‘Here.’
Zeuxis had shoved a small clay vessel with a strap around its neck in his face. Carbo put it to his lips and took a mouthful. The water was warm and stale, but it tasted better than anything he’d ever drunk. ‘Thanks,’ he said, handing it back.
Zeuxis grunted. He took a long pull himself and passed it to the soldier on his left. He leaned back towards Carbo. ‘Never thought I’d stand this close to Spartacus in battle, I can tell you.’
‘He’s some warrior, eh?’
‘It’s like watching a god take to the field.’ The awe in Zeuxis’ voice was palpable.
‘I’d be a dead man if it wasn’t for him.’ Carbo undid his chinstrap and took off his helmet. He let it drop.
‘I saw some of that fight. Sorry I couldn’t help. I was a bit caught up.’
‘It’s all right.’ Carbo pulled off his liner and wrung it out. Streams of water ran between his fingers. A light breeze tickled his soaking hair. It felt wonderful, but he jammed the felt back on his head and put on his helmet again, tying the strap securely. ‘You been in the army long?’
‘I joined before the battle against Lentulus. Marcion here’ – he jerked his head at the man to his left – ‘came along at the same time. So did most of our contubernium. And you?’
‘I was in the ludus with Spartacus.’
Zeuxis’ mouth fell open. ‘Really?’
Carbo nodded.
‘So you took part in the attack on Glaber’s camp? And the fight at the villa when Cossinius was caught naked?’
Carbo grinned. ‘I was there.’
‘Hear this, Marcion!’ He muttered a few words to his comrade, who gave Carbo a look of awe. ‘Those were the days, eh?’ said Zeuxis. ‘When we won every fight.’
Carbo gave him a grim smile. ‘With the gods’ help, this could be another one.’
Zeuxis’ eyes flickered away from his. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Spartacus came hurrying back to his position. ‘READY, LADS?’
‘YES!’ Carbo shouted, his voice one of hundreds. Tugging his gladius free, and picking up his shield, he scanned the enemy lines. The legionaries were moving closer together, and he could hear their officers roaring at them to prepare to advance.
‘Let’s hit them hard, eh?’ said Spartacus to Carbo.
‘Of course!’ His heart began to race again.
‘The left flank looks to be holding its own from what I can see, but I’ve got no idea how things are on the right, or what the cavalry have achieved. To be sure of victory, we have to break through here.’
The pressure mounted. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will.’ Spartacus flashed him a smile, and Carbo’s devotion to him grew yet stronger.
‘READY? CHARGE!’ roared Spartacus.
They pounded forward at the Romans, who shouted a challenge and broke into a run of their own. Carbo was more prepared for the fight this time. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man closing in on him had a limp. He was already injured: a weakness to exploit. As their shields cracked against each other and they both began to push, Carbo hacked down at his opponent’s sandals. There was a loud cry as the tip of his blade connected with the toes on the man’s left foot. It was only a small wound, but it was painful enough to make the legionary lower his guard a fraction. Carbo raised his gladius and shoved it forward, around the other’s scutum. There was a heartbeat’s delay and then it had punched through the iron rings of the man’s mail shirt. It sank deep into his belly, and his mouth opened in an ‘O’ of pure shock. Carbo twisted the blade as he’d been taught, and wrenched it free.
‘Jupiterrrrrr, that hurts!’ screamed the legionary. He dropped his shield and clutched a hand to the bloody hole in his mail.
Carbo smashed his scutum forward, knocking his opponent into the soldier immediately behind.
‘FORWARD!’ shouted Spartacus.
Blood pounding in his ears, Carbo advanced two steps. Then another. Despite the protests of the man to his rear, the injured legionary staggered backwards. Carbo’s eyes shot from side to side. Zeuxis was at his left shoulder; Spartacus was to his right and beyond him was Taxacis. Further out, their comrades also appeared to be moving forward. His heart leaped. He took another step.
‘FORWARD!’ roared Spartacus again.
Pace by pace, they walked towards the Romans, who continued to retreat. It went on for about twenty steps, and Carbo began to hope that their enemies would break. They didn’t. His attention was drawn to a couple of centurions in the front rank near him. They were screaming blue murder, threatening their men with the most terrible punishments if they did anything but hold the line. Their tactic was working. The legionaries slowed down and came to a halt.
