Spartacus: Rebellion

Chapter VII

Picenum, near the coast of north-eastern Italy, summer 72 BC

Marcion stamped his feet up and down, hoping that nobody would notice his anxiety.

An instant later, Gaius nudged him. ‘Feeling nervous?’

‘Aren’t you?’ hissed Marcion.

‘No. Today’s not the day I’m going to die.’

‘How can you know that?’ demanded Marcion. ‘Our damn cohort is near the centre of our line, where the heaviest casualties will be.’

‘Gaius is too stupid to know if Hades is coming for him,’ said Arphocras with a snicker.

Gaius scowled as the rest of them winked and smiled. They might not be admitting it, but apart from Gaius, there was a nervous tinge to everyone’s expression, Marcion noted. His gaze was drawn again to the massed ranks of legionaries on the slope high above. ‘I can’t believe that we’re going to charge up there!’

All eyes followed his. The enemy’s position — at the top of a ridge — was daunting to say the least. A rocky peak prevented any chance of outflanking to the left, and the Roman right flank was protected by a large section of catapults.

‘Our cavalry are useless here. It’s a frontal assault by us — or nothing,’ said Arphocras sourly.

‘Good!’ exclaimed Gaius. ‘The quicker we get to grips with the stinking Romans, the better.’ He looked around for support, but all he got was filthy stares.

‘Spartacus has gone bloody mad,’ grumbled Zeuxis. ‘His victories have gone to his head. I told you this would happen.’

‘We’re going to die.’ Arphocras sounded resigned. ‘Even if the Romans lose, we’ll never know about it.’

Zeuxis rubbed the double-ended phallic amulet that hung from a thong around his neck and mouthed a prayer. Several of the others did the same.

They’re really scared. Somehow, Marcion rallied his courage. ‘Spartacus knows what he’s doing.’

‘Does he?’ Zeuxis sounded even more dubious than ever.

‘He’s never made a mistake yet, has he?’

‘That means nothing. No one’s perfect,’ replied Zeuxis angrily. ‘And what’s his secret plan here? Any fool can see that charging up a slope is tantamount to suicide, yet that’s what we’re about to do.’

‘There are only two legions on the ridge,’ growled Gaius. ‘We outnumber the bastards by six to one.’

‘But we can’t all engage at the same time: their front is too narrow. Besides, the odds aren’t as great as you say. The other consul’s legions won’t be far away,’ snapped Zeuxis. ‘They’ll fall on our rear at the first opportunity.’

Gaius glowered, and Marcion intervened. ‘Spartacus is no fool. Remember how he set the trap for Lentulus? How he had Longinus’ hidden catapults destroyed the night before we marched?’

Zeuxis’ lip curled. ‘I don’t know. This attack seems like a very good way to get a lot of men killed.’

Trumpets blared from some distance to their right, and they craned their necks to see what was going on.

‘It’s Spartacus!’ Marcion pointed at the horseman who had emerged from the ranks some two hundred paces away. He began riding up and down, addressing the troops nearest him.

‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ The usual chant began.

Marcion was delighted. The closest soldiers also seemed pleased, and the news rippled through the cohort.

‘Bloody typical,’ said Zeuxis. ‘We can’t hear a damn word.’

Marcion glared, but the older man ignored him.

‘How are we supposed to feel encouraged by this? We might as well just pray to the gods. Or talk among ourselves. That’d be as much use as standing here pretending that we have a clue what’s going on.’

Marcion’s anger overflowed. ‘Stop your moaning, will you? Either that, or piss off!’

Zeuxis gave him a startled look.

‘Like it or not, we’re going to fight this cursed battle soon. Some of us might get killed, but at least we’re free men. We’re here of our own choice! I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be here than back on the shitty latifundium where I grew up. I was treated like an animal.’

‘Damn right!’ shouted Gaius. ‘There’s no going back.’

‘Well said,’ Arphocras elbowed Marcion. ‘We’re Spartacus’ men, whatever happens.’

The rest of their comrades gave each other sheepish grins while Zeuxis glowered in resentful silence.

