Spartacus: Rebellion (20 page)

Ariadne didn’t like his words either.
O gods above, please let them agree. Let us leave this cursed land behind for ever.

‘You know why I have asked you here this morning. Many months ago, I said to you that I would lead you out of Italy. Away from Rome and its damn legions!’ He pointed at the Alps. ‘When we cross those, which at this time of year is not difficult, we shall be totally free. Not just at liberty to do as we have here, but free in the truest sense of the word!’ Spartacus cast a glance at the two Gauls. Castus had a sneer spread across his ruddy face, and Gannicus looked downright angry. In that moment, Spartacus sensed that they knew about Lucullus. How, he wasn’t sure, but they knew. The cold realisation of what they had been telling the men as he arrived slid into his mind
.

A scan of the nearest soldiers told him that his encouraging words had only had a partial effect. Many men were still unhappy: scowling, frowning or listening as a comrade whispered in their ear. Even the threat of more legions did not compare with the idea of leaving Italy and entering unknown lands. Lands where other legions waited for them. That was it. He had to tell his troops about the Roman threat to Thrace, or Castus’ and Gannicus’ underhand tactic would work. The soldiers would know him for a liar, and might not follow him anywhere. Spartacus felt bitter at being forced to reveal his secret, but the gods had taken matters into their own hands – as they so often did. He just had to accept what had happened, and make the best of it. He had to seize back the initiative.

He held up a hand. ‘At least that is what I would have wished. News came to me near Mutina, however, that troubled me deeply. That caused me to reconsider my plans. We will stay in Italy!’

A loud cheer rose from the nearest men, and Ariadne let out a hiss of dismay and anger.

Spartacus ignored her, instead rejoicing in the dismay coating both Gauls’ faces.

‘What made you change your mind?’ shouted a soldier with a horsehair-crested helmet.

‘Apparently, Lucullus, the Roman general, has attacked Thrace. His campaign continues even as we speak.’

‘Attacked Thrace? Why in the gods’ names would we leave here then?’ shouted the soldier, aiming his question at those all around him. They roared with laughter.

Spartacus did not answer. He watched as the news spread through his army like the ripple of wind through a field of wheat. It moved faster than any of his words about glory, victory or freedom. Castus’ face had now gone purple. Gannicus looked stunned. Their reactions were proof that his hunch had been right. He felt a grim satisfaction at having stolen their thunder. Of course they might still break away, but the advantage was with him. He cast his eyes over the army, and listened to the swelling roar of approval.

‘Where would you lead us instead, Spartacus?’ cried the soldier in the horsehair helmet.

The men around him quietened.

From the corner of his eye, Spartacus saw Castus moving forward, but he half turned and made a chopping gesture at the trumpeters.

Tan-tara-tara-tara.
The noise drowned out all sound on the platform. Castus went puce with fury, but there was nothing he could do until the instruments fell silent. The instant that they did, however, Spartacus leaped in. ‘Do you want to know where I would go now, my soldiers?’

‘YES!’ To his delight, Pulcher began the cry: ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’

At once the reply was shouted back. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’

Castus tried to speak again, but no one was paying him any attention. The chant was already spreading through the assembled troops. Spartacus found himself grinning.
How could I ever leave them?
He signalled at the musicians once more. The men’s clamour abated before the trumpets’ crescendo. Castus’ mouth opened as their sound died away, but Spartacus was having none of it. ‘I would take you south again. To our old stamping grounds around Thurii, where the land is rich and fertile.’

‘And there are plenty of farms to plunder!’ roared the soldier.

‘And women to screw!’ shouted another voice.

‘That’s right.’ Spartacus didn’t like the way his men sometimes behaved, but he didn’t try to control every breach of discipline. Indiscriminate killing and rape had been part of warfare since time began. The troops regarded such things as part of their pay, and in a way he did too. If he tried too hard to stop them, they would turn on him. ‘In the south, we will continue to recruit men. To train. To arm ourselves. To prepare ourselves for the legions that will come after us.’

‘And we’ll thrash them, just as we’ve done the previous ones!’

‘Yes,’ said Spartacus confidently. Inside, he felt less certain. But he had chosen his path. All he could do now was tread upon it, to the best of his ability. With as many men as would follow him. Already part of him had begun to exult at the thought of defeating more Roman armies. ‘Will you march with me to Thurii, and to victory?’

‘YES!’ The soldier in the horsehair helmet punched the air with a fist.

‘SOUTH! SOUTH!’ yelled the closest men.

This time, the runners were not needed. Everyone who heard the cry repeated it, and the two words spread like wildfire through the host. ‘SOUTH! SOUTH!’ the soldiers roared, stamping their feet and clashing their weapons off their shields.

Despite his concerns for the future, pride filled Spartacus at the sound.

‘You sly Thracian bastard. You always try to get one up on us, don’t you?’

He turned at the sound of Castus’ voice. ‘Try? I think I just did.’

Castus’ lips peeled back into a snarl and he took a step forward. ‘You—’

‘Not in front of the army,’ snapped Gannicus. ‘Not now.’

Breathing heavily, Castus stopped.

‘Who told you about Lucullus?’ demanded Spartacus coldly.

‘Fuck that!’ shouted Castus. ‘You were supposed to tell the men that you were going to Thrace.’

‘I changed my mind.’
I had to.

In a flash, Spartacus’ motives became clear to Ariadne.
He saw that they knew.
The realisation did nothing to ease her disappointment.

‘The clever bastard did it because he knew that the men wouldn’t follow him, and he didn’t want to relinquish command to us,’ said Gannicus, his eyes bright with malice.

