Spartacus: Rebellion

  Carbo was vaguely aware that Spartacus was fighting another centurion, but his next opponent was a skilful legionary who pre-empted his every move. For long moments, they each battered their shield off the other’s and thrust at one another’s faces to no avail. Carbo’s throat was so dry that he couldn’t shout any more. His arms kept moving of their own volition – punch, thrust, punch, thrust – but he began to feel as if he were no longer within his body. Deep inside his head, a voice was screaming at him to come back to reality or he’d end up dead, but it was more than Carbo could do to obey.

  To his surprise, the legionary’s gaze shot to his left. A gasp of dismay, the briefest moment of hesitation. Carbo didn’t know what had caused the distraction, but he took his chance, ramming his gladius into the soldier’s open mouth so hard that the blade ran out of the back of his neck. Gouts of blood and pieces of broken tooth flew into the air. Making a terrible choking noise, the legionary dropped out of sight. Carbo glanced first to his left. Zeuxis was still there. Beyond him, so too was Marcion. A look to his right then. Creeping exultation filled him. The centurion was down, screaming. They had broken through another rank.

  A stifled gasp by his side doused his joy like a lamp that is suddenly snuffed out. His head turned. Wincing, Spartacus met his gaze. Blood was running from a cut on his forehead into his eyes. ‘The bastard got me, Carbo.’

  ‘That’s only a flesh wound!’

  ‘Not that. In my sword arm.’

  Time stood still. Carbo wanted to weep, but he had no tears. ‘Can you fight?’

  ‘For a while.’

  A shout to his front dragged Carbo’s attention back to the fight. This time, an optio was coming for him. I’ll kill you too, cocksucker! Then he saw the fresh legionaries piling in behind the back ranks, and his heart sank. There were now at least eight rows of men between them and Crassus. Even if Spartacus had been uninjured, they might not have been able to reach him. As it was, they had no chance. He met the optio’s shield with a fierce drive of his own. To Spartacus, ‘We’ve got to pull back!’

  ‘Never! We can still kill that son of a bitch Crassus!’

  Carbo parried a gladius thrust by raising his scutum. In return, he lunged forward with his blade; withdrawing, he looked again. Crassus now looked as far away as the moon. It was asking the impossible even to try. He wasn’t going to leave Spartacus, though. Never. A strange madness took him. ‘All right then! CRASSUS! CRASSUS!’ He saw the ornate helmet turn; saw the arrogant expression he’d seen in Rome. Hatred twisted his guts. ‘We’re coming for you, Crassus!’ It gave Carbo the most intense satisfaction to see a flicker of fear pass across the general’s face.

  Punch. The optio’s shield boss smacked into him. Carbo was driven back a step; he fought not to fall over.

  ‘Think you can kill our general?’ roared the optio. ‘You’ve got to get through me first.’

  Bellowing with rage, Carbo went on the attack. His speed caught the officer by surprise, and he managed to slice open the Roman’s cheek, a minor but painful injury. Encouraged, Carbo pressed forward.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ spat the optio. ‘Don’t you know when you’re beaten?’

  ‘Piss off!’

  ‘Take a look around you, fool! You’re almost alone.’

  The back of Carbo’s throat filled with acid. The optio pulled back a step, as if to invite him to check the veracity of his words. At first glance, all seemed well. Taxacis was still on Spartacus’ far side. Carbo could see other soldiers beyond. Then his head turned to the left. Horror filled him. Zeuxis was still on his feet, but the deep gash on his neck told its own brutal story. Marcion was there, ducking to avoid the thrusts of a bearded legionary, but that was it. He twisted his neck further. No, please, no. Perhaps forty or fifty men were still behind them. The rest were backing away, some slowly, fighting the Romans who were charging forward, but the majority had turned to run. Shields and swords already littered the ground. Despair took Carbo. The dream was over.

  ‘Convinced?’ The optio swept forward, lunging with his gladius.

  Carbo spun back, raised his guard too late.

  With incredible speed, Spartacus’ sica came scything around from the right. It took the optio in the neck, removing his head with ease. Carbo had never seen blood fountain so high in the air. It rose in a thick jet to eye height as the head, helmet and all, spun gracefully to one side. The optio’s body took another step forward before it crumpled, twitching, to the ground. The nearest legionaries pulled back in instinctive horror, granting the pair momentary respite.