Marcion’s attention returned to Spartacus. He drew his sword, and Marcion’s breath caught in his chest. The sica was stabbed repeatedly at the Roman lines, and the soldiers near Spartacus roared in appreciation. ‘This is it. We’re going to attack.’

To his surprise, the command was not given. Instead Spartacus rode along the front of the army, towards them. He came to a halt not twenty paces from where they stood. The soldiers went crazy, cheering and banging their weapons and shields together. Marcion and his comrades joined in. Even Zeuxis.

Spartacus raised his arms for calm. ‘You know that there are only two legions facing us. That the other two are in the area, waiting for their chance to strike at us. Most likely, you’re worried, even a little scared. I’d wager that Lentulus is banking on your fear. The toga-wearing man-humping piece of filth is also relying on his colleague Gellius to arrive and fall upon the rear of our army.’ He smiled at the unhappy murmurs which followed.

Zeuxis glared at Marcion.

Marcion held his breath. This wasn’t all that Spartacus had come to say — was it?

Spartacus watched them, let them stew in their uncertainty for several moments before he spoke again. ‘Our scouts have done us proud. Yesterday they brought me news of Gellius’ position. More than twenty thousand of your comrades are about to march out under Castus and Gannicus and confront him. Rest assured, your backs are safe! We have plenty of time to demolish Lentulus’ spineless rabble.’

The mood changed, as a spring gale clears out the last traces of winter. Men laughed and cheered and thanked the gods.

‘Will you help me to go and do that?’ shouted Spartacus.

The roar that followed proclaimed his soldiers’ enthusiasm in no uncertain terms.

Inevitably, the cry began again. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’

The Thracian rode up and down, acknowledging the acclaim.

Marcion gave Zeuxis a not entirely friendly nudge. ‘Happy now?’

‘I’ll follow him up there.’

Marcion grinned. From Zeuxis, that was an endorsement of the highest kind.

Some weeks later…

The Apennines, south-central Italy

Carbo got up and adjusted the large rock that served as his backrest. He sat down again with a contented sigh, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and moving his feet closer to the burning logs. The days were still hot, but at night the altitude meant that temperatures fell fast. Thankfully, sitting by a fire was enough to keep a man’s bones warm.

‘I’ll be glad to see Thurii,’ said Navio.

‘It isn’t far now, thank Jupiter,’ said Publipor.

‘I can’t wait for some flat ground. I’m sick of going down one hill only to climb another,’ Arnax piped up.

They all chuckled. The bruises from Spartacus’ beating had faded within days, but it had taken weeks for Arnax to get over the shame of having talked to Castus. He had recently started coming out of his shell.

‘It’s practically your home territory, Publipor, eh? Brundisium isn’t that far from where we will overwinter,’ said Carbo with a wink. After his arrival, the Apulian had joined a century in his cohort. In the time since they had left the Alps behind, he had become a constant companion and friend.

‘You’re not wrong.’ A shadow passed across Publipor’s face.

Carbo took it to be worry. ‘Have you got a woman there you left behind? A family?’

The shadow became sorrow. ‘I did. A wife. Three children.’

Silence fell. Navio busied himself by loading more logs on to the fire. Arnax, who was scouring Carbo’s sword with a piece of wire, found a rust spot to concentrate on above all else. Carbo let his gaze follow a stream of sparks upwards into the brilliant night sky. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t discovered this about Publipor before. Few men in the slave army bothered to tell their comrades of their past — himself included. ‘What happened to them?’

Publipor cleared his throat. ‘They were carried off last year. Cholera.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Carbo.

‘That is a hard burden for anyone to bear,’ added Navio with some feeling. ‘War is one thing, but sickness…’

‘Aye, well. What can a man do? The gods give, and the gods take away. I should be grateful that I am still here. Still breathing.’

Publipor didn’t look grateful at all, thought Carbo. He’d found it hard thinking that he would never see his own parents again, but at least they were alive. It wasn’t completely mad to think that they might meet again one day. They weren’t that far away: Rome lay perhaps two hundred miles to the north-west. The army had been even closer to it a week or two before. Carbo had considered deserting for a short period, or even asking Spartacus if he could visit his parents, but he had discounted the idea as foolish. He’d made a fool of himself twice over with the Thracian, and he wasn’t about to do it again.

