Spartacus: Rebellion (12 page)

‘They’re damn spies. Spartacus’ spies!’

Carbo leaped up. He dashed the contents of his cup into the block-headed legionary’s face, and followed that by upending the table between them. The cursing soldier went down with crockery clattering all around. Throwing the bewildered Felix an apologetic look, Carbo sprinted towards the stairs. There was no chance of getting out of the front door, and he couldn’t abandon Navio.

‘Stop him! He’s a spy!’

A pair of legionaries moved into his path. Carbo jumped on to the nearest table, scattering cups of wine everywhere. As the men around it bawled in surprise and anger, he bounded on to the one beyond that, and then back to the floor. Four more steps, and he’d be at the foot of the staircase. A hand tugged at the back of his tunic. Carbo drew his dagger, spun and slashed the soldier who had grabbed him across the arm. Blood sprayed into the air and his assailant fell away, screaming.

Carbo went up the steep flight two steps at a time. He risked a glance at the room below, and his heart raced even faster. Led by the block-headed legionary, more than a dozen soldiers were heading his way. He’d be able to check one room for Navio – no more.

Carbo shot up the last few stairs like a slingshot. Ahead of him, a corridor led left and right.
Which way?
Left.
He darted into the passage, which was dimly lit by a single hanging oil lamp. Erotic scenes had been painted on the walls, but Carbo paid them no heed. There were doors to both sides, at least four of them. Gods, which should he choose? He could hear studded sandals thundering up after him. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Fortuna, help me!
The first door Carbo saw when he looked again was the second on the left. He shoulder-charged it, smashing it open with a splintering of wood.

For once, the goddess of good luck had answered his prayers.

‘What the—’ bellowed Navio, whose bare arse was sticking up from between the open legs of the brunette.

‘Up! Get up! They know who we are!’

‘I—’ Navio’s protest died in his throat as he heard the men on the stairs. He scrambled off the now screaming whore and grabbed his
licium
.

Carbo’s gaze shot around the little room and halted on the small window opening. ‘Come on!’ He tore over and threw open the shutters, which cracked off the outside wall. Sticking his head out, he saw a tiled roof – part of the ground floor – a short drop below. He shoved his bloodied dagger back into his sheath. Heaving a leg out into space, Carbo gripped the wooden frame as he pulled his other leg out. Instantly, he dropped to the tiles. He looked up and was relieved to see Navio’s bare legs following him a heartbeat later. With a thud, his friend landed beside him, bollock naked but clutching his undergarment. Carbo stifled his urge to laugh.

‘Which way?’

Angry shouts reached them from the room above.

Carbo tried to get his bearings. There was more light to his left, which meant it was more likely to be the front of the inn. Not the best route to take. ‘This way!’ Taking as much care as he could on an uneven, angled surface in the pitch black, he worked his way across the tiles. There was a muttered curse behind him as Navio stubbed a toe.

‘Where are they?’ shouted a voice. ‘Get a torch!’

Carbo stumbled and almost fell off the edge of the roof. There was just enough light for him to make out the paved surface of a yard, a cart and a water butt.
It’s the inn’s stable yard.
Taking a deep breath, he jumped, landing hard on the cobbles below. Half winded, he glanced up, seeing no one.
Thank the gods.
Navio thumped down beside him.

‘What in Hades shall we do?’

‘Lose those bastards who are right behind us!’ whispered Carbo. ‘We’re dead meat otherwise.’ Seeing a gap between two of the stable buildings, he tore towards it. He had no idea where it led.

As it happened, it was the dungheap, which was enclosed on three sides by a wall.

A series of heavy thuds from the yard announced the legionaries’ arrival.

There was nothing for it. Trying not to breathe, Carbo began to clamber up the pile of shit. Soon he was ankle-, and then knee-deep in the stinking ordure. Driven by sheer desperation and the panting breaths of Navio behind him, he floundered up until the top of the wall was within reach. Pulling himself atop the bricks, he took a swift look at what was on the other side before letting himself fall. Fortunately, it wasn’t far to the ground of the narrow alleyway.

‘Where are you?’

‘Here, on the other side,’ answered Carbo. ‘If you want to live, climb!’

