Spartacus parried the blow. The Gaul spun around, carried by the force of his swing and Spartacus brought his sword back down. His intent was to slice open the back of Crixus’ sword arm, but the sica met only thin air.
‘Think you can hit me with something that simple?’ Crixus danced away, out of range. Instantly, he was on the offensive again, his gladius probing back and forth like the tongue of a metal snake. They traded several massive blows, and Spartacus grew wary. The Gaul’s iron blade was thicker than his weapon, and if he wasn’t careful, the sica could shatter. If that happened, he’d be dead meat. He slid his feet backwards, forcing Crixus to pursue him.
‘Scared?’
‘Of you?’ retorted Spartacus contemptuously.
His needling worked. Crixus snarled with fury and darted forward, swinging his gladius overhead like a Gaulish longsword. If he’d had a shield to take the impact of Crixus’ attack, Spartacus would have risked it and tried to run him through the armpit, but without protection, he risked losing his head. He shuffled back a few more steps and Crixus followed, grinning with delight. ‘Ready to die?’
Spartacus’ answer was to pick up his amphora and hurl it underhand at Crixus. As the Gaul ducked, he was charging forward, hacking sideways with his sica. He grinned with satisfaction as the blade sliced open Crixus’ upper left arm.
‘Bastard!’ Dodging out of range, Crixus eyed the flesh wound with contempt. ‘Think that’s going to stop me?’
‘It’s just a start,’ Spartacus replied coldly.
‘Yes? Well, how about this?’ Moving surprisingly fast for a man of his size, Crixus thundered forward. Spartacus thrust his sica at him, and the Gaul smashed it out of the way. Rather than withdrawing, Crixus ploughed on, crashing into Spartacus and delivering an almighty headbutt. Only Spartacus’ lightning-fast reaction – turning his head – saved his nose from being split in two like a ripe plum. As it was, Crixus’ forehead smacked into his cheekbone, sending him reeling backwards. Then Crixus punched him in the side of the head, making his ears ring. The Gaul leered in triumph and raised his gladius. Great Rider, help me, thought Spartacus. The next blow won’t be from a fist, but a blade.
Blind inspiration struck him. He dragged the strings of spittle in his mouth together and spat the lot into Crixus’ face with all his might. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted.
Shock and utter outrage twisted the Gaul’s features, and Spartacus thrust his sica at him, forcing him to parry rather than attack. Regaining the initiative, Spartacus launched a savage offensive. It was time to kill the bastard. My blade won’t break. The Rider won’t let it.
‘One. Two. Three!’ roared Gannicus. Together, he and Castus hurled the contents of two amphorae over Spartacus and Crixus.
Spluttering with indignation, the pair separated. ‘What in the name of Hades is that for?’ roared Crixus.
Both Gauls advanced, their swords at the ready. ‘This has gone on long enough,’ said Gannicus. ‘You’re going to kill each other.’
‘I’m going to fucking kill him, you mean!’ snarled Crixus.
Spartacus barked a scornful laugh. ‘In your dreams.’
‘Stop this bullshit!’ shouted Castus. ‘If you start again, we’ll stab both of you in the back.’
Cold reason overtook Spartacus, for which he was grateful. The Rider is at work here. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because you’re both too damn valuable to lose,’ said Gannicus. ‘The army needs you. Not one slain, and the other so badly injured he can’t fight. And that’s what would probably happen if we left you to it.’
Crixus’ eyes narrowed.
Gannicus is right, thought Spartacus. And only the gods know which of us would be the one lying dead on the ground by the end of it.
‘Have a drink, and forget about it!’ Castus produced another amphora and tossed it at Crixus. The big Gaul caught it one-handed. He looked at it for a moment, and Spartacus prepared to duck. Instead of throwing it, however, Crixus laughed. He eyed Spartacus balefully. ‘We can do this another time, eh?’ Throwing back several mouthfuls, he proffered the amphora.
Castus and Gannicus gave each other a relieved look.
Gauls! They’re fucking crazy. Without dropping his guard, Spartacus took the vessel and drank. ‘To finding Varinius, and wiping him off the face of the earth!’ he cried.