  Even injured, he’s still more skilful than me, thought Carbo in amazement.

  ‘Help me take off my helmet.’

  He didn’t understand. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Do as I ask!’

  Carbo shoved his gladius under his left armpit, then leaned over and fiddled with the chinstrap. After a moment, it came undone. Spartacus ripped off the helmet and flung it to the ground.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Go. Leave. Get away. It’s over.’ There was a touch of grey to Spartacus’ face now, but his voice was still commanding.

  With sickening insight, Carbo understood. He threw it away so he can’t be recognised after he’s been killed. ‘I’m staying right here!’

  ‘Find Ariadne. Protect her and the baby. Get them away from here with Atheas, before the madness begins.’

  ‘What about you?’

  A harsh laugh. ‘I’m going nowhere. The Rider is waiting for me.’

  ‘And me!’ Taxacis had never sounded fiercer.

  Carbo’s mind raced as it had never done. He knew the chaos that descended on battlefields when one side began to run away. That was when most casualties were suffered. Panicking men without weapons made the easiest targets. Apart from women and babies, that was. Even with Aventianus and the Scythian to hand, they would have little chance of survival. He stared at Spartacus, torn between his need to stay loyal and the desire to honour his leader’s request. ‘I—’

  ‘Please. I ask you as a friend.’ Spartacus’ eyes held his like a vice.

  Throat closed with emotion, Carbo nodded.

  ‘Go, or it will be too late!’ Spartacus pushed at him weakly with his shield.

  Carbo obeyed, stumbling away like a drunk man. The tears that had not come before flowed at last, half blinded his vision. He wiped them away savagely, aware that if he wasn’t careful, he would trip over a body. Around him, soldiers were shouting, crying, turning to flee. The sense of panic was thick enough to cut with a knife. At times like this, men lost all reason. If he went down, he’d be trampled into the bloody earth. Carbo didn’t care about himself, but he had to save Ariadne and Maron. He’d given his word.

  Gripping his sword and shield tightly, Carbo began to run. With every step, shame cut at him like butcher’s knives. He had abandoned Spartacus, who had saved his life so many times. Left him to his death.

  Carbo did not look back.

  Chapter XIX

  South of the Silarus valley

  MARON WHIMPERED. IT was his new sound, thought Ariadne sadly. Pulling down the neck of her dress, she put him to the breast. Although she had precious little milk, it would keep him quiet for a while. She stared down at him, feeling a mixture of love and immeasurable sorrow. You look so like Spartacus

  It wasn’t surprising that Maron was unsettled, she thought, gazing around their small forest camp, which contained only a rough shelter fashioned from branches and outside it, a stone ring fireplace. He hadn’t known what was happening two days previously either, when the tide of battle had swung in Crassus’ favour. He’d been fast asleep until the clash of weapons and the screaming had woken him. That was when Atheas had ordered her to grab him and to throw a few things in a pack. She’d never seen the Scythian so worried. ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ he had shouted as she’d fumbled a couple of blankets and a spare swaddling cloth into a satchel and handed him the basket containing her snake. Outside, they had found Aventianus
standing guard, a gladius clutched in his fist. It was at that moment that Ariadne had stared down at the battle and seen how bad things were.

  Their army’s flanks had lost all semblance of order. Thousands of men had been streaming away from the Roman trenches, pursued by waves of legionaries. In the centre, she had made out a small bloc of soldiers still fighting – had Spartacus been among them? – but the overwhelming enemy numbers surrounding them offered but one outcome. The sight had frozen Ariadne to the spot with shock and grief. Only Atheas’ arm around her shoulders had brought her alive again, and given her the strength to move.