‘We are lucky yet to be alive, and that won’t change in the months to come,’ said Navio darkly. ‘Just because we defeated the consuls at Picenum doesn’t mean that another army won’t come looking for us. It will be a lot bigger than the ones we’ve seen so far too. As my father used to say, make the most of every day that dawns…’

‘For it might be your last,’ finished Arnax in a solemn tone.

Navio laughed. ‘You’ve been listening to me carefully, eh?’

Even in the dim light, it was possible to see Arnax blush.

Navio reached over and ruffled his hair. ‘You’re making a good fist of Carbo’s gladius. Take a look at mine when you’re finished, will you?’

‘Of course.’ Delighted, the boy glanced at Publipor. ‘Shall I clean yours as well?’

‘When it needs doing, I’ll do it myself,’ the Apulian snapped. ‘Understand?’

‘Sorry.’ Arnax dropped his eyes.

‘I’m tired,’ Publipor growled. ‘I think I’ll turn in. Good night.’

Carbo and Navio muttered their replies. Arnax watched him go in silence.

‘Don’t worry about it, lad. He wasn’t having a go at you. He’s troubled about his family,’ said Carbo.

‘It takes at least a year before the pain eases in any way,’ pronounced Navio with a sigh.

‘What pain would that be?’

They turned in surprise. ‘Spartacus!’ said Carbo with a grin.

Navio also smiled. ‘Welcome.’

The Thracian inclined his head in greeting and then threw a hard look at Arnax, who looked as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

Spartacus sat down by the fire. ‘What pain were you talking about, Navio?’

‘The pain of losing those that one loves.’

‘I see.’ The Rider watch over you, Father. Maron, my brother. Getas and Seuthes, my comrades. ‘We must all have lost people. It’s one of life’s trials. A man must deal with it as best he can.’

‘Wise words,’ said Navio.

They sat in silence for a short time, Carbo and Navio wondering what had brought their leader unannounced to their fire.

‘We’ll reach Thurii in the next month,’ announced Spartacus. ‘It will be good to stop marching, eh?’

They murmured in agreement.

Spartacus chuckled. ‘You want to know why I’m here, eh?’

‘You haven’t just come for an idle chat,’ said Carbo in a dry tone.

Spartacus regarded him steadily. ‘No.’

Publipor emerged from his tent, a twig protruding from his lips. He had begun brushing his teeth when he became aware of their visitor. He spat quickly. ‘Spartacus! It’s an honour to see you.’

‘Publipor. You’re keeping well?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you sir.’ Publipor raised his twig by way of apology. ‘I was about to turn in. I’ll come back out, though.’

‘No need to do that on my account. Get some rest. It will be another long day tomorrow.’ Spartacus’ tone was friendly but commanding.

Publipor looked relieved. ‘All right then. Good night, sir.’

‘Sleep well.’ Spartacus turned back to Carbo and Navio. ‘A good man,’ he said quietly.

‘He is,’ agreed Carbo. ‘He’s a great tracker. Thanks to him, we bring back a deer or a boar most times we go out.’

‘It’s natural that he’s good with a bow. How’s his sword craft coming along?’

‘Quite well,’ replied Navio. ‘Give it a couple more months and he’ll be up to scratch with the rest of the men.’

‘Good. We should have the time at Thurii to train unhindered. It’s unlikely that the Romans will attack us in the winter. But they’ll be on the move.’ Spartacus’ face darkened. ‘You know that, don’t you? There is no way under the sun that we will be left alone.’

‘Yes,’ they both answered. Arnax’s eyes grew wide.

‘At the moment, we have no idea what the dogs are planning. They, on the other hand, get word of our passage from every citizen farmer whose land we pass through.’

‘Not much we can do about that,’ said Navio. ‘And good intelligence on what the Romans are up to is hard to come by. The deserters who’ve joined us can’t risk going back to their units. They’d be crucified.’

‘I know. I have heard one interesting thing, however. Yesterday, one of the patrols stopped a trader who’d come from Rome. He had some news.’

They leaned forward, agog with interest.

‘Crassus has been given charge of the campaign against us.’

