‘Curse you for a treacherous assassin!’ Caepio spat. ‘I won’t forget this.’
‘Neither will I.’ What a missed opportunity, thought Spartacus grimly. Crassus should be coughing out his last breath. He locked eyes with Carbo. ‘Let’s move!’
They fled up the street. Neither saw the little figure in their wake, darting in and out between the pursuing soldiers. There was a cup of wine in her hand.
Spartacus led the way. He ran through the dimly lit alleyway, barging past an old man carrying a hen by the neck, to a junction with another. He turned left blindly and hared up that, followed by Carbo. Fifty paces later, the narrow way forked. He took the right. A moment later he cursed as his feet sank into a stinking pile of semi-liquid waste. ‘A dung heap.’ His teeth flashed in the darkness at Carbo. ‘They won’t want to follow us through this. If they do, at least they’ll be covered in shit as well.’
Carbo peered back whence they had come. He couldn’t hear any sounds of pursuit. ‘I think we’ve lost them.’
‘Maybe. They’ll be searching every street by now, though. We need a place to lie low.’
‘Shouldn’t we get out of the city?’
‘It’s too late for that. The first thing Crassus will have done is to order soldiers to every single gate. Anyone trying to leave will be questioned, certainly for the rest of the day. We’ll have a better chance if we can hole up somewhere until tomorrow and try then.’ It will still be damn risky, thought Spartacus. Had it been worth the risk? Yes, because if their attempt had succeeded, the Romans would have been thrown into complete disarray.
‘We could always hide here.’
Spartacus indicated the narrow window openings above them. ‘Someone will see us, and put two and two together. It’ll be dangerous to head back to the Elysian Fields, but it’s our best option.’
Carbo didn’t like the idea either, but he couldn’t think of another. He swung his head this way and that, trying to get his bearings. ‘Do you even know which direction it is?’
‘No.’
‘We’ll try this way,’ said Spartacus, taking a step forward.
‘You’ll get even more lost if you do.’
Carbo turned to see a small shape scurrying out of the gloom. He couldn’t help but grin. It was Tulla, still clutching the dregs of a cup of wine.
‘You!’ spat Spartacus. ‘Why have you followed us?’
‘You haven’t paid me.’ Tulla’s voice died away as Spartacus took a step towards her.
‘Did you see what happened?’ demanded the Thracian.
‘Y-yes,’ replied the girl, backing away. ‘Is it true that you’re Spartacus?’
Spartacus darted forward and grabbed Tulla by the front of her tunic.
Carbo’s breath caught in his chest.
‘It is.’
‘Y-you’ve just been pretending to be a slave? Why?’
‘To find out what’s going on here. To discover what Crassus is planning to do.’
‘And when you saw a chance to assassinate him, you took it.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Are you going to kill me now?’ Despite Tulla’s bravado, her voice quavered.
‘I’m not in the habit of murdering children, but I don’t want the soldiers to find us either. There’s no other way, really.’ Spartacus placed his knife against the side of Tulla’s scrawny neck.
Carbo saw the fabric covering the girl’s groin darken as she lost control of her bladder. ‘Spartacus, please!’
The Thracian didn’t answer, but his knife stayed where it was. Tulla’s eyes flickered from Carbo up to Spartacus and back again, but she had lost the ability to speak.
‘You’re to become a father soon,’ said Carbo.
‘What has that to do with it?’ Spartacus demanded harshly.
‘If you have a daughter, imagine her when she’s Tulla’s age.’
‘I am to have a son, not a daughter,’ Spartacus barked. ‘And he will be no gutter rat.’ The tip of the dagger dug into the skin, causing Tulla to wail in terror and letting a fat drop of blood drop to the ground.
‘Wait! We could make a deal with her.’
Spartacus stared at Carbo without speaking, but again his knife remained still.
‘Offer her an aureus to guide us to the Elysian Fields,’ said Carbo quickly. ‘She will stay there with us and in the morning, we’ll give her another gold coin to take us to one of the quieter gates.’
Spartacus chuckled. ‘That’s enough to live on for a year! Why would I do that when I can simply cut her throat and keep the money?’
