Chapter IV

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

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

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

At that, Arnax’s thin face had paled.

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

‘I’m only eleven.’

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

‘I’ll do it!’

And that had been that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Castus.

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

‘Mutina,’ said Navio.

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

‘Falling into dungheaps. What else?’

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

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

‘Do I have to tell you everything?’

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

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

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

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

‘We had some problems, sir,’ replied Navio awkwardly.

Spartacus’ eyebrows made a neat arch.

‘We, err…’ Navio hesitated. ‘We had a few drinks. I ended up in a dungheap. Carbo pulled me out.’

The Gauls chortled.

He hasn’t had to lie. Carbo felt a trace of relief, but it didn’t last. Yet.

‘Nothing wrong with that, as long as you also did what I asked to.’ Spartacus’ voice had lost its amused tone. ‘Did you discover anything?’

‘We did,’ said Carbo, eager to move on. ‘Longinus is planning a surprise attack as we advance past the town. Apparently, there’s an area of hidden ground within range of the road north. That’s where his ballistae will be.’ He wasn’t sure why, but Carbo did not mention what the legionaries had said about the recent Roman victory over the Thracians. He was grateful that Navio didn’t either.

‘Fucking Roman bastards,’ Castus ground out. Gannicus agreed loudly.

‘Do you know where the spot is?’ asked Spartacus.

‘No.’

‘Or how many catapults he has?’

Carbo shook his head in apology.

Spartacus rubbed a finger along his lips, thinking. ‘It’s a clever move. Longinus could have twenty ballistae — or more, if he thought of this a while ago. A good workshop can turn out one piece every few days. Naturally, the artillerymen will have ranged them in beforehand.’ He turned to the Gauls. ‘Imagine the carnage, say, two dozen catapults would cause. They could release six volleys before our soldiers had a chance to respond.’

‘And that’s when the legions would attack,’ said Gannicus.

‘It is. Was there any more, Carbo?’

‘No,’ he said uneasily.

‘It’s of little matter. That will be Longinus’ plan for sure. But now we can do our best to make sure that he fails.’ Spartacus’ gaze grew distant.

Castus wasn’t happy, however. ‘Why didn’t you find out more?’

You’re not the one who risked his life to find this out, thought Carbo furiously. Instead, he said, ‘Because the soldiers who mentioned it walked away.’

‘Then why didn’t you follow them?’ came the instant retort.

‘We couldn’t,’ replied Navio with an irritated look.

‘Were you too pissed? Is that when you fell in the dungheap?’ sneered Castus.

‘Does it matter?’ interjected Spartacus. ‘They were never going to be able to do much more than eavesdrop on conversations anyway. If they’d made themselves obvious, they wouldn’t be here now. Returning safely with news of Longinus’ plan is sufficient.’

‘So you say,’ snapped Castus. ‘I don’t, though. There’s far more to this than meets the eye. Eh, Gannicus?’

‘Aye. The pair of them are as shifty as a cuckold when the husband arrives home.’

‘You don’t trust them?’

‘No,’ Castus snapped. ‘They’re Romans.’

Spartacus’ expression hardened. ‘We’ve had this before. Both of these men have proved their loyalty many times!’

‘They say that blood is thicker than water. I’ve always agreed with that myself,’ said Castus.

Which is why I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, you Gaulish dog.

‘I say we beat it out of them,’ suggested Castus belligerently.

Rather than defend his men, Spartacus eyed Gannicus. ‘Do you think the same?’

‘They’re holding back something. That’s as clear as the nose on the end of my face. As the leaders ’ — Gannicus laid especial emphasis on the last word — ‘of this army, we’re entitled to know everything — and to find out by whatever means necessary.’

Now is not the time for a quarrel. There is a battle to fight. Spartacus rounded on the friends. ‘What the fuck happened?’

They didn’t say a word.

‘By all the gods! Unless you want Castus and Gannicus and their men to teach you both a lesson you’ll never forget, speak!’

Shocked now, Carbo glanced at Navio, who gave a resigned shrug. ‘There were soldiers everywhere in the town, but none of them were saying much. It was obvious that they’d been ordered to keep their mouths shut. We’d had little luck at a restaurant, so we moved on to a number of taverns. We heard nothing, so decided to try out an inn favoured by soldiers’ — Carbo felt his cheeks flame — ‘that was supposed to have good whores.’