‘When we hit the whoresons, I want every centurion killed! Hacked into a hundred pieces! Do you hear me?’
The nearest soldiers bellowed in assent.
‘If we can do that, they’ll fucking run,’ Carbo heard Spartacus mutter. Then, ‘CHARGE!’
They ran forward. This time, the Romans did not come to meet them. Carbo took some solace from that. The enemy officers didn’t trust their men to advance. That meant they were worried.
Carbo saw that the man to face him would be a centurion, and his breath caught in his chest. The previous bouts he’d fought would be as nothing compared to this. Centurions were veterans of at least twenty years’ service, brave men who led by example, who stuck at nothing to win a fight. He struggled against the first tinge of panic, knowing that if he gave in to it, he was sure to die. The centurion was staring right at him and roaring insults at the top of his voice. Blocking out the sound as best he could, Carbo tried to spot any detail that would help him win. He saw nothing except the scarlet-dyed horsehairs on his opponent’s helmet crest and the merciless eyes beneath its tinned brow. Death was waiting.
Three paces out, it came to Carbo. The centurion was a short man. In turn, that meant that he was a lot heavier than him. Praying that his idea would work, he ducked as low as he could behind the rim of his scutum. Pulling his left arm close in against his body, he slowed down a fraction before throwing his entire body weight forward with his shield. He struck the centurion with such force that the Roman was shoved several steps backwards. Carbo lifted his head, readying himself to land the killer blow. He got the shock of his life. Incredibly, the centurion had maintained his balance, and was waiting for his chance. Carbo had just enough time to register the other’s blade as it swept forward at his face.
I’m dead.
There was a loud crash.
Carbo blinked. The gladius was gone. He looked again. The centurion had been knocked on to the flat of his back by Spartacus, who had driven sideways into him with his scutum. Stooping over the officer, the Thracian ran him through the throat. Dismayed cries rose from the legionaries who’d seen what had happened, and they fell back a step or two. Spartacus quickly resumed his position, throwing Carbo a grin. ‘Push the whoresons back!’ he yelled.
Carbo took a step forward with the rest. He glanced at his sword arm, which was trembling like a leaf. Snap out of it! he told himself. You’re still alive. The battle’s not over. Steeling himself for more carnage, he looked up. The centurion had been replaced by a furious-looking legionary. Perhaps five paces separated them. ‘I’m going to rip your head off and shit down your neck!’ the Roman screamed.
Behind the ranks of enemy soldiers, Carbo caught sight of a red cloak. It was Crassus, dismounting from his horse. Standard-bearers swirled around him, including one bearing a silver eagle. Carbo couldn’t believe his eyes. He’s concerned enough to make a stand right here. ‘Spartacus! This is our chance!’
A moment later, there was a shout of acknowledgement. ‘CHARGE! CHARGE!’
Carbo’s gaze returned to the legionary. Cold rage now filled him. All he wanted to do was reach Crassus. ‘I’m coming for you, you fucking maggot!’
There was a surge behind him as he advanced. It was the men in the ranks behind, C
arbo realised with exhilaration. He made short shrift of the legionary, dispatching him with a couple of vicious stabs to the face. The man after him was a barrel-chested individual who spat obscenities with each thrust of his gladius. Carbo had little difficulty in dodging the powerful but inaccurate blows, but soon the press grew so great that he was driven right up against the legionary. Neither was able to use his sword.
‘Slave filth!’ screamed the soldier. ‘You’re dead! Dead!’
‘Fuck you!’ Carbo let go of his gladius, which, jammed between them, didn’t even fall to the ground. With a struggle, he reached around to his left side and tugged out his dagger. Drawing up his arm with great care, he whipped it up, above the crush. Panic flared in the legionary’s eyes, more curses filled the air, but he could not prevent Carbo from hammering the blade down into his neck. Carbo stabbed him several more times for good measure. Gouts of blood splattered his forearm, his face, the front of his shield. He didn’t care. ‘Crassus, I’m coming for you!’ he shouted, spittle flying.
