Two weeks later…
Cisalpine Gaul, near the town of Mutina
The sun had just risen, and Spartacus was standing a short distance from the perimeter of his camp. Apart from the sentries on the earthen rampart, he was the only figure in sight. It was a good time to be alone, and one that he often took advantage of to collect his thoughts. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the cool air. Summer was around the corner, and each day it was growing hotter. By midday, marching would have become an unpleasant slog. It wasn’t surprising that the army’s progress since defeating Gellius had been even slower than usual. Buoyed up by their incredible successes, his men had spent much of the time drunk, or ransacking local farms for food, women and, of course, more wine. He hadn’t tried to stop them. After what they’d achieved, they deserved to celebrate. A leader who prevented his men from doing such things became unpopular, and he couldn’t risk that, not with the Alps drawing near. Spartacus knew he’d done well to get the army on the move a week or so previously. It had travelled at a snail’s pace of five miles a day since, however, which was immensely frustrating.
Yet at the best of times it was hard to organise fifty thousand soldiers and the straggling baggage train that accompanied them. He had long since given up trying to control the thousands of hangers-on — women, children, the wounded, whores, traders — who swelled the host’s size to ridiculous proportions. The damn column stretched for more than twenty miles. When journeying from the south, he had kept his followers in the mountains, where it was easy to avoid confrontation. Just the day before, they had left the protection of the Apennines and marched out on to the river plain of the mighty Padus. They were now permanently in the open, and vulnerable to attack. They may have driven off both consuls but Spartacus had learned over the years never to let his guard down. Squadrons of his cavalry rode at regular intervals along the column’s flanks. Other units had also ranged far afield, locating enemy troops. So far it appeared that the garrison of Mutina was staying firmly behind the town’s walls.
Spartacus climbed on to a nearby rock and peered north. Cloud cover meant that he couldn’t see the Alps this morning, but his memory of seeing them on the far horizon as they had descended from the Apennines was crystal clear. Less than seventy miles away, the influence of the Roman Republic came to an abrupt end. The sight had made Ariadne happier than he’d ever seen; it had had a similar effect on Atheas, Taxacis and the surviving Thracians. Everyone else’s reaction had been more muted, however. Gannicus had smiled and said he was looking forward to screwing a free Gaulish woman, but Castus had barely said a word. Concerned by the first real hints of resentment, Spartacus had taken to wandering through the army’s camp each night, his face obscured by the throw of a cloak. Many of the conversations he had eavesdropped on were not what he would have wished to hear. Yes, there was some talk of leaving Italy behind for ever, but there was also a great deal of grumbling and complaining.
‘Why does he want to leave? Everything we want is here. Undefended towns. Grain. Wine. Women. Money. All ours for the taking!’
‘We’ve defeated every damn force sent against us. What is there to fear by staying?’
‘Both consuls had to flee for their lives after we thrashed their legions. The Romans have learned their lesson. They won’t come near us again in a hurry.’
Biting his tongue, Spartacus hadn’t challenged this dissent. He couldn’t talk to every tent group in the army. They don’t understand the Romans. They are uneducated slaves. What do they know of history? Talk of Pyrrhus, who had defeated Rome more than once, and Hannibal, who had massacred almost their entire army in one day, and the Gaulish tribes who had threatened Italy on occasions, would mean nothing to the vast majority. Yet part of him couldn’t help exulting at the level of their confidence. Why would they want to leave? What might we do if we were a hundred thousand strong? Two hundred thousand strong? The Romans would truly fear us then.
He dragged his thoughts back to Thrace, and how he wanted to rid it of the legions for ever. The men will listen to me when the time is right, he told himself. They love and trust in me. Not all will follow me north, but most will. He glanced at the sky. Let it be so, Great Rider. Let their reverence for you and Ariadne, your faithful servant, remain, O Dionysus.
But deep in his gut, Spartacus suspected that the Romans would not leave him be if he left Italy. They would want revenge for the humiliations he had heaped upon them. And if they followed him — what then?
Hearing someone approach, he turned his head. ‘Carbo. Navio. I thought it would be you.’ My trusty Romans. He’d watched their faces closely during the munus for Crixus. Navio had enjoyed watching the legionaries die, which in Spartacus’ mind proved his loyalty. Carbo had protested to him about it, and had even spoken to Caepio when it was over. Spartacus had seen the centurion’s contempt from fifty paces away, had seen him spit at Carbo’s feet. He’d felt sorry for the young Roman, but he had also rejoiced, because Caepio’s rejection would have bonded Carbo to him for ever. There were few men whom Spartacus would trust to protect Ariadne and their as yet unborn son in the event of his death. Atheas and Taxacis were two, and Carbo was another. It was a relief to know that his allegiance remained strong.
‘Looking north?’ Carbo was wondering why their leader had summoned them so early.
‘Where else would I look? The Alps are close. We’ll reach them in a week to ten days.’ He was pleased that neither man looked unhappy. ‘Before that we have to pass Mutina, don’t we?’
‘It’s about ten miles away,’ said Navio.
‘Tell me about it,’ ordered Spartacus.
‘It’s a Roman colony on the Via Aemilia, which runs from Ariminum on the east coast to Placentia, some sixty miles distant. Mutina is also the main base for the provincial governor and his two legions.’
‘Proconsul Gaius Cassius Longinus,’ said Carbo. ‘He comes from an old and illustrious family.’ Like Crassus, the shitbag.