Remarkably, even Crixus joined in the roar of approval that followed.
Yet everyone who had witnessed the confrontation knew that the matter had not been settled.
Merely postponed.
Chapter XVIII
IN THE DAYS that followed, Carbo did his best to avoid all human company. He fulfilled his duties as second-in-command of his cohort, marshalling the men together and ensuring that they were all ready to leave the smoking ruins of Forum Annii behind. He followed Egbeo’s orders, keeping the slaves in line as they marched and supervising them as they set up camp each evening. He even persisted with the training of the new recruits, hundreds of whom were joining them every day. But Carbo did it all automatically, because he had to. Inside, his anger and grief knew no bounds. Navio was the one person he confided in, and that was just once, the day Chloris had died.
Navio had gripped his shoulder in sympathy. ‘I know how hard it is,’ he’d said.
Aware that his friend had had terrible things happen to those he cared about, Carbo had nodded and turned his rage further inwards. Locking it deep inside was all that allowed him to continue functioning. Only the sight of Crixus or Lugurix caused his volcanic emotions to overflow. It was fortunate that Navio had been present on each occasion he’d spotted the Gauls. He’d physically held Carbo back. ‘You’ll end up dead.’
‘So what?’ Carbo had hissed. As long as he gained vengeance, he didn’t care. Thoughts of death occupied his every waking moment. Each night, his dreams were the same. Yet some small part of him had retained its sanity, because he’d let Navio restrain him, although he ground his teeth in frustration and rage. He was grateful that the army’s large size now meant that seeing the Gauls was quite a rare occurrence. All the same, the knowledge that they were alive and unpunished ate away at his soul.
One evening some three weeks after the sacking of Forum Annii, he was startled to see Spartacus approaching his tent. Carbo’s memories of the stand-off with Crixus flooded back, and he ducked his head down, hoping that the Thracian was looking for someone else.
‘Carbo.’
Unwillingly, he looked up. ‘Spartacus.’
‘Can I sit?’
‘Of course,’ he replied guiltily. He gestured at the rock where Navio, who was checking on his men, sat. ‘I’d offer you some wine, but I don’t have any. A piece of bread?’
‘I’ve eaten, thank you.’ Spartacus’ grey eyes regarded Carbo keenly. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘No. I’ve been busy.’ Carbo cursed his poorly chosen words even as they left his lips.
Spartacus smiled. ‘I know how it is.’
Blushing to the roots of his hair, Carbo looked down.
‘I have some news for you.’
Carbo’s gaze rose slowly. ‘Oh?’
‘Lugurix has had a nasty accident.’
His heart filled with a dark joy. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. This morning, he slipped off a narrow section of the path. He fell about two hundred paces and landed on a ledge just above the river at the gorge’s foot. He didn’t die from the initial fall. From the look of it, he’d broken his back, because he was screaming like a man gut-shot by an arrow. Rescuing him was out of the question, so we had to leave him there. If he’s not dead yet, he will be by morning. A terrible way to die,’ said Spartacus casually.
Carbo’s head was pounding with rage and happiness. ‘He fell?’
Spartacus winked. ‘Well, he had a little help from Atheas. No one else saw, naturally. Crixus won’t suspect a thing.’
Carbo stared at Spartacus, uncomprehending.
‘I understand what Chloris meant to you.
I also wanted you to know that I hadn’t forgotten about Lugurix, or what he did. He was always going to be punished. The time had to be right, that’s all.’
A pulse hammered in Carbo’s throat. ‘And Crixus?’
‘I told you before: he’s too important to the rebellion. For now anyway. Can you live with that?’
Carbo swallowed. He was overjoyed that Lugurix had suffered a lingering death, but the sweetness of that knowledge was soured by what Spartacus was asking of him. ‘You want me not to kill him?’
‘That’s right,’ replied Spartacus gravely. He was very aware that while Carbo had little chance of achieving his aim, the desperate, or those who have little desire to live, sometimes succeeded where others failed.
Carbo, unaware of his leader’s perceptiveness, was grateful to be shown such respect. He sat for some moments, thinking. He was conscious that Spartacus couldn’t be kept waiting, but he wasn’t going to agree unless it felt correct. ‘You said “for now” when you mentioned me getting my revenge on Crixus. What do you mean by that?’