Spartacus’ brows rose, but he hid his amusement. Atheas and Taxacis chortled at Carbo’s embarrassment, but the two Gauls were far less happy. ‘You got sent to Mutina on an intelligence mission, but you were more interested in emptying your ball sacks. It’s unbelievable!’ barked Castus.

‘And then?’ said Spartacus.

‘Navio went upstairs with a whore.’

‘How did you pay for her services?’ The question was voiced softly, but there was no missing Spartacus’ threat.

‘I had a couple of aurei with me,’ replied Navio unhappily.

‘Despite the fact that I told you to take only a little money.’

‘Yes.’

Spartacus’ lips thinned to a white line. ‘You’ve got a nerve. Go on,’ he directed Carbo.

It was time to admit his foolishness. Carbo felt sick. ‘I went to the forum.’

‘What for?’

‘To find a scribe.’

‘A scribe?’ Spartacus’ eyes bulged.

‘Yes. I dictated a letter to my parents in Rome.’

Both the Gauls let out disbelieving laughs.

‘Are you a complete fucking idiot?’ cried Spartacus.

‘If anyone had seen you, they had only to read the note to know who you were,’ roared Castus. ‘You need your stinking Roman head cut off!’

‘I didn’t send it,’ said Carbo quickly. Quailing before Spartacus’ ferocious expression, he went on, ‘but someone must have seen me, because soon after I returned to the inn, a party of soldiers searched the place. I was recognised, but I managed to run upstairs. Fortuna guided me to the right door.’

‘You would have deserved it if they had caught you,’ muttered Castus.

But you wouldn’t know about the hidden catapults, thought Carbo furiously. He had the sense to keep this retort to himself. ‘We jumped out of the window, and scrambled down to the inn’s yard. I ran into a gap between two buildings, but it led to the stable dungheap. There was no option other than to climb up it, and over the wall. Navio didn’t have any clothes on’ — here he ignored the Gauls’ mocking laughter — ‘and he fell over as he was trying to climb up.’

‘You must have burst in when he was in mid-thrust,’ said Castus with a leer.

‘Err, I was quite busy, yes,’ said Navio, looking angry and very uncomfortable.

Castus and Gannicus sniggered. The Scythians guffawed. Even Spartacus laughed.

‘You managed to escape, though,’ Gannicus’ tone was a touch more friendly than before, which encouraged Carbo. A little humiliation was better than more accusations of treachery.

‘Yes. We jumped over into an alleyway. I checked out the exit, but the street beyond was full of soldiers. We thought that was it, but the gods intervened again. A door in the wall of a house opened and a slave boy came out. I told him who we were, and asked him to help. He did. We simply walked inside and he shut the door.’ Carbo grinned at the memory. ‘A moment later, a couple of legionaries landed in the alley, and passed right by us.’

‘That was when we heard about Longinus’ ambush,’ added Navio.

‘Our job was done. We waited until it was very late, and then, guided by the boy, we made our way to the defences where we scaled the walls. It was easy to get back here,’ said Carbo.

‘You’re a pair of fools,’ Spartacus snapped. The Gauls loudly echoed his words.

Knowing that they were by no means out of danger, the friends looked at the ground.

‘But… if they hadn’t done what they did, we wouldn’t know that juicy bit of gossip. Eh, Castus? Gannicus?’

‘The gods move in strange ways,’ admitted Gannicus.

‘Happy, Castus?’

‘No. Always trying to cover your men’s arses, aren’t you, eh? Why bother? It’s a wonder that the fools managed to come back alive.’

‘Yet they did, and with useful information,’ said Spartacus.

‘I suppose,’ said Castus grudgingly.

‘Next time you have a secret mission in mind,’ said Gannicus, ‘I want to know about it beforehand, eh? Either we’re all leading this fucking army, or we’re not.’

‘Agreed,’ lied Spartacus. He had no intention of telling the Gauls of everything he did, but he needed their support in the forthcoming battle. ‘Next time, I’ll be sure to fill you in.’

Castus’ grunt conveyed every shade of suspicion under the sun. Gannicus looked a little happier, but that was as good as he’d get.

Spartacus’ eyes moved to Carbo and Navio. ‘The next time I give you an order, I want it obeyed to the letter. No taking gold coins instead of small change. No deciding to write letters to your parents.’ He gave Carbo a particularly stony look. ‘I’ve never heard of such stupidity in my life. The only reason I’m not letting the Scythians loose on you is because of your previous record. If anything like that ever happens again, you’ll both end up as pickings for the vultures. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’

‘Yes,’ they muttered in unison.

