‘A man who had just raped her,’ said Spartacus acidly.
‘I want her dead regardless.’
‘Carbo wishes her to live.’
‘Who cares about him? He’s a filthy Roman! This is about what I want,’ bellowed Crixus.
‘Carbo is one of my men. He’s loyal too, which is far more than I can say for you.’
‘So that’s how it is.’ Crixus’ slit eyes were like two piss holes in the snow.
‘That’s right,’ said Spartacus coldly. It had to come out sooner or later.
Crixus hawked and spat at Spartacus’ feet. ‘We’re not wanted here, Lugurix,’ he growled. ‘Let’s go.’
Silence reigned as Crixus and Lugurix withdrew to the doors of the tablinum.
‘This isn’t over by a long shot, Spartacus! I won’t forget whom you favour over me,’ the huge Gaul shouted. ‘That whore should watch her back from now on. Your catamite better be on his guard too.’
It was only when Crixus was gone that Carbo realised he’d been holding his breath. Dropping his sword, he ran to where Chloris lay. He rolled her over gently. ‘Chloris? You’re safe now. Can you hear me? It’s me, Carbo.’
She moaned, and her eyelids fluttered. ‘You came back. Thank you.’
‘Of course I did.’
‘I’m very tired. I think I’ll sleep now.’ Her eyes closed.
‘I’ll find you a bed,’ said Carbo with new determination. His gaze scanned the rooms that surrounded the courtyard. Then he remembered Spartacus. Red-faced with embarrassment, he spun around. ‘I cannot thank you enough. You saved her life.’
‘I’m glad we came in time. Do you understand why I wouldn’t let you kill Crixus?’
‘Because he leads too many men. You need him still.’
‘That’s right. For the moment, I need him, the same way I need Castus and Gannicus and their men.’ A wry smile crooked his lips. ‘Those two are a trifle easier to keep in line, however.’
‘They are.’ Curse Crixus to Hades and beyond, thought Carbo.
‘Fortunately, the big bastard needs me too. It suits him to stay.’ Spartacus glanced around the courtyard. ‘You can manage now? I’ll leave Atheas to help.’ And to protect you, was the unspoken meaning. ‘Ariadne will come as soon as I can find her.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ It was a dangerous game that Spartacus had played, Carbo realised, watching him leave. Gratitude filled him that the Thracian should go so far for him. While Atheas made the house secure, Carbo went in search of the girl. She could show him where the best bedroom and the baths were. He hoped too that Ariadne would arrive quickly. Chloris needed all the care that he could get for her.
Spartacus’ mood as he walked away from the house was a good deal darker than Carbo’s. For all his menaces, Crixus had not threatened to leave. Yet.
But the cocksucker will. I’d wager my life on it.
What he somehow had to do, thought Spartacus grimly, was bind Castus and Gannicus to him. So that when the split came, they would stay with him.
Carbo was careful to cover up the dead bodies of the girl’s father and brother before she saw them. He was relieved that giving her things to do seemed to take her mind off what had happened. She hurried to and fro, fetching water from the well, tearing strips of cloth into bandages and helping the second woman to a bedroom. The same could not be said of Chloris. She smiled vacantly at Carbo as he carried her into another room but the moment he laid her down on the bed, she began to sob again. ‘It hurts. It hurts so much.’
Carbo glanced down and had to bite back a curse. There were fresh scarlet stains below the waist of her dress. She was still bleeding. Feeling totally helpless, he sat on the edge of the bed, stroking back the strands of hair that had fallen over her face. ‘Hold on. Ariadne will be here soon. She’ll give you something for the pain.’ She’ll know what to do.
Her lips twitched, but instead of a smile, she grimaced.
Aesculapius, please help her, Carbo begged silently. He didn’t normally pray to the god of health, but this was no ordinary occasion.
He tried to get Chloris to drink some wine, but she wouldn’t. Even persuading her to swallow a mouthful of water was an effort. Much of the time, she seemed unaware of his presence. He was grateful, therefore, that when he stopped caressing her head, her eyelids opened. ‘That’s nice. Please continue.’
‘Of course.’ His throat closed with emotion as he obeyed her request. ‘What were you doing here, Chloris?’
Shame crept across her face.