‘My reasons are my own,’ growled Spartacus. ‘Are you coming south with me? Or are you going to leave now, as you planned?’

‘Damn you to Hades, Spartacus!’ Castus’ right hand dropped to his sword.

Spartacus’ fingers caressed the wooden grip of his sica. It would be a bad idea to fight in front of his men, but his anger at the Gaul had overflowed. ‘Try it. Go on!’

Castus let his hand fall to his side. ‘Now’s not the time, you Thracian goat-humper.’

‘I’d rather screw goats than corpses, like you do.’

Castus ground his teeth, but he kept his hand off his sword. ‘I think we’ll keep you company for a little longer, eh, Gannicus?’

‘Breaking the army up now would only make the Romans’ task easier. When they hear that we have turned around and marched south, the consuls might join forces. I wouldn’t like to be facing that army with anything less than our full strength.’

Always the shrewd one, thought Spartacus. ‘And after that?’

‘We’ll find a suitable time,’ replied Gannicus in a sly tone. He held up a warning finger. ‘But pull any more tricks like the one about Lucullus again, and I’m leaving with every man who will follow me.’

‘And me!’ added Castus.

‘You can do what you like,’ growled Spartacus.
You’re more trouble than you’re worth.
‘But until that point we’ll continue to fight as one army?’

The Gauls exchanged a look, and then a nod. ‘Yes,’ said Gannicus. ‘But we decide on any strategy together.’

‘Fine.’
You both know that I am the best tactician.
Spartacus’ mind was filled again with one burning question. ‘Who told you?’

‘It’s annoying you not knowing, eh?’ asked Castus, gloating. He glanced at Gannicus. ‘Shall we tell him?’

‘I don’t see why not. He’ll work it out soon enough.’

‘Arnax,’ revealed Castus.

‘Arnax?’
Of course.
‘He was also there in Mutina.’

‘That’s right. He heard every word that your Roman lapdogs did. It didn’t take much for him to tell me. A bit of friendship, a couple of hot meals. A coin or two. He sang like a songbird. A good lad, he is.’

‘I see,’ said Spartacus in an offhand tone. Inside, he was raging. What a stupid mistake! When he’d told Carbo not to speak to anyone, he hadn’t even thought of the boy. With an effort, he reined in his bubbling fury.

‘I would watch your back from now on,’ said Castus.

Gannicus snickered.

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Me? Threaten you?’ Castus’ tone was mocking.

‘Piss off,’ said Spartacus. ‘Unless you want a fight right now.’

Castus hawked and spat. ‘Come on, Gannicus. Something around here stinks.’ Stiff-legged, like male dogs walking away from a rival, the Gauls stomped off the platform.

Spartacus watched them go. As when Crixus had finally made plain his intentions, he was relieved to know that the pair would leave. Yet he hoped that they could maintain some kind of working relationship. Keep the army together for at least another couple of months. That would give him enough time to find new recruits to replace the men who would leave.

He realised, that, having reached safety, he had just decided to walk back into the lion’s den. Remaining in Italy was provocation of the most severe kind, greater even than the munus he had celebrated. The Romans would never leave them in peace. As far as Spartacus knew, the Senate had not sued for peace in its own land since it had lost a war to the Samnites more than two centuries before. It certainly wasn’t going to do so with a slave.

He glanced at Ariadne, still wondering what her response would be. ‘I had little choice – I saw that Castus and Gannicus knew about Lucullus. Fucking Arnax! It’s all his fault. He’ll soon be sorry.’

‘What are you going to do to him?’

‘Crucify the little bastard. It’s no less than he deserves.’

Horror filled her eyes. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘If it hadn’t been for him, the army might well have done what I asked! That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

‘Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I would kill a child over it. Especially one who didn’t know any better. It wasn’t as if he’d been told not to say anything!’

‘That’s of no matter,’ he grated. ‘Men – or boys – are either with me, or against me.’

Ariadne thought of the baby in her belly, and of Arnax’s youth. No more than a decade in the difference, she thought. Outrage filled her. ‘Do it, and you risk bringing down the wrath of the gods upon yourself and your army. I can see this.’

He stared at her for a moment. She glared back, daring him to challenge her. ‘Very well. I’ll just give him a good thrashing.’

Ariadne let out a sigh of relief. He had not become totally unreasonable.

‘If I hadn’t spoken when I did, they would have accused me of lying,’ he said in a conciliatory tone.

‘I know.’

‘This is my army, not theirs. I’m damned if I’ll hand it over to them.’

‘I know that too.’

Spartacus thought that her voice sounded less angry than before, but he wasn’t sure. ‘The war is only beginning. It will be more bitter and more bloody than anything that has happened thus far.’ He wanted to ask her to stay, but his pride wouldn’t let him. ‘What will you do?’

If I remain, our son will be born in Italy. What will happen to us, great Dionysus?
The silence that met her question was resounding, but Ariadne firmed her resolve. She had chosen to accept Spartacus as he was. She would make the best of this situation, even if it was not what she wanted to do. ‘You are my husband.’ She moved to his side. ‘I would not be separated from you. We will face the future together, as we have always done.’

‘I am glad.’ Drawing her closer, Spartacus surveyed his army. Pride filled him once more. Rome’s pool of manpower might be immense. Its determination might be never-ending. The tasks before him might be comparable to those faced by Hercules. Yet he had more than fifty thousand brave soldiers who would follow him to the doors of Hades. The Gauls would leave, but the losses in his ranks could be replaced. More slaves came to join them every day.

Give me time, Great Rider, and I could raise an army of one hundred thousand men, or even more. That will make the senators tremble in their beds.

Especially if one day we arrive at the gates of Rome.

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.’