Spartacus: The Gladiator

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Pulcher with a scowl.

  ‘We can’t stay in this area forever. Think on that as you celebrate tonight.’

  Spartacus was glad to see that many men bore sober expressions as they passed by into Thurii. They might forget his words in the haze of wine that would undoubtedly follow, but the seed would have been planted.

  He stood by the gate, receiving the adulation of his men, and repeating his words until night fell, and Crixus returned. Like his men, the Gaul was spattered in blood from head to foot. Seeing Spartacus, he raised a fist. ‘You should have come with us. The hunting was good, eh?’

  Several of his men howled like dogs.

  ‘The Romans won’t forget Crixus in a hurry.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Spartacus.

  ‘The last twenty legionaries that we captured had their eyes gouged out, and their right hands amputated,’ revealed Crixus with a cruel smile. ‘I ordered them to carry my name to Rome, and to warn the Senate that the same fate would befall every soldier they sent against us.’

  A loud cheer went up from his men, and Crixus glared at Spartacus.

  So now he makes his move to take control. Spartacus was even more glad that he’d spoken with the slaves as they entered the city. ‘A powerful message,’ he conceded.

  Crixus grinned triumphantly.

  ‘I’ve done similar things myself, in Thrace. What it does is to make the Romans come back in even greater numbers.’

  Crixus’ brows lowered. ‘Is that right? Always bloody know better, don’t you?’

  He’s never going to agree to my plan. This final, stark realisation unleashed Spartacus’ anger. ‘Not all the time, no,’ he replied sharply. ‘But when it comes to fighting the Romans, I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever learn.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ bellowed Crixus, the veins on his neck bulging dangerously. ‘Won’t we, boys?’

  His voice was lost in the torrent of shouts that followed.

  Spartacus waited until the noise died down. ‘I’m going to assemble the army tomorrow. Make an announcement.’

  ‘Which will be?’ demanded Crixus.

  ‘I’m going to head north, to the Alps. Leave Italy.’

  Crixus’ eyes widened. ‘Do Castus and Gannicus know about this?’

  ‘Not yet.’ I think they’ll stay with me rather than go with you, the hothead.

  ‘So you’re going to ask the men if they want to follow me, or you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Spartacus. ‘Unless of course you want to come with me.’

  ‘Eh?’ Crixus threw him an incredulous look. ‘Why would I want to leave behind the riches that can be plundered here? Why would anyone? Everything in this land is ripe for the plucking.’

  ‘Not everything,’ warned Spartacus. ‘Two full-strength consular armies will stop you in your tracks.’

  But his words were drowned by Crixus’ men’s jeers and catcalls.

  Spartacus shrugged and stood aside. He watched as the Gaul led his followers into Thurii. Each man chooses his own fate. It’s not for me to try and change their destiny. Yet a trace of unease tickled the back of his mind. Who would listen to him tomorrow? How many would cleave to Crixus? What would Castus and Gannicus do? Maybe it had been premature to bring the matter to a head.

  Spartacus clenched his jaw. His words could not be unsaid. Now is as good a time as any. He glanced up at the darkening sky. Great Rider, you have my thanks for what happened here today. I ask for your help again tomorrow.

  Spartacus waited until late the following morning before having his order to assemble on the ground outside Thurii put about. Thanks to the amount of wine that had been consumed during the night, it took several hours to rouse everyone from their stupor and force them outside the walls. Egbeo, Carbo and their troops were the unlucky ones to be given this duty, and it won them no friends as they scoured the city’s houses and alleyways for their sleeping comrades. Curses rained down on their heads, as well as helmets, cups and plates. Even the occasional amphora was lobbed at them. The former slaves had changed markedly over the previous months, Carbo decided. They had discovered their bark, and with it, their bite. Before, he would have been frightened of such a sea change. Now, it thrilled him. Spartacus had really forged an army.

  No one actually put up a fight and gradually the bleary-eyed, filthy men were chivvied on to the open area before the main gate. Few had bothered to wash the previous day’s blood from their arms and faces. The reek of sweat and stale wine hung everywhere. Mixed with it was the first faint smell of decay from the hundreds of Roman bodies that lay among the slaves. High above on the battlements, Spartacus’ nostrils were filled with the sickening miasma. It was fortunate that spring was only starting, he thought. If it had been summer, the stench would already have been unbearable.