  It had soon become apparent how fortuitous the tent’s position near the back of the camp had been. The rocky massif to its rear had afforded no escape route, so most soldiers were fleeing through the tent lines some distance below them. A few, mad with panic, had climbed up to the same level, but the sight of Atheas’ and Aventianus’ naked blades had kept them at a respectful distance. Having to threaten their old comrades seemed insane, but it had since become their reality. Ariadne had thought to be safe once they’d reached the mountains, but scores of stragglers had continued to cross their path. On Carbo’s advice, they were shunning all contact unless it was unavoidable. In his opinion – and Atheas agreed – no one could now be trusted unless he was known to them, or had proved himself. It was part of the reason why they were hiding like wild animals in the most remote spot that the Scythian could find. Five soldiers approved by Carbo had joined them subsequently. Ariadne felt a little safer for their presence. Extra men to hunt also meant more food. More than one of the new arrivals had mentioned the rumour they’d heard: that thousands of survivors were heading for the hills above Thurii, but she didn’t want to consider following until her grief had subsided a little. Until she could bear the idea of leaving the battlefield – and Spartacus’ body – behind for ever.

  Maron made another grumbling noise as he snuffled at her breast.

  ‘Is he sick?’

  Ariadne looked up. She managed a half-smile. ‘No, he’s just tired, and upset. And hungry.’

  ‘Like us all,’ replied Carbo with a sigh.

  ‘We should be grateful to be alive. If it wasn’t for you and the others—’

  ‘I didn’t do much,’ he said, waving a dismissive hand.

  Ariadne remembered the pack of terrified men who’d come pounding towards them as they had reached the edge of the camp. They probably hadn’t even known who she and her two companions were. The fact that they had been blocking the path eastward, the only direction not filled with Roman troops, had been enough for the deserters to threaten them. Shoving her and Maron to the rear, Atheas and Aventianus had prepared to sell their lives dearly. Ariadne had begun to pray for a quick death when, from nowhere, Carbo had appeared behind the gang. Drenched in blood, screaming like a lunatic, he had cut down two men with savage thrusts of his gladius. The rest had taken to their heels. ‘You saved our lives, Carbo,’ she said quietly.

  His gaze slid away.

  She touched his arm. ‘It’s true. I cannot thank you enough.’

  ‘I left Spartacus behind,’ he muttered. And Arnax. The boy had probably got away, he told himself yet again. The same couldn’t be said of his leader.

  ‘It’s pointless torturing yourself. It wasn’t for you to choose the way he died, any more than it was mine.’

  Carbo was shocked out of his own grief for a moment.

  ‘Spartacus was his own master. You must respect his decision to die fighting. As, somehow, must I.’ Her gaze grew distant. Deep in her gut, Ariadne worried that her dream of the crucifixes would now come true. If it did, she prayed that Spartacus would not have suffered that degrading fate. That was why she had not seen him, she thought, trying – and failing – to wrest certainty from the dream.

  ‘I do respect it,’ he protested.

  She saw that there was more. ‘You think that you should have died with him.’

  Carbo didn’t answer, but the agony in his eyes said it all.

  ‘What would have happened to me and Maron if you’d done that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied uneasily.

  ‘I think you do. Can you not remember the group of deserters that attacked us?’

  No answer.

  ‘Is that the end you would have wanted for me? For Spartacus’ son?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Doing what you did – leaving him – means that Spartacus’ memory will live on. Not just in men’s hearts and minds, but in real flesh and blood.’ She caressed Maron’s head. ‘Is that not a worthwhile deed?’

  He stared at the baby, his face twitching with unreadable emotion. ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘It is.’

  ‘I cannot think of a finer legacy. A better way to ensure that Rome’s victory was not total. Can you?’ The words were to assuage her own savage grief as much as to help Carbo. To Ariadne’s ears, they rang hollow. That might not be the case for ever, but for the moment she knew that if it weren’t for Maron, she might have already given up.

  Carbo’s lips finally tugged into a smile. ‘Crassus would hate to know that Spartacus’ son was alive.’

  ‘He would.’ She touched Maron’s smooth cheek, and he redoubled his efforts on her breast. ‘That is why he must never know about him.’

  Their conversation was disturbed by Aventianus. ‘Pssst!’ He pointed beyond the clearing. Hearing movement in the undergrowth, Carbo ushered Ariadne into the shelter. He ran to join Aventianus. They both drew their swords, hoping that it was one of the group.

  When Atheas emerged, they both smiled with relief. Their expressions changed the instant they saw the man limping behind the Scythian. Covered in spatters of blood, without a helmet but still carrying his sword, it was Navio.

