The Gladiator

Chapter XVI

The sun was dropping in the sky as Spartacus worked his way through the camp, which now sprawled over a huge area, far beyond the earthen ramparts erected by Glaber’s men. Greetings rang out from everyone who noticed him, and he made sure to smile in return or engage in a few words of encouragement before moving on. Inside, Spartacus was troubled by the number of gaunt faces on view.

After Cossinius’ defeat and death, the tide of new recruits seeking to join him — men, women and children — had turned into a veritable flood. The camp at the top of Vesuvius had rapidly swelled to bursting point. With more severe weather imminent, he had taken the decision to move everyone down to the remnants of Glaber’s encampment at the bottom of the mountain. While this meant that his fifteen thousand followers were shielded from the worst extremes of the elements, it did not provide them with any food.

It also left them open to attack from Varinius, who had regrouped his forces and camped about five miles away. Despite the swelling of his forces’ strength, Spartacus still did not want to fight the Romans in open battle. Perhaps five thousand men were trained to the standards he’d want, but the rest weren’t nearly ready for face-to-face combat; nor did they have enough equipment. Slave chains gave Pulcher and the other smiths limited amounts of iron to forge swords and spears, and fire-hardened sharp-ended stakes would only go so far when fighting fully armoured legionaries. Sometimes Spartacus wished that he were in Thrace, with as many battle-hardened warriors as he had followers here. He didn’t dwell on the pleasing thought, because having that many Thracians under one banner — his — was little more than a fantasy. His quest to unify the tribes against Rome might have succeeded, but it was as likely that he’d have been slain during his attempt. His men here were real. He just needed to train them, and keep the army from splitting up. Damn Crixus for a fool!

Brooding, he approached the fire by his tent, where Ariadne stood. She was tending a blackened pot that hung over the flames. Spartacus’ breath plumed in the chill air. He rubbed his hands together and extended them towards the heat. ‘That smells good. What is it?’

Ariadne looked up. ‘It’s what’s left of last night’s stew, with more water added.’

He shrugged. ‘The men are raiding every farm, and killing whatever game they can. But the Romans are everywhere now. It’s difficult to hunt when you’re keeping one eye out all the time for an enemy patrol. At least we’ve something to eat. There are others in the camp going hungry.’

She sighed. ‘I’m sorry. You have enough to worry about without me complaining.’

‘It’s all right.’ He put an arm around her waist. ‘But we need to move from here. Soon, too.’

She cocked her head at him. ‘Why now?’

‘We might have defeated Varinius and his men twice now, and raided their camps as well, but he has learned from his mistakes — and those of his officers. The fortifications around his new encampment are taller than I’ve ever seen, and the defensive ditch is deep enough to float a damn ship in. We’d have more chance of storming Hades than it.’ He scowled. ‘Winter is coming too. It’s going to get harder to find supplies. The best way to avoid people starving is to find a safer place to camp.’

‘Surely that’s simple enough?’ She looked at his face and used her intuition. The same thought had troubled her since they’d broken out of the ludus. ‘Let me guess. Crixus won’t go along with your idea.’

‘Of course not. He wants to fight Varinius. He says only cowards run from an enemy. Castus agrees with him.’

‘But we wouldn’t be running! Merely moving to a more secure base.’ There was another option, thought Ariadne guiltily. She and Spartacus and a few others — the Scythians, the Thracians and maybe Carbo — could leave. Make their way out of Italy. It seemed cowardly even to think it, so she did her best to bury the idea.

‘I told him that,’ said Spartacus. ‘It’s not as if we won’t have to fight the Romans again! The prick wasn’t having any of it, though. He’s talking about leaving, taking his men with him. Castus might go too.’

The Gaulish leaders had quickly realised that the recruits flooding in were a source of recruits to their own factions. All three had won great popularity among countless hundreds of the slaves. If Crixus and Castus departed, it would considerably reduce Spartacus’ strength. Worried now, Ariadne stared at him. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to enjoy my stew, and then I’m taking my wife to bed. Maybe she can warm the chill from my bones.’ He squeezed her hip.

Ariadne wanted the same thing too, but she forced a frown. ‘I’m being serious.’

