Spartacus: The Gladiator

  There was a leer. ‘She wasn’t protesting too much.’

  ‘You piece of maggot-blown filth! Raping a woman is what it takes to excite you, is it?’ Carbo’s fury boiled over, and he lunged forward, thrusting his gladius at the Samnite’s belly. Alarmed, the man scrambled off to the side.

  ‘You’re fucking crazy! Going to kill me over a whore like this?’

  ‘She’s no whore,’ snarled Carbo, stabbing at the other again and again, giving him no chance to draw his sword.

  ‘All right, all right, I get the idea. I’m not going to argue with one of Spartacus’ cronies.’ Raising his hands in the air, the glowering Samnite withdrew.

  Carbo spat after him. Only when the man was out of sight did he relax. Chloris was eyeing him when he turned, her dark eyes full of unshed tears. ‘Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.’

  She took a step towards him. ‘You came in good time. Thank you.’

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘Far from it. He would have raped me.’

  ‘The prick won’t come back if he values his balls.’

  She smiled. ‘Why won’t he?’

  Carbo coloured, realising that by driving the Samnite off, he had made a very public statement. Weirdly, he felt more scared by that than he had before the ambush. Chloris came closer, gazing at him with her deep, dark eyes. Damn it, say something! ‘Would you like …?’ he faltered.

  ‘To be your woman? Yes, I would.’ She stepped in, and laid her head against his chest.

  ‘Right.’ Awkwardly, because of the sword in his right hand, he put his arms around her. His fingers traced the flesh of her back, and she folded herself against him. They stayed like that for a few moments. Carbo didn’t know what to do next. He felt as bashful as a virgin. When Chloris lifted her face to his and kissed him, he felt a surge of relief. The electric sensation rocked him back on his heels. He had never imagined kissing could be so pleasurable. Opening his mouth, Carbo felt her tongue dart lightly against his. He responded awkwardly, terribly aware that he had never done this before. Chloris didn’t appear to notice, and he slowly grew more confident. He brought a hand around to her chest, and cupped a breast. It was deliciously pliable beneath his touch. Finding the nipple, he squeezed it gently. Chloris made a throaty little sound of pleasure, so Carbo did it again. His left hand wandered lower, towards her groin, and she pulled away.

  ‘Come with me.’ She took his hand and led him to her tent.

  Inside, with the leather flap closed, words failed Carbo as Chloris reached down and took hold of the hem of her dress with both hands. Lifting the garment up and over her head, she dropped it to the floor. Beneath, she was naked apart from a ragged piece of cloth around her hips.

  His eyes focused instantly on her pert breasts, which were tipped with brown nipples. His gaze dropped appreciatively, but then his mouth opened in horror. A meshwork of scars extended around from Chloris’ back, under her arms, their long, livid tails marring the smooth skin of her chest and belly. ‘Gods above.’

  As if he’d ordered her to, Chloris turned, revealing the full extent of her injuries. Her back was a ruin. Carbo’s eyes were drawn to the worst cicatrice, a long, purple mark that looked like a burn. ‘Who did that to you?’

  ‘The pirate captain who abducted me from Greece,’ she whispered.

  ‘He must have been a complete savage,’ spat Carbo. ‘Why did he do it?’

  ‘It gave him pleasure. He could only get hard by beating me. Then he would …’ she stopped.

  Carbo felt sick. The Samnite was no different. And here I am, wanting sex as well.

  She picked up her dress and covered herself. ‘You think I’m disgusting. Everyone does.’

  ‘No! I don’t,’ protested Carbo. ‘I think you’re beautiful. You look like a statue of Diana or Juno come to life.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Carbo passionately.

  Chloris’ dress fell to the ground again. She reached out to stroke his arm, sending a jolt of energy through his flesh. She laughed deep in her throat at his reaction. ‘You are romantic as well as courageous. I like that.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve liked you since the first time we met in the ludus. I was with Amatokos then, so—’

  ‘It was a shame that he was killed,’ lied Carbo.

  ‘The gods have their own purpose. And now you’ve come into my life.’ She was so close now that Carbo could feel her breath against his lips. No girl had ever willingly been this close to him, and he trembled with nervousness and desire.

  ‘So you find me attractive?’