But he couldn’t move – forward or back. In fact, the pressure from both sides was starting to become uncomfortable. The cursing legionary had slumped forward; he was now being held upright by Carbo’s scutum. Blood ran in streams from the wound in his neck, covering Carbo’s left hand and arm. There was nothing he could do about it. He was glad that the Romans in the second rank weren’t trying to get at him. They had to be as tightly compressed as he and his comrades were.
‘Gods above, what do we do now?’ roared Zeuxis.
The red mist receded a little. Carbo glanced at Zeuxis, who had also killed the Roman in front of him. ‘We’re stuck!’
Zeuxis glowered. ‘Bloody genius, aren’t you?’
Fighting a crazy urge to smile, Carbo looked to his right. Unsurprisingly, Spartacus had slain his man. He was helping Taxacis to slaughter his opponent. Carbo waited until it was done. ‘What do we do now?’
Spartacus’ head turned. His face and helmet were covered in blood, and his eyes had a mad gleam to them. Carbo had difficulty holding his gaze.
‘We’ll have to withdraw a few steps. The sheep-fucking Romans won’t do so, that’s for sure. This kind of stalemate suits them. Crassus will be trying to wear us out.’
Carbo was suddenly aware that his muscles were screaming for a rest.
‘Fall back!’ cried Spartacus. ‘Fall back ten steps. Only ten! Pass the word along!’
Carbo leaned over to Zeuxis. ‘Tell your mate to spread the word. We’re to pull back ten steps, no more.’
Zeuxis nodded and did as he was asked. Spartacus was doing the same to Carbo’s right. Soon the air was filled with the shouted command. As the men in the ranks behind realised, they began to shuffle backwards. Feeling the pressure on his chest reduce, Carbo sucked in a deep breath. He gripped his gladius again and took a couple of steps away from the big legionary. The man’s corpse slumped to its knees. A heartbeat’s delay and it toppled on to its face. Carbo tensed, preparing himself for an enemy charge, but it didn’t happen.
Keeping in line with Zeuxis and Spartacus, he walked back six, seven, eight more paces.
‘HALT!’ roared the Thracian.
His command was obeyed.
Carbo saw Spartacus eyeballing the Romans, but they did nothing. They had to be grateful for the breather too, he thought.
‘Pull back another ten steps!’
Carbo glanced at Spartacus in alarm. ‘Why?’ he hissed.
‘I need to see what’s going on at the flanks. This is the only damn way I can do it.’
The word went out again. Counting carefully, they withdrew. Still the Romans did nothing. Carbo’s eyes travelled up and down their line. All he saw were men heaving bodies out of the way, spitting or drinking from water bags. Some legionaries shouted insults, but most were ignoring them. It was a small relief.
Spartacus strode out into the gap between the armies. His head swivelled from side to side for a few moments. A javelin was hurled at him, and another, but he ignored them, standing on tiptoe to get a better view. Then a third pilum came scudding in and he had to dodge out the way in order to avoid being struck.
‘They’ve recognised him,’ muttered Carbo. He could see enemy javelins being handed forward for the men at the front to throw. The taste of fear was acid in his mouth. Spartacus’ extraordinary charisma was what held the centre together. If he went down, they were finished.
‘What in Hades is he doing?’ growled Zeuxis.
Carbo explained.
‘A bit fucking risky, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe, but there’s no other way.’ Even as he defended Spartacus’ actions, Carbo wanted to scream at him to return to safety.
He soon got his wish. Turning his back on the Roman lines, Spartacus sauntered back to their position. Two javelins followed him, one landing right by his feet. He didn’t even look at it. A smile played across his face. ‘Is that the best they can do?’ he shouted, turning to make an obscene gesture at the Romans.
Whoops and cheers rose around Carbo, and a sea of hands went up in the air, mimicking Spartacus’ sign.
Doing the same, Carbo grinned. He couldn’t help it. ‘Fuck you all!’ he bellowed.
Spartacus shoved in beside him.
Carbo turned, his face alight. Spartacus’ words hit him like a hammer blow.
‘It’s not going well with Pulcher on the right. The Romans must have brought up every spare catapult they have. The whoresons are hammering our ranks behind where the fighting is going on. The men there are starting to waver.’