‘Be certain that you do.’

They shuffled their feet, all too aware of the Scythians’ predatory eyes on their backs and of the Gauls’ glowering anger.

Spartacus’ attention moved on. ‘Some cavalry must be sent to reconnoitre the road past Mutina,’ he announced. ‘If they see anything suspicious, they’ll mark its position, but ignore it. Let the Romans think that their little secret is safe. We can send out more scouts under the cover of darkness.’

‘Once the spot has been found, we destroy the catapults!’ Castus’ face was fiercely eager.

‘Damn right we will,’ snarled Gannicus. ‘And Castus and I will be in charge.’

Spartacus saw the level of their anger, and wondered if he should have told them about Carbo and Navio’s mission. Would it have mattered if he had? ‘That’s just what I was going to suggest.’

‘Good, because we’re going to do it anyway,’ snapped Gannicus, grimacing as Castus growled in approval. ‘A thousand men with buckets of oil and some torches is all we need to turn Longinus’ artillery into little piles of ash.’

‘Fine.’ Spartacus pulled an encouraging grin. Keep them sweet for the moment. ‘Once the ballistae are out of the way, we’ll only have two legions to think about. The ground to either side of the road is flat. It won’t matter where we face them.’

‘I can’t wait,’ snarled Castus. ‘We’ll slaughter the cocksuckers.’

‘With the help of the Great Rider, that’s exactly what we’ll do,’ said Spartacus with satisfaction. He didn’t say a word about the Alps. Such a controversial topic would set Castus and Gannicus off again. He shoved that problem to one side. ‘We can talk about the exact details when the cavalry return.’

‘Fine,’ said Castus. He eyed Carbo. ‘What was the name of the boy who saved you?’

‘Arnax.’ What do you care?

Castus grunted. Then, talking animatedly with Gannicus about how they would destroy Longinus’ forces, he left.

Deep in thought, Spartacus began poking a stick into the fire. It was a clear sign of dismissal.

‘I need a wash,’ said Navio quietly. ‘And breakfast is waiting. Coming?’

‘Not yet,’ replied Carbo. He framed the word ‘Lucullus’ with his lips and Navio nodded in understanding.

‘See you.’

Carbo found Spartacus regarding him quizzically when he turned. ‘Was there something else?’

‘There was, actually.’

Spartacus scowled. ‘How else did you disobey my orders? Atheas! Taxacis!’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ said Carbo, his heart racing.

Spartacus let the Scythians come right up to Carbo’s back before he lifted a hand. ‘What then?’

Carbo wiped away the sweat that had sprung out on his brow. Gods, why didn’t we do just as he said? ‘The Romans suspect that you’re going to leave Italy.’

‘That’s not surprising given the route we’ve taken so far,’ said Spartacus dryly. ‘Why do you mention it?’

Carbo checked that that the Gauls were well out of earshot. The Scythians had Spartacus’ trust, so their presence didn’t matter. ‘They also said that Marcus Lucullus has inflicted a recent heavy defeat on Thracian troops who’d been fighting for Mithridates. He’s now continuing his campaign into Thrace.’

Spartacus spat an oath. ‘You overheard exactly that?’

‘Yes.’

‘What else did they say?’

‘Nothing. I’m sorry.’

Spartacus’ eyes probed his for a long moment. ‘I’m grateful to you. You did well not to reveal that to the Gauls. Why did you not?’

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Carbo truthfully. He remembered how quarrelsome the Gauls had been. ‘Maybe it was because I suspected that they would use it as an excuse not to leave Italy.’

‘You are shrewd. I sometimes wonder if they have ever intended to do so, but news like that would set their minds in stone.’

‘Will you leave still?’

‘Of course. With every man who’ll follow me,’ said Spartacus with a confidence he was not sure he truly felt. ‘It makes sense to do so. Three large-scale defeats mean nothing to the Romans. They have a bottomless pool of men to replenish their legions. At least in Thrace I would be on my own territory, among my own people. It won’t take much to unite them and start another uprising.’ Let that be true, Great Rider.

Carbo nodded, feeling reassured. Despite the roasting he’d just been given, his memories of how Spartacus had saved him in the ludus, and of how he’d intervened to save Chloris, were always in his mind. He’d follow the Thracian anywhere. To hell. To Thrace. It didn’t matter.