‘Longinus was consul last year, when Glaber and the other fools were sent to destroy us,’ mused Spartacus. ‘By now he will have heard what happened to Lentulus and Gellius.’
‘At this moment, I would say he’s hiding behind Mutina’s walls, shitting himself,’ said Navio with a laugh. ‘Wishing that he had more than two legions.’
‘Beware the cornered snake,’ advised Spartacus. ‘And to underestimate a Roman army is to invite your own destruction.’
‘True,’ murmured Navio. ‘But we’ll hammer them into little pieces regardless.’
‘The scouts have found no sign so far of Longinus or his troops. That probably means that he’s kept them in camp, but the easiest route to the Alps will take us right by Mutina. Who knows what the proconsul might have planned for us?’ He pinned them with his eyes. ‘I want you to see what you can find out.’
‘What, go to Mutina?’ asked Carbo in surprise.
‘Yes. You’re the only two who can get away with it. You’re Roman. You’re educated. No one will even challenge you.’
We could sleep in beds, thought Carbo. He hadn’t done that for many months. ‘All right.’
‘Count me in,’ said Navio.
‘I want you back within a day. If you value your skins, remember to keep your mouths shut,’ warned Spartacus. ‘I’ll let the army rest until you return. Then we’re moving north.’
‘A day,’ mused Carbo, feverishly wondering if he might have time to compose a letter of farewell to his parents. The idea had occurred to him before, but their situation had made it impossible. He had no ink, no stylus or parchment, and no way of sending the message. Now, with the Alps so near at hand, their departure from Italy suddenly seemed real. Permanent. In the forum of a town such as Mutina, he would find scribes who for a few coins would write him a note.
‘It’s plenty of time,’ asserted Navio.
‘Find some clothes that are well worn and dirty. Do not wear your belts, obviously, or any weapons apart from a knife,’ ordered Spartacus. ‘Take only a small amount of money.’
‘If anyone asks our business, what shall we say?’
‘You’re both farmers. That will explain your tans, and the calluses on your hands. You come from thirty miles to the south of here, in the foothills of the Apennines. Like so many others, your farms were laid waste by Spartacus’ men, and your families killed. You’ve come to Mutina to find work, and protection from the rebels.’
It seemed a plausible story. Carbo and Navio glanced at each other and nodded.
‘Go on with you! The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back.’
To avoid being run over by an official messenger who showed no sign of slowing his cantering horse, Carbo stepped off the paved surface of the road. He glanced sidelong at the rider as he pounded past, heading for Placentia. No prizes for guessing what his message is. Something along the lines of ‘Send me every available soldier you have! Spartacus is at the gates.’ It was a pleasing thought.
He and Navio had skirted through the deserted countryside to join the busy Via Aemilia some miles to the west of Mutina, so that when they arrived, it didn’t look as if they had come from the south. Unsurprisingly, most of the heavy traffic was heading away from the threat of the slave army. There were enough travellers moving eastwards for them not to appear unusual, however. Carbo unslung his water bag with a sigh. ‘Gods, but it’s hot.’ Taking a long swig, he threw the leather carrier at Navio.
His friend winked. ‘Just as well we’re not wearing our mail shirts and carrying our swords and shields, eh?’
‘In Hades’ name! Keep your mouth shut.’ Carbo was grateful for the deafening racket made by the creaking of a passing cart’s wheels.
‘No one can hear me.’
‘Maybe now. But in Mutina, things will be different, especially if we go to a tavern.’
‘ If?’ screeched Navio. ‘When!’
Carbo glowered at Navio, but he only half meant it. They’d spent the entire journey talking about finding an inn where they could drink some decent wine, and order good food instead of the burned offerings they’d grown used to. There might even be some half-decent-looking whores, Carbo thought hopefully. He hadn’t had sex since Chloris, his lover, had died. There had been plenty of opportunities, but unlike most of Spartacus’ men, he wasn’t prepared to rape defenceless women. By now he was desperate. ‘All right, all right. But we do it my way. Quietly. Carefully. There’ll be no talk of anything other than farming, our poor dead families, and what bastards Spartacus and his lot are.’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Navio. ‘But that’s as much as you’re telling me what to do. You’re not choosing which whore I screw.’ He hurled the water bag at Carbo’s head with a laugh and made a ring with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. With a suggestive leer, he thrust his left forefinger in and out of the opening. ‘That’s what I want. With the best-looking woman I can find,’ he growled.
Carbo chuckled. For just a moment, life felt normal.
His wariness returned fast. There was a long queue waiting to enter Mutina’s main gate, which was guarded by a large group of legionaries. ‘Look how many of the whoresons there are. Twenty at least,’ he muttered as they shuffled along behind an ox cart laden down with freshly sawn planks. ‘They’ve heard how we took Thurii.’
‘Looks like it.’
Carbo could remember every moment of the battle at Thurii in southern Italy. In order to spring a surprise attack on Varinius, Spartacus had had his men seize the poorly defended city by subterfuge. The next day, leaving a portion of his army outside, apparently besieging Thurii, he had drawn Varinius and his soldiers into a deadly trap. Since that day, Carbo’s respect for Spartacus had been unassailable. The Romans’ defeat had been total, their humiliation immense.
Clearly, Longinus wasn’t going to let the same happen to Mutina, or to him.
‘We’ll just have to brazen our way in.’ Carbo was relieved to see some of the nervousness he was feeling reflected in Navio’s face.