His grin faded. ‘I know you are. I’ve called a council of war for the morning.’

‘And?’

‘With the Great Rider’s blessing, I will persuade them both to stay with us.’ The muscles in his jaw worked. ‘If they have any sense at all, they’ll have come to that conclusion anyway.’

She pulled away from his embrace. ‘Feed yourself,’ she said crisply, reaching for her cloak. ‘I’ll be back in a while.’

Spartacus’ eyebrows rose. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To ask for Dionysus’ support. We need all the help we can get.’

Spartacus’ thoughts of sex faded. He stared grimly after Ariadne as she vanished into the gloom. She’s right.

Reluctant to turn in before he heard whether Ariadne had any news, Spartacus stayed by the fire. Wrapping a pair of blankets around himself to ward off the cold, he poured out a bowl of stew and sat down to eat. The food was gone all too soon, but his still grumbling belly was the least of his concerns. Crixus. It always came down to the arrogant and argumentative Crixus. I could fight him again. Spartacus dismissed the idea at once. After their previous clash, the Gaul would insist on fighting with weapons. Even if he beat Crixus, he’d probably have to kill him, which would be counter-productive. There was no guarantee that Castus would stay in that instance either. Take him on too? No. I can’t fight everyone in the damn army. There must be a way of convincing them not to leave.

More than two hours passed. Full night had fallen, and the moon was climbing from the distant horizon. It was growing steadily colder, and the camp had gone quiet. Apart from the sentries, everyone had sought the comfort of their shelters. Thanks to the equipment seized after their victories over Furius and Cossinius, a sizeable number had leather tents. Hunching his shoulders, Spartacus moved his feet closer to the edge of the fire. There could be a frost tonight.

‘You’re still up,’ said Ariadne, emerging from the darkness.

‘Of course.’ He studied her face for clues, but her expression was closed.

‘Is there any stew left?’

‘Yes, I left you half.’

She tutted at him. ‘You need food far more than I do.’

‘I’ve had plenty,’ Spartacus lied, knowing that she usually gave him the lion’s share. He watched in silence as Ariadne scraped out the pot and sat down to eat.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I saw something?’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’

As ever, his belly tightened. ‘What was it?’

She countered with a question. ‘What are your long-term plans?’

‘I haven’t got any,’ he replied frankly. ‘In my game, it’s best not to. A warrior never knows when his life might end.’

‘You must have had some thoughts about it.’

He considered her words. ‘I’d like to forge an army, a proper army. Beat the Romans in open battle.’

‘To what end? That wouldn’t be enough,’ she retorted. ‘The bastards never give up.’ That’s been my plan since I first left my village all those years ago.

‘I know. Even after Hannibal wiped out their army at Cannae, they didn’t despair. It took them nearly twenty years but they beat him in the end. And Hannibal had a proper army. What have I got? A few thousand slaves!’

Ariadne hadn’t heard him talk like this before. ‘Don’t give up,’ she urged.

‘You mistake me,’ he retorted. His eyes glittered fiercely in the firelight. ‘I have more men here than the warriors of several tribes in Thrace. I haven’t had to fight to unify them either. While that number follows me, I will never give up! Nor will I ever be a slave again. But I also know the realities that we face. The Republic did not become the power that it is for no reason. Its people are proud, warlike and brave, but most of all, they are stubborn. The majority of races eventually accept defeat — Thracians included,’ he added bitterly. ‘Not the Romans, however. They would rather be wiped out than give in. That simple fact is what someone like Crixus will never understand. Varinius is but one commander of a score that the Senate could call upon. His troops are a tiny fraction of Rome’s manpower. Each time we defeat them, we make it more inevitable that ever greater numbers of soldiers will be sent against us. That’s why it is so important not to run off and offer battle to Varinius like a wild beast defending its territory, but to make every encounter take place at a time and a place of our choosing. Another truth that Crixus does not see.’

‘There is a different option,’ said Ariadne softly.

He gave her a sharp glance. ‘What — to leave Italy?’

‘Yes. It would be easy enough to do. A small band, travelling fast, could easily avoid the troops looking for us. Carbo says that it’s only three hundred miles or so to the Alps.’

