Spartacus: Rebellion (51 page)

To help him decide, Spartacus rode his stallion to the army’s vanguard, the better to spy out the land. Atheas and Taxacis trotted on either side of him, keeping pace without even breaking sweat. The tattooed pair could ride – what Scythian couldn’t? – but the shortage of horses since the fight at the ridge precluded them having any.

The farms here were not as large as the latifundia of Campania and Lucania, but impressive nonetheless. Artificial terraces spilled down the lower slopes of the mountains, affording level ground for countless thousands of olive trees. More of them marched right up to the road, their characteristic grey-green foliage concealing the ground behind. Spartacus was glad that he had scouts patrolling in advance of the army, for it would have been easy to set an ambush among the dense network of trees.

Grapes and grain were also cultivated in abundance, but the neat rows of vines and the open fields of slow-growing wheat provided no cover for enemy troops. There were few villages in the area; the majority of people lived on farms. Spartacus had his soldiers checking houses and buildings for supplies, and most importantly, for food. All flocks of sheep and goats and herds of cattle found were to be rounded up and driven to join the army. Even the poultry were to be taken. Nothing was to be left behind; any resistance could be met with lethal force.

Spartacus felt no remorse for the farmers whose livelihoods he was devastating and whose lives he threatened with famine. He didn’t worry either about the stubborn individuals who refused to abandon their properties, and who died as their wives and daughters were being gang raped. Before, he had made some effort to minimise the atrocities, but not now. Rome was out to destroy him, so he would do it and its people as much harm as possible. Besides, what his men did was but a small taste of bitter medicine for a few of those whose fathers, sons or brothers had done the same in Thrace. It was a form of retribution.

By the time the sun had reached its zenith in the sky, it had grown pleasantly warm. Larks fluttered high overhead, their lilting song providing a welcome break from the sound of hooves striking off the road’s stone paving and the heavier tread of thousands of hobnailed sandals. Men bawled out verse after verse of filthy songs about the carnal proclivities of a young man on the island of Lesbos, or the habits of a sexually rapacious merchant’s wife. Half listening, Spartacus was considering whether he would save the piece of cheese in his pack or eat it now when through the haze that shimmered over the road, he spotted a pair of riders. A dust cloud trailed behind them, evidence that they were riding hard.

The cavalry officer he was riding with saw them at the same time. ‘Who in Hades could that be, sir?’

‘Good question.’ The news of their approach had taken all traffic off the Via Appia. Only an occasional slave came walking along it now, their mission to join them. But slaves didn’t generally ride. The horsemen wouldn’t be Roman envoys either. The bastards hadn’t tried to negotiate with him before. Why would they start now? ‘I’d say it’s Carbo and Navio,’ he said with a scowl.

Hearing the anger in Spartacus’ voice, the officer did not reply.

Spartacus’ tension grew as the parties drew nearer. It was all he could do not to gallop out to meet the pair, but that would have looked panicky. Who else could it be? His mind tossed around every possible answer to their early return. Unless the pair’s horses had grown wings, they hadn’t had time to ride to Brundisium and back. Could they have been ambushed by latrones, and lost their spare mounts?

Finally, Spartacus urged his horse forward, away from the front ranks of riders. He wanted to hear their report in privacy. Only the Scythians loped beside him. Close up, there was no mistaking Carbo and Navio’s dejected expressions, or the sweat lathering their mounts’ flanks. Spartacus’ belly gave a painful clench, but he smiled in greeting anyway. ‘Gods above, those horses you have must be related to Pegasus! Either that, or it’s not nearly as far to Brundisium as you thought.’

Carbo and Navio exchanged a quick glance. ‘We didn’t get as far as Brundisium,’ said Carbo.

‘Oh. Why not?’ Although he longed to shout, Spartacus kept his tone light.

‘Two nights ago, we hid the horses in an olive grove and went to a nearby roadside inn for some wine,’ said Navio, shooting a guilty glance at Spartacus. ‘I know you’d told us to avoid public places, but we were both dying of thirst.’

‘You both seem to make a damn habit of disobeying my orders,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘What you’re going to say had better be good.’

‘It’s not good, sir, it’s fucking awful,’ said Navio.

Spartacus became very still. ‘Go on.’

