Gladiator: Vengeance by Simon Scarrow

brow furrowed. ‘I was just beseeching divine Apollo to accept your humble offering. Do not tax his patience any further, Roman, if you want him to look kindly on this boy’s desire to know his fate.’
    Festus glanced at Marcus and raised his eyebrows. Marcus was not put off by his cynicism but watched the priest closely, hoping fervently that the God of the temple would take pity on him and tell him the one thing he needed to know more than anything else: would he succeed in rescuing his mother?
    The priest cocked an ear, as if listening, then nodded and bowed his head before he opened his eyes and turned to Marcus.
    ‘Mighty Apollo deigns to answer your request, my boy. Quite a privilege.’ He shot a quick look of annoyance at Festus. ‘Despite the bad manners of your companion. A wordof warning, though. If the Oracle replies, it may be that the answer is not clear at first. But if you think it through, then you will know the meaning of the words. Now, follow me.’
    He turned and started stiffly making his way up the steps with Marcus a few paces behind him.
    ‘Oi!’ Festus called out, indicating himself and Lupus. ‘What about us?’
    The priest glanced back. ‘Yes, yes. You too. Might as well. But keep your mouths shut and show some respect.’
    At the top of the stairs he led them through the columns towards the large doors of the inner sanctum. A brazier stood on either side, casting an eerie glow over the columns that towered up on either side. The priest paused in front of the doors and reached to the side for a brass-capped stick. He solemnly struck the door three times and cleared his throat.
    ‘Oh, mighty Apollo! Is your mouthpiece, the blessed Pythia, prepared to offer guidance to he who would know his destiny?’
    There was a pause and then a voice spoke, loud and deep, as if echoing from the back of a great cave.
    ‘Come!’
    The doors began to move, and there was a rumbling groan from the iron hinges. Marcus felt his pulse quicken as he looked past the priest into the darkness at the heart of the temple. Hestrained his eyes but could pick out nothing beyond the doors, save the flagstones nearest the entrance. The priest entered, gesturing to Marcus and the others to follow him inside. Their footsteps echoed off the walls rising invisibly around them. Marcus could see no sign of the person who had called on them to enter. The dim form of the priest stopped and struggled down on to his knees. Marcus and the others waited a short distance behind him.
    ‘Philetus, who would speak to me?’ A voice spoke softly from the darkness. A woman’s voice, yet it was dry, and Marcus could not decide if it was an old woman, or young.
    The priest turned and waved Marcus forward with a whisper. ‘Go on, boy. Slowly. And stretch your arms out in front of you.’
    ‘Wait,’ Lupus hissed. ‘Is it safe?’
    Marcus smiled briefly at his friend. ‘I’ll know soon enough.’
    He took a calming breath and raised his arms as instructed, then stepped forward cautiously. As he proceeded into the darkness, his eyes and ears strained to pick out any sign of movement. Then he heard it, a soft breathing, like the faint rasp of leaves disturbed by the gentlest of breezes. He slowed down and stopped as he became aware of a dark shape ahead. Then he felt his hands being taken and nearly jumped. But heresisted the impulse to snatch them back. A musty odour filled his nostrils. The hands were cold and the skin leathery. Fingers softly stroked the back of his hands while the other person’s thumbs firmly applied pressure to his palms in order to hold them in place.
    There was a long intake of breath before the voice came again. Louder now and more commanding. ‘I am Pythia. Servant of the Oracle. Ask me your question, and if it pleases him, Apollo will reply through me …’
    Marcus swallowed nervously and tried to sound calm as he spoke, but was conscious that his voice betrayed his age as well as his anxiety. ‘My name is