‘Winter is just around the corner. The mountains are no place to be when snow is falling.’

‘Hannibal crossed them at this time of year,’ she challenged.

‘But he was coming into Italy, to fight the bastard Romans. Not to run away from them.’

‘That’s not what you would be doing,’ Ariadne protested.

‘Is it not? Supposing we made it back to Thrace and I overthrew Kotys. Would I just forget all about what we’re doing here?’

Ariadne felt her cheeks flame.

‘Is that what you saw?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I can hear the whispers in my village even now. “Spartacus raised an army of slaves, and just when they needed him most, he abandoned them to their fate.”’ He scowled. ‘Because that’s what I’d be doing. If I left, what do you think would happen to the people in the camp here?’

‘They’d splinter into small groups. Get picked off by the Romans, probably.’

‘That’s right. The lucky ones would be enslaved again. The rest would starve to death or get killed by wolves.’ He stared at her. ‘I can’t leave them. I won’t.’

Ariadne wasn’t surprised by his response. ‘My conscience wouldn’t let me do that either.’ Liar. If the other event I saw comes to pass, I’d try to get away in a heartbeat. I can’t tell him that, however.

‘I’m a warrior who stands and fights, not a yellow-livered coward who skulks off when times get hard, leaving the weak to fend for themselves.’

‘I know,’ she said gently. ‘And if you could take the whole army over the Alps?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘That is an entirely different proposition. However, there’s more chance of the Great Rider appearing before me right now than of persuading the Gauls to go along with that idea. They were born into slavery. So were most of the Germans. They hate Rome and what it stands for, but Italy is their entire world. It’s a rich land, with easy pickings for men like us. Why would they even consider leaving it?’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘That’s what came to you? The army crossing the Alps?’

‘It was one thing that I saw, yes.’

‘Were there others?’

She nodded.

‘Tell me.’

‘You’ll believe that I’m making it up. Trying to make you leave Italy.’

‘I won’t think that. Whatever you see is sacred, sent to you by Dionysus.’

She studied his face for a moment. ‘Very well. I am to bear you a son.’

‘A son?’ Spartacus’ face creased into a huge smile. ‘That’s wonderful!’

‘It might not happen,’ she said quickly. ‘Nothing about visions is certain.’

‘I know, I know. But a son!’ He reached over and squeezed her knee. ‘You’ll make a fine mother.’

‘And you a strong father.’ Maybe this will change his mind?

‘If what you saw is true, it’s even more reason to stay with the men,’ Spartacus declared. ‘Let’s say that we left now and travelled to Thrace, and our son grew up safely there. Imagine his opinion of me when he found out what I’d done. He’d think I was a damn coward, and he’d be right too.’

Ariadne was surprised to feel little disappointment. There was a trace of shame that she could even contemplate leaving, but the dominant emotion was pride. Pride in Spartacus. Yes, his ego was surely fed by his exalted position, but that was not his primary reason for staying. Ensuring the care of his men was. A tiny part of her still longed to escape their existence, however. ‘He wouldn’t think that if you’d beaten the Romans and left them to rot while you took the whole army out of Italy.’

‘Now there’s an idea!’ he said with a smile. ‘All I need to do is win over Crixus and Castus. First things first, however. For you to bear me a son, we have to make one.’ He took Ariadne by the hand and pulled her upright. ‘Let’s go to bed, eh?’

This time, Ariadne did not resist.

Carbo went looking for Spartacus at dawn. Over the previous few weeks, he had barely seen his leader. He’d been too busy himself. When he wasn’t helping Navio train the men, or in his tent coupling with Chloris, he had been out on foraging missions for food. On his most recent expedition, from which he only returned late the previous evening, Carbo and his comrades had spied out the town of Nola, which lay some eight miles to the north-east of Vesuvius. Thus far, it had escaped the slaves’ attentions. The wealth of the estates around Nola, and the visible lack of Roman troops, had been apparent to everyone in Carbo’s party. Here, in a neatly circumscribed area, were warehouses full of grain, stores of wine, dried meat and other foodstuffs, all ripe for the plucking. This was bounty that could not be left untouched. It had fallen to Carbo to bring the matter to Spartacus’ attention.