Carbo felt the blood drain from his face. ‘The same man who-’

‘Yes. The same prick who ruined your family. The one whom I fought in front of at Capua. Strange how the strands of fate twist, eh?’

‘Yes,’ whispered Carbo, clenching his fists.

‘Apparently, Crassus is to speak to the Senate soon. I was thinking that it would be good to hear what he has to say. Maybe even slip a blade between his ribs if the opportunity arose. That would knock the bastards back on their arses for a while.’ The idea had seemed daring — even rash — from the outset, but now that he’d spoken it out loud, Spartacus revelled in the thrill of it. He was going to go, and no one would stop him.

Navio’s eyebrows rose. ‘Would you trust me and Carbo again?’

‘Not you and Carbo, no.’

Carbo sat forward with a start. ‘What, you mean-?’

‘You and me, yes. We’ll go to Rome. Straight to the viper’s nest! See what we can find out.’

‘Are you serious?’ An image of his parents flashed unbidden into Carbo’s mind. Guiltily, he shoved it away.

‘Never more so.’ He could still hear Ariadne’s voice warning him not to go; see the disbelief on Pulcher’s and Egbeo’s faces. ‘I’m the leader of this army. I decide what happens.’

Carbo nodded. ‘Just you and me?’

‘Yes. You can play the big farmer’s son. I’ll be your slave.’

‘That could work,’ muttered Carbo, bemused.

‘What about the army?’ hissed Navio. ‘You can’t leave Castus and Gannicus unchecked. Those pieces of shit will ruin everything!’

‘No, they won’t. They want to find a good overwintering spot as much as I do. Once they’ve got to Thurii, all they will want to do is to drink wine and fornicate.’ Spartacus knew this for a lie. The Gauls would redouble their efforts to recruit men to their cause in his absence. His mind was made up, however. He would reassert his leadership when he returned. ‘I’ve spoken to Pulcher and Egbeo about what to do should any Roman forces appear. They can intervene if the Gauls decide to do something crazy.’

Navio looked dubious, but he didn’t argue.

‘What about Ariadne? Isn’t she due any day now?’ Like every other soldier, Carbo held Spartacus’ wife in high esteem. Despite her advanced pregnancy, she still walked like everyone else. ‘It’s good for the baby,’ she said daily with a bright smile. Yet Carbo had seen the strain on her face that very afternoon. Spartacus had to be aware of that. ‘Don’t you want to be here for the birth of your son?’

Spartacus gave him a hard look. ‘Ariadne informs me that she won’t go into labour for another three weeks. I believe her. Women know about these things.’

‘I understand,’ muttered Carbo.

‘We’ll leave tomorrow, and reach Rome in little over a week and a half. If we can buy horses, it will be even quicker. Two or three days there should be sufficient. The horses will make the return journey faster too.’ He glanced at Navio. ‘You will have had just enough time at Thurii to erect a hut for Ariadne before we arrive.’

‘It’ll be the first thing we do.’

‘If you’re sure…’ said Carbo doubtfully. He hadn’t ever ridden that much.

‘I am.’ Spartacus said nothing of the fierce argument he’d had with Ariadne over it. She had totally opposed his going, not, she said, because he might miss the birth, but because of the dangers that he would face. ‘What if you are recognised in Rome?’ she had uttered repeatedly. Spartacus had laughed. ‘Who will recognise me? The likelihood of seeing someone who knows me are less than a icicle surviving the midday sun.’ Then he’d taken her hand. ‘I have to find out what the cursed Romans are planning. This chance to kill Crassus will only be there once.’

‘And if you get caught?’

He’d laughed. ‘That won’t happen. I’m going to take Carbo with me. He’s a native. I’ll act as his slave. We’ll be on a short business trip to Rome, just two men in a crowd of thousands. What could go wrong with that?’ Ariadne had finally acquiesced, because she’d seen that he would not be swayed, but there was now a further tension between them. It can be resolved when I return, thought Spartacus.

‘So, will you come?’

As with the first time Spartacus had made such a request of him, man to man rather than from leader to a follower, Carbo was touched. He was also secretly pleased, because in Rome, the opportunity to meet his parents might arise. ‘Of course.’