Navio’s head appeared, followed by his torso and a leg. ‘I’m covered in shit.’

‘That’s the least of our worries.’ Navio lowered himself and they crouched down for a moment, listening hard. Confused cries from the inn’s yard revealed that their escape route had not immediately been found. It wouldn’t be long, however. As soon as someone brought light, the legionaries would see their trail up the dungheap. They had to move, and fast. The alley they were in was formed by the walls of two large buildings. Blocks of flats or large houses, thought Carbo.

‘What the fuck are we going to do?’ asked Navio. ‘They’ll have men on all the streets around the inn. The first one who spots me will know who I am.’

Carbo caught the edge of desperation in his friend’s voice, and tried not to let it infect him. He trotted down to the strip of light that formed the alleyway’s exit on to the street. Peering to the left and right, he let out a stifled groan. A group of legionaries was already combing the thoroughfare from either end. Every second man held a flaming torch aloft, providing light for their companions to poke their heads into every nook and cranny.

Navio saw his face. ‘Not good?’

Carbo explained what he’d seen.

‘What have we done to deserve this?’

‘We thought with our pricks instead of our heads,’ snapped Carbo.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry,’ muttered Navio.

‘It’s not just your fault. I went along with you.’

‘Hey! Over here! I think they climbed up this way,’ shouted a voice on the other side of the wall.

‘Let’s kill the first man over,’ said Carbo. ‘Take his sword, and hopefully get another from the next one. At least we can die like men.’

Navio nodded in savage agreement.

They trotted back up the alley.

What a stupid way to die, thought Carbo.

Then, to his utter amazement, a door in the wall to his left opened. A boy in a threadbare tunic that was far too big for him emerged, clutching a bucket full of kitchen slops.

Hope flared in Carbo’s breast. Even as the slave saw them, and opened his mouth to scream, Carbo had placed a hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t make a sound. We’re Spartacus’ men. Legionaries are after us. Can you help?’

‘Give me a damn hand up!’ bellowed the voice that Carbo had heard a moment before. ‘Quickly!’

The boy’s eyes flickered to the wall and back again.

‘We’re dead men if you don’t,’ hissed Carbo.

The boy pulled his hand away. ‘Come inside.’ He melted back into the darkness.

Carbo didn’t think; he just followed. He felt Navio pushing in after him. The boy brushed past and pulled the door silently to. There was a
snick
as he slid the bolt home, and then they all stood there in the pitch black, panting. Listening.

Thud.
‘I’m over.’

‘Can you see anything?’ called a second voice.

‘There’s no sign of the bastards, no.’ A metallic
shhhh
as a sword was pulled from its scabbard.

‘I’m nearly waist deep in the shit!’

‘I don’t care! Get your arse over here.’

Muffled curses, and another
thud
.

The jingle of mail. The pad of two men moving with great care.

‘They’re long gone.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said the soldier who’d been first over the wall. ‘Here’s a door, look.’

Carbo’s grip on his dagger tightened.

‘Which is locked from the inside,’ said the second legionary acidly. ‘They’ve headed on to the street, no doubt. One of the patrols will pick them up soon enough.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘What are you worried about? They won’t have discovered a thing.’

‘All the same, we don’t want Spartacus hearing about our hidden catapults.’

Carbo froze.

The soldier’s companion sniggered. ‘He won’t have a clue. The slave scum will march along the road north, cocky as you like, following our decoy force. They’ll get the shock of their lives, though, when they get pulverised by the ballistae.’

‘Ha! And even if some of them get away over the Alps, they won’t find much of a welcome should they head for Thrace,’ said the first man with a laugh. ‘Someone told me that Marcus Lucullus has recently smashed the Thracian troops who were fighting with Mithridates. By all accounts, he’s now laying waste to half of that damn area.’

The legionaries’ voices died away as they walked down the alleyway.

‘Did you hear that?’ whispered Carbo.

‘Yes. Incredible.’

They weren’t yet out of danger, but Carbo couldn’t believe the luck that had befallen them.

Navio chuckled softly.

‘What are you laughing at?’

‘A few moments ago, I was ploughing the most beautiful whore I’ve ever seen. Now I’m naked, covered in shit and standing in a pitch-black larder, freezing my arse off. But it doesn’t matter, because of what we just heard.’