He met Spartacus heading purposefully towards Glaber’s former headquarters, which had become the leaders’ habitual meeting place. There was no missing his leader. Spartacus was dressed in a mail shirt that had been burnished until it shone. His sheathed sica hung from a gilded Roman military belt, and he wore a stunning Phrygian helmet. Even his leather sandals had been polished. He looked magnificent, thought Carbo admiringly.

‘What do you want?’ barked Spartacus.

Taken aback, Carbo began explaining about Nola.

‘Tell me as I walk,’ ordered Spartacus. ‘I can’t stand around to listen.’

Carbo had to trot to keep up as they made their way along the camp’s main avenue.

Spartacus said nothing until they arrived at the headquarters, where he stopped. ‘It’s a good idea.’

Carbo took in the waiting shapes of Crixus, Castus and Gannicus. They don’t look happy. ‘Will you organise a raiding party?’

Spartacus looked at him. For the first time, Carbo noticed lines of exhaustion under his grey eyes. ‘We’ll see. It depends on what happens here.’

‘All right.’ Carbo waited to be dismissed.

Spartacus considered him for a moment, before chuckling mirthlessly. ‘Stay with me. You might as well. It’s your fate as well as mine that we’ll be deciding.’

Carbo’s confusion grew.

‘You’ll find out soon enough what’s going on. Remember to keep your mouth shut and your ears open.’

He nodded.

Spartacus walked over to the Gauls, who were also clad in their finest gear.

Carbo trailed a few steps behind Spartacus. This must be an important meeting.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Crixus pointed a thick finger at Carbo. ‘You’re not welcome.’

Crixus had never spoken to Carbo, but he’d thrown enough glares in the lad’s direction for him to know how the Gaul felt. With difficulty, he kept his face neutral. Arrogant bastard.

‘Carbo has been giving me the good news about a town called Nola, which lies to the north-east,’ said Spartacus calmly. ‘He came across it on a foraging mission. Apparently, it’s too good a prize to pass up. We’ll find weeks’ worth of supplies there.’

At this, Gannicus smiled. Castus grunted noncommittally, but Crixus sneered. ‘Big fucking deal.’

‘Finding new sources of food is important,’ observed Spartacus mildly.

‘That’s not what we’re here to talk about.’ Crixus glared at Carbo. ‘Piss off.’

Although he wanted to, Carbo wasn’t about to challenge Crixus. The move would cost him his life. Resentfully, he turned to leave.

‘He stays,’ said Spartacus in a sharp tone.

Delighted, Carbo froze.

‘Why?’ Crixus’ tone was bullish.

‘Some of your men are here.’ Spartacus indicated the half-dozen gladiators who lounged nearby.

‘I can trust them,’ retorted Crixus. ‘Your lapdog, however, is a cocksucking Roman.’

Carbo flushed with anger but Spartacus spoke before he could react. ‘Carbo has repeatedly proven his loyalty since we left the ludus. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s also the one who brought back Navio. Don’t try to deny that that man’s training has made an enormous difference to our fighting capability.’

‘Carbo is all right,’ said Gannicus in a placatory voice. ‘Eh, Castus?’

‘I suppose so,’ came the reluctant answer.

Crixus’ face grew sullen. ‘Suit yourself,’ he growled. ‘It will make no difference to what I do.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Spartacus. As if I don’t know.

‘Attack Varinius’ camp again! Ambush his men at every opportunity. Wipe the bastard out as soon as possible.’

‘Will you join him, Castus?’

‘I’m thinking of it, yes.’

How times have changed. A few months ago, you wouldn’t give Crixus the time of day. Spartacus eyed Gannicus, who was sucking on his moustache. ‘And you?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Gannicus replied awkwardly.

It’s as I thought. One against me, one probably against me, and one on the fence. Spartacus considered walking away, letting them splinter their army into little pieces, but his pride wouldn’t let him. Dionysus revealed that I could forge a proper army, one that can fight Rome and its legions. The chance to do that is too good just to throw away.