‘If they ask, let’s lay it on thick about our families being slaughtered. We’re loyal Roman citizens, who pay our taxes and ask little in return. Where were the legionaries to protect us when Spartacus and his savages descended on our farms? And so on.’
‘Fine.’ However, Carbo’s tension grew as they edged closer to the walls, which were heavily manned. There were ballistae at regular intervals along the stone battlements as well. He indicated them with tight nods of his hed. ‘See those?’
‘Yes. They’re prepared for a siege. Maybe Longinus is scared to march outside and fight!’ joked Navio.
‘Maybe. But he’ll do it anyway.’
‘He’ll have to,’ agreed Navio grimly. ‘Or for the rest of his life he’ll be known as the general who let Spartacus escape. He’d never command more than a squad of men on latrine duty.’
It was a pleasing to imagine a Roman general supervising the cleaning up of shit and piss, but Carbo forced himself to concentrate on what was going on ahead. The skinny man with the cart in front was having a furious argument with the legionaries manning the gate. ‘You’re not coming in with that damn wagon,’ reiterated the optio in charge, a pug-nosed, officious individual. ‘For the foreseeable future, no trade goods are to be allowed in unless by the direct order of the proconsul.’ He scanned the list in his right hand. ‘I can’t see anything here about planks.’
‘These have been ordered by no less than Purpurius!’
‘Purpurius?’ The optio yawned.
‘He is an important merchant who lives by the forum.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Let me tell you that Purpurius is a friend of the proconsul!’
‘I’m sure he is,’ said the optio in a disbelieving tone. ‘His goods aren’t on my list, however.’
‘It’s taken me two days to get here,’ pleaded the carter.
‘Not my problem,’ came the bored reply. ‘Now back your cart up and turn around. You’re blocking the entrance.’
‘I-’
The optio lifted his metal-tipped staff. ‘Are you deaf?’
Throwing filthy looks at the soldiers and complaining about what Purpurius would do when he heard what had happened, the unfortunate carter began the laborious procedure of reversing the oxen. Carbo, Navio and the people behind them scrambled out of the way as he manoeuvred away from the walls and, still grumbling, headed back the way he had come.
‘Get a move on!’ bellowed a voice.
The optio was beckoning them forward. ‘Names,’ he called out.
They had already decided that using their real names wouldn’t matter, and it would mean that they didn’t have to remember an alias. ‘Paullus Carbo.’
‘Marcus Navio.’
‘Occupations?’
‘We’re farmers, sir,’ said Carbo.
He looked them up and down. ‘No cart, no sacks of vegetables. What’s your business here?’
‘We’ve been driven off our land,’ replied Carbo bitterly.
‘Ah. By Spartacus and his lot?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Navio’s face twitched. ‘The bastards killed our families. Took all of our livestock. Trampled the young wheat in the fields.’
‘Left us with nothing,’ added Carbo.
The optio grimaced in sympathy. ‘You’re not alone. The same’s happened to thousands of others. Why have you come to Mutina?’
‘To look for work, sir,’ replied Navio.
‘Work? You’ll be lucky. The place is bursting at the seams with refugees.’
‘We’ll do anything, sir,’ Carbo pleaded. ‘Please.’
The optio rubbed his battered nose. ‘There’ll be work soon enough, I suppose. When Spartacus arrives, we’ll need men who can carry rocks to the catapults on the walls. Think you can do that all day without complaining?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘You look fit enough. No weapons apart from those knives?’
‘No, sir.’
He gave them an abrupt wave. ‘Go on then. Inside with both of you.’
Muttering their thanks, the friends hurried under the stone arch.
‘Paullus Carbo? You kept that one quiet,’ said Navio with a chuckle.
Carbo felt his face flame. ‘I don’t like the name, so I never use it.’
‘Paullus, my son! Dinner is served.’ Navio’s tone was falsetto high, mimicking a woman’s voice.
‘Piss off!’ He thumped Navio on the arm.
‘Paullus! Time for your lessons!’
Navio’s mimicry reminded Carbo of his old tutor and, despite himself, he snorted with amusement.
Navio put a finger to his lips. ‘We’re supposed to be grieving for our families — Paullus!’
They were so busy trying not to laugh out loud that neither saw one of the optio’s men sloping after them.
A short distance into the town, the friends’ attention was drawn by the delicious smell of frying food. Following their noses, they found an open-fronted restaurant on one of the first side streets off the main thoroughfare. Seeing that the place was packed with off-duty soldiers, they decided to eat there. Eavesdropping in such a place might prove fruitful. They found an empty table against the back wall and sat down. A blowsy-looking woman who reeked of cheap perfume came and took their orders. Three asses bought them two bowls of hearty stew, served with fresh bread, and a jug of watered-down wine. In between mouthfuls, they talked in lowered voices, all the while listening in to the conversations around them.
At length, Navio pushed his empty plate away with a belch. ‘Gods, but I needed a feed like that.’
‘It was good,’ agreed Carbo absently.
‘Longinus doesn’t mind that we’re outnumbered five to one!’ announced a gnarled soldier at the next table. ‘The motherless cur needs-’
‘Shut it, Felix,’ warned his companion. ‘Never mind Longinus. If an officer hears you talking like that, you’ll end up on a charge.’
‘What do I care?’ Felix slurped sourly at his wine. ‘We’re about to be slaughtered anyway. I might as well have a last night in clink before the end. The mattresses in there don’t have as many bedbugs as mine.’