Carbo had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing.

Despite the disquieting news about Thrace, it felt good to be alive.

Chapter IV

THE FRIENDS’ LUCK
continued to hold. After it was clear that the legionaries had gone for good, the friends had allowed Arnax, the sallow-skinned boy who had saved them, to light an oil lamp. The flickering flame had revealed a dingy room full of brushes, cleaning rags, buckets and a sink full of dirty crockery. It was a perfect hiding place. Few people – even slaves – chose to enter a scullery unless they had to. While Carbo had questioned Arnax, Navio had been able to clean off the worst of the manure and finally don his licium.

They had soon established that Arnax belonged to an old man who lived on his own with a handful of slaves. As long as he kept the floors, the kitchen and the courtyard clean, Arnax was left to his own devices. This discovery had permitted the pair to relax a little. Their spirits had risen soon after when the boy had reappeared with a tunic and a pair of sandals for Navio, as well as some food, and water from the house’s well.

They had readied themselves to leave around midnight. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get Arnax to join them. ‘When the soldiers haven’t found us by daybreak,’ Carbo had warned, ‘they’ll retrace their steps. It will be easy to see where we jumped over the wall. Two big shitty sets of footprints will lead to this door. When they arrive to talk to your master, there will be one person to blame. You.’

At that, Arnax’s thin face had paled.

‘Come with us,’ Carbo had urged him. ‘You’ll be free, like everyone else in the army. We can always use a clever lad like you.’

‘I’m only eleven.’

‘That’s of no matter. The cooks, the blacksmiths and the grooms who look after the cavalry’s horses always need help.’ Carbo had seen the disappointment in Arnax’s dark eyes and relented. ‘Or you could keep our gear clean and cook for us.’

‘I’ll do it!’

And that had been that.

Taking a piece of rope from the scullery, the trio had stolen through the city, grateful for the total cloud cover that had reduced the light at street level to almost complete darkness. The friends had then been even more thankful for Arnax’s presence. He had a keen sense of direction, and had guided them to the south wall, avoiding a number of patrols. Once they had spotted the sentries pacing the battlements and timed the frequency of their passing, it had been a simple enough affair to climb up, fix their rope to a pillar on the ramparts and scramble down to the ditch at the foot of the wall.

From there, it had been a long but satisfying walk to their encampment, which they had reached just after dawn. Arnax’s eyes had grown to the size of small plates at the sheer number of men and tents, and Carbo had clapped him on the arm. ‘See now why there’s a feeling of panic in Mutina?’

Showing the awestruck Arnax to their tent, the pair had left him with instructions to cook them breakfast. They had gone in search of Spartacus at once. Wary of being punished, both were reluctant to confess the full story of what had happened. If asked to explain the ripe smell still emanating from Navio, they had decided to say he’d drunk too much and fallen into a dungheap as they’d walked through the dark streets. Carbo had had to fish him out.

They found Spartacus seated at his campfire, talking to Castus and Gannicus. Atheas and Taxacis stood nearby as always, like two guardian wolves.

Castus grimaced as they approached. ‘Phoah! Someone stinks of horse shit.’

Gannicus smiled at Navio’s embarrassment. Even Spartacus grinned. ‘What in the Rider’s name happened to you?’

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Castus.

They didn’t know about our mission, thought Carbo. Spartacus wants to show them how smart he is.

‘Mutina,’ said Navio.

Suspicion flashed across Castus’ face, and he shot a glance at Gannicus, who didn’t look happy either. ‘What in Hades were our two
Romans
doing there, Spartacus?’

‘Falling into dungheaps. What else?’

Castus’ face grew red. ‘Don’t try to be funny with me.’

‘Why were we not told of this?’ growled Gannicus.

‘Do I have to tell you everything?’

‘You used to share with us what you were planning—’

‘You are here now,’ interrupted Spartacus curtly. ‘They were gathering information. You can both hear their report first-hand. Is that not enough?’

Castus made to say more, but Gannicus, who looked angrier than Carbo had ever seen him, laid a hand on his arm. Glowering, Castus subsided into silence.

‘Your mission didn’t all go according to plan, I take it? I don’t recall telling you to fling yourselves into horse shit.’