  He had picked the position because it meant that everyone could see him. Crixus was there too, of course, glowering like an angry bull. Castus and Gannicus stood alongside, looking irritated. Spartacus cursed silently. He’d gone to tell them about his plan the previous evening, but Crixus had already got to the pair. I could have managed that far better, he reflected, giving them a confident grin anyway. He was heartened somewhat by Gannicus’ nod, but Castus looked away rather than respond. Spartacus’ doubt grew. Great Rider, help me. Do not let them turn from me now.

  Carbo came clattering up the nearest set of stairs. ‘That’s just about everyone. There are probably a few stragglers sleeping it off somewhere, but we couldn’t find them.’ He threw a hate-filled glance at Crixus, but the Gaul didn’t notice.

  ‘Well done.’ Giving a signal to the trumpeter beside him, Spartacus turned to face the thousands of men below. Pride filled him at the magnificent sight. May the gods let them follow me, he prayed.

  Tan-tara-tara-tara.

  An expectant hush fell over the assembled troops.

  ‘Friends! Comrades! I salute you!’ Spartacus shouted. He waited as his words spread through the watching host.

  ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ It began as a low, rumbling cheer, but soon grew in volume until the very walls of the city rang with it. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’

  Spartacus ignored Crixus, who was glowering at him. He began to speak, and men quickly fell silent. ‘Yesterday, we won a famous victory. Our first in open battle against the Romans! Much of it was thanks to Castus, Gannicus and Crixus.’ He indicated the Gauls beside him. Castus and Gannicus were quick to raise their arms in acknowledgement. Crixus looked furious as he did so, however.

  Nonetheless, a huge cheer went up from the slaves.

  Directly below the leaders, Pulcher stood forth from the crowd. ‘But we owe most of our thanks to you, Spartacus,’ he shouted.

  ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’ A sea of weapons was borne aloft. Men hammered their swords off their shields, making an unbelievable din. Crixus’ face grew even more sour, while Gannicus’ grin grew a little strained. Castus didn’t bother to hide his scowl. Spartacus nodded and smiled, waving in acknowledgement. This augurs well. Eventually, the racket died down.

  ‘I asked you to be here today because we have a choice to make. Staying in this area is not an option.’

  ‘Why not?’ yelled a voice. ‘Look at the cities we’ve sacked. Metapontum, Heraclea and now Thurii. Why give up on a good thing?’

  Many men shouted in agreement. ‘Good point,’ shouted Crixus.

  ‘Three reasons,’ answered Spartacus. ‘The first is that here we have our backs to the sea. If the Romans block off the way to the north, we would be trapped.’

  At this, there were unhappy grumbles.

  ‘Trapped? Ha!’ growled Crixus.

  ‘And the second?’ asked Pulcher.

  ‘At the last count, the army numbered more than fifty thousand men. After yesterday’s victory, thousands more slaves will come to join us. Soon there will not be enough grain to feed us all. That is serious enough, but the last reason is the most important.’ Spartacus paused. ‘Rome
does not suffer defeat lightly. When those who rule in Rome receive word of what happened to Varinius and his men, they will be furious.’

  ‘So fucking what?’ roared Crixus. ‘That’s good!’

  His men whistled with delight.

  ‘The soldiers who have been sent against us are but a drop in the ocean that is Rome’s manpower. When the consuls take to the field, as will surely happen now, they will lead four legions. That’s twenty thousand legionaries. The Republic’s best units may be abroad, but that many men in armour, and carrying good weapons, cannot be discounted. Only a few thousand of you are that well equipped.’

  ‘Are you saying we’ll lose?’ challenged Crixus belligerently, waving his arms to encourage the jeering that had started.

  ‘No. What I’m saying is that after those soldiers, more will come. The veterans in Iberia and Asia Minor will be recalled. Six, eight, ten legions of solid men who have fought together for years. Will we be able to defeat those too?’ The taunts died down, and Spartacus could see doubt writ everywhere on faces now. Good.

