‘I was wrong. Just a few weeks ago, Gellius and Lentulus faced the slave rabble in Picenum together. There, even their combined forces were not enough to overcome Spartacus. Dozens more standards, among them another two eagles, were abandoned to the enemy. A myriad of new widows were made. More of our children were left fatherless.’ Crassus bowed his head for a moment before letting his gaze trail over the crowd. ‘This level of disgrace, this level of humiliation could not go on. Could it?’
‘NOOOO!’
‘I’m glad that we are in agreement.’ He cast a quick, triumphant look at the senators, knowing that Gellius and Lentulus were among their number. ‘I could not ignore the Republic in its hour of need, and so I put myself forward to take charge of the war. In their wisdom, my fellow politicians saw fit to award me the power of proconsular imperium.’
‘You’re the only one for the job, Crassus!’ bellowed a ruddy-faced man near Carbo.
Prolonged cheering indicated the mob’s happiness with this announcement.
Crassus gave a small nod in acknowledgement. ‘Do you also want me to crush the slave rabble?’ He waited for a couple of heartbeats. ‘Do you?’
‘YES!’
‘I am but an instrument of your will,’ said Crassus with a humble smile. ‘Once my new forces have been raised, I shall have ten legions with which to crush Spartacus. The word is that he and his scum have passed by Rome on their way south. Rats usually return to the same hole, so it’s likely that the slaves will head for the area around Thurii, where they overwintered before. Wherever they go, I shall track them down. Once they have been run to ground, I shall annihilate them. This I swear as Jupiter, Greatest and Best, is my witness.’ He glanced at the huge statue as if to confirm his vow.
‘KILL THEM ALL!’ shouted the red-faced man.
‘KILL! KILL! KILL!’ chanted the crowd.
Spartacus filled his lungs and let out a long, slow breath. It will be a fight to the death then.
Tulla roared along with the rest, but this time Carbo couldn’t bring himself even to mime. He glanced around, and was reassured by Spartacus’ unyielding stare. He’ll have a plan. He always does.
At length, Crassus had the trumpets sound again. It took a while, but eventually a calm of sorts settled over the Forum. ‘Citizens of Rome, I would have you listen to a more experienced man than you or I. A soldier who has served the Republic for more than thirty years, who has fought in more campaigns than he can remember. His body is covered in battle scars, all of which are to the front. The phalerae that cover his chest bear witness to his valour. I give you the embodiment of Roman courage and virtus: Gnaeus Servilius Caepio!’ With a grand gesture, Crassus ushered the centurion forward.
Loud cheering broke out again, and the watching faces filled with respect.
Caepio looked neither right nor left as he advanced. He wasn’t one for trying to win the crowd, Spartacus thought, remembering their short conversation after the munus. He was a soldier, plain and simple, who spoke his mind. Just what was needed right now. Crassus has thought this through, from beginning to end.
‘I thank you, Marcus Licinius Crassus,’ said Caepio. ‘People of Rome: I salute you.’
They roared with delight.
‘I stand here today not far shy of my sixtieth year. I’m still in my harness, mainly because it’s easier to sleep in it than it is to remove it.’ He smiled as they hooted and whistled at his joke. ‘If the truth be known, I would rather fight a war outside Italy. That’s not possible at this moment, though. Our people need help! No decent man should be able to sleep at night knowing that so many of our fellow citizens are being murdered or burned out of their properties. This cannot go on! We must not let it go on!’
‘RO-MA! RO-MA!’ shouted the crowd.
‘Armies do not appear as if by magic, though. Crassus needs volunteers – lots of them. For every legion raised, nearly five thousand strong soldiers are needed. Citizens are flocking to the Republic’s banner from all over Italy, but thousands more are still needed. Are there any men between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five years here today?’
A multitude of voices answered in assent.
‘Good,’ barked Caepio. ‘I venture that there are not a few of Sulla’s veterans also here. Men who gave loyal service and who were rewarded with money and a plot of land upon their discharge. Am I right?’
‘You are!’
‘We salute you, Gnaeus Servilius Caepio!’
Cries rang out all over the Forum.