‘Because it would mean one less life being lost. She’s an innocent child.’
‘Innocent? So were the children in Thracian villages that the fucking Romans murdered a few years back!’ The muscles in Spartacus’ forearm tensed.
‘Do it for me then,’ said Carbo, wondering if he was going too far. ‘Please.’
Spartacus’ lips thinned. ‘You dare to question me?’
‘She will not play us false,’ urged Carbo. ‘I know it.’
Spartacus used the point of the blade to force Tulla’s chin upwards. ‘Hear that? Carbo trusts you. With his own life.’ He shot a flinty look at Carbo, whose mouth went very dry. ‘Are you worthy of that trust?’
‘Y-y-yes, sir.’
He let her go and Carbo let out a ragged breath. Thank the gods.
The Thracian fumbled in the purse that hung unseen around his neck. ‘Here.’
Tulla grabbed the coin, and turned it over and over. ‘This is only a denarius!’
‘That’s right. And this,’ said Spartacus, flicking a gold coin between his fingers, ‘is one of the aurei you’re going to earn. If I give it to you now, you’ll probably still play us false. And I’ll have to kill Carbo here.’
Tulla’s eyes grew beady.
‘It’s more than you’ve ever had in your damn life,’ said Carbo angrily, sure that the money was motivating the girl more than his life.
Tulla reached out to try and snatch the aureus, but Spartacus lifted his hand out of reach. ‘You will be paid in full if you do as I’ve asked. But if you don’t, I will hunt you down and kill you. Not nicely, like I was going to do just now. Very slowly.’
Tulla’s face went pale beneath the grime. ‘All right. You know that the gods will keep you to your side of the bargain?’
Carbo was relieved to hear her words. If she believed in oaths, she would not betray his trust. If she did, he had little doubt that the Thracian would kill him. Despite Spartacus’ continuing trust, he’d already made two mistakes too many.
‘I do,’ said Spartacus solemnly.
This seemed to satisfy the girl. ‘Two aurei in total then.’
‘Yes. The balance payable when you take us to the gate in the morning.’
‘Along with the amount we agreed for the job of guiding you around.’ Tulla’s jaw jutted out stubbornly.
‘Can you believe this girl?’ Spartacus barked a laugh. ‘She’d bargain with the ferryman!’
Despite the danger he had placed himself in, Carbo grinned.
Spartacus spat on his hand and shoved it forward. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘Deal,’ agreed Tulla, gravely accepting the grip.
Some time later, they found themselves in a side alley that overlooked the Elysian Fields. Tulla made to enter the street, but Spartacus pulled her back. ‘Wait. Let’s not be hasty.’
Staying in the shadows, they watched the inn. Several tables outside were occupied. A balding man dozed with his head against the front wall; a bored-looking whore toyed with her bracelets; two older men argued amiably about which horse-racing team was best that season. Carbo’s unease reduced a fraction. There didn’t seem to be any reason for alarm. He glanced at Spartacus.
‘Not yet.’
Tulla rolled her eyes, but she too stayed where she was.
A boy pushing a small cart went by, shouting about the fresh fruit juice he had for sale. A matron passed in the other direc
tion, issuing orders to the trio of house slaves who hurried behind her, carrying her shopping. The delicious smells issuing from a baker’s shop a short distance away mixed with the smell of burning charcoal, and manure from the pens behind a butcher’s. The cattle held there roared their protests. Ting. Ting. Ting. The sound of metal hammering off metal reached them from a smithy. A cripple hobbled by on a crudely fashioned crutch.
Carbo began to relax.
Beside him, Tulla was jiggling with impatience. ‘Do you think it’s safe yet?’
Spartacus shook his head.
‘But everything is going on as norm—’
Tramp. Tramp. Tramp.
Tulla’s eyes widened. Sweat slicked down Carbo’s back as Spartacus peered briefly around the corner. ‘Soldiers. Eight, nine, ten of them.’
A moment later, a party of legionaries came to a halt before the inn. A burly figure emerged from within and sat down with the two old men. Focused on the soldiers, Spartacus didn’t see the man give them a tiny nod. Carbo did, but put it down to nothing more than a greeting. Six entered; the remainder waited outside.