  Carbo’s heart was heavy. He’d heard this dozens of times. This was Navio’s favourite topic when he’d been drinking.

  ‘Who’s to say we won’t win?’ blustered Crixus. ‘And even if we fail, we fall in battle, winning a glorious death for ourselves.’

  A muted cheer rose up from his men, but many more of the slaves looked unhappy.

  ‘Every man who has seen me fight knows that I am not scared of dying,’ said Spartacus. ‘But there is another way. A way with honour!’

  A ray of hope lit up Carbo’s heart.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Pulcher called up.

  ‘That we march north. The Romans will try their damnedest to deny us the passage, but I tell you that if we stick to the mountains, we can reach the Alps by late spring. Never fear, if we have to fight, we’ll fight. After any battles, I would lead you out of Italy – away from the land that enslaved you. To a freedom that can never be taken away!’

  Pleased muttering broke out. Faces lit with expectation.

  ‘Where would that be – in Gaul?’ asked Gannicus loudly.

  ‘If that’s where you want to go. I am sure that your ancestral people would welcome you,’ answered Spartacus with a smile. ‘Everyone will be free to do as they wish. Some will want to travel to Germania, Iberia or Scythia. I myself will return to Thrace.’ Where I will give Kotys the shock of his life, before killing him.

  ‘What of the Alps? They are perilous to cross,’ shouted a man.

  ‘Yet Hannibal crossed them with more than twenty thousand men and his elephants. So too did Brennus the Gaul with his armies – twice. Mere mountains will not stop us! Besides, if we leave now we will reach them when it’s still summer.’

  A confused clamour broke out below as his words spread.

  What will I do if that day comes? wondered Carbo uneasily. He had never imagined leaving his homeland.

  ‘I say that you’re a fool and a coward, Spartacus!’ cried Crixus furiously. ‘Italy has everything we need. Grain, money, women and countless slaves to swell our numbers. Why in all the gods’ name would we leave it? Why run away?’

  ‘CRIX-US!’ yelled a Gaul. His voice was quickly joined by others.

  More men took up the cry.

  Motherless cur, thought Carbo angrily. He longed to draw his sword and attack Crixus, but he couldn’t. He’d given his word.

  Spartacus’ supporters began shouting his name in reply.

  I knew it would come to this. Spartacus was saddened by the numbers who appeared to support Crixus. It was more than a third of the army. Can they not see further than the riches he offers them? Clearly not. He glanced at the Gaul again. Crixus was stalking towards him, stiff-legged. Castus and Gannicus shuffled backwards, out of the way. Spartacus tensed, and let his fingers trail across the hilt of his sica. So it comes to this again. Great Rider, stay with me now, as you always have.

  ‘I’m sick of this shit. I ought to stop pissing about and kill you now,’ snarled Crixus. ‘That would sort the argument once and for all.’

  ‘CRIX-US! CRIX-US!’ shouted his men.

  ‘You tried to beat me once before, and failed. If you want to try again, go ahead,’ challenged Spartacus, raising his voice so all could hear. ‘Your last memory of this world will be of my blade opening your throat, and sending you to Hades.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ hissed Crixus. The knuckles of his right hand went white on the handle of his gladius.

  ‘No? Come on, then.’ Spartacus dropped into a fighting crouch. This was going to be a tricky fight. The top of the ramparts was only six paces wide. One false step for either of them and they’d end their lives by having their brains dashed out on the cobbles far below. He was grateful for the small advantage of having his right arm against the wall. With each blow, he had the chance of throwing Crixus off balance, and over the edge.

  ‘You dare to speak of the gods, Crixus, yet you have not been chosen by one!’ Ariadne’s tone was commanding. She’d been at the foot of the steps from the beginning, waiting for an opportune moment to appear and speak in Spartacus’ favour. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind. Her heart was thumping off her ribs with fear. Dionysus, do not let them start fighting. Please!

  Spartacus stared in astonishment as Ariadne glided past to stand between him and Crixus, who had been shocked into momentary silence. Castus, Gannicus and Carbo were little different. Grim delight pulsed through Spartacus at the sight of her.

  Ariadne looked magnificent. She was clad in her finest dress; her black hair was held up by a filigree of gold decorated with pieces of blue glass, and around her right arm she carried her snake. The sight of it had already caused superstitious muttering to break out below them.