‘Go on, be off with you. Get some food in your belly and have a rest. You’ve earned it.’

Carbo grinned at the change in Spartacus’ tone. ‘If I’m not to take part in the attack on the ballistae, I might go hunting this afternoon.’

‘Fine. One more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Not a word to a soul about Lucullus. Tell Navio to keep his mouth shut too,’ Spartacus warned. ‘On pain of death.’

‘Of course,’ said Carbo, his heart thudding again. He walked off, unaware that he had added a mountain to Spartacus’ concerns.

Sending Atheas to fetch his cavalry commanders, Spartacus sat for a while in silence. Ariadne was not in their tent. For that, he was grateful. He wanted to think about the shocking news before having to talk it over with her. There was no way of knowing if the report of Lucullus’ victory was true, but he had to assume that it was. Why would a legionary make up something like that? It wasn’t as if the Thracians hadn’t been beaten by Rome before. It’s only a setback; we Thracians have inflicted plenty of humiliating defeats on the bastards too, he thought, remembering with satisfaction his own tribe’s stunning victory over Appius Claudius Pulcher, the proconsul of Macedonia, five years earlier. Deep down, however, Spartacus knew that the task he had set himself once they reached Thrace had just been made much harder. Was it even possible? Don’t think like that!

‘You’re in a different world. I can never usually get this close without you noticing.’

Ariadne’s voice dragged him back to reality. He smiled, burying the news of Lucullus. ‘It was a good idea to send Carbo and Navio to Mutina.’

Ariadne stiffened. ‘They’re back?’

‘Yes. Longinus has set a trap on the road north. His ballistae are hidden away, but ranged in so that they could rain down volleys on the army as it marched past. A perfect ambush.’

‘Damn Romans,’ said Ariadne angrily. ‘What will you do?’

‘Pinpoint the artillery’s exact location. Then the Gauls will destroy it tonight.’ He saw Ariadne’s surprise. ‘They were outraged that I had sent spies to Mutina without telling them. Letting them have this mission was a gesture to bring them around, but they’ll do a good job. Gannicus in particular is like a hound on a tight leash. We’ll march in the morning. Catch Longinus before he has had a chance to react.’

‘He only has two legions.’ Ariadne wanted to hear the small figure again. ‘We have more than fifty thousand men.’

‘That’s right, my love. We will win, have no fear.’

‘I know.’ Unconsciously, she placed a hand on her belly. ‘Our son will be born outside Italy.’

He put his arms around her to shove away the uncertainty that had flared up again in his mind. ‘I cannot wait to hold him.’

She gave him a fond glance, and saw something in his expression. ‘What are you not telling me?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Spartacus? What is it?’

His eyes regarded her steadily. ‘I’m not going to say right now. I need to think about it.’

A knot of fear clenched in her stomach. ‘Is there Roman another army nearby?’

‘It’s nothing like that.’

She searched his face for a clue.

‘Leave it, Ariadne. You will find out in due course.’

She didn’t like the fact that he wasn’t being open with her, but she did not probe further. This was no time to sow discord. There were ballistae to destroy and after that, another Roman army to defeat. She cast a longing look to the north, towards the Alps. When we stand at their foot, everything will seem much clearer. We will head eastwards. She did not want to entertain any other possibility. This hope was what had sustained her in the months since their breakout from the ludus. Yet Spartacus’ reticence had planted a seed of doubt in her mind.

Ariadne decided to seek Dionysus’ aid. It was not in the nature of any deity to answer requests directly, but it did happen on occasion. Her spirits rallied at the memory of the time they had been trapped at the top of Vesuvius by three thousand legionaries. In their hour of greatest need, Dionysus had shown Spartacus the wild vines that could be used to make ropes. Maybe he would help again now? While their situation was nowhere near as desperate as before, Ariadne felt in need of the peace of mind that divine guidance would grant. A welcome calm descended over her.

It lasted for a few heartbeats. Then, like a sting in the tail, Ariadne thought of the munus that Spartacus had held. Had it been too bloody? As if that wasn’t enough to be worried about, she agonised over the occasion at Thurii when she had lied about the god’s will. She had told the entire army that Dionysus had sent her a dream in which they were to travel to the east under his protection, to lands that were unconquered by Rome. Ariadne had admitted her falsehood to no one, not even her husband. I did it for good reasons, she thought. To prevent Crixus trying to kill Spartacus. To win the troops over, and to stop them from splintering into many factions. Her inner demon answered at once. It doesn’t matter why you did it. To suit your own purpose, you pretended to speak with a divine voice. That shows a deep disrespect for the god.