His friend snorted with laughter. ‘That’s as may be, but twenty lashes for insubordination will hurt a lot more than a few stinking bites. It won’t get you out of fighting either. Every man who can hold a shield and spear has to report for duty. The surgeons have been ordered to empty the hospital of all but the most severe cases.’
‘I know. I heard the announcement too,’ grumbled Felix. ‘It’s just that-’
‘Close your trap,’ ordered his friend, pouring more wine. ‘Enjoy another drink, for it might be one of your last.’
The two legionaries fell into a rambling chat about where they should go next.
‘Did you hear that?’ whispered Carbo. ‘It sounds as if Longinus is going to fight.’
‘Neither of them said that exactly.’
Navio was right. What they’d heard wasn’t enough. Hiding his scowl, Carbo took another drink and casually cast his eyes around the nearest tables. To his left, four soldiers were devouring a roasted leg of pork. Beyond them, a couple of what looked like merchants were talking business. On his right were the pair that they’d heard moaning and then a table of three legionaries who were swilling down wine and arguing over a game of knucklebones. Behind Navio, a junior officer and a trumpeter were amusing themselves by seeing how high a scrawny mongrel would jump to catch their leftovers. The conversations of those who were further away were impossible to make out.
Carbo told himself to be patient.
By the time that they’d finished their jug of wine, however, they had heard nothing more of interest. ‘Time to move on,’ he muttered. The afternoon was passing. It wouldn’t be that long until it got dark.
Navio’s answering grin was huge. He leaned towards Felix. ‘Hey, friend! Where might two thirsty men find a decent watering hole? Preferably one that has whores who aren’t riddled with pox.’
‘That’s easy. Try the inn two streets up, on the right. Vulcan’s Anvil, they call it. You can’t miss it. Full of soldiers, night and day.’
‘It’s a good place to get hammered,’ added his comrade with a wink.
‘The pussy there is top notch. Expensive, though.’ Felix’s red-rimmed eyes regarded them closely. ‘I doubt you’ve got the brass to pay for one whore between you.’
‘You’re right, friend,’ said Navio, getting to his feet. ‘But there’s nothing to stop us admiring the flesh on display as we drink, eh?’
‘True enough. That’s what most of us do in there, unless it’s payday. We might join you later.’
‘We’d be honoured to buy you a drink,’ said Carbo, thinking the exact opposite. He nodded an amiable farewell. As soon as they were out of earshot, he muttered to Navio, ‘Let’s find somewhere else.’
Navio pursed his lips regretfully. ‘It would be a little dangerous, eh?’
‘He said it would be full of soldiers! Another inn would be far safer.’
‘Think about the whores, though.’ Navio’s tone was wistful.
‘The ones we can’t afford?’
‘Can’t we?’
‘No,’ snapped Carbo.
With a sly look, Navio pulled on the leather thong that held his purse around his neck. ‘I found two aurei in one of the farmhouses we sacked a while ago. There hasn’t been anything to spend them on until now.’
‘Spartacus said not to take much money,’ protested Carbo.
‘I know, I know. But a man’s got his needs, hasn’t he?’
‘What do you think an aureus will buy?’
‘What won’t it buy? You’ll get the fuck of your life or my name’s not Marcus Navio!’
Lustful thoughts filled Carbo’s head. Then he pulled himself together. ‘Not in Vulcan’s Anvil,’ he said firmly. ‘Somewhere else.’
‘There’ll be more than one good brothel in town,’ said Navio with a shrug. ‘Let’s try another inn, see what we can hear. There are bound to be more off-duty soldiers complaining about Longinus.’
They began pushing their way through the crowds.
Neither saw the figure slip from the shadows opposite the restaurant to dog their trail.
Despite the warm glow from the wine, Carbo couldn’t fail to notice the pinched faces and ragged appearance of the town’s inhabitants. Squads of legionaries tramped to and fro, driven on by the shouts and vine canes of their officers. No one looked happy, especially the shopkeepers, who stood in the doorways of their empty establishments, regarding the passers-by with sour expressions. There were beggars everywhere, squatting on the rutted mud at the side of the street or working their way through the throng, dirty hands outstretched. Spartacus is responsible for this, Carbo thought, shocked yet proud. We all are.
Their quest to eavesdrop on conversations proved more difficult than the pair had supposed. Wandering the thoroughfares, they found numerous inns of one kind or another. There were soldiers in all of them, but the confined spaces meant that it was difficult to secure a table near enough to have any chance of listening in. The friends had to be discreet about what they were doing and, more than once, they had to content themselves with standing at the bar, or sitting on the other side of the room to the men whose banter and complaints they wanted to hear. On the one occasion that they managed to settle down next to a party of legionaries, all they gathered was that no one wanted to be serving under Longinus, two of the men had the pox and that it was three months until the next payday. When Carbo let his gaze linger for too long on the group, he was told in no uncertain terms to mind his own business unless he wanted to be picking his teeth from the back of his throat. The pair quickly moved on.
Although they only drank watered-down wine, they visited enough establishments in the subsequent hours for their senses to become dulled and their levels of frustration and anger to grow. The fifth tavern was the worst of the lot, a dingy hole down a side alley. It had rickety furniture, a couple of ancient whores and the foulest wine Carbo had ever tasted. He spat out the first mouthful, and just sat, furiously studying the contents of his clay cup as a soothsayer would. But he found no inspiration. When a drunk spilled his wine over him, the young Roman struggled not to beat the fool into a bloody pulp. Glad that he had mastered his temper, he then had to stop Navio from eyeballing a couple of legionaries who were challenging the other customers to a wrestling match. ‘Leave it. Don’t go looking for trouble.’