‘It’s good that you’ve come here today, because you too can help the Republic in its hour of need. Your bodies might have grown old, but your hearts are still those of soldiers, eh?’ Caepio smiled at the roars that met this remark. ‘I’d wager that there are plenty of you who hunger for the feel of a gladius in your hand again. Who would give up your farms for a season or two just to stand in a shield wall with your comrades once more. Who would shed their blood to see Spartacus and his raggle-taggle army sent to Hades! Am I right?’
The mob off to Carbo’s left swayed and then parted as a group of hard-bitten veterans shoved their way forward into the small amount of space before the platform. ‘We’re with you, Caepio,’ cried the lead man. ‘Every one of us!’
A chorus of shouts rang out – two here, another one there, three further away – pledging their support.
‘Well done, lads. Sulla would be proud of you,’ declared Caepio. He scanned the entire crowd. ‘As you know, this is not the place to join the army. I want every man who’s going to volunteer to make his way to the Campus Martius. You know where it is! The recruiting officers are already there, waiting for you to come and sign up. As a gesture of gratitude for your courage, Crassus has authorised an advance of ten denarii to every man who signs his name on the line today.’
Whoops of joy met this announcement, and there was an immediate surge towards the streets that led north out of the city.
Looking satisfied, Caepio stood back.
‘Well done, centurion,’ said Crassus. ‘Our job – in Rome at least – is done.’
But mine is not. Spartacus watched Crassus intently. What will he do? Speak with some of the senators? Wait until the Forum has emptied? If his enemy didn’t move soon, they would have to walk away. The crowd around them was thinning fast. Before long, they would stand out like sore thumbs.
‘Where do you want to go now? The Campus Martius? That’s where I’d go if I were old enough,’ said Tulla, waving her arms back and forth as if she were marching, ‘and I was a boy,’ she added ruefully.
‘Not there,’ said Carbo, who was also eyeing Crassus. He had his lie ready. ‘I would join up, but I’m an only son. I have to help run the farm.’
‘That’s not much of an excuse,’ said Tulla in an accusing tone.
Stung despite himself, Carbo gave her a smart clip behind the ear. ‘Watch your mouth! My time in the army will come. Just not right now.’
With a sulky look, Tulla retreated out of range.
Quickly, Carbo bent as if to tighten one of his sandal straps. ‘What do you think?’ he hissed. ‘Do we make a move?’
Spartacus sized up the situation. Crassus was deep in conversation with Caepio. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. ‘Let’s go towards the Basilica Aemilia. Hang around the entrance and see what he does.’
‘I’m thirsty,’ said Carbo, straightening. He eyed Tulla. ‘Is there any room for wine sellers among the lawyers and scribes in the basilicae?’
‘There are a few,’ came the sullen reply. The girl’s face changed as Carbo flipped three asses into the air.
‘Go and buy a cup of some decent stuff. Falernian or Campanian. We’ll be waiting by the door nearest the Curia.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Tulla spun on her heel, the coins gripped tight in her grubby fist.
‘You’d better come back,’ Carbo called. ‘I expect some change!’
‘Don’t worry. I want the rest of my denarius!’ With that, Tulla vanished into the crowd.
>
Chapter IX
CARBO AMBLED TOWARDS the nearest door of the basilica; Spartacus followed. Placing his back against the wall, Carbo cast an idle eye about, in the manner of a man who has nothing particular on his mind. Crassus was still talking to Caepio, although he’d come down a couple of steps.
‘I fancy a few cups of wine, not just the one,’ Carbo said loudly. ‘The excitement’s over as well. After this, I think we’ll head back to the Elysian Fields.’
‘Yes, master,’ replied Spartacus.
‘Want to see the future, good sir?’
Carbo turned. A man of indeterminate age in a grubby robe stood before him. The blunt-peaked leather cap on his head and his obsequious manner told him what he already knew. ‘You’re a haruspex.’
‘That’s right, sir. Place a denarius on my palm and I’ll endeavour to see what the gods have in store for you.’
Ten legions are coming my way. ‘Piss off,’ Carbo said curtly.