  ‘I—’ Crixus began, but Ariadne cut him off.

  ‘I am a priestess of Dionysus. You – you are nothing!’

  Crixus glared, and took a step towards her.

  ‘Beware Dionysus’ serpent! One bite, and you’ll die in screaming agony.’ She brandished the creature at him and the Gaul fell back.

  Spartacus rejoiced inside. So did Carbo. Crixus looked like a chastised boy.

  Ariadne moved forward to the edge of the rampart, and raised her arm so that the snake was visible to all. ‘This serpent is the proof that I have been anointed by the god.’

  ‘Dionysus! Dionysus! Dionysus!’

  Ariadne smiled. ‘He thanks you for your devotion.’

  ‘What would Dionysus have us do?’ echoed a voice from the ranks.

  ‘Tell us!’ demanded another.

  ‘I had a dream last night,’ said Ariadne.

  Men shouted for quiet, and a hush fell over the army. Spartacus kept a wary eye on Crixus, but the Gaul no longer looked as if he wanted to fight.

  ‘Dionysus wants you all to be free! Truly free! Crossing the Alps is not something to be afraid of. As many of you know, the god was born in a range of mountains far to the east. He will watch over us as we journey out of Italy, to lands that are unconquered by Rome. This I have seen. This I have been told!’ cried Ariadne. She held up her arm, and the snake partially uncoiled itself, lifting its head to stare disdainfully at the slaves.

  A loud, reverential Ahhhhh rippled through the throng.

  Carbo was also trembling with awe.

  Ariadne gave Spartacus a look and he moved to stand beside her. ‘Remember the vision that Spartacus had of the snake?’

  There was an almighty roar of ‘YES!’

  ‘He too has been marked by Dionysus. He too is a chosen one.’

  ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ boomed the slaves once more.

  She took a step back, allowing Spartacus to assume centre stage.

  He cupped a hand around his lips, and the slaves fell quiet again. ‘Who will follow me north, to freedom?’

  ‘I will!’ roared Pulcher.

  ‘And I!’ cried Carbo passionately. His doubts had vanished. After all, their future had just been determined by
a god.

  The air filled with the noise of those shouting their allegiance to him, and Spartacus’ spirits soared. The great majority of men he could see were now roaring in support of his plan. He gave Ariadne a grateful look before glancing at the others. ‘Well?’

  ‘You’ve led us well so far,’ said Gannicus. ‘I reckon I’ll stick with you on this one.’

  Spartacus nodded his thanks. ‘Castus?’

  ‘You’ve got a point about the Romans not leaving us be.’ There was an eloquent shrug. ‘Why not leave Italy? I’ve always wondered what Gaul looked like.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Spartacus fiercely. He glared at Crixus. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m going nowhere with you,’ growled the big Gaul. ‘Thousands of men will be happy to follow where I lead too. You know that.’

  Spartacus’ tension eased as Crixus spoke. At last there was no need to try and keep him on board. Their fight wasn’t going to happen either. Why not acknowledge him? ‘It’s natural that they would. For all that we do not see eye to eye, you are a great warrior.’ He glanced at Carbo then, and gave him a tiny nod. He’s all yours, the gesture said.

  Carbo’s muscles froze. This close to Crixus, the man’s strength and power were all too obvious. If he attacked the Gaul, he’d be committing suicide. Is that what I want? Is that what Chloris would have wanted? No, his heart answered. She’d have wanted me to live. I want to live.

  Spartacus saw his indecision. I gave him his chance. ‘May the gods make your road easy,’ he said to Crixus, ‘and grant you victory over every Roman army in your path.’

  Crixus’ eyes widened with surprise. A half-smile tugged its way on to his face. ‘Fuck me, I never thought I’d say something like this, but may they grant the same to you.’

  May they indeed, prayed Ariadne, trying to ignore the worry in the pit of her stomach. She’d seen no bad omens, but none of the details of her ‘dream’ were true. She had made it all up for Spartacus, to prevent a fight with Crixus, and to help win the slaves over. Forgive me, Dionysus. I meant no disrespect. You have no more loyal devotee than I.