Carbo’s next insult turned to ashes in his mouth. If the rearmost soldiers turned and fled, the ones at the front wouldn’t be far behind them. And if that happened, the enemy’s left flank could wheel around to hit the centre – their position. An abyss had just opened at their feet. ‘And the left?’
‘It’s all right, thanks to Navio. I can’t see the damn cavalry anywhere, though. On either side. I’m concerned that the ditches were too deep for them. That they haven’t been able to sweep around to the enemy’s rear. We’d have heard something, seen something by now if they had.’
Carbo’s hopes plummeted. He searched Spartacus’ face for a hopeful sign. ‘What can we do?’
A savage, unforgiving smile. ‘I’d wager that we’ve got the time for one more roll of the dice before the left flank gives way. Will you come?’
Carbo knew in that moment that his death was near. He fought the urge to vomit. ‘I’m with you.’
Spartacus’ eyes softened. ‘I never thought to say this, but I’m proud to stand and fight beside a Roman.’
Carbo had to fight back tears. Unable to speak, he just nodded.
Spartacus threw back his head. ‘My soldiers, listen to me!’
Somehow, amid the din from the fighting to either side, the nearest men’s heads turned.
‘I ask you for one more effort. One more charge! I can see Crassus there, opposite us. Do you see the bastard, in his red cloak, behind his legionaries?’
Silence for a moment as men’s eyes searched for their enemy, and then an angry roar went up.
‘Let’s kill Crassus right now. End the battle at a stroke. Are you with me?’
‘YES!’
‘ARE YOU WITH ME?’ Spartacus began hammering his sica off his shield.
‘YESSSS!’ Carbo screamed with everyone else.
‘THEN CHARGE!’ Spartacus shot forward so fast that he caught Carbo and the man on the other side by surprise. He was five strides ahead before they had even started running. Carbo sprinted to catch up. To his left, he sensed Zeuxis. He knew in his gut that the rest were coming too. Every man who had heard that cry would answer it. Would give his life to be with Spartacus as he descended on the Romans in a dreadful, killing rage. The words ‘Victory or death’ had never been more true.
He drew alongside the Thracian. Heard him muttering.
‘Great Rider, watch over me. Great Rider, protect me. Great Rider, help me to kill Crassus.
’
The prayers made Carbo’s spine tingle. He could feel the gods’ presence. Let them be on our side.
Ten strides until the Roman lines. Carbo could see Crassus at the back. His heart jolted with hope. The legionaries opposite him were no more than six ranks deep. They could do it! Five steps. Imagining that he’d been stabbed in the guts, Carbo let out a piercing shriek. The man facing him flinched, which was what he’d wanted. He covered the last two paces in a blur, smashing into the soldier with all the pent-up hatred that he’d ever felt towards Crassus. He felt the impact as Zeuxis and Spartacus hit their opponents. Still yelling like a madman, Carbo rammed his gladius into the space between the two scuta before him. His blade struck, and then slid deep into something. A scream, and the legionary facing Spartacus dropped his sword. Surprised, Carbo’s eyes shot to his own opponent who, with teeth bared, was trying to reach around and stab him in the belly. Too late, Carbo pulled his right arm back to retaliate.
When Zeuxis’ gladius slid over to take the Roman in the throat, he could have cried with relief. ‘Thanks.’
Zeuxis threw him a broad wink. ‘Just do the same for me if you can.’
‘I will.’
‘ON! ON! ON!’ roared Spartacus.
Having smashed the first enemy rank, they shoved into the next. Punching with their shields, thrusting with their swords, howling like wolves. Blood sprayed in the air, covered their faces, showered on to the muddy ground. Cries of triumph mixed with shrieks of pain and the gurgles of men drowning in their own blood. They pushed forward another hard-fought two steps. A few paces to his left, Carbo saw a legionary lose an arm to a sword cut; with a stunned expression, he raised the stump into the air, showering his comrades in crimson liquid. As if he’d only realised what had happened, an inarticulate wail left his throat. Those of Spartacus’ soldiers who could see laughed and jeered. The man wasn’t just useless, he was now a danger to his comrades. It didn’t take long for a legionary to stab the unfortunate in the neck from behind and step over his body to fill the gap.