‘Are you still planning to run away?’ jibed Crixus.

If he’d been like this in the ludus, I never would have got the prick to agree to join us, Spartacus reflected, forcing himself to remain calm. All he needed was the chance to prove himself in battle. Now that he’s done that, men are prepared to follow him. But bravery only gets a soldier so far. Crixus has no tactical sense that I’ve seen. Out loud, he said, ‘I want to defeat Varinius too.’

Crixus’ brows lowered. ‘Have you come to your senses then?’

‘It’s what I’ve always aimed for,’ said Spartacus. ‘Just not right now.’

‘You want to wait. To move to another camp.’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me how that’s not running away,’ cried Crixus. And he was off, ranting how he and his men would wreak havoc on the local countryside; how they would annihilate Varinius and his cowardly troops; how they didn’t need Spartacus and his snake-in-the-grass Roman friends. Soon Castus added his voice to the tirade. The pair were encouraged by the vigorous noises of approval made by the watching Gaulish gladiators. Gannicus stood watching the performance, his eyes as beady as an old vulture’s.

Carbo began to grow despondent. He’d known something of the rivalries between the various leaders, but he’d never guessed that it was this bad. To his surprise and disappointment, Spartacus said nothing. He just listened.

At last Crixus’ outburst came to an end. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ he asked Spartacus acidly.

Castus snickered.

That’s it, thought Carbo. It’s over. They’ll leave. The army will fragment. Varinius will have no problem crushing us.

Bizarrely, Spartacus smiled. ‘I’ve got one simple question for you, Crixus.’

Crixus’ top lip peeled back with contempt. ‘What?’

‘How many legionaries do you think Varinius has left?’

‘Eh? What do I care?’

‘How many?’ demanded Spartacus.

‘I don’t know.’ Crixus gave a casual shrug. ‘Three thousand? Three and a half thousand?’

‘A man arrived yesterday who’d been a body slave to one of Varinius’ senior officers.’ Spartacus was pleased to see Gannicus and Castus stiffen. Even Crixus’ face changed. Didn’t know that, did you? ‘He has close to four and a half thousand legionaries.’

‘A thousand extra troops will make no difference. Nor will fifteen hundred,’ blustered Crixus. ‘They’ll run just as fast as the rest.’

Time to spring the trap. ‘If you leave, how many men will follow you?’

‘Two and a half thousand, give or take,’ Crixus replied proudly.

‘And you, Castus?’

‘About the same.’

‘I know that approximately two thousand answer to you, Gannicus.’ He turned back to Crixus. ‘How many of your lot are ready to stand up to legionaries in open combat?’

Crixus’ expression grew thunderous.

‘Come on, you must have an idea. Every good general knows the disposition of his forces,’ cajoled Spartacus.

‘Less than half,’ Crixus muttered.

‘If that,’ retorted Spartacus sharply. ‘The same applies to your followers, Castus, or I’m no judge of a soldier.’

Castus glowered but did not reply.

Carbo’s spirits rose. Spartacus is a genius!

Spartacus caught first Crixus’ eye, and then that of Castus. He ignored Gannicus. I’ll pretend he’s with me, even if he isn’t. ‘So you’re going to take on Varinius and the guts of a legion with fewer than three thousand fighting men?’

‘So what if I am?’ snapped Crixus, going red.

‘Fair enough.’ Spartacus’ tone was light. Carbo ducked his head to hide his grin. Crixus had been made out to be at best a braggart, and at worst a fool. ‘Have you thought about whether Varinius might attack the camp?’ Spartacus went on.

Crixus gave a confident laugh. ‘After all we’ve done to them, they’re too shit scared to try.’

‘Maybe so,’ admitted Spartacus. ‘I think Varinius might feel differently, however, when he hears that more than ten thousand men have left with me and Gannicus.’ Great Rider, help me now. Let him have heard my words.

‘Gannicus?’ Crixus’ growl was furious. ‘You’re coming with us, aren’t you?’

Gannicus tugged at his moustache, but when he spoke his tone was crisp. ‘I’m not so sure it’s a wise idea to break up the army at the moment.’