Navio tore his eyes away from the soldiers, who had stripped to the waist and were parading around in circles, flexing their biceps and threatening to cripple all comers. ‘I could beat both of them,’ he said truculently. ‘At the same time.’
‘I’m sure you could,’ Carbo soothed. ‘But now is not the time. Remember why we’re here.’
Navio shot him a sour glance. ‘Not having much luck, though, are we? That old bitch Fortuna must be in a really bad mood.’
‘Our luck will turn. Let’s find another drinking hole. That’ll be the one where we hear something useful,’ said Carbo with all the enthusiasm he could muster. ‘And simmer down. Remember where we are.’
Navio grumbled but followed Carbo outside without further argument.
Seeing a temple dedicated to Fortuna, the goddess of luck, Carbo led his friend over. He saw Navio’s incredulous look. ‘She might need placating. Wait here. Do not cause any trouble.’ Buying a small offering of a votive lamp from a wizened old man, he went inside, where he asked the goddess’s forgiveness for Navio’s words, and asked for her help with their mission. Carbo felt better after he’d made his offering, and he led his friend in search of another inn with renewed enthusiasm.
They heard nothing of interest in the next place, however, nor at the busy restaurant where they each ate a plate of fried pork. Carbo’s spirits sank to match Navio’s. They sat miserably, watching yet another file of troops march past. ‘We could follow them,’ Carbo suggested.
Navio’s withering look told him what he knew already. ‘Stupid idea.’
Nothing was said for a while.
‘I don’t want to go back without any information,’ said Carbo at last.
‘Me neither, but what else can we do?’
Carbo thought of the soldiers they’d spoken to earlier. His stomach clenched at the idea of actively seeking the company of two men who, if alerted to their identities, would kill them without even blinking. But if they were very drunk, they wouldn’t find out — and they might reveal something. It was a long shot, but Carbo couldn’t think of anything else. ‘There’s always Vulcan’s Anvil.’
‘I thought we’d decided it was too dangerous?’
‘Can you think of anything better?’
Navio sucked in air between his teeth. ‘Other than walking up to an officer and asking what Longinus has planned, no,’ he admitted.
‘Well, then.’ Now that he’d thought of a possible solution, Carbo wanted to go for it. ‘Anything’s better than trudging around every low-class watering hole in Mutina. We’ll end up with gut rot if this keeps on.’
‘True.’ Navio’s expression grew sly. ‘Remember the whores they told us about? They’re supposed to be the best in town.’
‘Forget that. Let’s see if our luck has turned, see if we can overhear anything.’
‘And after that, a good screw!’
The idea was appealing. Carbo’s unfulfilled lust plagued him night and day. Telling himself that buying a whore would be just reward for finding out what Spartacus wanted to know, he headed in search of Vulcan’s Anvil.
It wasn’t hard to find. A three-storey detached brick building with a large courtyard surrounded by stables, it was a grander enterprise than most. The ground-floor frontage was covered in stucco, which had been painted imaginatively with Greek columns covered in vines. Over the front door, which was manned by a pair of hulking doormen, hung a sign depicting the god of fire crouched over his anvil, hammer in hand.
They swaggered up to the entrance. The noise emanating from the window openings — laughter, singing and the noise of women’s voices — was deafening. ‘Sounds promising, eh?’ said Navio, leering.
Even as Carbo’s imagination ran riot, his skin crawled. They were about to walk into the lion’s den. He gritted his teeth. The shame of telling Spartacus that he’d failed would be worse than risking his neck. And if they were careful, things would go according to plan.
The larger of the doormen, a colossus with a gaping socket where one of his eyes should have been, moved to block the doorway. ‘Can I help you?’ His tone didn’t imply that he wanted to be of any help whatsoever.
‘We were in search of a drink,’ said Carbo politely.
The doorman sniffed. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. And perhaps a chat with some of your young ladies,’ added Navio.
Now the giant laughed. ‘You two haven’t got the cash to afford one of our girls. Now why don’t you piss off before me and my mate break your arms?’
‘And legs,’ rumbled his companion.
Carbo’s nerves jangled an alarm. He began to back away.
‘Where are you going?’ Navio’s tone was jaunty.
‘To an inn where they’re less picky about their customers.’
‘There’s no need for that.’ Navio’s hand dipped into his purse. Carbo had no time to react. Gold flashed in his friend’s fingers as he stepped right up to the doorman. ‘Is this good enough for you?’
The colossus’ face cracked into a gap-toothed smile. ‘Forgive my poor manners, sir. You are both most welcome to Vulcan’s Anvil. As everyone knows, we have the finest wines and women in Mutina.’ He stood aside and with a flourish of his meaty arm, bid them enter.
‘Come on.’
Reluctantly, Carbo joined his friend.
‘This is more like it,’ said Navio as they stepped inside.
The richly decorated interior was lit by half a dozen bronze candelabras suspended from the ceiling. The solid tables and benches were carved from hardwood, and the sawdust on the concrete and tiled floor was clean. The customers were mostly soldiers, a number of whom were officers.
Navio’s smile faded before Carbo’s scowl. ‘What?’
‘You know how damn rare aurei are! Those doormen will be talking about us all night.’