The pup has real balls, thought Spartacus wryly. He wouldn’t tolerate this from anyone else, but Carbo had brought him Navio, whose efforts had worked wonders on his men. Because of that, this once he was prepared to be less hard on the lad. ‘If the day ever comes when Crixus decides to break away on his own, you can do what you want.’ When it comes, Spartacus added silently.
‘Very well,’ said Carbo, looking satisfied. ‘I swear that I will stay my hand until then.’
‘Good.’ Spartacus stood.
‘Thank you for killing Lugurix,’ Carbo blurted, also rising.
‘It’s Atheas you want to be grateful to.’
‘You know what I mean,’ protested Carbo. ‘It means the world to me.’
‘I know it does.’ Spartacus clapped him on the arm. ‘The hurt lessens with time. You’ll see.’
Awe filled Carbo as the Thracian walked away. He knows just what to say. Somehow the idea of leaving Crixus unharmed now mattered less than it had. Carbo felt much better for it. Sitting down by the fire, he began to whistle a happy tune that he and Paccius had both been fond of.
Spartacus sat on an open area of the wooded hillside, looking out over the glittering turquoise of the Ionian Sea. Ariadne was beside him. On the flat plain some distance below them, and adjoining the shore, was their camp. It was enormous, sprawling over more ground than that occupied by eight legions, or even ten. There was order to it too, thought Spartacus proudly. The tents were in reasonably straight lines. A stout earthen rampart and deep ditch ran around the perimeter; sentries walked to and fro, patrolling the fortifications. Outside the walls, thousands of men were being trained by their officers: marching up and down in formation, making shield walls and sparring with each other. Slingers stood in lines, firing stones at straw targets a hundred paces away. Squadrons of riders on shaggy mountain horses wheeled and turned together, their spears shining in the bright sun.
‘It’s an army now,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘A damn big one.’ And nearly as good as any I might have raised in Thrace.
‘It is,’ replied Ariadne. ‘And all thanks to you.’
He pulled her to him. ‘You’ve had a hand in it as well. Men flock to hear Dionysus’ priestess speak. They long to hear the god’s words.’
She smiled her thanks. ‘Maybe. But the forty thousand men who’ve joined us in the months since Forum Annii didn’t come to listen to me. They came to follow you. Spartacus the gladiator. The man who dares to defy Rome. The man who gives slaves hope.’
‘Hope can be a dangerous thing,’ said Spartacus with a frown.
It had been clear that there was something on his mind since dawn. He’s ready to talk. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘On the surface, things couldn’t be better. Our numbers have quadrupled. We’ve given Varinius the slip, and found somewhere remote to live for the winter. It’s fertile here, in the “arch of Italy’s boot”, and the farms and towns to raid are plentiful. Metapontum alone provided us with two months’ worth of grain. Heraclea was just as rich. Thurii is ours for the taking if we want it. Hundreds of wild horses have been captured and broken, to use as cavalry mounts. Pulcher has more than a score of smiths making weapons from dawn until dusk. Slaves are still coming in their hundreds to join us.’ He gave her a brittle smile. ‘Even Crixus has been quiet of late.’
‘Ever since the fight at Forum Annii, he’s done his own thing, hasn’t he?’
‘The shitbag is probably recruiting supporters so that when the time comes, as many men as possible will follow him, but at least he’s not constantly looking for a fight. Despite that bonus, we’re still living in a dream world.’
Ariadne was no longer enjoying the warm sunshine. ‘Rome hasn’t forgotten us, you mean.’
‘That’s right,’ he said grimly. ‘This might seem like paradise, but it won’t last much longer than the snow on the mountains to the north. Sure as the melt comes in spring, the legions will come in search of us.’ His lips gave an ironic twist. ‘Hannibal survived in this area for more than a decade. He was perhaps the finest general in history, and he outwitted Rome at every turn. But the stubborn bastards didn’t ever admit that they’d been defeated by him – even after Cannae. They simply recruited more men and fought on. It took nearly a generation, yet Hannibal was defeated in the end.’ Spartacus sighed. ‘And he had professional soldiers. I have slaves.’