Her guilt swelled immeasurably. ‘I must go and pray,’ she said in a tight voice.

‘A good idea.’ Troubled, Spartacus watched her go.

By early afternoon, the cavalry he had sent out had returned. They had located the most likely spot for the Roman ballistae to be hidden. Some five miles from their camp was a hollow behind a slight incline that was bounded on two sides by a dense arrangement of trees. His horsemen had seen figures moving in the copse, but as instructed, they had not investigated further. To maintain as much secrecy as possible, Spartacus ordered them to say nothing to their comrades.

Gannicus and Castus had picked a thousand of their best men for the mission. As well as barrels of olive oil and torches, they had armed their troops with every axe that could be found. The two Gauls, Spartacus and the cavalry officer who’d led the patrol conferred as the sun fell in the sky. There were hours to go before the chosen soldiers left. To prevent them being seen by Roman scouts, the force would not move out until it was dark.

Spartacus was pleased. Things augured well. On the spur of the moment, he decided to join Carbo. Hunting was something that he had always enjoyed, but there had been precious little time for it of recent months. He ignored the host of tasks that needed doing, and that it was a little rash to leave the camp without guards. It would do him good, he decided, to forget Longinus, Castus and Gannicus, and the damn Alps for a few hours. Nothing will happen. The Rider will look after me, as he always does.

‘Put your back into it!’ roared Julius, his face a handsbreadth from Marcion’s. ‘Just because we’re nearly done for the day, just because we’ve hammered the Romans both times that you’ve fought them, doesn’t mean you can start slacking. Training is training, and it goes on until I say so!’

Marcion’s mouth set into a scowl of concentration. He raised his shield and advanced towards Gaius, his tent mate. He wished that Julius would piss off and annoy one of the other soldiers in their unit, but there was little chance of that. Their centurion never moved on until he was satisfied.

He glanced to either side. Beyond his century, the rest of his cohort was also busy. Further on, many hundreds of men were being forced by their officers to run, to fight, as he was, with covered weapons, or to attack other groups in formation. Shouts and commands mixed with the clack, clack sound of swords hitting scuta and the deeper thump of shield bosses making contact with each other. In the distance, he could see the cavalry charging en masse, wheeling and turning in graceful but deadly arcs. It was the same as always, he thought wearily. If we aren’t marching or fighting, we’re bloody training.

‘Move it!’ yelled Julius.

Marcion peered over the rim of his scutum as he shuffled forward. Gaius was about ten paces away. Marcion could only see his friend’s eyes, and his feet. The shield Gaius carried protected almost his entire body, as Marcion’s did his. It left precious little to attack. He still knew what to do. He darted forward, hoping to catch Gaius off guard. Marcion used all of his force, smashing his shield boss into Gaius’ scutum. Although Gaius had braced himself, the impact rocked him back on his heels, and he wasn’t able to dodge Marcion’s blade as it came sliding over the shield’s iron rim. ‘Damn you!’ he spat.

‘You’re dead,’ said Marcion with a smile.

‘You won’t get me like that again,’ Gaius swore.

‘Glad to hear it,’ came Julius’ sarcastic voice. ‘If this was real life, you’d be choking out your last breath by now. Do it again.’

The words had barely left the centurion’s lips when Gaius threw himself across the space that separated him from Marcion. This time, it was Marcion who went over, landing on his arse with his shield on top of him. Winded by the fall, he could do nothing to prevent Gaius ripping aside his scutum and pretend to skewer him through the neck.

Gaius leered. ‘That’ll teach you, you pup!’ He backed off, allowing Marcion to get to his feet.

‘Better, Gaius,’ declared Julius. He threw a hard glance at Marcion. ‘Not as good as you think, are you?’

Stung, Marcion had the sense not to answer.

‘Right, that’ll do you for the day.’ Julius raised his voice. ‘DISMISSED! Same time tomorrow, you sacks of shit!’

With a relieved sigh, Marcion stripped the leather cover from his gladius and slid it back into its scabbard. He made sure that the centurion was out of earshot. ‘Julius is fucking annoying, but he’s right. We have to keep sharp, eh?’

