Spartacus: Rebellion (34 page)

‘If you say so.’ Carbo nervously touched the hilt of his dagger for reassurance.

‘I do. You go first. I’ll follow.’

Praying that Spartacus was right, Carbo led the way. It wasn’t long before they started meeting soldiers: men who were returning from an afternoon hunting, a tryst with a woman in the privacy of the woods, or simply those who needed a place to void their bowels. Carbo ignored everyone he met. If a greeting was thrown in his direction, he grunted a reply and moved on. Spartacus kept close behind him, his gaze aimed at the ground.

They reached the camp without incident. Rather than walking in the avenues that regularly split up the tents, Carbo opted to walk in the narrow gaps between them. It meant having continually to step over guy ropes, but there was far less chance of anyone noticing them. As he soon realised, it was also a good way of eavesdropping on conversations.

‘How much further is Thurii anyway?’

‘Not more than fifty miles, my officer says.’

From another tent, ‘Hades below, who farted? It stinks worse than a rotting corpse.’

A snort of laughter. ‘You shouldn’t have fed us all those greens for dinner!’

Carbo smiled, looking forward to renewing his banter with Navio and Arnax.

‘Where the fuck is Spartacus?’ asked a deep voice from outside the next tent. ‘He’s been gone how long now?’

Carbo felt a tap on his back from the Thracian. He stopped.

‘Nearly three weeks.’

‘Not coming back then, is he?’

‘You don’t know that,’ argued the second voice. ‘Who are we to know when he’ll return? He’s the leader of this army. He does what he thinks best.’

‘Pah! He’s either not coming back, or he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. What was the prick thinking? Leaving us with only those filthy Gauls to lead us?’

‘Egbeo and Pulcher are in charge too, you know. Many men also listen to Ariadne. She has Dionysus’ ear, remember,’ said a third man.

‘For the moment, maybe. But you mark my words,’ growled the deep voice. ‘It won’t be long before they’re all murdered. You know what Castus and Gannicus are like. They’re a pair of sewer rats. They won’t lose any sleep over killing a woman and child.’

Carbo’s mouth opened and closed. He turned to the Thracian, whose face was twisted in a combination of delight and rage. ‘Wait,’ mouthed Spartacus.

‘Come on, things aren’t that bad. We’ve nearly reached Thurii. There hasn’t been a sign of any Roman forces for weeks. Spartacus will appear any day now, and all will be well again.’

‘If he does, I’ll eat my bloody sandals,’ declared the first voice. ‘And when the Gauls take charge, I’m not hanging about to see what happens.’

There was a rumble of assent from some of their comrades.

To Carbo’s surprise, he felt Spartacus shove past him, around the corner of the tent. Gripping his knife hilt, he followed.

They found a group of six men sitting around a small fire upon which sat a bronze pot full of bubbling stew. The group were dressed in roughly spun cream, red or brown tunics. All of them had knives, but only two were wearing baldrics and sheathed gladii. A stack of weapons – spears, pila and swords – lay a few steps away, along with a heap of scuta.

Spartacus curled his lip at the ring of surprised faces. ‘Greetings.’

‘Who in damnation are you?’ demanded a bald man with a strong chin.

His was the deep voice, thought Carbo.

‘Smelt our dinner, did you?’ asked a younger soldier with deep-set eyes and thick black hair. ‘Well, you can’t have any! Piss off and cook your own.’

His companions laughed. The sound was amiable enough, but there was an edge to it that Carbo didn’t like. It wouldn’t take much for the situation to get ugly. Squaring his shoulders, he moved to stand beside Spartacus.

‘Who’s the one mouthing off about Spartacus?’ barked the Thracian.

‘That’d be me.’ The bald man got slowly to his feet. ‘Got a problem with what I said?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

At this, all but the young soldier who’d spoken stood up. Any trace of friendliness had left their faces. Meaningful hands were laid on the hilts of knives and swords.

‘I’d advise you to walk away now,’ snarled the bald man, stepping forward. ‘Before you get badly hurt.’

‘Or killed,’ added one of his fellows with a toothy leer.

‘Is that a threat?’ growled Spartacus.

‘Take it how you will.’ The bald man moved even closer.

Good.
Spartacus darted forward, grabbed the bald man by the front of his tunic and shoved him backwards. He landed on his arse in the fire. With a bawl of pain, he leaped up, clutching his rear end. Several of his companions – most notably the young man who was still seated – sniggered.