He waited.
‘I was looking for money. We both were.’
‘Why? I’d give you money if you wanted it.’
Silence.
The realisation hit Carbo a moment later, making him feel numb. ‘It was so you could run away, wasn’t it? Chloris?’
Without opening her eyes, she nodded.
‘You could have said,’ he muttered. ‘I’d have just given it to you.’
‘Really? I wanted to return to Greece.’
‘I wouldn’t have stopped you.’
‘I’m sorry. I misjudged you.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Tell me some stories, please. It will help me to forget the pain.’
Swallowing his grief, and his shock at her revelation, Carbo began. Wanting to lift Chloris’ spirits, he related every humorous episode he could think of. How he’d once fallen into a dungheap on the family farm. The time he had raided a beehive for honey and been pursued by the angry bees for a quarter of a mile, to the river. To save himself from being repeatedly, he’d had to drop his stolen prize and jump into the water. He even told her about when he’d been caught by Paccius spying on the female slaves as they dressed in the morning.
She smiled at that. ‘Boys will be boys. It’s not much to be ashamed of, especially after you’ve saved my life.’
‘I didn’t save you,’ he said bitterly. ‘Spartacus did.’
‘What were you going to do – take on three warriors? They’d have chopped you into little pieces. Where would I be if that had happened?’
Carbo didn’t answer. His heart swelled with a mixture of emotions as he stared down at her. Impulsively, he bent forward and planted a soft kiss on her waxen forehead. There was another little smile. He resumed stroking her hair, and studying her face. The face that he’d learned to treasure. He cared for her still, even if she’d wanted to leave him.
Carbo was in the same position when Ariadne arrived. Startled out of his reverie, Carbo stood up. ‘You came.’
‘Of course. As soon as Spartacus found me.’ Ariadne’s gaze moved down, taking in the huge red stain on Chloris’ dress. There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘Gods above. She was raped, I presume?’
‘Yes. By Crixus and two of his men,’ he hissed.
‘The filthy dogs. How long since?’
‘I-I don’t know.’
‘Did she lose much blood at the time?’ Ariadne placed the fingers of one hand on Chloris’ left wrist. Her lips moved silently as she counted the thready pulse.
Catching Ariadne’s tone of urgency, Carbo threw his mind back to the courtyard. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Frowning, Ariadne began peeling the sodden fabric of Chloris’ dress upwards.
Carbo averted his gaze. His eyes shot back, however, when Ariadne gave a tiny gasp. ‘What is it?’
‘This.’ Ariadne pointed.
Carbo forced himself to look. Between Chloris’ thighs, there was a black-red gelatinous clot. It was as big as his two fists placed together. The bedding underneath her was also saturated in blood. Dread filled him. ‘What does it mean?’
Ariadne’s face was full of sorrow. ‘She’s lost too much blood,’ she murmured. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’
‘She’s going to die?’
‘She is very near death already,’ said Ariadne quietly, pulling down Chloris’ clothing.
Carbo regarded Chloris’ features, which were even paler than before. ‘No,’ he whispered, placing a finger under her nostril
. It was several moments before he felt the faintest movement of air. A sick feeling filled his belly and he knew that Ariadne was right. Who could lose that much blood and survive? Waves of bitterness bathed his heart. ‘How can the gods be so cruel?’
‘It is very hard, I know.’
Carbo’s shoulders hunched. ‘How long does she have?’
Ariadne placed her lips against his ear. ‘She’ll probably have slipped away by sunset. I’m sorry.’
Carbo thanked Ariadne, who nodded and withdrew. The instant that he was alone again with Chloris, he was seized by a savage, black despair. During the previous few months, she had become increasingly important to him. In the blink of an eye, all his happiness had been turned to ash. An image of Crixus and his grinning cronies filled Carbo’s mind. He shoved it away. Fuck them. What time I have left with Chloris is too precious.
He began stroking her hair again. Not knowing what else to do, he spoke of their time together, and of the magic that he’d felt being with her. How he would treasure the memories forever. Then he began to speak of Athens, mentioning every little detail that she’d ever told him. The rich, tree-lined quarter, within view of the magnificent Parthenon, where she’d grown up. The noise each dawn of the priests at their prayers. Chloris playing with Alexander, her younger brother. The regular trips she’d made into the city, to help the kitchen slaves buy provisions, and with her mother to visit their relations. Watching the oiled athletes in the nearby gymnasium wrestling, sprinting and throwing the discus.