Gaius hawked and spat. ‘Aye, true enough. A man needs Fortuna on his side every time he goes into battle. Even the best soldier can end up staring at a string of his own guts, or worse. Remember Hirtius?’

‘Of course.’ Marcion winced. Hirtius had been one of their tent mates. A short barrel of a man, he’d been prodigiously strong. That hadn’t stopped him taking a stray pilum in the eye during the fight against Gellius’ legions. His deafening screams had gone on until Zeuxis had done him a mercy by cutting his throat.

‘Who’s cooking tonight?’ asked a familiar deep voice.

‘It’s your bloody turn, Zeuxis!’ Gaius cried indignantly.

‘Is it?’ Zeuxis wiped the sheen of sweat from his pate and flicked it at Gaius, who dodged, cursing.

‘You know damn well it is!’

‘Don’t look at me!’ said Marcion as Zeuxis’ head turned. ‘I’d much rather have your tasteless offering than have to cook.’

‘Me too,’ declared Arphocras, who had been Zeuxis’ sparring mate. ‘You’re such a chancer! Every eight days, it’s the same.’

Zeuxis shrugged. ‘I can’t help it if my memory’s not what it was.’

‘Just as well that we remember for you, eh?’ jibed Marcion.

Despite Gaius besting him, Marcion’s mood was lifting. This was his favourite part of the day. Training was over. The hottest hours had passed, but it was still a good while until sunset. After he’d cleaned the dust off his equipment, there was time perhaps to fill a bucket from the river and to have a wash. Most of his tent mates weren’t bothered, but the love of small luxuries that Marcion had grown up with died hard. After a hard training session, he liked nothing better than to get clean. It was best to slope off on his own, however. If Zeuxis realised, he’d never hear the end of it. A desire to bathe regularly did not mean that he liked other men, he thought angrily, just that he had possessed some culture. It was Zeuxis who was the primitive, not him. He smiled.

His dreadful cooking proved it.

Carbo had been busy all day. After a hearty bowl of barley porridge and honey prepared by Arnax, he had slept for several hours. Then, as he would have done normally, Carbo had sought out the cohort of which he was second-in-command. His senior officer was Egbeo, a huge Thracian who was one of Spartacus’ most devoted followers, and whom Carbo had grown to trust implicitly. He’d found Egbeo training the men. ‘You might think that the Roman dogs are scared of us now, but they’re not! You can never take them for granted,’ the Thracian had roared over and over. ‘You still need to drill with each other. You have to know in your gut that when the order comes, every man around you will do exactly as you do. That he will advance. Form close order. Throw his javelins. Charge the enemy. Help to form a wedge. Even to retreat!’ Carbo had smiled at the guffaws this produced and, invigorated by Egbeo’s speech, had set to with a will. However, once the practice was over and he’d spent a little time chatting with his men, he found himself at a loose end. He remembered his idea of going hunting and when Navio had returned from training his own cohort, he suggested they went together.

‘Come on. It’ll be better than having to look at Gannicus’ men preening themselves before they leave.’

‘True enough,’ said Navio with a grimace. Although they were supposed to be keeping quiet about what they were to do, Gannicus’ troops were doing a poor job of it. ‘What do you fancy going after?’

‘I’ll take whatever we can find. Boar. Deer. A bird for the pot.’

‘Can I tag along?’

Arnax’s eager face made Carbo smile: he was becoming fond of the boy. ‘All right. We’re not likely to meet any Roman patrols.’

Arnax’s face fell. ‘How can you be sure?’

There was a familiar laugh. ‘Because they’re too damn scared to come anywhere near my army.’

Arnax goggled. ‘Oh,’ he said in a small voice.

‘Spartacus!’ Carbo took in his leader’s hunting weapons. ‘Have you come to join us?’

‘I haven’t been on a hunt in months.’

‘If you’re sure,’ said Carbo, thinking about what might happen if they did meet a Roman patrol.

‘I am.’ Ariadne is worried about nothing.

Spartacus’ tone brooked no argument. Carbo shrugged. Navio grinned. ‘Another bow increases our chance of success.’

Spartacus nodded a friendly greeting at Arnax, who looked even more frightened. ‘So this is the lad who helped you out in Mutina?’

‘That’s him,’ said Carbo.

‘You did well to aid my men, boy. What do they call you?’

‘A-Arnax, sir.’

