Gladiator: Son of Spartacus by Simon Scarrow Page B

father had given his life for. He understood the cause, and why it was worth the price that the followers of Spartacus had paid with their blood. The fact that Marcus would be marching alongside the man who was determined to obliterate even the memory of his father made him suddenly sick to the bottom of his stomach and he had to fight back the bile that rose in his throat.
    ‘Every one of you, and the men you command, will have to march and fight as never before,’ Caesar continued. ‘I want this campaign concluded before spring comes, gentlemen. I will not tolerate anyone who fails to give me every last ounce of effort. Any such man will be dismissed from the army that I will lead into Gaul.’ He stared slowly round the room before his intent expression eased. ‘Any questions?’
    Quintus raised his hand and Caesar fixed his dark eyes on the youth.
    ‘Yes, Quintus?’
    ‘Sir, you’re planning to take half the army to deal with these runaways. Surely the task could be completed with fewer men?’
    ‘And fewer officers too, I suppose?’ Caesar smiled faintly, but his eyes remained as cold as before. ‘I’d rather take too many men and not need them, than need them and not take them with me. Besides, you are forgetting something. These rebels are led by Brixus, a former gladiator. There are bound to be other gladiators with him and those men will be training their followers. If they have done a decent job of it, then we shall face some of the toughest fighters in the world.’
    ‘Gladiators...’ Quintus mumbled. ‘They’re just mindless brutes, sir. All muscle and no brain. No match for a proper soldier.’
    ‘Is that so?’ Caesar turned to Marcus. ‘Put your stylus down, boy, and come here.’
    Marcus did as he was told and stood at the spot indicated by Caesar, directly in front of the junior tribunes. Caesar pointed to him as he addressed the officers. ‘This boy, until recently, was training to be a gladiator. A few months ago he won a bout in front of the Senate. I am sure some of you witnessed it.’
    There were surprised murmurs from those who had seen the fight but had paid no attention to the scribe at the side of the tent, and now recognized him again.
    This boy is my adviser on gladiators. Even more than that.
    ‘I have trusted him with my life in the past and would do so again if need be.’
    ‘Him?’ Quintus laughed. ‘Why, he’s just a runt.’
    ‘You think so? I’d place money on him long before I’d ever bet on you.’
    Marcus saw the blood drain from the tribune’s face as he glared angrily at his commander. ‘I’d thrash this boy in a fight, sir.’
    ‘Then let’s put it to the test.’ Caesar drew his sword and handed it to Marcus. ‘Draw your blade, Quintus. Let’s see if you are as good with a blade as you think you are. A little fencing bout. Just to first blood.’
    Quintus looked astounded. His comrades muttered encouragement and he nodded and stood up, drawing his sword. He took up position ten feet from Marcus and turned to face him with a contemptuous sneer. ‘Like I said, no brain, and it seems no muscle either.’
    Marcus said nothing but tested the weight and balance of Caesar’s sword. The proconsul stepped closer to him and muttered softly. ‘I just want you to make an example of him. Go easy. I’m not looking to create a vacancy in the tribunes’ ranks or make a widow of my niece. Understood?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Good.’ Caesar stepped back, clear of the short stretch of open ground between Quintus and Marcus. ‘Begin!’
    The tribune looked at Marcus and puffed his cheeks. ‘Are you sure about this, sir? I’d hate to damage one of your servants.’
    Caesar smiled. ‘Why don’t you just try?’
    Quintus raised his sword and took a quick step forward as he let out a loud shout. ‘Ha!’
    Marcus barely flinched and stood his ground, staring back intently as he balanced on the balls of his feet, weighing up the tribune. The youth was powerfully