Carbo talked and talked, filling the air with tender words. Finally, when his throat was so dry that he could no longer continue, he fell silent. He studied Chloris’ face. It had relaxed, and he realised that he hadn’t seen her breathe for a long time. She’s dead, he thought calmly. In a way, he was relieved. At least her end had been peaceful. Carbo gave her a last kiss on the lips, and then, lifting a clean sheet from the floor, he covered her body.
A cold fury consumed him. All he wanted to do now was murder Crixus and Lugurix. It was a Herculean task to set himself. Even if he managed to slay Lugurix, the big Gaulish leader was an entirely different proposition. Carbo knew that, in reality, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He didn’t care. Death was preferable to the pain he was currently in. Of course it wasn’t that simple. Few people would care if Lugurix died but the entire rebellion would be jeopardised if, by some crazy intervention of the gods, he did succeed in killing Crixus. Could he do that to Spartacus?
Carbo wasn’t sure.
Spartacus would have preferred to have slept in their camp, but the still-fluid situation in Forum Annii had persuaded him to spend the night in the town. By being present, he could prevent the worst atrocities from happening. At least, that was the theory. In reality, he couldn’t be everywhere at once, but his presence in the central forum, where thousands of the slaves had gathered to celebrate, would be a moderating one. And that, he thought, surveying the general mayhem, could only be a good thing.
Huge fires burned all around him, fuelled by an endless supply of furniture from the surrounding houses. Dozens of sheep and cattle had been dragged from their pens and slaughtered on the spot, hacked into pieces of meat that could be skewered on lengths of wood and roasted over the flames. A number of musicians – men who had been freed during the attack? – played drums and lyres, reminding Spartacus of Thrace. The pounding rhythm had crowds of enthusiastic gladiators and slaves on their feet, dancing, swaying, stumbling from side to side. Guzzling down wine, they bellowed out songs at the tops of their voices. The differing tunes clashed to provide a jarring cacophony of sound, but they couldn’t conceal the animal noises of lust and pain coming through the darkness from every direction. Spartacus took a small swallow of wine. Much as he would have liked to blank out the dreadful sounds by drinking himself senseless, he would not do so. I need to stay alert. Rape is part of war, and war is what I am engaged in. I could not stop it all, even if I tried.
‘There you are,’ cried a voice.
‘Gannicus.’ Spartacus smiled as the moon-faced Gaul wove towards him. In one hand, he gripped a small amphora; in the other, a half-eaten hunk of meat. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked.
‘Yes, by Belenus! This is far better than freezing my arse off in a tent in the middle of nowhere.’ Gannicus belched. ‘You?’
‘It’s good to sit by a fire and drink some wine,’ replied Spartacus evasively.
Gannicus didn’t notice. He slumped down beside Spartacus with a great sigh. ‘The men needed this. Too much marching in the mountains with no damn food and they’d have started deserting, eh?’
‘True enough,’ admitted Spartacus ruefully.
Gannicus gave him a hard nudge. ‘But now even more will come flocking to join us!’
‘Which means we have to keep moving. More men means that more provisions will be needed.’
‘Where to? South again?’
‘Yes. The coastline along the Ionian Sea is said to be incredibly fertile. It has plentiful small towns for us to attack. The area was good enough for Hannibal for a decade or more, so it should be fine for us.’
‘Sounds excellent.’ Tearing off a piece of meat, Gannicus sat chewing contentedly.
‘I thought I’d find you two together,’ boomed Castus’ voice from the shadows. He emerged into the light, adjusting his belt.
Dirty bastard. I know what you’ve been doing. ‘Welcome!’ said Spartacus.
Wordlessly, Gannicus held out his amphora. Castus held it up to his mouth, letting the ruby liquid within pour down his throat. Much of it spilled over his face and neck, but he didn’t stop until he’d downed a good amount. ‘Gods, that’s tasty,’he declared, wiping droplets from his moustache. ‘I have a thirst on me tonight like I’ve never known.’