Spartacus had been right to be cautious, thought Carbo, but their predicament was only a fraction less dire than before. ‘What in Hades do we do now?’
‘Good question.’ Spartacus racked his brains. Great Rider, help us.
‘What about a whorehouse?’ suggested Tulla. ‘You could stay in one of those overnight.’
‘No,’ retorted Spartacus. ‘Places like that live on gossip. Besides, they could be searched. Believe me, Crassus is going to have this city turned upside down to try and find us.’
‘We could try going to my uncle’s house and finding out where my parents live,’ said Carbo slowly. ‘If we clean ourselves up, it might work.’ His mind raced. What would he say to Varus? To his mother and father?
‘That’s a damn good idea. If the worst comes to the worst, we can hold them hostage until the morning.’ Spartacus eyeballed Carbo.
‘Very well.’ Carbo almost wished that he had said nothing. He didn’t want his parents to remember their last meeting with him – for surely this would be the last – to be tainted in that manner. But they had to escape.
Spartacus gave a satisfied nod.
‘Where does your uncle live?’ asked Tulla.
‘On the Esquiline Hill. I’m not sure where.’
‘Can you find his house?’ asked Spartacus.
Tulla gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Of course. I might need to ask around a little.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
Tulla thumbed her nose at Spartacus and headed back down the alley.
Marcion had drunk more than the rest of his comrades, and his pounding head the next morning had made it easy to turn down his comrades’ suggestion of a swim in the river that lay near the camp. They hadn’t been gone long, however, before his rest was disturbed again by the sound of widespread cheering. Irritably poking his head out of his tent, he discovered something that sent him fumbling for his clothes. Ignoring his hangover, he ran all the way from the camp to the broad watercourse. ‘Did you hear the news?’ he called excitedly as he came barrelling down the slope, dodging past other soldiers.
There were scores of men in the water, bathing, washing their clothes, filling water containers or doing as his tent mates were, sporting about in the shallows near the bank. A few looked up, but none of Marcion’s comrades heard him.
‘Ariadne has had her baby!’ he shouted.
That got him some attention.
Arphocras, one of the nearest to Marcion, was shoving a comrade’s head under the surface. The sun glinted off the droplets in his close-cropped hair. ‘What did you say?’
‘Tell us!’ cried a soldier Marcion had never seen before.
‘Ariadne has given birth to a healthy boy!’
A lop-sided grin twisted Arphocras’ face. ‘A son? The gods be thanked. That’s wonderful news. Let’s hope that Spartacus comes back soon, eh?’
‘He will,’ declared the soldier who’d spoken first.
Marcion nodded. Unlike many others, Zeuxis prominent among them, he still felt sure that their leader would return. He wasn’t sure why this was, but the news of Maron’s birth had increased this belief.
The others were still play-fighting. ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘I’ve got big news!’
No one paid him any notice. Marcion was not surprised. During their weeks of marching under the hot summer sun, few of the mountain streams they’d encountered had been safe enough to enter. This one was, making it a huge draw to the soldiers. Despite the ragging he got for washing regularly, his comrades could not deny the sheer pleasure of being able to bathe in running water.
Marcion’s gaze was drawn back to Arphocras, whose victim had just managed to struggle free. His head had been half-submerged, so he had no clue what Marcion had been saying either. With a triumphant roar, he threw his arms around Arphocras’ neck and dragged him under. Water fountained into the air as the pair thrashed about.
Ten paces further out, Gaius had Zeuxis on his shoulders, and was facing up to two more of their comrades. Shouting curses, Zeuxis and the other man on top grappled fiercely, trying to throw one another into the water. It wasn’t long before Zeuxis’ ‘steed’ lost his footing and fell. Zeuxis began to topple backwards, but he seized his opponent by one arm and, shouting with glee, managed to take him down as well.
Their antics made Marcion forget his news for a moment. Keen to join in, he began to strip off. He had just pulled his tunic up over his shoulders when an immense blow sent him flying forward, his limbs flailing. A heartbeat’s delay, and Marcion landed in the river. He thrashed about madly, trying to find the bottom. Heaving himself upright, he ripped off his tunic and coughed up several mouthfuls of liquid. ‘Who did that?’ he roared. ‘Who did that?’