  His tongue felt thick and useless, like a plank of wood in his dry mouth. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  He dragged his eyes up to hers. ‘Gods, yes!’

  ‘Then kiss me.’

  Carbo obeyed. The fact that Chloris wanted him to protect her from other fighters, that she might well have approached other men and been rebuffed because of her scars, was immaterial. She seemed to like him, and that was what mattered. He wasn’t going to say a word of protest, for that risked breaking the exquisite magic of the moment. This was what he had dreamed about for so long. Her hand dropped to his groin and within a few heartbeats, Carbo had lost all ability to think.

  Lucius Cossinius sighed with pleasure and lay back, his eyes closed, luxuriating in the warm water. After the heat and dust of the march from Rome, this was pure bliss. Seeing the large outdoor pool in the grounds of a fine villa as his men searched for a place to camp had been too much temptation to avoid. Naturally enough, the property’s owner had been delighted to welcome one of the officers sent by the Senate to deliver the locals from Spartacus’ menace. I deserve no less, thought Cossinius righteously. He was sunburned, his back ached, and he had saddle sores on the insides of his thighs. Of course he’d ridden rather than marched as his two thousand legionaries had, but Pompeii was still more than a hundred miles from the capital. It was considerably more exercise than Cossinius was used to. Going on an occasional hunt with his friends was a different prospect to sitting on a horse’s back from sunrise to sunset for five consecutive days. And although this was his first year of office as a praetor, he’d been living in Rome for far longer, travelling everywhere by litter. As is my right.

  Aware of the need to show one’s willingness to lead troops into battle, Cossinius had leaped at the chance to join Publius Varinius, his friend, as an adviser. Their mission was to seek out and destroy the rabble that, months before, had somehow put Caius Claudius Glaber’s troops to flight. Cossinius’ top lip curled. He’d heard Glaber’s account with his own ears, but it was still hard to believe. It was laughable. Three thousand legionaries had been defeated by a tiny number of runaway gladiators and slaves! Another surprise defeat had transpired just a week previously, but Cossinius dismissed the matter out of hand. Lucius Furius, the legate who’d commanded one-third of Varinius’ force, was also a fool. To have been ambushed near Vesuvius, losing hundreds of men, could only mean that he was an incompetent of the highest order. After hearing his report, and absorbing the remnants of Furius’ men into his own force, Varinius had sent the man to Rome in disgrace. Good riddance. The remaining five thousand legionaries are more than enough to sort out a few hundred slaves. There’ll be all the more glory for me and Varinius.

  Cossinius opened his eyes. Excellent. The slave, an attractive black-haired girl in a revealing shift, was still there. He’d made her take off his cloak and dusty armour, which had been very titillating. He lifted his arm. ‘More.’

  Carrying a small amphora, the girl moved forward to the edge of the pool and carefully filled his proffered glass.

  Cossinius slurped the wine down in two swallows. The villa’s owner – what was his name again? – had said it was his best vintage, and by all the gods, he wasn’t lying. It tasted like ambrosia, the wine of the gods. Cossinius shoved his glass at her again. ‘More.’ Turning in the water, he was afforded an excellent view o
f the slave’s breasts through the top of her shift as she stooped over him. It was most rewarding. On impulse, he caught her by the wrist. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join me?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Her voice was a monotone, but Cossinius didn’t care. It had been a long day. He was feeling horny. She was a slave. Her master wouldn’t care if he fucked her. Even if he did, the fat fool wouldn’t dare say a thing. Once they realised, the soldiers who were on guard twenty paces away would know better than to look in his direction. He, Lucius Cossinius, was a praetor, second in rank only to the consuls, and one of just eight men chosen to fill that position. He could do as he damn well pleased. Putting down his glass, Cossinius pushed back from the edge of the pool to get a better view. ‘Take off your clothes. Slowly.’

  Placing the amphora on the tiles, the girl stood up. Her face wore a resigned look. Oblivious to this, Cossinius squinted appreciatively at her. He wasn’t one for the typical pale-skinned Roman matron. Thanks to the late afternoon sunlight, the slave’s skin was a delightful olive tone. He could see her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress too. His groin tightened. The hell he’d endured on his horse for the last five days was beginning to seem worth it, even before they’d crushed Spartacus and his band of outcasts.

