Lupus felt a pang of concern for Caesar and Marcus. They were expecting to fight scattered bands of ragged brigands. They could have no idea what would face them when they marched into the mountains to do battle.

13

January was drawing to an end and winter closed its icy grip around the mountains. Biting rainstorms lashed the foothills and frequently brought hail with them, battering the men of Caesar’s column as they made for the town of Mutina that would serve as their base. Cavalry patrolled further into the hills along the line of march, trying to gather intelligence on the location and numbers of the rebels. When they returned they told of wild blizzards howling through the mountain passes and thick ice forming on the roads and tracks that wound across the Apennines. Messengers had been sent ahead to the towns along the road with orders for their inhabitants to provide food and shelter for Caesar’s column, while further supplies were stockpiled at Mutina.

Marcus, riding with the headquarters staff, had never before experienced conditions like these. He had been careful to pick a cloak freshly worked with animal fat and as water-proof as possible. Even so, the cold rain, driven on by a freezing wind, soon penetrated to the clothes he wore beneath and soaked him to the skin. He had also collected a pair of leather mittens, and these too soon succumbed to the foul weather as he grimly followed the other riders behind their leader.

Caesar suffered the same discomforts as his men yet seemed oblivious to the cold. Every so often he would let some of his officers draw alongside and engage them in cheerful conversation. Sometimes about affairs back in Rome, but more often about the glorious future that awaited them all in Gaul once the rebels had been crushed. He even spared a few moments for Marcus to discuss his career in the arena.

‘I’ve decided that you shall fight as a retiarius,’ Caesar announced as they rode in a brief spell between rainstorms. Overhead, the sky was clear and bright and the wind had dropped. Fresh clouds were visible above the mountains, waiting to roll down their slopes and engulf the men marching along the road. Marcus had drawn back his hood and was relishing the warmth of the sun on his skin and wet hair.

‘You have the right build for a netman,’ Caesar continued. ‘Slender but strong and you move with speed and grace. I saw as much when you fought Ferax back in Rome. Of course, things might change. Some boys who are thin in their youth pack on the muscle later. If that happens to you, I shall have to reconsider your category. A Thracian or even a Samnite would be more suited to a heavier build. But let’s hope you retain your current build. I’d hate to see you lumbering around the arena when you could be giving the crowd a good show with your turn of speed.’