12

Lupus was close to exhaustion. They had been marching for three days before they reached the main rebel camp. Three days of toiling up steep mountain paths, frequently lost amid the low clouds that shrouded the peaks of the Apennines. Lupus could not hope to recall the route they had taken. He had tried at first, in case he got the chance to slip away and find his way back to the road to rejoin Marcus and the others accompanying his master. Despite the clouds and the occasional blizzards that had shrouded the paths, Mandracus and his men never missed their step and unerringly made their way to their destination. The paths were too difficult for his horsemen so they were ordered to continue their patrol, raiding villas and farming estates to liberate more slaves and loot enough food to feed them. Lupus saw few people along the route. A handful of shepherds, some of whom cheered Mandracus and his band and offered them food and shelter if they needed it. Others simply turned and fled.

They passed through a small village perched above a stream. It was too poor for anyone there to own a slave and they simply watched warily as the rebels passed through. There was no attempt to hinder them, not even to close the small gate in the low crumbling wall that had once protected the village. Looking from side to side, Lupus could see that the people were poor and hungry, and probably lived lives every bit as hard as the slaves passing by. It was clear that the rebels’ war was being waged against the rich and powerful. Even though the villagers were freeborn Romans, they had more in common with the rebels than with those who ruled over them.

At last, footsore, hungry and bone-tired, the small column of rebels reached the approaches to the main camp. As the first shadows of dusk settled over the mountains, Mandracus halted his men and called Lupus forward. The boy stood nervously in front of him and Mandracus smiled wolfishly.

‘Now you’ll see why the Romans can never defeat us.’ He waved a muscular arm over the surrounding scenery. They were standing in a shallow valley just above the snow line. Tree-covered slopes curved up on either side and at the end of the valley where the sides curved round to meet, like half a bowl. There were no signs of settlement or life of any sort, other than a small brook that emerged near the base of some crags to the left. The water gushed over the rocks as it wound its way down to the floor of the valley. In places the water had frozen, leaving glistening ice formations over which the water ran, adding yet more ice. The place felt desolate and Lupus shivered.

At first he had longed for the comforts of Caesar’s house back in Rome and silently cursed the day his master had taken him as an escort to Ariminum. But Lupus found there was more to his captors than he had first thought. Initially they had terrified him, and he feared for his life. It took a while before he truly believed they had no intention of harming him. Bach night, Mandracus and his men had sat round a fire, eating whatever rations they had found in recent days and talking good-humouredly before they settled down to sleep. They shared their food with Lupus, and treated him with a rough fondness that surprised him.