‘They are no longer slaves,’ said Ariadne sharply. ‘They are free men. All of them.’
‘True enough,’ he admitted. ‘But they are not legionaries.’
‘They have been trained mercilessly for months – as recruits to the legions are,’ she countered.
‘Maybe so. Yet most of them didn’t come into the world with the warlike attitude that is every Roman’s birthright. They’re not combat veterans either. When Rome sends its finest men against us, as it inevitably must, will my soldiers stand and fight? Or will they run?’ Weirdly, he felt relief at having voiced his greatest worry.
Ariadne pointed at the myriad of figures on the plain below. ‘Those men love you!’ she cried. ‘They would follow you to the ends of the earth.’
Pride filled Spartacus’ eyes. ‘You’re right. I do them a disservice. But the outcome will be the same. Even if we beat the Romans another time, and another, they will not have been defeated. A man cannot kill all the ants in a colony. It’s not possible.’ His expression grew calculating. Yet this is also the hard path that I would have chosen in Thrace.
Ariadne felt her heart begin to race. They hadn’t spoken about leaving Italy since their conversation months before, but it was filling her mind right now. His too, from the look of it. But she would not be the one to mention it first. Spartacus did not yet know that she was pregnant. He mustn’t believe that she was trying to influence him.
He cocked his head at her. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I was wondering what was in your mind to do,’ she said evasively.
‘I do not fear dying in battle,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But if there was another path to take – a path that did not avoid confrontation with our enemies – then I would strongly consider it.’
Ariadne waited. Please guide him, Dionysus.
‘It’s not as if the Romans will stand by and let us march past to the Alps,’ Spartacus said with a harsh laugh. ‘They’ll place every damn legion they have in our way.’ That image made Ariadne feel physically sick. ‘If our army can pass those tests, well …’ Spartacus hesitated before saying, ‘Outside Italy we can truly be free.’
Ariadne wanted to cheer.
‘Crixus will not follow me, of course. He was never going to anyway. But when they hear what I have to say, I think that Castus and Gannicus will. They have learned that I am a better general than their fellow countryman.’
‘After the way you’ve organised the army, only a fool would think otherwise.’
He glanced at her quizzically. ‘You’ve said littl
e about my suggestion, yet you were the one to mention it some time ago. Do you still think it’s a good one?’
She smiled. ‘I do. Rome is far too great a quarry for us to bring it down. I also think that you are destined to return to Thrace. That’s why you were pointing east in your dream.’ That’s what you want to think, chided her conscience. Ariadne harshly quelled the thought.
He looked pleased.
I must tell him now. Ariadne squeezed his hand. ‘There is something else.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘I have missed my cycle for two months.’ She made a tutting noise at Spartacus’ incomprehension. ‘I’m pregnant.’
His face lit up. ‘Pregnant?’
Ariadne smiled as she leaned over to kiss him. ‘That’s what I said.’
‘That’s wonderful news. Praise the Rider!’
‘I’d be more likely to commend your keeping me in bed each and every morning,’ Ariadne replied archly. Her dancing eyes belied her scolding tone.
‘A man has his needs,’ he said with a lopsided grin. ‘Is it to be a son, as you said?’
She caressed her belly. ‘Yes, I think so. Your firstborn would have to be male, wouldn’t he?’
‘I’d like that.’ Spartacus did a quick mental calculation. ‘He’ll be born around harvest time.’
‘That’s my thinking.’
‘Good. It will be warm and sunny then, and he’ll have grown strong by the winter,’ said Spartacus with satisfaction. ‘It gives us time to head north as well.’
‘When will you speak to the other leaders?’ The sooner the better.
‘Now,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Spring is nearly here. I want to be ready to move the moment it arrives.’
A flicker of movement caught Ariadne’s eye. She glanced down, seeing a horse and rider galloping towards the camp from the west. The frantic whip strokes being delivered by the horseman told their own story. The gods always place something in the way. She tried not to worry. ‘Your conversation might have to wait.’
Spartacus’ gaze followed hers. His jaw tightened at the sight. ‘Maybe so. I’ll still be needing to talk to the others, though.’