‘Relax,’ said Navio in a confident tone. ‘What do they care how we came by our money? I’ll be sure to tip them on the way out, tell them to forget they ever saw us. We don’t want our wives to find out we’ve been here. You know the type of line.’ He winked.
Carbo still wasn’t happy, but then he saw the quartet of women standing on a plinth behind the bar and all reason, all thought of their mission, left him. The four were more beautiful than his wildest dreams. His groin tightened as he realised that under their diaphanous robes, they were naked.
‘I thought you’d change your mind.’ Navio thumped him on the chest, bringing him back to reality. He handed over a gold coin. ‘Here. Spend it wisely. I’ll see you later for a drink. We can compare notes.’
Carbo clutched the aureus tightly. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Where do you think?’ Navio replied, nodding at the prostitutes. ‘We’ve got all night to find out what we need.’
With a pounding heart, Carbo watched his friend work his way to the bar, catch the eye of a stunning brunette and gesture to her. When she approached, their heads bent together for a moment. Long enough for the beauty to see the aureus, thought Carbo. The next time he looked, Navio was heading up the stairs with his arm around her. He didn’t look back.
A man carrying two jugs of wine collided with Carbo, taking his attention away from the whores. For some reason, he thought of his parents. The letter! If there was ever a good time to have it written, it was now. He’d be back within the blink of an eye. Navio wouldn’t even know that he had gone. Once it was done, he could have a drink and listen in to the loud chatter around him. With so many soldiers in the inn, it would be impossible not to hear some useful information. Then he could decide which one of the women he wanted. Excited by the prospect of completing Spartacus’ mission as well as his own, Carbo slipped outside again. In the failing light, the doormen were talking to a block-headed soldier.
Sensing Carbo’s presence, the colossus turned with an obsequious smile. ‘Leaving so soon, sir?’
‘I have a quick errand to run. Before I drink too much and forget, you see. Where’s the forum?’
‘That way.’ The colossus pointed northwards. ‘All the streets heading in that direction reach it.’
‘How far is it?’
‘No more than a quarter of a mile.’
Nodding his thanks, Carbo walked off.
The legionary waited until he had gone some distance up the alley before sidling after him.
The doorman proved to be correct. Carbo found the forum with ease. Although he’d never visited the town before, the large rectangular space felt familiar. Like most Roman centres of population, the forum was the beating heart of Mutina. Stalls packed the area, selling everything from tools, clothing, pots and pans to bread, meat, vegetables and love charms. It was bordered by a large number of temples — to Jupiter, Minerva, Juno and the Dioscuri, the twins Castor and Pollux — in addition to government buildings such as the court and the tax office. There were also basilicae, covered markets where lawyers, scribes, surgeons and pharmacists plied their trades.
Carbo headed straight for these. His eagerness waned as he crossed the threshold, however. What he was about to do was even more risky than entering Vulcan’s Anvil. If the scribe got even the slightest inkling that Carbo was one of Spartacus’ men, he would be arrested on the spot. He sauntered up and down the stalls, ignoring offers of a bargain price to read his fortune, to have his teeth examined and to write his will that very instant, in case the gods suddenly struck him down. His gaze settled on a portly figure sitting under a sign that read: LETTERS COMPOSED. NEAT SCRIPT. REASONABLE PRICES. Catching Carbo’s eye, the scribe gave him an amiable nod. Pleased that the man hadn’t verbally assaulted him as his neighbours had, Carbo nodded back. ‘I need a letter written,’ he blurted, feeling his resolve weaken.
‘That’s my job.’
‘It won’t be long. No more than a few lines.’
‘Four asses.’
‘Fine. Can you have it sent as well?’
‘That will cost more. Where does it need to go?’
‘Rome.’
There was a frown. ‘The road south isn’t safe at the moment, as you know.’
‘Because of Spartacus and his men?’
A tight, angry nod. ‘They say that he’s advancing on the town. The proconsul is sure to act within the next day or so. His two legions are ready for a fight. With the blessings of Jupiter, Greatest and Best, we will soon rid be of the Thracian murderer and the scum who follow in his wake.’
‘Let us hope so,’ Carbo replied blithely. ‘Can you have it sent anyway?’
‘I should be able to find someone. It will cost you, mind.’
‘How much?’
‘Call it an even denarius.’
Carbo made a rueful face, but he would have paid far more if he’d had to. He fumbled in his purse and handed over a silver coin.
Selecting a small piece of parchment, the scribe placed it on his stained desk and weighed its corners down with pieces of lead. Dipping his stylus into a pot of ink, he looked enquiringly at Carbo.
‘“Honoured Father and Mother, I live in hope that this reaches you both healthy and well.”’
The scribe pursed his lips with concentration as he finished the line. ‘Yes?’
‘“I can only apologise for the lack of communication since I left home. I departed because I wished to”…’ Carbo paused, wondering what he should say. ‘… “help the family’s financial problems in my own way, rather than doing as Father wished. I know that this makes me an undutiful son, but I could not bear the thought of becoming a lawyer.”’
‘I don’t blame you,’ said the scribe, scowling at the stallholder opposite, a tall man with oiled hair and an imperious manner. ‘Liars and thieves, the lot of them.’
Even more aware of the need to choose his words with care, Carbo smiled.
‘Continue.’