The haruspex began to protest, but Spartacus took a step forward. ‘Are you deaf? Peddle your lies somewhere else, or I’ll give you a set of bruises that you most definitely didn’t foresee.’
Muttering dire imprecations, the man sidled off.
Carbo didn’t really believe in soothsayers, but it was a little unnerving that after what he’d just heard, the man had picked him out from everyone else. He made the sign against evil.
Spartacus had other things on his mind. ‘Pssst! He’s moving. With only six men guarding him too,’ he hissed with delight. ‘Caepio’s one of them.’
Carbo’s eyes swivelled. With two legionaries in front and four behind, Crassus was heading in their general direction. To his surprise, one of the leading soldiers was indeed the veteran centurion. ‘They’re aiming for the same street we came in on. What should we do?’
Spartacus knew that the odds were long indeed, but his blood was up. ‘We go for it.’ Whether we’ll get away afterwards is uncertain, but it’s worth the risk.
Carbo’s heart was like a pounding drum in his chest. This is what he’d prayed for so hard, but two against six? The legionaries were fully armed too, and all they had were daggers. I can’t back down. He gave Spartacus a tight nod. ‘How do you want to do it?’
‘Let’s get ahead of him. Head into the alley that Tulla brought us down. Charge out as they come alongside. We take a soldier each – the ones nearest us – and put them down, hard. Then you go for whichever legionary gets to you first. I’ll kill Crassus. You’ll have to hold off the rest as they come at you. Think you can do that?’
‘Yes,’ said Carbo with all the confidence he could muster. I’m a dead man. What does that matter though, if we succeed?
‘The instant I’m done with Crassus, we flee back up the alley and lose ourselves in the back streets.’ His eyes drilled into Carbo. ‘Clear?’
He licked dry lips. ‘Yes.’
Spartacus honed in on the fractional delay in his reply. He chuckled. ‘You want to kill him, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘Think you can murder an unarmed man? You’d just have to hack into him, as you would with a side of pork. No thinking, no hesitating.’
Sudden doubt tore at Carbo. Could he slay Crassus in cold blood? He had always thought he could, but now the chance had fallen into his lap, he wasn’t so sure. His eyes fell away from the Thracian’s.
‘I’ll do it,’ Spartacus said.
Carbo rallied himself with images of his parents having to leave the house that been in the family for generations. The familiar rage flared in his belly. ‘I can do it,’ he protested.
‘No,’ replied Spartacus in a hard voice. ‘This is the only opportunity that we’ll ever get. There can be no cock-ups.’
Furious with himself, Carbo acquiesced.
‘Lead on then, or they’ll get ahead of us. Let’s pray that Tulla doesn’t come back before we’re out of sight. The last thing we need is her shouting after us.’
‘Right. I’ve had enough of waiting for the brat,’ said Carbo loudly, assuming his role of master once more. ‘Let’s head back to the inn.’ He strode off, not twenty paces ahead of Crassus and his escort. It was hard not to look behind him as he walked. The jingle of the legionaries’ mail was clearly audible. I’ll have to get close enough to stab my man in the throat. His anxiety grew, and his fingers stole of their own volition to the hilt of his dagger. Jupiter, let my aim be true.
After they had slain two of the legionaries and while Spartacus was killing Crassus, their companions would turn on him. Carbo did not have time to dwell on what might happen after that. Crassus will die, he told himself. He reached the alleyway and quickly turned into it.
Spartacus came spilling in behind him. His knife was already in his hand. ‘Ready?’
Drawing his own blade, Carbo nodded.
Spartacus padded to the corner of the building and peered around it with great caution. Then he stepped back and glanced at Carbo. ‘They’re fifteen paces away. You take the front legionary on this side. I’ll take the next one. Move the instant your man is parallel with us. Don’t wait until he or Crassus have passed by or they might realise what’s going on.’
‘Yes.’ Spartacus was taking the harder kill, but Carbo didn’t argue. He moved in front of the Thracian, as far forward as he could without actually being seen, and pressed himself against the cool brickwork.
‘Ten paces they’ll be now,’ whispered Spartacus. ‘Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.’