Carbo laughed out loud, but then the rest of the soldiers drew their weapons. Shit, he thought, pulling out his own knife. It would have been better to walk away.

‘Think very carefully before you attack your leader,’ cried the Thracian.

The bald man stopped yelling. A trace of fear entered his eyes. ‘Eh? You’re not Spartacus!’

‘Am I not? Do I need to be wearing my mail and carrying my sica for you to know me?’ Spartacus stepped forward, raising a fist. ‘Who wants the glory of saying that he took a Roman eagle in battle and, by doing so, shamed an entire legion?’ he roared.

All around them, men’s heads turned.

It was the same cry that Spartacus had used to encourage his army the day that they had fought Gellius, remembered Carbo with delight.

The bald man’s anger had been replaced by pure dread. ‘N-no, sir. I recognise you now.’

His companions shared incredulous stares with one another before quickly shoving their weapons away. ‘We’re sorry, sir. We didn’t realise,’ mumbled one. There was a rapid chorus of agreement, and Carbo relaxed a little.

Spartacus’ flinty eyes bored into the soldiers one by one.

‘Gods above, Zeuxis, you’re a bloody idiot! We’ll all be executed now, because of your big mouth,’ said a thickset soldier with cropped hair.

The balding man’s face crumpled. ‘Please forgive me, sir. I didn’t know who you were.’

‘A moment ago, you were complaining about how long I’d been away. Dead in a ditch, you said.’

‘I didn’t really think that, sir, I—’

‘Don’t lie to me, fool. I heard what you said.’

‘You had been gone for an age, sir. I know I wasn’t alone in worrying about what would happen to the army. To all of us. Without you, sir, we would have filth like Castus and Gannicus trying to take charge. That’s what everyone’s saying.’ Zeuxis glanced at his companions for support, but none would meet his eye. Resigned and unsurprised, he turned back to Spartacus. ‘Thank the gods that you have returned, though!’

‘Is what he said true?’

No one answered.

They’re too damn scared, thought Carbo, amazed at Spartacus’ ability to instil awe with his sheer confidence.

‘You!’ Spartacus barked at the young soldier with deep-set eyes.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Is your comrade right?’

‘There is something to what he says, sir,’ came the awkward reply. ‘But it’s only talk. You know what men are like.’

‘You didn’t agree with Zeuxis, however.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Why didn’t you try to attack me as well?’

‘I don’t pick fights for no reason, sir.’

‘Hmmm. You seem to be the most steady one here. What’s your name?’

‘Marcion, sir.’

Spartacus made a snap decision. ‘So, Marcion, do you vouch for these men?’

A sharp tang of fear tinged the already tense atmosphere. Everyone had caught the underlying meaning in their leader’s words.

‘Yes, sir. I do. They are all good soldiers. They’ve fought bravely in every battle I’ve seen. Zeuxis might have a big mouth, but he killed a Roman officer in Picenum, and Arphocras there’ – he indicated a man with a bushy beard – ‘helped to capture a standard the day we fought Gellius.’

Spartacus glared at Zeuxis, who was rubbing gingerly at his burned arse. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes, sir, it is!’ He pointed at the pile of weapons. ‘I can show you his sword.’

‘There’s no need. I believe you.’

Zeuxis fell silent. He watched Spartacus fearfully. So did his companions.

‘The reason I went away was not as you thought, to scout out our route. I went to Rome.’ He smiled at their surprise.

‘Why, sir?’ asked Marcion.

‘To find out what the Romans have planned for us, and to assassinate the new general who will lead their army.’

More shock on their faces.

‘Did you succeed, sir?’ Zeuxis ventured.

‘Partially. I learned that the legions will not wait until the spring to march against us. Two of us weren’t enough to kill Crassus, but we put the fear of Hades into him, that’s for sure.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’ll slay the whoreson the next time I meet him.’

Now the soldiers looked awed.

‘Would you like to hack down another Roman officer, Zeuxis? Are the rest of you ready to fight another battle against the legions? Because that’s what we’re going to have to do – sooner or later.’

‘If you’re leading us, sir, I’ll fight anyone – even the Minotaur!’ cried Zeuxis.

‘What of you, Marcion?’ asked Spartacus.

‘Count me in, sir.’

‘Me too!’ shouted Arphocras.

Their companions roared their agreement. Around them, men began chanting, ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’

Carbo was amazed at how the situation had been reversed. A group of unhappy soldiers, many of them ready to desert, had become fervent believers in Spartacus.