‘“I still hope to help with regard to Father’s obligations in the future. For the moment, however, that will have to wait. I am about to embark on a long and dangerous journey, one from which I may never return.”’ May? Will. But he couldn’t say that, in case the scribe got too curious. His letter was surely odd enough as it was. ‘“Before my departure, I wished to let you know that I pray for you both daily. May the gods watch over and protect you. Your loving son, Carbo.”’
The scribe signed off the letter with a flourish. ‘Thinking of seeking your fortune abroad?’
‘Yes.’ You cannot even imagine.
‘With a merchant?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Gaul, or somewhere even further afield?’
‘I have to meet a man in Placentia who is heading for Gaul and then Britannia,’ lied Carbo.
‘You’re a braver man than me,’ said the scribe with a shudder. ‘They say that the seas around Britannia are full of terrible monsters. Its natives live under the malign influence of the druids. Their warriors fight naked, eat the flesh of their enemies, and make drinking cups out of their skulls.’ He took Carbo’s feigned horror at face value. ‘Of course I didn’t mean that you would come to any harm. No doubt you’ll be home within the year, a wealthy man.’
‘No doubt.’ Real grief gripped Carbo. Despite the lie about his intentions, his imminent departure was no less final. If only he could turn up on his uncle’s doorstep and say goodbye to his parents in person, instead of sending them a coded letter. Be content. It’s the best you can do.
‘To whom should the letter be sent?’ asked the scribe, folding the parchment into a little square.
Carbo’s mouth opened and closed. He wanted to say, ‘Jovian Carbo, at the house of the lawyer Alfenus Varus, who lives on the Esquiline Hill in Rome,’ but his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth. What am I doing? This is insane.
‘Well?’
Still Carbo said nothing.
‘The letter’s no good without a name and address.’
‘Leave it. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Change of heart?’
‘Yes,’ Carbo muttered. ‘My prayers will have to suffice.’
‘Family are always hard to deal with.’ The scribe’s tone was sympathetic.
‘Yes,’ replied Carbo gruffly. ‘I want my denarius.’
‘Give me four asses, and it’s yours. I have to be paid for my time,’ said the scribe with a frown.
Carbo rummaged in his purse and handed over the small coins. In return, the scribe tossed him the denarius. Carbo nodded his thanks and left. He had to concentrate on his real mission and find out what he could about Longinus’ plans. After that, he could drown his sorrows. In the morning, they’d return to their camp, where Spartacus would be waiting. He walked past a druggist’s stall, vaguely noticing a legionary who was engrossed by he bottles and lotions on display without discerning it was the same individual who had been talking to the doormen outside the inn. He also missed the man hurrying over to the scribe.
By the time he’d reached Vulcan’s Anvil again, it was nearly dark. He was ushered inside with more greasy smiles. Carbo scanned the room, but there was no sign of Navio. His eyes were drawn to the women behind the bar. A raven-haired temptress now stood where the brunette had been. She was even more gorgeous than the others, and Carbo knew that she was the one he’d pick. But before that, he had work to do. Ordering a jug of Campanian, he found a space on a long bench that ran along one wall, which fortuitously afforded a good view of the door as well as the stairs to the floor above.
Casual glances revealed that his neighbours were soldiers. Carbo’s guts churned, but he slurped at his wine, eager for the confidence that its effects would bring, and listened to every word he could.
To his left, three junior officers were bitching about their centurion. ‘All he cares about is spit and polish,’ moaned one, a fresh-faced tesserarius.
‘I know,’ agreed the signifer, who was a decade or so older. ‘That bullshit has its time and place, but when we’re facing the fight of our lives, you’d think he could concentrate on other things.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, lads.’ The optio was a tall man with jug ears. ‘But Bassus has been around the block more times than you and I can imagine. Focusing the men’s minds on boring duties like keeping their kit sparkling clean helps them not to think about more worrying things.’
‘Like Spartacus and his fucking army, you mean,’ said the tesserarius heavily.
‘Precisely.’
‘I hope to Hades that Longinus knows what he’s at,’ muttered the signifer. ‘If he doesn’t, we’re all buggered.’
Carbo pricked his ears.
‘Shut your trap,’ growled the optio. ‘You know we’re not supposed to talk about it.’ He glanced to either side, and Carbo busily filled his cup again. Fortuna, please let me hear something, he prayed.
To his disappointment, the officers then began talking about the whores on display. Carbo turned his attention to the group of legionaries on his right, but they were arguing furiously about whose turn it was to order the next round. It appeared to be the turn of a slight soldier with mousy brown hair, although he was denying it, meeting his comrades’ protests and insults with a small, amused smile. The men’s racket was so great that Carbo couldn’t hear what anyone else in the vicinity was saying. He wanted to find another spot where he might be more successful in eavesdropping, but he knew that would look odd. He’d chosen his spot and he had to stick to it.
Catching the eye of a passing serving boy, he ordered more wine and a plate of bread and cheese. The food would line his stomach, and stop him getting too pissed.
‘Well, well. If it isn’t our friend from the restaurant!’
Carbo’s heart sank as he looked up. He managed to pull a grin. ‘You found your way here then?’
‘Seems like it,’ said Felix with a belch, throwing himself down beside Carbo.
‘Where’s your friend?’
‘Gaius? He’s getting the drinks in. It was my job to find a seat. Gods — this place is bloody heaving!’ He leaned towards Carbo, filling the air with wine fumes. ‘Is your mate giving one of the whores a seeing-to?’
‘Yes.’ Carbo’s gaze flickered to the stairs, which were empty. Hurry up, Navio!
‘Where’d he get the money?’