Laughter filled his ears, and he looked up at the bank. ‘You bastard!’
‘The opportunity was too good to miss,’ said Antonius, another of his tent mates. ‘You were standing there, shouting your head off like bloody Julius.’
Marcion grinned. Throwing their disciplinarian officer into the river was a most appealing idea.
‘What were you bawling about?’ asked a deep voice.
‘Zeuxis. Finally!’ He dodged the balding man’s charge with ease, giving him a push that, to his immense satisfaction, sent his argumentative tent mate face first into the river.
‘Ariadne has given birth,’ Arphocras butted in.
That put a smile on most men’s faces, but Zeuxis, dripping water, scowled. ‘I wish the babe no harm, but that’s the last thing we need.’
‘It’s not as if it’s a surprise. She’s been pregnant for nine months!’ retorted Arphocras to a ripple of laughter.
‘That’s not what I mean,’ growled Zeuxis. ‘Castus and Gannicus aren’t going to be too pleased about this, are they?’
‘Who cares what those whoresons think?’ demanded Marcion. ‘Not us, that’s for sure.’ He was pleased when a number of men nearby voiced their agreement. It was hard to ignore, however, that some soldiers were throwing him foul looks. Even worse, they weren’t Gauls. The rot is spreading, he thought unhappily.
‘It might force them to act. They’ve been planning something since we turned around at the Alps,’ said Zeuxis. ‘If I’ve heard what they promise us in exchange for loyalty once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. A free rein with every farm and estate that we attack. The right to use iron and gold as trading items. We’ll all be rich men soon, if Castus and Gannicus are to be believed!’
‘What’s your point?’ snapped Marcion, tired of Zeuxis’ constant complaints. ‘I know you think it’s lies that the Gauls are peddling.’
‘They’re not lies, that’s the problem,’ replied Zeuxis sourly. He dropped his voice a fraction. ‘That’s why so many men are listening to them. You mark my words, if Spartacus doesn’t come back soon, there’ll be trouble. Real trouble.’
The others exchange
d worried looks.
‘It’s not that bad,’ protested Marcion, but he’d heard the whispers too.
‘Isn’t it?’ asked Zeuxis. ‘An army needs its leader, and if he is absent for too long, then someone else will take the space. It won’t be Egbeo or Pulcher either. They’re not ruthless enough.’
‘We don’t want change. We’re still Spartacus’ men, eh?’ asked Marcion, glaring at his comrades.
His reply was a muted chorus of ‘Ayes’, but Zeuxis’ voice wasn’t one of them. He glared at Marcion. ‘The only reason that I joined Spartacus’ army was to get away from my damn master. You might be different, but a lot of men did the same as me. It was good to learn how to fight, I suppose, and to give the Romans a taste of their own medicine. Spartacus brought us victory after victory as well, so I kept following him. You could say that I became loyal to him, yes. But now he’s fucked off and doesn’t look like coming back. He’s left us at the mercy of a pair of Gaulish savages! So much for his loyalty to us. I’m damned if I’ll stick around for much longer.’
‘We can’t just let Castus and Gannicus take control!’ cried Marcion.
‘How are you going to stop them?’ hissed Zeuxis. ‘You’re an ordinary foot soldier, like me. Like all of us. What can you and I do against the likes of the Gauls? They’ve got thousands of followers! Thousands. If we challenged Castus and Gannicus, we’d be food for the vultures and you know it.’
Marcion looked to his comrades for support, but he found none. No one else was actively agreeing with Zeuxis’ gloomy prediction, but nor were they arguing with it. Misery filled him. The laughter of a few moments before seemed a lifetime ago.
Where are you, Spartacus?
‘Help me, please.’
For a moment, Ariadne could not work out where she was, or who was addressing her. She was alone on a road paved with black basalt slabs. The sun beat down from a clear sky. Above her she saw clouds of vultures. Her skin crawled. Why are there so many?
‘Help. Water.’