‘A strong name.’

Arnax said nothing.

‘I don’t bite.’

Arnax glanced at Carbo, who gave him an encouraging smile.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he ventured.

Spartacus cocked his head. ‘What is it? You’ve heard terrible things about me?’

‘Y-y-yes, sir.’

‘What have you heard?’

No reply.

‘Tell me,’ Spartacus commanded.

Again Arnax looked to Carbo, who said, ‘Tell him.’

‘Apparently, you eat babies.’

Spartacus’ mouth twitched. ‘Really?’

‘Y-yes.’

‘Who said that?’

‘My master. People in the forum,’ muttered Arnax.

‘He’s not your master any more. You’re free now.’

Arnax’s fearful expression eased a little.

‘I can also tell you that I am an ordinary man like Carbo or Navio. I don’t eat babies, nor do I breathe fire. As I said, I am grateful that you saved my men. You are welcome here.’ Arnax said nothing, and he frowned. ‘Still not happy?’

To Carbo’s shock, Arnax blurted, ‘You killed all those legionaries. The ones who had to fight each other to the death.’

‘Arnax!’ hissed Carbo.

Spartacus’ eyebrows rose. ‘Spirited, isn’t he?’

Arnax’s momentary courage fled him, and his eyes lowered.

‘Do you know why munera have historically been held?’

‘To commemorate the death of someone rich or famous,’ Arnax replied.

‘That’s right,’ said Spartacus. ‘Nowadays, of course, they’re held any time some high-and-mighty or up-and-coming noble wants to impress the masses. Men fight and sometimes die in those munera, don’t they? Slaves, who have no choice in the matter.’

Arnax nodded.

‘My munus was to mark the death of thousands of my former comrades in battle. In my mind, that makes it far more valid than the entertainment that is laid on for the populations of towns the length and breadth of Italy every month or two. I had every damn right to do what I did.’ He pinned Arnax with a hard stare. ‘Understand?’

In the silence that followed, Carbo was surprised to find himself in agreement with Spartacus. The munus had upset him badly at the time, but for months now, he had trained and fought alongside former slaves. They were his trusted comrades. If it was acceptable to force men such as they to fight as gladiators, then it was permissible to do the same to Roman prisoners. He watched Arnax, pleased, surprised and a little worried by the way he’d stood up to Spartacus. Agree with him.

‘Yes,’ the boy said at last.

‘A real fighter you’ve got there, Carbo. I think I can understand now why a slip of a lad like him saved your lives at the risk of his own. He’ll make a good soldier one day — as long as he learns to watch his tongue.’

‘He will,’ replied Carbo.

‘Ever been hunting?’ Spartacus asked Arnax.

‘No.’

‘This can be your first time. We take bows and arrows for deer and birds, and these in case we meet a boar.’ He handed over his heavy hunting spear. ‘You can carry that.’

Arnax beamed. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Carbo?’ asked Spartacus.

‘There are plenty of tracks in the woods to the north of the camp. I thought that would be a good place to start.’

‘If we want to have a chance of killing anything, we’d best get moving, eh?’ Navio slapped his mail shirt. ‘Help me take this off,’ he said to Arnax.

Aided by Spartacus, Carbo also removed his. Although it made sense to leave the heavy shirt behind, he felt naked without it. Talk of the meat that they’d be roasting over their fire that night soon put his concerns to rest, however.

The four wended their way through lines of tents to the edge of the vast encampment. Despite the fact that Spartacus kept his head down, his men hailed him at every step. It took a mile or more before the sights and sounds of the huge army were left behind, but eventually they found themselves alone, a world away from the hustle-bustle of the camp. It was a fine spring day, and the warm temperature was most welcome after the long winter months. Carbo felt glad just to be wearing a tunic.

He led the little party fast across the open ground that sloped downwards to the north. It was covered in short grass and clumps of aromatic sage and juniper. His eyes scanned the dirt for signs of deer or boar, but all he saw were the tracks of small creatures such as the startled hare that had bounded off between a dark green myrtle shrub and a mass of prickly buckthorn. There was plenty of birdlife. Several large black birds with red markings around their eyes and impressive fantails darted off into the undergrowth as they passed. They looked good enough to eat, but a swift glance at Navio and Spartacus told Carbo that they too wanted bigger quarry.

