Son of Spartacus - Scarrow Simon (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗

The optio puffed his cheeks impatiently. ‘If you’re the grain merchants the quartermaster’s been waiting for, then you’re late and I warn you he won’t be a happy man.’

‘No, not grain merchants,’ Caesar mumbled as he continued rummaging. Then he smiled as he withdrew his hand and held up a baton, gold at each end with a strip of parchment tightly fastened round it by the great seal of the Senate and people of Rome. ‘Here we are! I am Caius Julius Caesar, governor of the province of Gaul and general of this army. I am here to take up my command, under the authority of the Senate.’

Marcus saw the optio s eyes widen as his jaw went slack. Recovering quickly, he stepped smartly to the side, stood to attention and snapped his fist across his chest in salute.

‘My apologies, sir.’

‘At ease.’ Caesar laughed. ‘Well, I’ve never been taken for a grain merchant before!’

‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.’ The optio’s face reddened.

‘No need to apologize. We’ve been on the road for five days. Carry on, Optio.’

Caesar urged his mount forward and led his escort into the camp. Beyond the gate Marcus took in a sharp breath as he saw neat lines of tents stretching out in every direction. Smoke drifted up from scores of campfires and the forges of armourers. The air was filled with the sound of voices, and the shout of orders. Ahead of them stretched a long, wide avenue reaching into the heart of the camp. Some of the soldiers looked up curiously as the riders passed by, but most simply ignored them and continued with their duties, or sat outside their tents tending to their kit or playing dice.

When they reached the large tents at the centre of the camp Caesar was halted by a centurion of the elite unit of soldiers entrusted with guarding the headquarters and the senior officers of the army. As soon as he saw the baton he waved the riders through and they dismounted at the horseline outside the largest of the tents. The eagle standards of the four legions stood on a podium in front of the entrance and were guarded by eight men with bearskins covering their helmets and shoulders.

There was something in the atmosphere that excited Marcus. A heady mixture of sights and sounds, combined with knowledge of the power wielded by Rome through its soldiers. These were the men who had carved out a great empire, defeating other empires in turn. The same men who had worn down and finally crushed Spartacus and his rebels, Marcus reminded himself. His excitement cooled.

At the entrance to the tent Caesar turned. ‘Festus and Marcus, you come with me. The rest, wait here.’

Caesar’s baton had been spotted by one of the guards at the entrance to the tent and, when they entered, the officers and clerks at the desk on either side immediately stood to attention as the three new arrivals strode through. At the far side of the tent was another flap and a figure hurried in, extending a hand as he smiled. ‘Caesar! Good to see you again.’

‘Labienus, my old friend.’ Caesar grasped his forearm and returned his smile.

‘I was expecting to receive you in March. I had no idea you were coming sooner, otherwise I’d have prepared a fitting reception for a proconsul.’

‘I’ve had enough of ceremonies for a while. Time for me to do some honest soldiering, and leave politics behind. Or at least that’s what I had hoped. Now Cicero has manoeuvred me into a nasty little trap.’ Caesar looked round at the other men in the huge tent. ‘Let’s continue this somewhere private.’

Once the flaps were closed behind them Labienus indicated some folding wooden chairs beside the large table that dominated one side of the tent. Caesar gestured at his companions. ‘This is Festus, the leader of my personal bodyguard.’

‘There won’t be much call for you here.’ said Labienus. ‘There is a unit of the army assigned to protect its general.’

Caesar nodded. ‘Even so, Festus and his men will stay close to me. After the events of last year in Rome, I have to be careful who I trust.’

Labienus shrugged. ‘It may seem strange to say, but I think you will find you are safer on campaign than on the streets of Rome these days. And who is the boy?’

Caesar turned to Marcus and placed his hand on his shoulder. ‘This is Marcus Cornelius Primus, the gladiator. The toast of Rome.’

There was no denying that it felt good to be singled out by Caesar, one of the three most powerful figures in the entire Roman Empire, but Marcus found that he was embarrassed by the praise. He forced a smile before he glanced down for a moment.

‘You?’ Labienus’s eyebrows rose. ‘You are that boy? I had thought you would be bigger. Given your reputation. They say you slew a Celt giant in that fight in the Forum. But you are so … young.’

‘Don’t be deceived by what you see,’ said Caesar. ‘Marcus has the heart of a lion, the speed of a viper and the quick wits of a cat. In time he will make an even greater name for himself. Perhaps the greatest gladiator who ever lived. There is none like him.’ Caesar hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps there was once. But he is dead now. A great pity. I would like to have seen Spartacus fight in Rome. What a spectacle that would have been.’

‘We shall never see his like again.’ Labienus agreed. ‘For which I can only offer my thanks to the Gods.’

Once again Marcus felt the danger of his situation, and the lure of his father’s legacy. If only these Romans knew the truth…

Labienus continued. ‘I just wish those troublemakers in the mountains realized it and put an end to their rebellion. Anyway, they will be dealt with in due course. What was that you said a moment ago, about Cicero and a trap?’

‘That’s why I have arrived earlier than expected. I am required to put down Brixus’s revolt, and eliminate what remains of Spartacus’s followers. The task must be complete before I am permitted to begin any campaigns in Gaul. It’s not going to be easy. I had a taste of what we’re up against on the road from Rome. We were ambushed in the mountains and lucky to escape with our skins. I lost one of my men, another was wounded, and my scribe was killed as well.’ He paused and turned to Marcus. ‘You know how to read and write?’

Marcus had received a sound basic education and nodded. ‘Well enough, sir.’

‘Then you will take Lupus’s place for now. You can do that alongside being a member of the bodyguard, and my expert on gladiators.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Marcus replied with a flush of pride.

‘Good.’ Caesar patted him. ‘Then see to it that you find what you need for the job from the headquarters staff. If anyone questions you, say that you are acting on my orders.’

‘What are your plans for Brixus?’ Labienus asked.

‘I’ll take the best soldiers you have. You’ll remain in command here with the rest of the men, preparing the recruits for Gaul. I’ll divide my force in two. The commander of the Ninth legion, Balbus, will march his men south to Corfinium, and then work his way north, clearing out each valley as he advances. I’ll start from the other end of the Apennines and work towards him. We’ll roll them up and crush them between us. I expect it will not take much more than a month.’

‘I see,’ Labienus mused. ‘When do you intend to begin?’

‘In two days’ time. I want the two columns equipped and provisioned for a month. They’ll need to march quickly when we enter the mountains so I can’t afford any heavy baggage. Just enough to feed them for a few days at a time. The rest of the supplies will have to be stockpiled in the towns running down the edge of the mountains. You’ll need to see to that.’

‘Two days?’ Labienus puffed his cheeks. ‘Yes, it can be done.’

‘Can be done?’ Caesar frowned. ‘Labienus, it will be done.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then you can give the necessary orders at once. Oh, one more thing. You have a new tribune serving in the Ninth by the name of Quintus Pompeius, the nephew of Pompeius.’