any more. Prices have gone up. It is the war in the north. All the best ones are being taken for Mithridates, an upstart who calls himself a king. Apollo is one of the last of the good stock.’
‘Ten is my final offer. We are buying two of yours today, so I want a price for both.’
‘Let us not argue. Let me show you another of lesser worth that will carry you north. I have two others I could sell together, brothers they are, and fast enough.’
The man walked on down the row of horses and Marcus eyed Apollo, who watched him with interest as he chewed a mouthful of hay. He patted the soft nose as the continuing argument dwindled with distance. Apollo ignored him and reached back for another mouthful, pulled from a string sack nailed to the stable wall.
After a while, Renius returned, looking a little pale.
‘We've got two, for tomorrow: Apollo and another one he called Lancer. I'm sure he makes the names up on the spot. Peppis will ride with you, his small weight won't be any trouble. Gods, the prices these people ask for! If your uncle hadn't provided so generously, we'd be walking tomorrow.’
‘He's not my uncle,’ Marcus reminded. ‘How much did they cost us?’
‘Don't ask and don't expect to eat much on the journey. Come on, we'll pick the horses up tomorrow at dawn. Let us hope that the prices for rooms haven't risen as high, or we'll be sneaking back in here when it gets dark.’
Continuing to grumble, Renius strode out of the stables, with Marcus and Peppis following him, trying not to smile.
Marcus sat easily on his horse, occasionally reaching forward to scratch Lancer's ears as they rode down the mountain path. Peppis was dozing behind him, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the horse's walk. Marcus thought of waking him with an elbow to see the view, but decided to leave him alone.
It seemed as if they could see all of Greece from the heights, spread out below in a rolling green and yellow landscape with groves of olive trees and isolated farms speckling the hills and valleys. The clean air smelled different, carrying the scent of unknown flowers.
Marcus remembered gentle Vepax, the tutor, and wondered if he had walked these hills. Or perhaps Alexander himself had taken armies through to the plains on his way to battle distant Persia. He imagined the grim Cretan archers and the Macedonian phalanx as they followed the boy king, and his back straightened in the saddle.
Renius rode ahead, his eyes swinging from the narrow trail to the surrounding scrub foliage and back in a monotonous pattern of alertness. He had withdrawn into himself more and more over the previous week of travel and whole days had passed without more than a few words spoken between them. Only Peppis broke the long silences with exclamations of wonder at birds or lizards on the rocks. Marcus hadn't pushed for conversation, sensing that the gladiator was happier with silence. He smiled wryly at the man's back as they rode, mulling over how he felt about him.
He had hated him once, at that moment in the courtyard of the estate, with Gaius lying wounded in the dust. Yet a grudging respect had existed even before Marcus had raised his sword against him. Renius had a solidity to him that made other men seem insubstantial in comparison. He could be brutal and had a great capacity for callous violence, oblivious to pain or fear. Others followed his lead without a thought, as if they somehow knew this man would see them through. Marcus had seen it on the estate and on the ship and it was difficult not to feel a touch of awe himself. Even age couldn't hold him. Marcus remembered the moment as Cabera closed the old man's wounds, and his surprise at the way the healing took so quickly. They had both watched in astonishment as life swelled in the broken figure and the skin flushed with suddenly rushing blood.
‘He walks a greater path than most,’ Cabera had said later, when Renius had been laid out on a cool bed in the house to finish his healing. ‘His feet are strong in the earth.’
Marcus had wondered at Cabera's tone as he tried to make the young man understand the importance of what he had seen.
‘Never have I seen death take its grip off a man as it did with Renius. The gods were whispering in my mind when I touched him.’
The path twisted and turned and they slowed to let the horses pick their way through the broken surface stones, unwilling to risk a sprain or a fall on the steep slope.
‘What does the future hold for you, I wonder?’ Marcus thought to himself in the comfortable silence. ‘Father.’
The word came to him and he realised the idea had been there for some time. He had never known a man to call father and the word unlocked a door in his mind as he explored his feelings further without pain. Renius was not his blood, but a part of him wished he was travelling these lands with his father, protecting each other from dangers. It was a grand daydream and he pictured men's faces as they heard he was the son of Renius. They would look at him with a little awe of their own perhaps and he would simply smile.
Renius broke wind noisily, shifting his weight to the left without looking back. Marcus laughed suddenly at this interruption to his thoughts and continued chuckling to himself at intervals for some time after. The gladiator rode on, his thoughts on the descent and his future once he had delivered Marcus to his legion.
As they approached a narrow part of the trail, boulders rose on both sides as if the thin path had been cut through them. Renius laid his hand on his sword and loosened the blade.
‘We're being watched. Be ready,’ he called back in a low voice.
Almost as he finished speaking, a dark figure rose from the undergrowth nearby.
‘Stop.’
The word was spoken with casual confidence and in good, clear Latin, but Renius ignored it. Marcus part drew his sword and kept the horse walking with pressure from his knees. From the sudden stiffness in the arms around his waist, he knew Peppis was awake and alert, but for once staying silent.
The man looked like a Greek, with the distinctive curled beard, but, unlike the merchants of the town they'd seen, he had the air of a warrior about him. He smiled and called out again.
‘Stop, or you will be killed. Last chance.’
‘Renius?’ Marcus muttered nervously.
The old man scowled, but kept going, digging his heels into Apollo's flanks to urge him into a trot.
An arrow cut the air, taking the horse high in the shoulder with a dull thumping sound. Apollo screamed and fell, pitching Renius to the ground in a crash of metal and swearing. Peppis cried out in fear and Marcus reined in, scanning the undergrowth for the archer. Was there only one, or were there more out there? These men were obviously brigands; they would be lucky to escape alive if they submitted meekly.
Renius came to his feet awkwardly, yanking out his sword. His eyes glinted. He nodded to Marcus, who dismounted smoothly, using his horse to block the sight of the hidden archer. He drew his gladius, reassured by its familiar weight. Peppis came off the horse in a scramble and tried to hide behind a leg, muttering nervously to himself.
The stranger spoke again, his voice friendly. ‘Do not do anything foolish. My companions are very good with their bows. Practice is the only way to fill the hours here in the mountains, that and relieving the occasional traveller of his possessions.’
‘There is only one archer, I think,’ Renius growled, staying light on the balls of his feet and keeping an eye on the scrub. He knew the man would not have stayed in the same place and could be creeping in to get a clean kill as they spoke.
‘You wish to gamble your life on this, yes?’
The two men looked at each other and Peppis gripped Lancer's leg, making the horse snort with displeasure.
The outlaw was clean and simply dressed. He looked much like one of the huntsmen Marcus had known on the estate, burned a deep