‘Good.’ Spartacus got to his feet.

‘Won’t you have some warmed wine?’ Carbo made a gesture that sent Arnax scrambling for the amphora in their tent.

‘No. I want a clear head in the morning. We’ll need to cover more than twenty miles a day.’

‘I understand. Arnax, leave it.’

‘Heat some up anyway,’ ordered Navio. ‘I’ll have a cup even if Carbo’s not going to. I’ll raise a toast to your success, and more importantly, safe return.’

‘Thank you.’ Spartacus cast them a warning glance. ‘It goes without saying that no one is to speak of this. To anyone.’

Carbo and Navio nodded.

‘I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, I-’ blurted Arnax, looking mortified.

‘It’s all right. I know you won’t talk.’ With a curt nod, Spartacus disappeared into the darkness.

Navio jerked his head after the Thracian. ‘Gods, I’d wager you didn’t see that coming.’

‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘Neither can I. Didn’t your parents end up in Rome?’

Carbo had told Navio his whole story after the fuss over his letter. ‘Yes.’

‘Tempted to see them?’

‘I don’t know. I might not have the chance.’

‘When will a better opportunity come your way?’

‘Leave it,’ muttered Carbo.

Navio raised his hands, palm outwards. ‘Fair enough.’

Carbo stared into the flames, brooding. If the truth be known, he was wary of meeting his parents again. What would he say to them about where he’d been for the last year and more? He would have to lie about absolutely everything. Despite this, his heart ached at the thought of them.

Carbo woke long before dawn. Moving carefully so he didn’t disturb Navio and Arnax, he threw off his blankets. He rolled them up, placing them in his pack, which was lying ready by his side. He had gone to bed fully dressed, so all he had to do was slip on his sandals, grab his dagger and creep outside. Although Carbo half expected to see Spartacus, he gave a start at the figure which loomed out of the semi-darkness. ‘Been here long?’ he whispered.

‘A little while.’

‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Something like that.’ I was tired of the disapproval radiating from Ariadne. Spartacus regretted not saying goodbye, but the cool between them had hardened overnight to a thick frost.

It was strange seeing his leader without his sword, helmet and mail shirt, thought Carbo. Spartacus was dressed in a simple wool tunic and sandals. He was carrying a pack and a stout cudgel. A sheathed knife hung from a leather strap over one shoulder. He looked like any agricultural slave.

‘I’m ready,’ said Carbo.

‘Give me your bag.’

‘Eh?’

‘If you’re the master and I’m the slave, then I have to carry both our packs. From the start. Only the gods know whom we’ll meet on the road. No point arousing suspicions, is there?’

‘But-’

‘Hand it over.’

Feeling awkward, Carbo did as he was told.

‘You’ve got no weapons?’

‘Just this.’ He tapped his dagger.

‘Fine. Let’s go. It’s a long way to Rome.’

Carbo cast a last glance at his tent. His guts lurched at the thought of never seeing Navio and Arnax again. I’ll be back before they know it, he told himself. Pushing back his shoulders, he set off, with Spartacus a step behind.

‘May the gods go with you!’ called a low voice.

Turning, Carbo saw Navio’s head sticking out of their tent. He grinned. ‘Thank you.’

Nodding farewell, the two men strode off between the lines of tents. It took a long time to work their way to the edge of the huge camp, which was situated in a flat area between two forested peaks. Nearing the perimeter, they passed several sentries, who smiled and waved them on. ‘They think we’re just going on a reconnaissance of the local area,’ muttered Spartacus. ‘I had Pulcher send out the word last night.’

‘What will they say when we don’t come back?’

‘If anyone asks, Pulcher is to say that we may have gone south ahead of the army, to check the lie of the land. It doesn’t matter too much if the men don’t believe the story. All anyone is thinking of now is reaching Thurii. We’ll return before there’s any serious problem.’ Spartacus pictured Castus, who had been delighted when he’d told him about his planned mission. Gannicus had seemed pleased too, but the chance of some decent intelligence and of killing Crassus had to take priority. They won’t win that many men over, he told himself.