Carbo thought frantically. ‘We pooled what we had and drew lots. Navio won. It wasn’t a huge amount, but he managed to talk one of the women around. The man has a golden tongue,’ he lied, cursing silently because he’d just blown any chance of sex, at least while Felix was around. He now had to act as if he had very little money.
‘Lucky bastard. I’d love to do the same, but that kind of cash only comes my way on payday. Not that I’m likely to be here the next time that comes around!’ He gave Carbo a knowing grimace. ‘There’s a big fight coming.’
‘I know. Here, have some of my wine while you’re waiting.’ He emptied the dregs from a used cup on the table and filled it to the brim.
‘I don’t mind if I do.’ Felix took a long swallow and smacked his lips with satisfaction. ‘It’s not bad. Better than the vinegar they were serving in the restaurant, eh?’
‘That wouldn’t be hard.’
‘Too true! Felix is the name, lad. What’s yours?’
‘Carbo.’
They nodded at each other in a friendly way. This is weird, thought Carbo. I might have to kill this man in the next few days. Or he me.
‘You look a likely sort. Why aren’t you in the legions?’
He shrugged. ‘I come from a farm. Working the land is all I’ve ever known.’
‘Farming? You can keep it. Too damn boring if you ask me! There’s far more adventure serving in the army.’ Felix’s face darkened. ‘Until the likes of Spartacus come along of course.’
‘Longinus will get the better of him, surely?’
‘The proconsul is not a worker of magic! He only has two legions. The Thracian has upwards of fifty thousand men. That’s poor odds by anyone’s standards.’
Carbo let his face go sour. ‘Is that it then? Longinus will be defeated, as the consuls were?’
It was as if Felix couldn’t help himself. ‘Despite what I said earlier, Longinus is a crafty old bird. He’s got a plan. One that should catch the son of a whore unawares.’
‘Oh?’ said Carbo offhandedly. Inside, his heart had begun to race.
Felix tapped the side of his nose. ‘It’s on a need-to-know basis.’
‘Of course.’ Hiding his fury, he poured more wine.
‘You’re a good man, Carbo, like me. To your health, and mine. To the death of Spartacus and every last one of his shitbag followers!’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Carbo muttered.
Raised voices at the door diverted their attention. A group of legionaries in full battle dress had entered. Directed by an optio, they were splitting into pairs and moving through the room, studying the men at every table.
Carbo’s stomach did a nauseating somersault. What in the name of Hades do they want?
‘It’s the fucking watch,’ growled Felix.
‘Why are they here?’
‘The usual reason. They’ll be looking for soldiers who are out without a pass.’ He saw Carbo’s blank look and pulled a small wooden tablet from his purse. ‘We all have to have these to leave barracks. If you’re caught without one, it’s ten days in the clink.’
‘Ah.’ But Carbo’s disquiet returned the instant he saw a block-headed legionary talking to the colossus at the door. It was the same soldier who had been outside when he’d gone to the forum. This could be no coincidence. Carbo’s eyes slid to the stairs. Still no sign of Navio. Damn it!
A figure loomed over them.
‘Gaius! I thought you’d got lost.’ Felix jerked a thumb at Carbo. ‘This is the lad we met earlier. Carbo’s his name.’
Gaius let out a suspicious grunt as he took a seat beside Felix.
‘Hey, come on. He’s been sharing his wine with me.’
‘Hmmm. Where’s his friend?’
‘Screwing one of the whores.’
From the corner of his eye, Carbo could see a pair of legionaries drawing nearer. What made his heart nearly leap out of his chest, however, was the sight of the block-headed soldier weaving his way between the packed tables, studying each man’s face. It would only be moments before he reached them. He’s looking for me. Carbo knew it in his gut. He was about to stand when a full cup of wine was shoved in his face. ‘Get that down your gullet.’
‘Thanks.’ Carbo threw it back in one swallow.
‘Jupiter’s cock, you’ve got a thirst on you! Sure you don’t want to join the legions? You’d fit right in.’ Grinning, Felix poured him another.
Again Carbo made to leave, but his plate of bread and cheese arrived. He kept the serving boy as long as he could, fumbling around for the right coins and asking him where the toilets were. It was a waste of effort, because the moment the servant moved on, his place was taken by the block-headed legionary.
‘You’re looking in the wrong place, pal,’ said Felix, truculently waving his pass. ‘We’ve all got one of these. Why don’t you piss off back to the guardhouse and leave us in peace?’
‘Shut your mouth, soldier.’ The gimlet eyes did not waver from their path along the faces lining the bench.
Carbo buried his nose in his cup of wine, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be noticed.
‘You. Look at me.’
Shit.
‘I’m talking to you, sewer rat!’
‘Back off, you prick,’ said Felix. ‘He’s a civvie.’
‘I want a word with him.’
‘Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?’ demanded Felix, getting to his feet.
‘Keep your damn nose out of this.’
‘He’s a friend of mine, cocksucker. Leave him alone.’
Carbo sensed Felix step forward and shove the block-headed man in the chest. What should he do?
‘You stupid bastard! I’ve been watching him all day. He and his mate are loaded down with gold coins. What are two pieces of shit doing with money like that? This one has also had a scribe write a letter to his parents, telling them he’s going on a long journey.’
‘Eh?’ said Felix stupidly, looking down at Carbo, whose throat had closed with fear. The prick must have seen Navio pull out his aureus and then followed me from here. He had no time to think further.
‘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.