  Carbo’s heart leaped with joy. He darted to his friend’s side. ‘The gods be thanked. You made it!’

  Navio rubbed at the dark rings beneath his eyes. ‘I don’t know how. I tried hard enough to die.’

  ‘I found him . . . by the river,’ said Atheas. ‘Just lying . . . looking at nothing.’ Muttering an excuse, he set about starting a fire.

  ‘We saw you. Well, saw your position. You held the left flank for an age,’ said Carbo.

  ‘The men did well,’ admitted Navio. ‘It was the damn artillery that did for us. That, and the fact that the cavalry couldn’t cross the ditches. They were too deep, too wide. Crassus was damn clever to think of that. He must have heard about Sulla doing it at Orchomenus fourteen years ago.’ He let out a hacking cough. ‘What happened to you?’

  In a low voice, Carbo explained. When it came to the final moments before he’d fled, his voice cracked. ‘He said that he was proud to fight beside a Roman. I’m sure he meant you too.’

  A spark lit in Navio’s dead eyes. ‘Well, I was proud to serve a slave.’

  ‘And I.’

  They were quiet for a moment. Their leader’s face filled their minds.

  ‘I didn’t run,’ blurted Carbo. He was intensely grateful for Navio’s accepting nod. ‘He asked me to go, to see that Ariadne and the baby were safe.’

  ‘Ariadne’s here?’ cried Navio.

  ‘I am. And Maron. I’ve just put him down for a sleep.’ She ducked out of the shelter and approached them, smiling faintly. ‘I am glad that you survived, Navio.’

  He gave her a respectful half-bow. ‘Jupiter be praised that you and the baby are unharmed. Atheas first, and then Carbo . . . I had not thought to hear even more good news. Since waking after the battle, I’ve wondered why the gods let me live. Now I know.’

  ‘Tell us your story,’ urged Carbo.

  Navio studied each of their faces, and then looked away. ‘We had held our ground for some time, which was no mean feat considering how many troops Crassus threw at us and the fact that the cavalry couldn’t help. Things got worse when the enemy artillery’s volleys suddenly got heavier. Maybe it was as the left flank was giving way, I don’t know. One thing was certain, though: the bastards
didn’t mind hitting their own men. The barrage went on and on. My troops withstood it for a time, but they finally cracked. I couldn’t hold them.’

  ‘In a situation like that, no one can,’ said Carbo.

  ‘That doesn’t make it any easier,’ said Navio with a heavy sigh. ‘I managed to rally together about thirty soldiers, and we kept fighting. It didn’t take long for most of us to be cut down.’ His eyes went dark. ‘I was left with a man either side of me. I felt like Horatius on the bridge, except there was no river to jump into. A rock must have hit me soon after that, and knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I found that my helmet was split in two. There was a body half across me. It was dark. The battle was over. I could hear men screaming, begging to die. Checking that there were no Romans about, I managed to get up. I began searching for anyone who might have been trapped like me. All I found were those heading for Hades. I helped more than a few of them on their way. I wandered like that for a long time, hoping that I’d be discovered and killed. There was no point in living after what my soldiers had done. After we’d lost.’ His eyes flickered to them. ‘I feel differently now. But at the time—’

  ‘I can imagine what you must have been going through,’ said Ariadne with feeling. If it weren’t for Maron . . .

  ‘So can I,’ said Carbo. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘The most crazy thing. I – I found Spartacus’ helmet. It had to be his. No one else in the whole damn army had a Phrygian one like it.’

  Beside Carbo, Ariadne went very still. ‘Did you find his body?’ he whispered.

  ‘No. I searched and searched, but it was as black as the underworld. There wasn’t even a moon. The bodies were heaped everywhere, so many of them. They all looked the same. I kept going until it began to grow light . . .’ Navio’s words ground to a halt.

  ‘What you did was above the call of duty, for which I thank you,’ said Ariadne gently. She glanced at Carbo. ‘Could he be alive?’

  His doubts renewed, Carbo thought hard. ‘I doubt it. He wanted to go down fighting. Without a helmet, the Romans wouldn’t have known who he was. They would have just killed him like any other of our soldiers.’