‘We should reach the port before the end of the day with this breeze,’ the captain added. Then, briefly looking up to ensure the broad sail was drawing well, he made his way back towards the stern.

Marcus continued to watch the passing coastline of the Peloponnese as the ship rose and fell on the easy swell of the Gulf of Corinth. A handful of seagulls followed the ship, swooping round the top of the mast against the clear blue sky. It was a good day to be alive, he reflected, as the wind blew in his dark hair and the fresh sea air filled his lungs with its salty tang.

Despite the tense aftermath of the rebels’ surrender, Caesar had kept his word. The slaves were returned to their masters unharmed and there had been no repercussions for the ringleaders. The intense heat of the fire had reduced Brixus’s hut to ashes. No bones were found in the smouldering remains, but the blaze had been so fierce that it had consumed everything, even the sturdy timbers holding up the roof. Caesar had proclaimed that Brixus set fire to the hut before taking his own life, and no one dared question his verdict that the matter was closed. As for Decimus and his men, they had disappeared at once, no doubt making for Rome and the safety of the house of Crassus.

Later, back in Ariminum, Caesar had met Marcus for the last time and reunited him with Lupus. Since he was about to march on Gaul, surrounded by an army with a personal bodyguard of five hundred veteran legionaries, he no longer required his household protectors. Accordingly, Festus and two of his men had been instructed to accompany Marcus to Greece. Lastly, Caesar had presented Marcus with a scroll bearing his proconsular seal.

‘That’s a letter of introduction. I’ve asked anyone to whom it is presented to offer you assistance in finding your mother.’

Marcus bowed his head. ‘I am grateful, Caesar.’

‘I should think so. I do not take kindly to being manipulated by anyone, let alone a boy of twelve. My obligations to you are fulfilled, young Marcus. We shall not meet again. If you ever appear at the door of any of my houses I shall have you thrown into the streets.’

‘I understand.’

With that they had parted, and Marcus left the general in his study to complete his plans for the campaign in Gaul. As he approached the door of the house commandeered by Caesar for his headquarters, he had heard footsteps behind him.

‘Marcus, wait!’

He had turned to see Portia, breathless and agitated.

‘I’m told you are leaving.’

‘Banished, more like.’ Marcus smiled. ‘Your uncle never wants to see me again.’

‘Oh … Portia looked crestfallen. ‘Then I shall never see you again.’

Marcus nodded sadly.

‘How is Tribune Quintus?’ be asked.