Leaving the encampment behind, they walked up a steep slope covered in beech trees and worked their way down the other side. The eastern sky was paling fast now, but it no longer mattered. Only the sentries and Publipor had seen them go.

At least that was what they thought.

Nine days later, the pair had nearly reached Rome. Annoyingly, finding suitable mounts had proved to be overly time-consuming. They had therefore walked, covering more than twenty miles every day, still considerably faster than the slow pace of the slave army. It had been tough going, but Carbo hadn’t complained. Spartacus was bearing both their packs while he got to walk with only his water bag to weigh him down.

They had come down from the mountains at the first opportunity and taken the fastest route to the capital: the Via Appia, which ran from Brundisium to Rome. Paved with blocks of black basalt, it was the Republic’s main artery, carrying wagons full of trade goods, soldiers, travellers and civil servants of all types. Carbo and Spartacus had been swallowed up in the tide of humanity that flowed towards the capital, just another master and servant going about their business.

As they had arranged, the pair only spoke on the road when there was no one else in sight. At the roadside inns where they had stayed each night, Carbo had taken a small room while the Thracian slept in the stables or even outdoors. It was customary for agricultural slaves to be treated rather poorly, and Spartacus had wanted them to look no different. Everything had to go without hitch, because time was of the essence. If he stayed away too long, the Gauls might actually do some real harm. And he might miss the birth of his son.

‘We must be close now,’ said Carbo, pointing at a particularly grand brick-built tomb. ‘They’re getting larger.’ The mausoleums had lined both sides of the road for miles, memorials to the wealthy and powerful.

‘You’re right. There are fewer latrones and cheap whores on view too.’

It was true, thought Carbo. The skulking shapes who lurked by the whispering cypress trees and crypts with their statues of the dead had all but vanished. ‘The city guard probably doesn’t tolerate them close to the city.’

‘There it is,’ said Spartacus softly. ‘Up ahead. Look.’

Above the heads of the people in front and framed by the trees on either side, Carbo made out a high stone wall. ‘It’s bloody enormous!’

Spartacus grunted irritably. Rome’s defences were intimidating to say the least. As tall as five men standing on each other’s shoulders, the wall was faced with large slabs of yellow tufa. He could see soldiers patrolling to and fro on a rampart that ran along the top. A fortified tower perched on either side of the iron-studded gates that led into the capital. Both had a couple of light catapults. Spartacus had only ever had a vague notion of taking Rome, but now it vanished entirely. I would need engineers who could build me hundreds of huge ballistae. Even then, it would take months to pound enough holes in the defences to storm the place successfully. Months during which other legions would have been raised elsewhere in Italy. He forced away his bad humour. ‘How old is it?’

‘More than three hundred years,’ replied Carbo proudly. ‘It was erected in the aftermath of the sacking of the city by the Gauls.’

‘Impressive, but it’s a damn shame that it was ever built. Things with Hannibal might have been very different otherwise. And for me too.’

Carbo’s pride vanished.

‘How long is it?’

‘Five miles. It encompasses all seven hills. There’s a deep defensive ditch too. We’ll see that as we get closer.’

‘I can’t wait,’ said Spartacus dryly.

Embarrassed by his enthusiasm, Carbo fell silent.

‘Where does your uncle live?’

‘On the Esquiline Hill.’

It had been inevitable that Carbo would tell Spartacus his family’s full story. The Thracian had already known of Crassus’ part in their downfall. ‘Do you want to see them?’ Spartacus had asked. ‘Yes.’ Carbo had studied the fire as he’d replied, his rashness in dictating the letter in Mutina vivid in his mind. ‘I think you should go,’ Spartacus had said, stunning him.

‘Do you still think it’s a good idea to make contact with my parents?’

‘If there’s an opportunity, yes. You could be killed any time.’

Carbo’s skin crawled. ‘I don’t think that the Esquiline is far from the Capena, the gate we’re heading for. It won’t be hard to find out.’

‘Steady on,’ Spartacus warned. ‘Let’s find a place to stay first. Check out the lie of the land. See what’s going on.’

Carbo flushed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’ll get your chance.’

