‘The son of Spartacus?’ The old man shook his head. ‘It’s not possible. I was there. He had no son.’

‘The son was born shortly after the end of the rebellion. He bears the secret mark of Spartacus. I have seen it. I have met the boy.'

The crowd had fallen silent, listening to his words with rapt attention, hope burning in almost every face.

‘Where is he?’ some cried out. ‘Where is the boy?’

‘I know where he lives,’ said Brixus. ‘He follows in the footsteps of his father, and already it is clear that he will become as great a gladiator as Spartacus in his time. Greater perhaps. He is still young. But when the time comes he cannot avoid his destiny. He will answer the call, and lead us all to freedom!'

‘Freedom!’ his followers shouted and the cry was echoed by the newly liberated slaves. Even the old man joined in, his eyes sparkling with emotion. Brixus allowed the cheering to continue for a while before he raised his hands and called for silence.

‘There is one last task before we leave this place tonight.’ He turned and pointed to the steward and his family. ‘We must show the Romans what fate lies in store for those who would oppress their fellow man. Bring me the youngest boy.’

One of his men strode over to the family, grabbed the boy’s arm and wrenched him away. He struggled to free himself, reaching out a hand towards his mother as her face wrinkled with grief. The steward held her back as he spoke clearly and defiantly to his son.

‘Show no fear to these scum. No tears. Remember, you are a Roman.’

Brixus laughed, and some in the crowd jeered.

Set in front of Brixus, the boy stood as tall as he could manage and tried to look calm and defiant.

‘Are you afraid of me?’ asked Brixus.

‘You should be. What is your name?’

'Lucius Pollonius Secundus. Though you can call me young master.’

Brixus smiled. ‘Arrogant to a fault. You are a true Roman. The question is, are you a clever Roman, Lucius? Do you think you can remember every detail of what has happened here tonight?’

‘I shall never forget it.’

‘That is true.’ Brixus nodded. Then he turned to Taurus. ‘Crucify the others. This one is to be chained to the foot of his father’s post. He will be the one to tell Rome that a new rebellion is coming, and this time the heir of Spartacus will lead us to victory, and the annihilation of Rome.’

3

‘Do you think Caesar will win the vote?’ asked Marcus as he looked in through the window of the Senate House.

As usual with any important vote, the windows and arches were packed with bystanders who had come to witness the debate and cheer on their heroes or jeer those senators who were unpopular. It had rained hard that morning and the air was cold and clammy. Marcus pulled his cloak tightly about him. He wore the hood down, despite the weather, so that he could follow the noisy proceedings in the Senate House more clearly. His dark curly hair badly needed a cut, but for now was held back by a leather strap about his forehead and tied off at the back. Even though he had recently turned twelve he was tall for his age and well built, as could be expected in a boy who had spent nearly two years of his life training to become a gladiator. There was a hardness about his expression that was unusual for his age, and came with the scars like that he bore above his right knee.