rebel lay where he had fallen, winded and gasping for breath. Slowly, Festus struggled to his feet and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees as he recovered. Marcus turned at a soft crunch of feet in the snow to see Caesar’s grim smile of satisfaction as he walked towards the rebel.

‘You got one of ‘em. Well done!’ Caesar stood over the man and stared down at him. ‘Looks like he’s on his last legs. If this is the best that Brixus can offer, then we have nothing to worry about. The battle, when it comes, is as good as won.’

Marcus took in the rebel’s ragged cloak and boots that were falling to pieces. His skin was mottled and covered in grime, his breathing laboured as he lay on his back. If Festus hadn’t been caught by surprise, he would have cut the man down in an instant. Why would Brixus even think of sending a man in such poor condition on a raid? It didn’t make sense.

‘What if this isn’t the best, sir?’ he asked. ‘The others who were here ran off quickly enough.’

Caesar waved a hand dismissively. ‘No matter. We have this one to question. Festus, take him behind the shed and question him. I want to know where Brixus is hiding and how many men he has under arms.’

Festus straightened up and paced over to the rebel. He wrenched the frail man to his feet. Then, drawing his dagger, he dragged him round the corner of the shed and out of sight. By the time the rest of Caesar’s officers arrived the first cries of terror and pain cut through the air, only slightly muffled by the roar of flames that consumed the main building some fifty paces away. Tribune Quintus nodded towards the villa wall beyond the burning building.