Hit Crixus with it now, thought Spartacus savagely. ‘Imagine four and a half thousand legionaries storming the camp. They’ll have catapults and bolt throwers to soften you up beforehand too. Will your men withstand that?’

Crixus’ face twisted with anger. He glanced at Castus, who now looked most unhappy, and then his eyes slid back to Spartacus. ‘I’m not running away!’

‘No one said anything about running away. Look, I know how brave you all are. Unless they’re deaf, dumb and blind, so does every damn man in the camp.’ At this, Gannicus and Castus grinned; Crixus’ mouth was still an unhappy gash, but he didn’t interrupt. Thank the Rider for that much. ‘Remember, I want to defeat Varinius too. Our followers are brave, but they’re slaves, not soldiers. Even the rawest legionary recruit is more than a match for the vast majority of our men. Our successes thus far have been thanks to the element of surprise. Varinius is no fool. He won’t fall into the same traps again. That’s not to say we can’t beat him. But we need more time to train the men. More weapons, or iron for the smiths to work. More food. You’ve seen how little remains in the way of provisions,’ Spartacus warned. ‘If we’re not to be crushed by Varinius, or die of starvation, we need to act.’

Gannicus spoke first. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘We give Varinius the slip. Head south, to where it’s warmer. Locate a secure camp, in a place where we can find enough supplies.’

‘We’ll need wine and women too.’

‘We will,’ agreed Spartacus, knowing that was a reality he had to live with. ‘Let’s spend the winter training and preparing for battle. In the spring, we’ll track down Varinius and his men, and put them to the sword.’ He glanced casually at Gannicus.

‘I’m with you!’

Castus said nothing. He eyed Crixus, who was chewing a fingernail.

‘You’ll give me your word about killing Varinius?’ Crixus rumbled.

‘I will.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll stay until then,’ said Crixus grudgingly.

‘Castus?’ asked Spartacus.

‘Me too. But there’d better be plenty of women.’

Can you do anything but think with your prick? Spartacus wondered. Out loud, he said, ‘I’m sure there will.’

They gripped arms to fasten the deal. In the background, Carbo grinned from ear to ear.

Spartacus allowed himself a brittle smile. He had done better than he’d expected to. The army would remain together for the moment.

Sooner or later, however, a split was inevitable.

That night, in what had become their daily custom, Carbo and Chloris retired to their tent as darkness fell. The urgency of their physical union was still undimmed. Whether Chloris was faking her desire for him, Carbo could not be sure, but he was certainly not acting. He could not get enough of her. Afterwards, they talked for an age. Lying under a thick layer of blankets with her, their limbs entwined, Carbo felt huge relief. Having Chloris around had removed a logjam from the dammed river of his conversation. Since the pox, he had lost all confidence in talking to anyone of the opposite sex. Now, he couldn’t shut up. He wanted Chloris to know everything about him. He’d told her what had happened to his family, and of Crassus’ involvement. How he’d not seen Paccius or his parents for months. Mentioning them again, he glanced into Chloris’ dark eyes, seeing a pain there that he had not previously noticed. Guilt filled him. ‘I’m sorry. At least I have some chance of seeing them again, whereas your father and mother…’

‘Are dead, yes. Nothing can be done about that.’

‘Yet you must wish to return to Greece. To find your younger brother.’

She ignored what he’d said. ‘I like listening to you talk. Your voice is soothing.’ She traced his features with a finger.

Screamingly conscious of the pockmarks pitting his cheeks, he looked away.

‘You’re very handsome,’ she murmured, lifting a hand and turning his face to hers again.

Carbo still couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘I thought that the first time I saw you strip off in the ludus. Good-looking, with a nice body.’ She reached down to his prick and chuckled in her throat. ‘I found that this was the best bit, though.’

Her touch made him stiffen, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. ‘And my scars?’

‘They give you character.’ She laid a blanket of kisses on his cheeks. ‘They’re part of you and you are a good man.’

She was concealing something from him, thought Carbo. He did not know what, however, and as she rolled on top of him, all coherent thought left his head.

