Marcus untethered his horse and climbed back into the saddle. He waited for Festus and the two of them walked their mounts into the road that passed the gate. Behind them, the centurions and optios bellowed at the men to abandon their search and rejoin the column. Once every man was back in position, Caesar waved his arm forward and the cavalry led them along the road that climbed into the foothills of the Apennines. A squadron of cavalry rode a short distance ahead to scout the way and guard against ambush. Behind them came the general and his officers and bodyguards and then the infantry, trudging along four abreast, marching yokes resting on the padding they wore across their shoulders. After the infantry came the small baggage train, carrying a few days’ supply of grain and the soldiers’ tents, which would offer them some protection against the freezing temperatures up in the mountains. With them trundled the wagon of Decimus, while he rode beside on a horse. At the tail of the column came the cohort of legionaries assigned to serve as the rearguard.

As the column left the smouldering remains of the villa behind, Marcus’s sense of foreboding increased. He had begun to doubt the wisdom of Caesar’s plan. With little known about the strength of the enemy, it made no sense to start out with a modest force and then proceed to divide it.

The truth about his father’s identity was another matter that troubled him. It seemed as if a quiet voice constantly encouraged him to accept the challenge of living in a manner that would make his father, Spartacus, proud. The same voice constantly reminded him of the evils of slavery and the duty of everyone aware of its injustice to stand up and fight those who enslaved other people. And that meant fighting the Roman Empire itself and all those who served it. Especially men like Caesar.