Contenting himself with that, Carbo strode on, determined to appreciate the sights of the city he’d heard so much about but never seen. He had grown up on tales of the capital and the Forum Romanum, the open space where citizens met to socialise, do business and to petition senators, and which was overlooked by the Capitoline Hill with its massive temple complex and immense statue of Jupiter. There wouldn’t be time, but he also longed to see the Circus Maximus, a natural stadium formed by the steep sides of the Aventine and Palatine Hills.

His wonder soon turned to surprise. After they had passed under the mighty Servian wall, only the basalt road maintained its grandeur. It was still broad enough for two carts to pass abreast. On either side, however, the streets that led off up the hills were narrow and unpaved, and no different to Capua’s. The buildings towered higher than Carbo or Spartacus had ever seen — three, four and even five storeys tall, but for the most part, they looked poorly built. The air was thick with the smell of decaying rubbish, human waste and the acrid tang of urine from the fullers’ workshops that were clustered round the Capena Gate. And the people. There were more people than either man had imagined could be gathered in one place. They pushed and jostled, so intent on their business that they didn’t even look at the other passers-by.

The crush was added to by the queues of wagons which filled the roadway. Loaded with vegetables, sides of pork, steeply piled terracotta vessels and every other merchant good imaginable, they were drawn by pairs or larger teams of oxen. Their drivers roared curses at one another and at the pedestrians, blaming everyone but themselves for the throng that slowed all traffic to a snail’s pace. Carbo made for the edge of the street, hoping to make better progress, but the open-fronted shops, restaurants and taverns there filled the ground before their premises with stalls, tables and items for sale. Any available space between was occupied by toothless beggars — a combination of lepers, amputees and scrawny children — or jugglers, snake charmers and other performers.

‘It’s no good,’ he said in frustration. ‘It will take us all day to get anywhere if we stay on the Via Appia. I don’t know any of the side streets, though.’

‘That’s easy to sort out.’ Spartacus clicked his fingers at a snot-nosed girl in a threadbare tunic. ‘Want to earn an as?’

The urchin was by Spartacus’ side in a heartbeat ‘Yes, sir.’

‘No need to call me “sir”. I’m a slave.’

‘Fair enough,’ said the girl with an uncaring shrug. ‘New to the city?’

‘Yes. My master here is looking for lodgings for a few nights. Central if possible. Nothing too flash, but not a dive either. Somewhere that the beds are clean and the food won’t poison you. And where the wine is actually drinkable.’

‘Do you need whores?’

‘Unless you can guarantee that they haven’t got the pox, no,’ said Carbo.

This produced a smile and a mouthful of rotting teeth. ‘I know just the place. The Elysian Fields. It’s between the Esquiline and the Quirinal.’

‘Is that far?’ asked Spartacus.

‘Not the way I’m going to take you. Follow me!’ The urchin darted off up an alleyway.

Carbo eyed Spartacus uncertainly.

‘What are you waiting for?’

‘Do you trust her?’

‘She’s seen my cudgel, and the fact that we’ve both got knives. The child’ll know it would be foolish to betray us. My money says that she will take us straight to a decent enough inn.’

Carbo wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t in charge — even if it looked as if he was. ‘All right.’ He sped after the girl. Spartacus followed.

Not long after, they had arrived at The Elysian Fields, a nondescript premises just off the Vicus Patricius. A brief investigation by Carbo revealed that the girl had done as she was asked. The tavern was small but clean and well appointed, and the proprietor, a genial ex-soldier, seemed honest. Having paid the urchin, Carbo took a room on the first floor. Spartacus found the ostler and secured a spot on the floor of the stables. A short and casual conversation determined that the city was awash with the news of Crassus’ appointment to lead the Republic’s armies. ‘The consuls couldn’t argue with him any longer, could they?’ the ostler commented sourly. ‘Between them, the stupid fools had been whipped three times by Spartacus. Enough’s enough, eh?’

‘Indeed,’ muttered Spartacus, hiding his smile. ‘So Crassus is going to finish off the slaves, is he?’

‘So he promises. He’s in the process of raising six new legions. Using his own money too. Now that’s what I call devotion to the Republic.’