‘There was an official messenger staying in the inn. The prick was telling anyone who’d listen that he’d been sent to find Crassus at all costs.’ Carbo hesitated.

‘Why?’

‘Lucullus has been recalled from Thrace,’ said Carbo quietly. ‘He’s already marched his legions over the mountains and into Epirus. A fleet of ships was sent there to meet him.’

Time felt as if it had stopped. Spartacus was acutely aware of his horse shifting beneath him, of the sun beating down on his face, of the larks trilling above. Of all the reasons for their return, he had not expected this hammer blow. ‘How many soldiers?’

‘It depends whether Lucullus brings his entire army or not. He has six legions, two of which have already landed. The messenger seemed to think that he would leave one behind to garrison parts of Thrace.’

Five extra legions to fight.
Five.
‘When will the rest arrive?’

‘He wasn’t sure. Apparently, two of the legions are much closer than the rest. They’ll sail within the next week to ten days. The last will embark within a month or so.’

Spartacus wanted to curse every god in the pantheon. This was the cruellest joke that had been played on him yet. What had he done to deserve this? Gritting his teeth, he held his fury in. It was pointless to insult the gods, even if they had sent him this misfortune. With luck, he could win back their favour yet, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t need all the help he could get. ‘Did you kill the messenger?’

‘We were going to,’ said Navio, ‘but it seemed pointless. He mentioned being one of four. They had been sent out separately, to make sure that Crassus received the news.’

‘And if by some small chance we’d been caught doing it, you wouldn’t have found out,’ added Carbo.

Screw the consequences. I would have killed the messenger anyway.
Spartacus took a deep breath and let it out again. That was just his fury speaking. He stared east, towards the sea, imagining that he could see the glitter of the sun off the waves, and a fleet of ships bobbing at anchor. Shoving away the fantasy, he returned his gaze to Carbo and Navio. ‘Crassus could well have already heard the news. If not, he’ll receive it today, or tomorrow at the latest.’

They nodded miserably.

‘There’s no point continuing towards Brundisium. Knowing what he does, Crassus would march after us at double pace. Once he’d caught up, the prick would seek battle on open ground. Even if we somehow manage to evade him on the road to the coast, he would hound us all the way. We could arrive with him at our backs, to be greeted by two or even four of Lucullus’ legions. Being caught between the hammer and the anvil is not a good place to be.’

Carbo and Navio glanced at one another. This was what they had talked about, argued about, since they’d set out. ‘What can we do?’ ventured Carbo.

‘There’s only one damn option left,’ grated Spartacus. ‘Turn around and head for the mountains again. We
have
to find a suitable place to fight Crassus, and fast. With him defeated, we can try for Brundisium again, and smash Lucullus on the way there.’

Apart from the defeat on the ridge, thought Carbo, Spartacus had always led them to victory. Despite the fearful odds that were stacking up against them, why should that change now?

‘And Pompey?’ asked Navio.

‘We’ll just have to keep our ears to the ground for him. In our favour, it’s likely that Crassus will want to fight us without Pompey’s help. If I know one thing about the fucker, it’s that he’s arrogant. He’ll want the glory for himself. Yes, he will unite with the other generals eventually – he’ll have to. But if we can stay two steps ahead of them, we’ll be fine.’ He searched their faces for signs of dissent. He didn’t see it. There was a hint of fear in Carbo’s eyes, which Spartacus had expected, but the young Roman gave him a resolute nod. Navio looked as keen as ever, which didn’t surprise him either. All he wanted was vengeance for his dead family. It was a quest that could never end until Navio, or every Roman who lived under the Republic’s rule, was dead. Spartacus wondered which would come sooner.

He wondered the same thing about himself.

Chapter XVIII

The upper Silarus valley, north of Paestum

SPARTACUS’ SENIOR OFFICERS
began assembling outside his tent when the sky was still full of stars. Hearing their low murmurs, the Thracian stirred from his position by the cot, but he didn’t move further. It was hard to turn away from his sleeping son. Tousle-headed, beautiful, with a thumb stuck in his mouth, Maron was the picture of innocence. Long may he remain like that, thought Spartacus. Before life changes him. Makes him hard. He kissed the first two fingers of his right hand and trailed them across Maron’s forehead.
Sleep well, my son. I will see you later
.

