Gladiator: Son of Spartacus by Simon Scarrow Page A

while, deep in thought.
    This time he was thinking about Spartacus. Slowly, his heart filled with pride in his father’s achievements and the example he had set for those who followed him, prepared to fight and die at his side. Something began to stir inside him. A vague inspiration and more: a sense that it was his duty to honour his father. To be worthy of his name and all that had achieved in his short life. After all, the same blood coursed through Marcus’s veins - the same skill at arms, and the same burning desire for freedom.

6
    The next day the small party of riders left the foothills behind as the road climbed into the mountains. The rain had stopped during the night and a hard frost glinted on the ground as they set off. Before noon they had climbed above the snowline, and the rocks and trees on either side were covered by a gleaming blanket of white. But despite the snow, the route was plain to see as they rode on, up into the hills. The heavily laden boughs of fir trees deadened the sound of their passing and added to the unsettling sensation of stillness. The conversation between the riders died away as they kept a wary eye on their surroundings. They had lived in Rome so long they had grown used to the constant noise of the great city. Now the silence was unnerving them. There was only the soft padding of the horses, the chink of the bits and the occasional snort as the animals expelled warm steamy breath from their wide nostrils.
    ‘I don’t like this,’ Lupus muttered.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Marcus tried to sound more confident than he felt. ‘Fresh air, peace and quiet and fine views. What could there be to dislike? Apart from the cold.’
    ‘That’s bad enough, but there’s something else.’ Lupus looked from side to side. ‘I don’t know, but I can’t help feeling that we’re being watched.’
    ‘Who by? We haven’t passed a single dwelling for hours. The last person we saw was that shepherd a few miles back.' Marcus recalled the solitary figure holding a staff who had watched them from the top of a small cliff. ‘And he ran off the moment he saw us.’
    ‘Yes,’ Lupus pondered. ‘I’ve been wondering about that. Why did he run?’
    ‘He was just nervous. A party of horsemen appears and he fears that they might be brigands. That’s why.’
    ‘Perhaps there’s something else to it.’
    Marcus looked at him. ‘What are you saying?’
    ‘Perhaps he wasn’t a shepherd. Maybe he was a lookout.
    ‘And who would he be looking out for?’
    ‘People like us. Travellers. Easy prey for a band of brigands. Or worse, the rebels. Supposing that man was a lookout, and he’s reported us?’
    Marcus glanced over his shoulder, down the road to the point where it turned back on itself and was lost in the trees. There was no sign of movement. He shrugged as he faced the front again. ‘If there was anything sinister about him, then I think we’d know about it by now.’
    Lupus was silent for a moment. ‘I hope you’re right.’
    Both boys fell silent again, but Marcus was starting to share his friend’s anxiety. A mile further on they cleared the treeline and the road climbed towards a narrow pass between two rocky peaks hidden by wreaths of cloud. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief at leaving the confines of the forest. On either side the ground was littered with stones and rocks and afforded little cover for an ambush. Up ahead, the men were talking again and Marcus felt encouraged by their return to the earlier easy conversation and exchange of jokes. Even Lupus seemed more relaxed. The road began to narrow and Marcus allowed his friend to pull a short distance ahead. He needed time to think.
    Caesar’s comment the previous night was preying on his mind. Despite the debt that Caesar owed him for saving his niece’s life, it would mean very little if he decided that Marcus represented any threat to him, or to Rome. Marcus felt he was living on a knife-edge. He must be careful about