Spartacus had expected to hear bad news but not quite so soon. He cursed savagely inside. Crassus was more of an organiser and leader than he looked then. When six new legions were added to the survivors of the consuls’ armies, he would have almost ten legions. Great Rider, I will need your help even more than ever. ‘That’s impressive. So it’s true that he is the richest man in Rome?’

‘Damn right it is! Made most of it during Sulla’s proscriptions, he did. Bought up the properties of those who’d been executed hand over fist.’ The ostler spat. ‘Another way he makes his money is to turn up wherever there’s a fire. He offers the owners of any burning buildings a tiny fee for the deeds. Nearly all accept. It’s either that or they get nothing. Crassus has his own private fire brigade. When he’s done the deal, they put out the blaze. Afterwards, he’s got the ground to erect a new building on — and for a steal.’

‘He sounds unpleasant.’

‘Yet they say that he’s as polite a man as you can meet. He contributes regularly to the plebs’ grain dole. Crassus is a real bull with hay on his horns.’ The ostler winked. ‘Tell your master that he could see him address the citizens this very afternoon if he wished.’

‘Really?’ asked Spartacus casually. ‘Where would that be?’

The ostler’s eyebrows rose. ‘I forgot that you’re not from the city. In the Forum.’

‘My thanks. I’ll tell him.’ Chewing on a strand of hay, Spartacus sauntered off in search of Carbo.

Carbo was dozing on the most comfortable bed of their journey yet when a loud knock shattered his reverie.

‘Master?’

He sat up with a start. ‘Yes?’

Spartacus was already halfway inside the low-ceilinged room. ‘They are indeed serving food downstairs, master. Roast pork or grilled fresh fish. Shall I order some for you?’ He closed the door. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happening this very afternoon.’

‘What?’

‘Fucking Crassus is to address the people in the Forum.’

Suddenly, Carbo was fully awake. ‘Who told you?’

‘The ostler. Six legions he’s raising, in addition to the remnants of Longinus’ and the consuls’ forces. In total, he will be leading close to ten legions.’

Carbo felt sick. ‘That’s a lot of legionaries.’

Spartacus’ grin was savage. ‘I told you it would get harder.’

‘Are we going to try and kill him?’ whispered Carbo.

‘That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?’

Now adrenalin surged through Carbo. ‘Yes.’

‘Gods, you look as if you want to kill him more than me!’ said Spartacus with a laugh.

‘He ruined my family, dragged my father’s good name into the mud, took the roof from over our heads. And for what? Three months’ missed payments on his stinking loan!’ Carbo’s dagger jumped into his hand. ‘It would give me the most incredible pleasure to slit his scrawny throat.’

‘Steady on.’

Spartacus’ hard stare unnerved him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to be sorry. You have good reason to hate the prick. But a situation like this demands a cool head. Who knows what protection the man will have? Rest assured that after his recent elevation in the world, he won’t be walking around with no one looking out for him. If we go rushing in like a pair of fools, the only person laughing afterwards will be Crassus — at our bloody corpses. You don’t want that, do you?’

‘No,’ muttered Carbo.

‘We’ll make a judgement once we’ve seen what’s going on, and who’s around. Not before.’ Spartacus had seen far too many men slain in battle because they had acted rashly. Now was not the time for recklessness. ‘It may well be that we get no chance to assassinate Crassus. If there isn’t, we will just walk away. Clear?’

Carbo swallowed his resentment. If it wasn’t for the Thracian, he’d have long since been food for the worms in the ludus’ cemetery. ‘Yes.’

‘Put that damn blade away then, and order me to follow you out for some food.’

It took an instant for Carbo to register Spartacus’ meaning. Sheathing his knife, he grinned. ‘I fancy a stroll around the great city,’ he said loudly. ‘We can find somewhere to eat as we walk.’ He pulled the door wide. Although there was no reason to be suspicious, he was glad to find the corridor beyond empty. Carbo threw up as heartfelt a prayer as he’d ever made. Mighty Jupiter, O Greatest and Best, grant us the opportunity to kill Crassus. Guide my blade — and that of Spartacus.

In his haste, he forgot that requests of the deities needed to be phrased with meticulous accuracy.