‘Find your own then,’ growled Gannicus, reaching out a meaty hand. ‘You’re not finishing mine.’
With a filthy look, Castus passed it back.
‘Here.’ Spartacus handed over his vessel.
Castus took it with a grin.
‘Where do you think Varinius is?’ asked Gannicus out of the blue.
Castus’ face soured. ‘Who cares? He’s nowhere near here.’
‘He’ll be looking for us. Be sure of that,’ said Spartacus.
The Gauls sucked on the bitter marrow of that, pleasing Spartacus. They need to know that the Romans won’t ever forget about us.
‘Another secret meeting without me? This is becoming a habit,’ sneered Crixus, swaggering in from a side street.
Castus and Gannicus bellowed with laughter. ‘Come and have a drink.’
Grumbling, and throwing sour looks at Spartacus, Crixus approached. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you preferred to meet without me.’
Spartacus wanted to smash his amphora over the big Gaul’s head, but he held his peace.
‘Shut up!’ cried Castus. ‘You’re the one who avoids our company.’
‘Aye,’ growled Crixus. ‘Well, you know the reason for that.’
‘Peace,’ said Gannicus, but Crixus was having none of it.
‘Not only does he tell us what to do all the time, but he interferes in business that isn’t his. Isn’t that right, Thracian?’
Spartacus felt a throbbing anger in his chest. He noted that Crixus’ tone was more belligerent than ever. The prick hasn’t forgotten what happened earlier. This is no time to be sitting. He stood carefully, pretending to smooth his tunic down. ‘We all agree on our tactics, and where we march. Don’t we?’ Gannicus nodded, Castus grimaced, and Crixus spat with contempt. As I expected. ‘You talk of business that isn’t mine. Care to explain?’
‘You know exactly what I mean!’
‘But the others don’t.’
Crixus grunted angrily. ‘Me and a pair of my lads were searching a house earlier, and we chanced upon two fine bits of stuff. Both slave girls. We were just starting to have fun with them when that little sewer rat arrived – what’s his name?’
‘You know w
hat he’s called,’ said Spartacus icily.
‘Carbo. Carbo burst in, telling some bullshit story about how one of the whores was his woman. I told him to piss off, so he scuttled off and came back with his master. Spartacus. With his two hunting dogs, the Scythians, in tow. They caught us hard at it, with our trousers down, and forced us to back off the women.’ Crixus glared as Castus chuckled. ‘Next thing, Carbo’s bitch somehow picked up Segomaros’ knife. She stabbed him to death with it! I wanted vengeance, but Spartacus was having none of it. This, when I’m one of the fucking leaders of the whole damn army!’
Castus’ and Gannicus’ expressions soured. ‘Is this true?’ demanded Castus.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Spartacus calmly. ‘Except Carbo wasn’t telling lies. One of the girls was his woman. Chloris, her name was. She used to be Amatokos’ lover, before he was killed. Since then, she’d been with Carbo. Which meant, after Carbo asked for help, that it was very much my business.’ He eyed them all. Crixus was the only one to look defiant. Prick.
Gannicus frowned. ‘Her name was Chloris?’
‘Yes. She’s dead. The poor creature bled to death after what they’d done to her.’
Crixus laughed, and Spartacus felt his anger go white-hot.
Gannicus blinked. ‘Well, that’s an end to it, surely? The bitch who killed your man is dead. Stop thinking about it. Have another drink,’ he said bluffly, offering Crixus his amphora.
The big Gaul dashed it out of his hand. ‘So what if the whore did belong to Carbo? I had every right to fuck her if I wanted to! Carbo is nothing. A speck of shit on the sole of my sandal!’
‘Carbo is my man, and he’s loyal.’
‘Which is more than you can say for me,’ hissed Crixus.
‘That’s right,’ said Spartacus.
‘Screw you!’ roared Crixus, tugging his sword from its scabbard.
Discarding his wine, Spartacus drew his sica. And so it comes to this, he thought. Fine. The whoreson has it coming to him. He’s going to split from the army anyway.
The two others scrambled out of the way. ‘There’s no need for this,’ cried Gannicus.
‘Piss off!’ shouted Crixus, thrusting his blade at Spartacus.