Spartacus: Rebellion (16 page)

Things were not good. The Romans had split up. Three were coming at him from the left, and four from the right. The remainder were aiming for the injured slave and his comrade. Carbo felt nauseous. What had he done? There was no way that he could release enough arrows to kill, or even injure, all his opponents. Even if he took down a few of them, the rest would slice him up with ease.
I’m a dead man.
His conscience spat back at once.
At least you tried to save Paccius.

That was when the wounded slave looked straight at him. Carbo realised with horror that while he bore more than a passing resemblance to the Samnite, he was a different man.
I’m going to die for nothing.
Carbo sucked in a ragged breath. He prepared to sell his life dearly. The cavalrymen on the left were nearest. He tugged out an arrow, put it to the string and loosed in one smooth movement. Instantly, a horse was riderless. His next shot missed, however, and his third glanced off a rider’s helmet. Nonetheless, the Romans’ charge checked a little. The injured man, helped by his companion, limped past Carbo towards the trees. He risked a glance to his right, and his gorge rose. Four riders were thundering down on him.
Maybe the slaves will reach cover before I’m dead.
It was a faint hope, but it was all Carbo had as he aimed at the lead horse.

Hiss! Hiss!

Two arrows flew by him. The front rider was struck in the leg, and he pulled up, screaming blue murder. The other shaft missed. Nonetheless, Carbo’s spirits rallied. He let fly, hitting the first Roman himself, this time in the arm.

‘You fucking idiot!’ Spartacus came hammering in on his right side, bow at the ready. ‘If you want to live, run! In twenty paces, stop, turn and shoot one shaft. Then run and do the same again.’

Filled with awe, and the screaming hope that he might survive, Carbo obeyed. Ten paces on, he saw Navio. The Roman’s face was twisted into a terrible rictus of concentration. He had arrows gripped in the same fist that held his bow, and was drawing and loosing with incredible speed. ‘Run!’ he shouted. ‘Run!’

The next few moments passed by in a blur. Carbo ran and shot, shot and ran. He had no time to see if any of his arrows hit their targets. All he knew was that there were still enemies attacking them and that he was nearest cover, while Spartacus and Navio were the most exposed. When he’d reached the relative safety of the tree line, he looked around. Dismay tore at him. ‘Spartacus, look out!’

Fifty paces out, Spartacus knew that he’d made a grave mistake in deciding to try and rescue Carbo. It had been an unconscious choice, spurred partly by his regard for the young Roman and partly by the devilment that had made him intervene against the horsemen in the first place. A small part of him wanted to prove that he was even braver than Carbo. But now, with an enemy charging in from both left and right, he knew that the Rider had deserted him at last. Good cavalrymen worked in unison, and he did not have time to release two arrows. By the time he’d loosed at one, the other would be cutting him in half. Navio was busy with his own opponent, and Carbo’s aim left something to be desired.

This is not the way I wanted to die.

But he wouldn’t go without a struggle. He made an immediate decision which rider to shoot. The nearest one. Closing his ears to the hammering of hooves and the Romans’ war cries, Spartacus took aim at the rider, who was less than fifteen paces away. At this range, he could not miss. He didn’t even watch the arrow fly. The instant it left the string, he let go of his bow, and flung himself to the ground. The blade that would have decapitated him scythed overhead. There was a shouted curse, and Spartacus rolled to his right, away from where he thought his enemy’s horse would go. He ripped free his sica. With it gripped in his hand, he felt a fraction better.

‘Die, you whoreson!’

Spartacus flung his arm up and met the downward swing of the Roman’s long sword. Sparks flew as the two lengths of iron scraped off each other. He slid away again, desperate to get to his feet. The rider guided his horse back a step and, leaning over, drove the point of his weapon at Spartacus’ stomach. With a lunge to the side, Spartacus prevented it skewering him to the ground. As it was, it shredded the side of his tunic and cut a flesh wound in his side. Pain flared, and he groaned.
Great Rider, help me!
His opponent’s comrades would soon be on them.

‘Hades is waiting for you!’ cried the Roman.

With the strength of sheer desperation, Spartacus came up on to his knees. He met another blow with a savage overhand parry that caught the rider off guard. Before the man could bring down his blade again, Spartacus leaped up and grabbed his nearest foot with his left hand. With a great heave, he wrenched the Roman’s leg upwards, unbalancing him. Arms flailing at the air, the man toppled off the other side of his horse.