Three weeks went by, and Spartacus had put the confrontation with the Gauls from the front of his mind. Instead it lingered in the recesses of his memory like a bad smell over an open sewer. Overall, however, things had gone well. Varinius had been neatly tricked on the night that he and the army had withdrawn from Glaber’s old encampment. Spartacus had insisted on meticulous planning beforehand. Patrols sent out in the late afternoon had scoured the area to make sure that there were no legionaries spying on the camp. Then, under the cover of darkness, their sentries at the front gate had been replaced by corpses dressed in mail and armed with bent or useless swords. By the light of dozens of campfires, every last tent had been taken down and packed, along with other heavy equipment such as Pulcher’s anvils, on to hundreds of mules. In the hour before midnight, every man, woman and child had filed away, eastwards, to the towering Picentini Mountains.

Everyone but Carbo, who was armed with a captured Roman trumpet.

It had been a dangerous duty to volunteer for, but Carbo had been most insistent. Seeing the burning desire in his eyes, Spartacus had acquiesced. The young Roman’s job had been to stay awake all night, listening out for the enemy. At dawn he was to sound his instrument, in mockery of Rome’s customary way of waking its soldiers, and wait to see what happened next.

Spartacus smiled at the memory of Carbo’s report. It had been a real morale booster for everyone to discover that some two hours later, when Varinius had become aware that the rebels’ camp was far quieter than normal, he had not dared to send a patrol to search it. Instead, one of his newly arrived cavalry units had ridden to the top of a nearby hill to look down on it from a height. Disconcerted by the slaves’ disappearance, Varinius had withdrawn his forces to the north-west. Rather than having to creep away from the camp, Carbo had simply trotted after the slave host. Delighted by his report, Spartacus had called for a gathering that night. ‘That’s how respectful the bastards are of us now,’ he had cried to the thousands who had assembled to hear him speak. ‘They are too damn scared even to come after us!’ In the rousing cheer that met his words, he hadn’t been surprised to be challenged by Crixus again.

‘If the shitbags are that frightened, why in hell’s name aren’t we pursuing them?’ he’d growled.

‘Varinius fearing us is a good thing,’ Spartacus had replied robustly. ‘But it does not mean that we would win an open fight with him. In addition to his legionaries, he has four hundred cavalry. We have none. None! Imagine what those horsemen would do if they came hammering in to our rear in the midst of a battle. Have you ever seen a cavalry charge strike an unprepared enemy?’ Crixus had glowered then, because everyone present had known that only Spartacus had witnessed such a thing. It had shut the Gaul up, though. ‘They smash the formation into smithereens! It’s like watching a gust of wind pick up a pile of leaves and scatter it to the four ends of the earth. The fight would be lost with that one strike.’ No one had argued any further, which had pleased Spartacus. Of course, his approach wouldn’t work forever, but his dire prediction had at least ensured that their forces had moved out of harm’s way. Varinius’ cavalry would be useless on steep mountainsides.

Besides, he’d withdrawn to the safety of Cumae, a city some twenty-five miles from Vesuvius. The rebels had therefore reached the Picentini Mountains without incident, and had made a temporary camp for several nights. Meanwhile, guided by Carbo, five hundred handpicked men under Gannicus had raided the town of Nola. They had returned in triumph to the accolades of their comrades, with enough grain to feed everyone for two weeks, as well as large quantities of warm clothing and footwear and close to a thousand new recruits. An attack on the town of Nuceria had yielded similar returns. Carbo had been elated by their success. It was remarkable, he realised, that his new vocation troubled him less and less. Yet the idea of becoming a lawyer now seemed positively laughable. Life with Spartacus was dangerous, but Carbo had authority, the respect of his comrades and last but not least, he had Chloris.

With enough supplies to last for a month or more, the entire army had headed south. It was guided by slaves who had worked as shepherds locally. These men kept the host at altitude because enduring the harsh weather of autumn was preferable to encountering any Roman troops. Yet, apart from the inhabitants of the small farming settlement of Abella, who had been surprised in their fields, the only company the slaves had had since was that of the creatures that lived in the forested mountains. Eagles and vultures that hung on the air overhead, surveying the long column with lofty disdain. Small birds that chattered angrily from the safety of trees at the invaders of their territory. Wolves that howled their mournful cries at dusk every night, adding to the sense of isolation and freedom. Deer and wild boar that hid from sight, leaving only their trail as evidence of their existence. Bears and lynxes lived here too, but they were only occasionally sighted by the scouts.