  She pulled up the hem of her shift slowly, as he’d ordered her, stopping just below her groin. Cossinius held his breath as she lifted it further, revealing a linen undergarment. Wonderful. He didn’t like it when they were naked underneath. Having to wait a little longer increased his desire no end.

  Her belly came into view next. It was flat, and its smooth skin was only a little paler than her arms or legs. The bones of her hips sat high on either side, enticing him to grip them from behind. Cossinius licked his lips as the bottom of her breasts peeked from under the edge of the fabric. ‘Wait. Stand like that.’

  Mutely, the slave obeyed.

  Cossinius drank in her beauty for a few more moments. ‘Take it off.’

  She pulled the shift up and over her head. Dropping it to the ground, she stared off into the distance.

  ‘Look at me.’ Unwillingly, her eyes crept back to his. They were bright blue, he noticed with surprise. They made her even more desirable. ‘Now the undergarment.’

  Her fine-boned fingers reached down and began sliding the fabric downwards.

  Cossinius could feel his excitement growing.

  Her gaze moved upwards again, taking in the ground behind him. Her hands stopped.

  He frowned. ‘Well, get on with it!’

  A trace of fear crossed her face.

  Cossinius began to grow impatient. ‘For Jupiter’s sake, I’m not going to beat you. Take it off and get into the water.’

  Instead of obeying, the slave opened her mouth and screamed.

  At last, Cossinius took in her degree of terror, and he realised that she wasn’t screaming at him. His head spun around, to the magnificent lawns that rolled away on either side of the pool. What he saw was surreal. Perhaps twenty men – armed men – were running across the grass towards him. More were emerging from the trees at the edge of the villa’s garden. The leaders were no more than thirty paces away. Many of the intruders wore crested bronze helmets and carried scuta, but they were clearly not legionaries. No Roman soldiers had moustaches or wore their hair long. No Roman soldier ran into battle bare-chested or yelled such unearthly battle cries. Cossinius’ blood turned to ice in his veins. Spartacus’ men.

  Still shrieking, the slave turned and ran away, back towards the villa.

  His erection vanished, Cossinius scrambled frantically out of the pool. It was all he could do to grab his scarlet cloak from the bench where he’d left his clothes and sprint for safety. Everything else, from his polished muscled cuirass to his ivory-handled gladius, his magnificent crested helmet, his finely woven tunic and his padded subarmalis, was left behind. There was certainly no time to pull on and lace up his open-toed boots.

  Cossinius could see his own shock mirrored on the faces of the ten soldiers he’d brought here to guard him as he bathed. Their commander, a weak-chinned optio, gaped at the sight of his superior sprinting in his direction, prick and balls bouncing up and down. Cossinius didn’t care. ‘Form the men up!’ he yelped. ‘Prepare to fight a rearguard action while I raise the alarm!’

  The order was a death sentence, and the optio knew it. He blinked, and then regained control of himself. ‘Yes, sir!’ He glared at the ten legionaries, some of whom had begun shuffling backwards. ‘You heard the praetor! Form a line! At the double!’

  Cossinius slowed his flight long enough to see that the legionaries were doing as they were told. Breathing a tiny sigh of relief, he ran for the stables, where his horse had been stabled. Gods willing, the savages hadn’t had the wits to attack from more than one side of the villa. All he needed was a moment’s grace and he’d be up and away. The camp was literally five hundred paces away. Cossinius prayed with all his might that Spartacus hadn’t attacked it at the same time.

  The short ride to his camp was the longest of Cossinius’ life. Frantic glances over his shoulder soon told him that he was being pursued. Dozens of armed men had spilled on to the road, and more were still emerging from the villa’s grounds. Acutely aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but his cloak, Cossinius urged his already tired horse on with desperate thumps of his heels. Before long, he saw off to one side, the shapes of hundreds of legionaries standing in a loose semicircle around a large rectangular mound of earth – the rampart for the temporary camp. He had never been more glad of army routine. Fully half of his command – one thousand soldiers – were standing guard as the remainder built an enclosure for the night. There would be more than enough to defeat the slaves. ‘Sound the alarm!’ he squawked. ‘Sound the alarm!’