Spartacus had no chance to savour this tiny victory. Three more riders had nearly reached him. It was pointless running. The trees were still too far. ‘Gently,’ he muttered, gripping the horse’s mane with one hand and balancing his right fist and sica on its haunches. He threw himself up on its back just in time to see the closest cavalryman take an arrow in the belly. That left two men who were about forty paces from him. Spartacus tensed as they rode forward, but to his delight, another shaft almost struck one of their horses. Cursing, they reined in.

Spartacus didn’t wait to see what happened next. He aimed a hefty kick at the Roman he’d unhorsed, sending him sprawling to the dirt again. Then he dragged his steed’s head around and, drumming his heels into its sides, aimed it at the trees. Navio gave him a fierce grin as he rode up. ‘Grip the mane,’ Spartacus ordered.

Navio had never run with a horse before, but he knew of the Iberian skirmishers who’d fought for Hannibal. They often went into battle in such a manner. Coming in close, he grabbed a handful of the thick hair and as the beast trotted off, let its momentum give him extra speed.

As they reached the tree line unharmed, Carbo loosed an arrow. He shouted with pleasure as it sank into a horse’s rear. The rider lost his seat as his steed bucked and kicked with the pain of it.

Spartacus threw himself to the ground. ‘Quick! Get under cover.’

Throwing glances over their shoulders, they ran into the trees. The horse trotted off aimlessly.

‘Stop. Ready an arrow.’

Chests heaving, they stared out at the Romans, of whom five or so remained uninjured. The cavalrymen made no attempt to dismount or to enter the woods.

‘If they come in here, they’ll lose all their superiority. The whoresons have had enough!’ said Spartacus with savage delight. He was still alive! Never had he survived such insane odds.

Carbo and Navio began howling like wolves. Was there anything Spartacus couldn’t do? Following his example, they loosed more shafts until the horsemen had retreated further. ‘Keep an eye on them,’ Spartacus ordered Navio. ‘Best check on the men whom we nearly died for, eh?’ he barked at Carbo. They trotted to the two fugitives, who were a little further under the canopy. The man who’d been injured was lying on his back, moaning.

Carbo winced as he drew near. The Roman’s sword had sliced in above the hipbone, opening his abdomen like a ripe fruit. Blood was oozing, pouring, jetting from the scarlet-lipped edges of the massive wound. Numerous loops of bowel were exposed. Everything was coated in a layer of grit and dirt from where the man had rolled on the ground. Carbo’s nostrils twisted in distaste. ‘I can smell shit.’

‘Me too,’ came Spartacus’ grim reply.

That was it, thought Carbo bleakly. Even if he lived until they got him back to the camp, even if the surgeons could close the horrific cut, the man would die. No one survived when his guts had been pierced. No one.

They stooped over the third fugitive, who was trying to comfort his companion. ‘You made it, Kineas. Well done.’

Kineas groaned. ‘Water.’

‘Here.’ Spartacus pulled the stopper from his leather carrier and handed it over.

Kineas’ comrade helped him to take a tiny mouthful. Rather than swallow the water, he inhaled it, which sent him into a paroxysm of coughing that set off a fresh wave of bleeding from his wound.

‘What are they doing?’ Spartacus called.

‘Still sitting on their horses, waiting,’ shouted Navio.

The hairs on Spartacus’ neck prickled. ‘Go back and see what’s happening. I want no more stupid risks today,’ he said to Carbo. He knelt down. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Publipor,’ replied the third man, who was perhaps thirty. His thin face was pinched by hunger and suffering, and now sorrow.

‘We can do nothing for your friend. He’s dying,’ whispered Spartacus.

‘I know,’ said Publipor bitterly.

Carbo reached Navio, who was watching the group of horsemen. They had withdrawn perhaps a hundred paces, beyond accurate bow range. ‘I don’t like it,’ said Navio. ‘Why haven’t they either dismounted and come in here after us, or just pissed off? There could be other troops in the area.’

Carbo squinted into the dust cloud that yet hung in the air behind the Romans. He could see nothing. Navio was right, however. Something didn’t feel right. ‘Spartacus?’

‘What?’

‘They look as if they’re expecting reinforcements.’

Spartacus caught the tone of Carbo’s voice. ‘Time to go.’

Kineas’ eyes opened. For a moment, they wandered, unfocused, before settling on Publipor. His forehead creased. ‘Why—?’

‘Easy,’ murmured Publipor. ‘Don’t try to talk.’