Carbo held his dagger with the tip pointing towards the ground, the way he’d been trained. It provided a far stronger grip, and was almost impossible to knock from his fingers. His gaze narrowed to the space before him: the gap that led to the street. He was aware of the blood rushing in his ears, the crunch of caligae on the uneven ground and the clink of mail. In the background, noises from the basilica – and Spartacus’ voice. ‘Five. Four. Three.’
Carbo tensed.
‘Two. One. Now.’
The first thing Carbo saw was the edge of a scutum. Then a mailed shoulder, and a head covered by a crested bronze-bowl helmet. Carbo darted forward. Grabbing the top edge of the shield with his left hand, he ripped it downwards. The unsuspecting legionary was jerked downwards and to the side, exposing his neck. Raising his knife, Carbo hammered it into the hollow to the side of the collarbone. He was aware of Spartacus shooting forward like a wraith to his left, of the other soldiers’ confused faces turning towards him, of Crassus’ shocked expression. A scream of agony from his victim dragged him back. He ripped free his blade, releasing a spray of bright red blood into the air. Carbo stabbed the man again for good measure, and let him fall.
‘It must be them!’ roared the second man at the front – Caepio. ‘Protect Crassus!’
At the time, the words didn’t register with Carbo, because his attention was focused on Caepio, who was charging at him with a drawn sword.
Fortunately, Caepio tripped as he leaped forward. His scutum, which should have thumped into Carbo’s chest, instead caught Crassus in the side, sending him stumbling to one side.
‘Kill him, you fool!’ screeched the politician, backing away towards the wall of the Curia.
Gripping his gladius, Caepio advanced.
From the corner of his eye, Carbo saw a pair of bodies on the ground and Spartacus scrambling forward at Crassus. The two last legionaries, his mind screamed. Where in Hades are they? He couldn’t look around, though, because Caepio was coming at him fast. One. The centurion’s shield boss was rammed at Carbo’s face. Two. A throat-ripping thrust of his sword followed. He dodged the first and backed away from the second.
‘I recognise you! You’re the traitor I spoke to after the munus.’ Snarling with pleasure, Caepio swept forward. ‘Ready to choke on your own blood, you vermin?’
Carbo didn’t answer. Shieldless, his only form of defence was to retreat. That took him further away from Spartacus, and the fifth and sixth soldiers, who he now saw had not made for him. Instead, they had
somehow got between Crassus and the Thracian and were shielding him with their scuta. Carbo cursed. With just a dagger, there was no way that Spartacus could succeed. There was nothing he could do to help either. Every time he tried to move in the direction of the Forum, Caepio blocked his way. He shot a glance behind him. A safe distance away, a crowd of shocked citizens were watching their every move. He spat another oath. The same would be happening beyond where Spartacus was. The alarm would have been raised. Any moment, more soldiers would come to Crassus’ rescue.
Spartacus knew it too. He made one last desperate attempt to reach Crassus, darting in to one side of the legionaries guarding him. He managed to strike the leftmost man in the fleshy part of his shield arm. As he did, Crassus cursed and shrank back against the wall. If I’d had more time, thought Spartacus, it might have made a difference. No one could hold the heavy weight of a scutum for long after suffering such a wound. But the soldier’s companion drove at him with a flurry of blows from his shield and sword, and he had to withdraw. A quick glance towards the Forum told him that his attempt was over. A large group of legionaries, accompanied by men in civilian clothes – some of the veterans, no doubt – were sprinting up the street.
He pinned Crassus with his stare. ‘It’s not to be this time. But next time you won’t be so lucky.’
Crassus glared at him. ‘I should have ordered you killed that day.’
‘That’s right, you cocksucker. A stupid mistake, eh?’ called Spartacus over his shoulder as he ran off.
‘After him!’ screamed Crassus, shoving his guards in the back and gesticulating wildly at the approaching men. ‘It is Spartacus! A gold piece to the man who brings me his body!’
Caepio was too busy with Carbo; he didn’t see Spartacus coming. I could kill him easily enough. Yet the dignity with which the centurion had conducted himself still lingered in his mind. Instead he shoulder-charged Caepio from behind, sending him flying to the ground. Spartacus bounded over him with a great leap. ‘Fortuna is smiling on you today.’