He ignored the pair of hooded crows that chattered angrily at them from a cork oak tree. In the distance, Carbo heard the distinctive hammering of a woodpecker, a bird sacred to Mars, the god of war. He quickly offered up a prayer. Give us a good hunt, O Great One. They walked on, entering the shelter of the woods. Motes of dust floated lazily on the sunlight that filtered through the branches of laurels, stone pines and strawberry trees. It was peaceful — eerily so. Carbo thought of the copse a short distance away that contained hundreds of Roman soldiers and their ballistae, and his skin crawled. He began to see a legionary behind every tree, and wished that he had not taken off his mail shirt. Navio’s hiss startled him. ‘Pssst!’

Carbo looked. Ten paces off to his left, Spartacus was pointing at the ground. He padded over. At the Thracian’s feet were two large hoof imprints with a characteristic pair of indents behind them. ‘Red deer. A big one.’

‘It’s a stag,’ said Navio excitedly.

‘Looks like it,’ agreed Spartacus.

At once Carbo’s gaze moved to the trees in front of them. Of course he saw nothing. The marks were fresh, but the stag would be some distance away.

When they had followed the prints for a little way, their suspicions were proved correct. ‘See this?’ Carbo showed Arnax. ‘We know it’s a male deer because the rear tracks fall to the inside of the front ones. That happens because his chest is a lot larger than his hindquarters.’

‘Where is he?’ Arnax’s eyes were alive with interest and delight.

Spartacus stooped and pressed his fingers into the nearest print. ‘Nowhere that close. But the earth is still a little damp. He passed by here today. Probably sometime in the morning.’

Arnax hefted the spear in his right hand. ‘Will we find him?’

Carbo grinned at the boy’s enthusiasm. ‘Who knows? We shall have to follow his tracks and see. Now is the time to pray to Diana for her help.’ Using a loop of leather made for the purpose, he slung his spear across his back. Then he slipped an arrow with a narrow head from his quiver and nocked it to his bowstring.

‘That won’t take down a deer,’ joked Navio.

‘We might see another hare, or one of those black birds,’ answered Carbo a trifle defensively.

‘It always pays to be ready,’ said Spartacus, selecting a shaft of his own. ‘For whatever — or whoever — we might meet.’

Carbo felt gratified. During the time the slave army had travelled from deep in the south, he’d spent a lot of time scouting with Atheas. The Scythian never moved without a weapon in his hands.

Some time later, however, his vague unease had been replaced by frustration. He had seen no phantom legionaries, and there had been no game worth bringing down either. Irritatingly, the stag’s tracks had petered out on a bare rocky slope that led to the bank of a fast-flowing stream. The trio had cast about, searching for signs of where the animal might have left the hard ground and forded the watercourse, but had had no luck.

‘The damn creature must have sprouted wings and flown away,’ said Navio, frowning.

Arnax glanced briefly at the sky before looking down again, embarrassed.

Carbo hid his grin. He’d forgotten how innocent children could be. ‘Let’s not give up.’

‘I want to keep going,’ agreed Spartacus, who was revelling in the sensation of being with comrades, tracking nothing more than a deer. There were no men asking him for equipment, no new recruits who needed instruction, no horses to be broken or officers asking him for guidance. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in an age.

‘Look!’

The excitement in Arnax’s voice caught everyone’s attention. Spartacus’ gaze followed the boy’s pointing arm down the slope, through the gap in the trees to the flat ground that lay beyond. ‘That’s no deer.’ He studied the three figures who were running at full pelt towards the woods.

‘They’re being pursued,’ hissed Carbo. Some distance behind the fugitives rose a tell-tale dust cloud. His stomach clenched. ‘Riders.’ They were too far away to estimate their number, but the spiral of dust was large. It was also closing in fast on the running men.

‘Roman deserters?’ suggested Navio.

‘They’re more likely to be escaped slaves,’ said Spartacus.

Carbo and Navio exchanged glances, wondering what to do. The safest thing would be to return to the camp. Surely, their leader would think the same thing.

‘Those men could be coming to join us,’ grated Spartacus.

‘The riders who are after them outnumber us,’ warned Navio.

Everyone in the camp — Ariadne, the Scythians, Pulcher and Egbeo — would want me to melt away into the trees. Even Castus and Gannicus would advise walking away from this situation. But who are they to tell me what to do? I decide what risks I take — crazy or not. A wicked grin split Spartacus’ face. ‘It’s been a while since I faced long odds. I’m going down there. You in?’

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