Free Gladiator: Son of Spartacus by Simon Scarrow Page A

breathed deeply, gathered up his reins and turned his horse towards the others. He urged it into a gallop and the mount carried him away from the horror of the scene.

    It was pitch-black and impossible to tell which way was up or down when Lupus recovered his wits enough to think. He lay curled in a ball, sensing an open space in front of him in which to draw breath. He was cold and his limbs were numb. Already the air felt foetid and there was a tingling sensation in his lungs as he began to suffocate. For a moment he could not recall how he had come to be in this place. Perhaps, he thought, he had already passed into the shades and this was what happened after death. An eternity locked in a stifling, black, icy void. The prospect filled him with dread and he tried to move. But he could only shuffle his head from side to side as he clawed at the blanket of snow.
    ‘No...’ he muttered to himself. ‘No! NO! I am not dead! I do not want to die! No!’
    His shouts were muffled and the effort made it harder to breathe, so he stopped and gasped for air. Then he heard them. Voices. They seemed far away at first but gradually came closer, more distinct.
    ‘Here!’ he cried out. ‘In here!’
    There was a pause before he heard them again, near at hand. Then a scraping sound. He sensed movement around him, and a faint gleam to one side. It became a glow as the sound grew louder, and then there was a rush of noise and light and the flow of fresh air. He gulped down several breaths as a hand grasped him under the shoulders, hauling him out of the snow and ice into the open.
    ‘Mandracus! Over here! I’ve got one of ‘em. A boy.’
    Any relief that Lupus felt over his rescue instantly faded as he sat up and took in the scene around him. The pass was filled with a chaotic jumble of snow. There was a man wrapped in furs standing over him. Other men were frantically digging as they searched for their comrades. Some had already been rescued, along with several horses, and they sat nearby, caked in a layer of ice and shivering.
    Mandracus picked his way over the debris towards them, his expression angry and dark. He loomed in front of Lupus and glared at him.
    ‘I lost over twenty of my men, killed by your master and his friends, or buried alive.’
    ‘Please, please don’t hurt me,’ Lupus begged as he sat trembling.
    ‘Hurt you?’ Mandracus frowned. ‘I won’t hurt you, boy. I’ve set you free. You are one of us now. For better or worse. Your days as a slave are over.’
    Lupus could hardly believe what he had heard. When it did finally penetrate his confusion, he looked up with a surge of hope. ‘I’m free?’
    Mandracus nodded. ‘Of course. Do as you wish. I will not stop you. After all, if you want to escape from me, you would simply run back to slavery. But there is one thing I would know. I want the name of your leader. I have a debt to settle with him. What is his name?’ he demanded.
    ‘Gaius Julius Caear.’
    ‘The consul?’ Mandracus could not hide his surprise. ‘That was him?’
    ‘Not any more. His term of office is over. He’s a proconsul now,’ Lupus explained. ‘On his way to take up a new command.’
    ‘Then what is he doing in the mountains? With such a small escort? Explain.’
    ‘Before he leaves for Gaul, Caesar has been tasked with putting an end to Brixus and his rebels.’
    ‘Oh, really?’ Mandracus smiled. ‘Tell me, how close are you to your master?’
    Lupus struggled to his feet and stood proudly before the man. ‘I am Caesar’s scribe. I’ve served him for many years.’
    ‘Good. Then I’m sure you’ll have plenty to tell Brixus when I take you to him. He’ll want to know all he can about his enemy. Who else was in your party?’
    ‘No one of importance. Just his bodyguards.’
    ‘What about the other boy?’
    ‘Marcus?’ Lupus shrugged. ‘Not much to say. He’s my friend. Marcus was training as a gladiator when Caesar bought him.’
    A strange gleam appeared in