Spartacus had counted himself fortunate to see one lynx with his own eyes. It was a magnificent male, which had stood quite still when it had spotted him, regarding him for several moments from its slitted yellow eyes. It was the gently moving tufts on the tops of its ears that had told him it was not a statue, carved by a genius or a god. And then it had vanished, simply melting away into the undergrowth.

That is how we shall be to the Romans, thought Spartacus with some satisfaction. They will never know we’re there, unless we want them to.

Two days before, they had crossed the River Silarus, using a little-known ford instead of the bridge on the Via Annia, the main road south to Rhegium. Since it lay near to the paved way with its heavy traffic, Spartacus had sent the two Scythians ahead to watch it day and night. By the time he arrived, they had been monitoring it for the guts of a week. They had seen neither hide nor hair of an enemy soldier. Spartacus had promptly convened with the other leaders. For once, they had come to a unanimous decision: to travel on the Via Annia. Moving much faster than previously, they had swept through the long, narrow plain that was the Campus Atinas, a fertile upland valley fed by the River Tanager. All travellers on the road and inhabitants of the large latifundia on either side of it had been freed, seized, or killed. No one in Forum Annii, the town they were aiming for, could be aware of their presence.

Until we walk into their houses, empty their storehouses, free their slaves. And kill them.

Spartacus had wanted to leave all this behind when he left the Roman army. But it was not to be. Fate had stepped in when Kotys had played him false, and Phortis had taken him to Italy and the ludus in Capua. Then a god had sent him a dream about a snake. Who was he to ignore such an opportunity when it was placed in his path? And yet — as in life — it was not quite that simple. Innocents always died.

Spartacus glanced around. The tree line to either side of him was packed with hundreds — no, thousands — of spectral figures. Everyone fit to bear arms was here. Even some of the women were to take part. He could sense the slaves’ hunger, could reach out and touch it. The staring faces, the tightly gripped weapons, the fierce whispering reminded him of similar ambushes that he had taken part in, a lifetime ago in Thrace. The men were like starving wolves, about to fall on a flock of unsuspecting sheep in the fold. Except their prey was not animal, but human.

Spartacus stared down bleakly at the empty Via Annia, which was coated by thin tendrils of morning mist. It led through recently ploughed fields for perhaps a quarter of a mile to the jumble of red-tiled roofs that was Forum Annii. He watched the trickles of smoke rising from fires that had been kept in overnight. Listened to the crowing of cocks in petulant rivalry with each other, and the fierce barking of dogs that know they will never have to back up their threats to each other. Not a figure moved in the fields below Spartacus’ position, or on the streets of the town. Not a voice could be heard. It was incredibly tranquil. Peaceful, even beautiful. And so very similar to the village in Thrace that he had once called home.

His jaw clenched. That will soon change.

At dawn, Spartacus had spoken to the other leaders about the need for restraint. The need to limit the amount of rape and killing that would go on once their attack on Forum Annii began. His words had fallen if not on deaf ears, then on ears that would no longer listen.

‘My men have been marching for more than three stinking weeks,’ Crixus had snarled. ‘It’s been cold and damp and miserable. All they’ve had to fill their bellies is porridge and bread that’s been burned over a fire. Now we’ve reached somewhere that is completely undefended. There isn’t a legionary for fifty miles. My lads want meat and wine. They want beds and women to fuck in them. All of those things are lying down there in Forum Annii, and I’m not going to deny them the pleasure of having the lot. No one is.’ A tiny, challenging smile had traced its way across Crixus’ lips.

Castus had whooped with excitement. Even Gannicus had looked pleased at the prospect of uncontrolled pillaging.

I had to bite my tongue, or the army would have split up then and there. Spartacus closed his eyes for a moment. May the gods have mercy on the people down there. Let them die easily.

He knew that his prayer was in vain.

Hell was about to be unleashed on Forum Annii.