Kineas finally took in Spartacus. His frown deepened, and he pointed a finger at Publipor. ‘He—’ A fresh bout of coughing took him. More blood gouted from his wound and what colour was left in his hollow cheeks vanished. He sagged down on the earth and his eyelids fluttered closed.

Publipor let out a deep sigh.

‘It’s hard when a comrade dies,’ said Spartacus quietly.
I have seen it too many times.

Publipor’s lips twisted with an unreadable emotion.

‘We have to leave him.’

Kineas’ eyes jerked open and he tried to sit up. ‘I should never have—’

The effort was too much for him, and he slumped back down on to the crimson-soaked ground. He drew one more shuddering breath, and let it out with a loud rattle. Publipor bent over him, catching the last gasp. Then he gently closed Kineas’ staring eyes.

Spartacus only let him grieve for a heartbeat. ‘We must go.’

Publipor got to his feet and eyed them awkwardly. ‘I do not like to ask anyone for money, but I have none. Kineas needs a coin for the ferryman.’

Spartacus fumbled in the little purse that hung around his neck and produced a denarius. ‘Here.’

Publipor accepted it with mumbled thanks. He bent, opened Kineas’ mouth and slipped the coin on to his tongue. ‘Rest in peace,’ he said heavily.

Carbo and Navio came trotting in. ‘There’s another dust cloud coming,’ said Carbo.

‘Is that so?’ snapped Spartacus.

Carbo didn’t see the fist that cracked into the side of his head. Stars burst across his vision, and he dropped to the ground. A kick in the belly made him retch. Dazed and nauseous, he looked up at Spartacus.

‘What in the name of all the gods were you thinking? Did you want to die?’

Navio glowered at him, adding to the pressure.

Carbo spat out a gob of phlegm. ‘No.’

‘What then?’ Spartacus’ voice cracked like a whip.

‘I-I thought one of the men was a slave belonging to my family. A man who was dear to me. I couldn’t stand by and watch him be butchered like a pig.’

‘Were you right? Was it he?’

‘No,’ replied Carbo miserably.

‘Even if you had been correct, charging out like that was the wrong decision to make. You answer to me! Unless I tell you, you do not run off like a fucking maniac trying to commit suicide.’ Another mighty kick was delivered.

Carbo rolled into a ball, trying to protect himself. No more blows landed.

‘Look at me!’

He dragged his eyes up to meet Spartacus’ flinty stare.

‘If you ever do such a damn stupid thing again,’ and he bent over, ramming a forefinger into Carbo’s chest for emphasis, ‘I will shoot you in the back myself. I only risk my life for a soldier once. Do. You. Understand?’

Carbo had never seen Spartacus so angry. ‘Yes.’

‘LOUDER!’

‘YES!’

Without another word, Spartacus led the way up the slope.

Carbo stumbled to his feet. Navio didn’t help him, and he knew that if he couldn’t keep up, they would leave him behind. I deserve no less, he thought miserably. His stupidity had nearly got them all killed. He was fortunate that Spartacus hadn’t slain him.

Spartacus’ pace was brutal but no one complained. Apart from picking up Arnax, he didn’t stop running until they had gone a couple of miles. Even then, it was but a brief pause to listen for sounds of pursuit.
I have tested the Rider’s regard for me enough for one day.
He only let up when the army’s tents came into view.

Publipor’s jaw dropped at the sight. ‘You must be some of Spartacus’ men.’

Carbo was able to raise a grin at that. ‘You’re not far off.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re looking at the man himself.’ He indicated his leader.

‘Y-you are Spartacus?’

‘I am.’

‘The gods be praised!’ Publipor clutched at Spartacus’ hands like a supplicant to a king. ‘I owe you and your men my life. Thank you.’

‘It’s Carbo you should be grateful to.’ Spartacus’ smile did not reach his eyes.

Publipor’s attention moved to Carbo. ‘How can I ever repay you?’

‘Join our army. Swear allegiance to Spartacus,’ replied Carbo awkwardly. He knew that this gesture would not restore him to the Thracian’s favour, but he wanted to show that he was still loyal.

‘Of course. That is all I want to do.’

‘You were trying to reach my army?’ asked Spartacus.

‘Yes. We had been on the run for four days.’

‘You did well to evade the riders for that long.’

Publipor shuddered. ‘No, they only happened upon our trail today, about three miles back. We hid as best we could, but they kept finding our tracks. When they flushed us out, the woods were the best cover we could see. We had no chance, but then the gods intervened to bring you here with your men.’ Awe filled his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that mad charge that you did to save me and Kineas.’