A smile of approval flickered across the Thracian’s lips, and he raised his hands for silence. ‘You are brave men, all of you. And although you’re a pain in the arse sometimes’ – here, he eyed the embarrassed Zeuxis – ‘I wouldn’t ever be without you!’

The air filled with yells of delight.

‘Everything that you suffer, every hardship and tribulation, I also endure.’ Spartacus turned to regard the larger crowd of onlookers. ‘I may have gone away, but I was always going to come back. Always! As the Great Rider is my witness, I will
never
leave you, my brave soldiers. NEVER!’

This time, Carbo joined in. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’

‘I will see you again soon,’ Spartacus said to Zeuxis. ‘You might have had time to chew on your sandals by that stage.’

Zeuxis’ flush grew even deeper; his companions fell about laughing.

Spartacus clapped Zeuxis on the arm. Then he turned to Carbo with a wicked grin. ‘It’s time to sort out Castus and Gannicus.’
And see my child!

With the soldiers’ cheers ringing in their ears, they walked off.

This time, it was down the main avenue between the tents.

The camp filled with happy cries as men saw that their leader had returned. Spartacus waved and smiled, and kept walking. Inside, he was delighted that so few faces seemed disappointed by his reappearance. They were seeing only a tiny fraction of the army, but it boded well for the rest. Castus and Gannicus’ poison hadn’t spread that far. It wasn’t long until they reached Ariadne’s tent. Atheas and Taxacis were on guard outside. Recognising Spartacus, they sprang forward, fierce grins splitting their faces.

Spartacus raised a hand to his lips. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered.

The Scythians glanced at each other in surprise, but they obeyed.

‘Want . . . to see . . . your son?’ muttered Atheas.

‘My son?’
Thank the gods – it’s a boy!
His resolve wavered for a moment, but he held it in place with an iron will. The Gauls had to be dealt with at once, before they heard he was back.

‘Yes. Maron.’

‘She named him after my brother,’ said Spartacus softly. ‘That is a good name. Is he well?’

‘He . . . fine.’ Atheas beamed. ‘He . . . like you.’

A tight smile. ‘I’ll see him later.’

Carbo was stunned. ‘Later?’

Spartacus ignored him. Then, to Atheas, ‘Do you have a couple of spare swords?’

The Scythian nodded.

‘Get them.’ Spartacus tapped a foot against the ground as Atheas hurried off. He looked furious. Carbo didn’t dare say a word.

Atheas returned with two plain but serviceable gladii, each of which was attached to a leather baldric. He handed one to each of them.

Spartacus slung his over his right shoulder. ‘Take me to Castus and Gannicus.’

Atheas led off, but he was clearly concerned. ‘Why?’

‘We were attacked two nights ago. It wasn’t Romans. They had to be men from our camp. Who would have the best reasons for wanting me dead?’

‘Castus. Gannicus. The bastards!’ snarled Taxacis. ‘We . . . kill them?’

Spartacus showed his teeth. ‘Sadly, we need the cocksuckers. Ten legions are being raised. They could be here within three to four months. That might not be enough time to raise and train replacements for the soldiers who would follow the Gauls if they left.’

Carbo’s nerves were wire taut now.
What can four of us do?
‘How are you going to play this?’

‘I want to see their faces when they see that I’m alive. That will tell us if they’re guilty or not. We’ll scare the shit out of the dogs. Show them that they can be got at too.’

‘They’ll have dozens of warriors.’

‘What of it?’ spat Spartacus. ‘They have to see that I’m not scared of them, not even a little bit, and to understand that if they order my death, they will die first. We’d manage that before they cut us down, eh?’

‘Yes!’ cried the Scythians fiercely.

Carbo gritted his teeth against his fear. It almost worked. ‘I’m with you.’

‘I knew you would be,’ Spartacus declared. He threw Carbo a wink. ‘As long as the gods are with us, it won’t come to that. Lead on, Atheas.’

Wondering how in Hades Spartacus would prevent them being massacred, Carbo followed his leader.

The Gauls’ tents weren’t far away. They were surrounded by those of their closest supporters, which meant that the small group soon began to attract attention. Those soldiers who didn’t recognise Spartacus knew the Scythians or Carbo by sight. Men stared hostilely and pointed. A few insults were thrown, but no one obstructed their passage. Yet.

A gob of phlegm landed by Carbo’s feet, and his guts churned. Normally, he would have challenged such an insult, but not now.