  No one heard him. Cossinius spat a savage curse and saved his breath. He was too far away, and the lazy bastards were probably gossiping rather than looking out for signs of danger. The fact that they were in safe territory, just a few miles from Pompeii, was irrelevant, he thought furiously. After the slaves had been annihilated, he would have the duty officer flogged within a whisker of his life. Perhaps he’d even have him tortured.

  ‘Enemy in sight! Sound the alarm!’ he bellowed again.

  Finally, heads began to turn. Cossinius saw the legionaries’ faces crease in recognition, shock and then hilarity. Laughter broke out in the ranks. Even the officers were struggling not to smile. Cossinius flushed crimson. He could only imagine what he looked like, a bollock-naked praetor astride a horse, with his red cloak billowing behind him. There was nothing for it, however, but to keep riding, straight up to his men. ‘Are you fucking deaf?’ he yelled as he drew nearer. ‘Sound the alarm!’

  The nearest centurion’s mirth suddenly vanished. ‘The alarm, sir?’

  ‘Yes, you fool! The villa has been overrun. My guards are dead, and the road behind me is full of Spartacus’ men. Stand the troops to arms!’

  The centurion was a veteran, even if his soldiers weren’t. ‘You heard the praetor!’ he roared at the trumpeter. ‘Sound the fucking alarm! NOW! The rest of you, form up. Twenty men wide, four ranks deep. Double quick!’ He turned back to Cossinius. ‘Get yourself inside the rampart, sir. Your baggage is already in there. We’ll contain the bastards until you return.’

  Giving the centurion a tight nod, Cossinius rode on. As the trumpet blared a series of short, staccato sounds, he was pleased to see all the legionaries in sight being hurried into formation by their officers. No one was laughing at his nakedness now. It won’t take me long to get dressed. Then we can sort the scumbags out. He permitted himself a small smile. I’ll have that slave brought to my quarters tonight. Might as well fuck her in comfort.

  A short time later, all thoughts of sex had left Cossinius’ mind. Hastily donning one of his spare uniforms and a pair of sandals, he’d slung a baldric suspending his second-best sword over his right shoulder and shoved a helmet on his head. When he was fully
dressed, the terror he’d felt in the pool vanished to be replaced by red-blooded fury. How dare they? he raged silently. Filthy slaves. I’ll make them pay. Accompanied by a couple of confused-looking staff officers who’d been milling around by his tent, Cossinius headed straight for the front entrance. Thanks to the rampart, which was already higher than a man, he couldn’t see the ground before the camp. However, the sounds of battle, unfamiliar to his ears, formed a deafening crescendo as they trotted along. Sword clattered off sword; trumpets shrilled over and over; incomprehensible shouts echoed to and fro. Intermingled with this cacophony was the unmistakable sound of men screaming.

  Cossinius didn’t like it. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir,’ muttered the younger of the two staff officers, an arrogant youth who had been appointed to his position thanks only to his father’s wealth. Although Cossinius’ background was similar, he loathed him.

  ‘Why in Hades’ name don’t you know? It’s your bloody job to inform me of what’s going on!’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the second officer. ‘Last we saw, our lads were holding their own.’

  ‘Holding their own?’ Cossinius spluttered indignantly.

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure that when you appear, we’ll soon drive them off.’

  ‘Damn right!’ Cossinius drew his sword and made for the entrance, which was a narrow passageway ten paces long, formed in the specially constructed gap between two overlapping parts of the earthen rampart. He stumbled back in surprise as a wild-eyed legionary came storming inside. Cossinius glared at the soldier, who had no shield or sword. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he snapped.

  The legionary’s eyes came back into focus, registering Cossinius’ ornate armour and the two staff officers by his side. ‘I … we … they’re all over us, sir. There are hundreds of them … hundreds.’

  ‘So, what, you ran away?’ accused Cossinius.

  The legionary’s eyes flickered from side to side, like a cornered rat. ‘I—’

  Grimacing, Cossinius rammed his sword into the soldier’s groin, below the edge of his mail shirt. Letting the screaming man fall off his blade, he stared down the staff officers, whose faces were the picture of horror. ‘That’s more than the piece of filth deserves! Now follow me.’