Gladiator: Vengeance by Simon Scarrow Page A

Marcus. I am on a quest to find and rescue my mother. I wish to know if I will succeed.’
    There was a brief silence before Pythia replied in a rasping rhyme:
    ‘
A boy of great heart, torn from his home,
    No father, no mother, no hope has he,
    Cursed by the Gods for years to roam.
    At the end of his journey shall he be
    Bathed in blood and grief and hate;
    A terrible price to be paid for such a fate
…’
     
    Marcus frowned. ‘What does that mean? Will I save my mother? Tell me!’
    ‘Poor boy,’ Pythia replied with a hint of pity. ‘It is for you to discern the meaning of the Gods. I only convey their message.’
    ‘That’s not enough,’ Marcus said desperately. ‘I need to know! Tell me!’
    He grasped her hands tightly. The woman tried to pull her hands free but Marcus clung on, bracing his boots.
    ‘Let me go,’ the woman hissed. ‘I command you to let me go.’
    ‘Not until you tell me.’
    ‘Sacrilege! Release me, before you anger the Gods!’
    ‘Tell me,’ Marcus pleaded. ‘What does it mean? Bathed in blood?’
    Suddenly she stopped struggling and stood still before him. Then she whispered. ‘Blood … Blood … Blood everywhere. A land bathed in blood and fire. An eagle brought down, broken and maimed. I see … I see a man astride the eagle, sword in hand. Your father … Your true father … He sees you. He sees you! He calls to you …’
    Marcus felt his blood chill in his veins and a terrifying icy sensation rippled up his spine and through his scalp as he listened.
    ‘You …’ she continued, her voice low and husky. Even though he could not see the woman Marcus sensed her eyes boring into him. That, and her terror. Her voice suddenly rose to a high pitch. ‘You are the destroyer! I see death and devastation surrounding you!’
    With a sudden powerful wrench, the woman snatched her hands free and Marcus heard her feet slapping across the floor as she hurried away into the darkness. Her voice wailed one last time. ‘Flee! Death has come to Rome!’
    Marcus felt a hand grab his shoulder and the priest spoke harshly in his ear. ‘Get out! Go! Leave the shrine!’
    Despite his age, the priest swung Marcus round and thrust him towards the open doors of the temple. He could see Lupus and Festus outlined by the glow of the braziers outside as the priest shouted.
    ‘Be gone!’
    Marcus backed away, then turned and hurried towards the door. His companions fell into step beside him as the priest repeated the command. They had barely left the inner sanctum when the doors closed behind them with a grating thud. They dashed down the stairs and did not stop as the servants of the temple and the remaining visitors stared at them. Outside, in the square, Festus led them down the first street they came toand they hurried on in darkness until they were a safe distance from the temple. Only then did Festus allow them to stop. Marcus leaned against a wall, gasping for breath as his shaken nerves began to recover.
    ‘Well, that was great,’ Festus panted. ‘So much for not drawing attention to ourselves.’



10
     
    ‘What do you think it means?’ asked Lupus once they had returned to the safety of their room. ‘All that stuff about blood, and a destroyer.’
    He turned and looked at Marcus strangely as Festus left the room for a taper to light the single oil lamp, fixed in a wall bracket. Lupus lowered his voice. ‘She must have meant Spartacus. Your true father!’
    Marcus nodded, still dazed by the unnerving experience.
    ‘That’s it,’ Lupus continued excitedly. ‘She saw it all. The rebellion, everything … But at the end, when she said you were the destroyer, what was that about?’
    Marcus did not reply. He couldn’t. He did not fully understand it himself. He had already decided not to take up the legacy of his father. Not when it promised more suffering andanother defeat by Rome’s legions. Maybe, if there was a real chance of success, then one day Marcus might think about it.