He was already fully dressed. Tunic, padded jerkin, mail shirt, studded sandals. Baldric over his shoulder, sica in its scabbard by his left side. A leather belt with a sheathed dagger on it. He reached down to the stool by his bedding and picked up his Phrygian helmet.

‘Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

Ariadne let out a dismissive snort. ‘I’ve spent the night praying. Staring at the ceiling. Or you.’ In fact, she had slept for a time, but her head had been filled with the crucified men again. She wasn’t going to mention that now, or ever. It was just her imagination running riot.
Let it be no more than that, Dionysus.

‘At me?’ He sounded amused.

‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re a handsome man.’ She reached up to trace the line of his jaw with a finger. ‘I’ve thought that from the first time we met. When you saved me from Kotys’ men.’

‘That seems a lifetime ago.’ There was a touch of wistfulness in his voice. ‘But I can remember your face as if it were yesterday. You were quite the beauty. And still are,’ he added, smiling.

‘Don’t leave like this,’ she said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

‘I’ll come back in when I’ve finished talking with the officers.’

She nodded, grateful that the semi-darkness concealed the tears welling in her eyes.

Helmet under one arm and carrying his shield, Spartacus walked outside. His stomach knotted in a familiar reaction. It felt similar to the times he’d emerged from the tunnel into the gladiatorial arena. Instead of a single opponent, he found Pulcher, Egbeo, Navio and Carbo waiting for him. All four were dressed for a fight. Plumes of exhaled air rose above them into the cool air, and they stamped from foot to foot in an effort to stay warm. Rather than banks of seating full of baying spectators, the black outline of a huge massif loomed to their rear.

After nearly a week of marching north and west and aware that Crassus was closing in, Spartacus had been grateful to find this valley. It was bounded on both sides by mountains. To the east, the sheer-faced plateau behind him, and to the west, a line of similarly high, but more undulating peaks. At the valley’s bottom was a river, the Silarus, which meandered westwards to Campania’s coastal plain. The land here was fertile. Farmhouses were dotted throughout the olive groves and fields. On this side of the river, there was a significant amount of open space given over purely to the cultivation of wheat. It was what had attracted Spartacus’ eye as he’d spied out the terrain from the top of the massif two days earlier. There wasn’t too much flat ground – he estimated it was about two miles wide. That was enough for his troops to deploy without giving Crassus’ legions the space to envelop them. It would constrain the effectiveness of his cavalry, but that couldn’t be helped. Time was not on their side, so this battlefield would have to suffice.

They hadn’t been here for long – twelve hours? – before the Roman scouts had found them. It had only taken another night and day for the legions to appear. They had come from the opposite direction to Spartacus’ army: up the valley from the west, a snaking column that had taken five hours to arrive fully. It was clear from the outset that Crassus was keen for a fight. Instead of using the Silarus as a natural barrier, first his cavalry and then his legionaries had forded the watercourse. They had set up camp on the bank, at the edge of the open ground that led up towards Spartacus’ men’s tents. The provocative move had blocked off all avenues of retreat, except to the east, and short of attacking on the spot, had issued the most direct challenge possible.

Spartacus murmured a quiet greeting to his officers, who gave him tense nods in reply. He had already decided that Egbeo would command the left flank and Pulcher the right. Navio would be with him, in the centre. Carbo would stay with Ariadne and Maron, his job as before. ‘Have the sentries seen anything overnight?’ He had ordered pickets to be set up far beyond their own lines in case Crassus tried any tricks.

‘There hasn’t been a thing until just now, sir,’ said Pulcher.

Spartacus’ gaze fixed on the smith’s face. ‘What have they seen?’

‘It’s been too dark to see, sir. But they heard the sound of digging.’

‘Where?’

‘On the ground before both ends of Crassus’ camp, sir.’

‘The bastards must be digging trenches, to prevent our cavalry from charging.’

‘That was what I thought, sir,’ replied Pulcher with a scowl.

‘In that case, there’s only one thing to do.’

They stared at him without speaking.

‘Attack now. Disrupt the soldiers who are digging. With the Rider’s help, they’ll have to abandon the trenches without finishing them. Egbeo, you can take charge of the left flank, eh?’