Spartacus: The Gladiator (32 page)

But his words had the desired effect. Castus in particular looked much happier. ‘I’ll get my men to start searching out boulders. The more we have, the better,’ he said, stamping off. Gannicus walked away with Crixus, already arguing over who would stand in the front line.

Oenomaus waited until the Gauls were out of earshot. ‘What if they don’t attack?’

Spartacus had half thought of this option, but dismissed it. After all, the Romans were fond of confrontation – open battle.
But not always
. ‘You think they’d do that?’

‘Unless Glaber wants to lose scores of soldiers before they’ve even reached our lines, it’s the sensible choice. I would set a couple of hundred men to watch the path and then just sit and wait.’

‘Starve us out of here, you mean,’ growled Spartacus.

‘Yes. It’s slow, but effective, and far less costly in human lives.’

‘If we charge down to attack them, we lose our only advantage. That of height.’

They stared at each other without speaking. The good feeling that had been present a few moments before had vanished. Their cause seemed hopeless once more.

Spartacus set his jaw.
This is no time to give up. I chose to be here
. ‘Let’s prepare everything as we discussed. There’s no point worrying about things we can do nothing to prevent.’

‘Agreed.’

‘I’ll talk to Ariadne. Maybe her god will give us some guidance at last.’

Oenomaus grinned. ‘That’d be most welcome.’

If it doesn’t come soon, it will be too late
.

Chapter XI

IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON when Glaber and his soldiers were spotted. Hearing the lookout’s yell, everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing and climbed up to the crater’s lip. In the middle distance, a long, winding black line could be seen on the road that led from Capua. It was too far away to make out the individual figures of men or beasts, but after Aventianus’ news, the column could be but one thing. The instrument of their doom. For a long time, none of those watching spoke to, or even looked at, another. All eyes were locked on the approaching troops. The ominous silence was broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.

Eventually, Spartacus stirred. It wasn’t just pointless staring at the Romans, it was dangerous. He could feel the gladiators’ morale diminishing with every moment that passed. ‘Back to work! There is still plenty to do,’ he shouted. ‘I want hundreds of large rocks ready to roll down at the enemy. Thousands of stones to throw, and for the slingers to use. Every sword and dagger needs an edge on it that will shave the hairs off your arm. Those whoresons are going to regret that they ever came here!’

All the men did as they were told, but few smiled. Even fewer laughed.

Spartacus threw Ariadne a questioning look. The tiny, dismissive shake of her head that he received in return felt like a punch to his solar plexus.
Is this it, Great Rider?
He shook his head, pushing away his worry. ‘Atheas, Taxacis. Follow the path down the mountain. Get as close as you can to the Romans without being seen. I want to know their every move. How their camp is laid out. The number of sentries. Be sure to return before sunset.’

Grinning fiercely at their new duty, the Scythians trotted off.

Spartacus went to pray to the Great Rider.

And to sharpen his sica.

* * *

Thanks to the trees blanketing Vesuvius’ upper slopes, the Roman column was lost to sight as it reached the base of the mountain late that afternoon. If anything, its disappearance increased the tension. Tempers grew short, and men snapped irritably at each other. Some distance from the camp, a German gladiator who was collecting rocks ran away when his comrades’ backs were turned. Angry shouts went up when he was spotted, but Oenomaus ordered that the fugitive should not be pursued. ‘Who wants a man like that by his side when the fighting starts?’ he bellowed.

The sun was low in the sky when Atheas and Taxacis reappeared. Spartacus was conferring with Oenomaus and the three Gauls, but their conversation stopped the instant the warriors approached. ‘Well?’ demanded Spartacus.

‘They have made … camp. Typical type,’ Atheas began.

Spartacus saw the others’ confusion. Born into slavery, they would never have seen the temporary fortifications thrown up every night by Romans on the march. ‘It will be rectangular, with an entrance on each side,’ he explained. ‘The whole thing will be surrounded by an earthen rampart the height of a man, topped with stakes. Outside that, they’ll have dug a waist-deep protective ditch.’

Atheas nodded in agreement. ‘We count … one picket in front … each wall. Hundred paces out.’

‘Is that all? Arrogant bastards,’ sneered Crixus.

‘Any activity on the path to the peak?’ asked Spartacus, his stomach clenching.

‘Yes. Three hundred legionaries … stationed across it. And several small groups marched … good distance up … mountain. They hid … both sides of track. No tents.’

‘Sentries then,’ grated Gannicus.

Spartacus cursed savagely.
Oenomaus was right
.

‘Those men are just to prevent us escaping tonight! The sons of whores will attack in the morning, surely?’ demanded Crixus. He looked at each man. Something in Spartacus and Oenomaus’ expressions made his face harden. ‘Neither of you think so.’

‘It makes more sense to lay siege,’ admitted Spartacus. ‘They can wait down there in relative comfort until we simply run out of food.’

‘The chicken-shit, toga-wearing, motherless goat-fuckers!’ raged Crixus. He stamped up and down, filling the air with more colourful expletives. When he had regained some control, he fixed the others with his stare. ‘Like I said, let’s choose a hero’s death. We’ll go down there in the morning and charge their lines. Make an end that will be remembered by slaves forever.’

Scowling, Castus and Gannicus stared at the ground.

‘We can do better than that,’ said Oenomaus.

‘How?’ demanded Crixus.

Oenomaus had no immediate answer.

Spartacus racked his brains. They had no armour and no shields. They were totally outnumbered. Their supplies would be finished within three days at most. Maybe their only option was a suicidal attack? He glared at the heavens.
Very well. I submit to your will, Great Rider
.

‘Gannicus, are you with me?’ asked Crixus.

‘I’ve nothing better to be doing.’

‘Good. And you, Castus?’

‘Damn it, why not?’ came the snarled response.

‘Count me in too,’ said Oenomaus harshly.

‘Spartacus?’

He didn’t reply.
What a useless way to die
.

‘Spartacus?’ Impatience mixed with anger in Crixus’ tone.

His eyes dropped from the skies above, and caught on the vines that covered the steep slopes of the crater. Suddenly, the bones of an idea began to form in his mind.

‘Are you going to answer my damn question?’

‘Not right now.’ Spartacus walked off, leaving the others open-mouthed behind him.

‘He’s fucking lost it,’ Crixus declared. ‘I knew it would happen.’

‘What the hell is he doing?’ demanded Castus. ‘This is no time for a stroll!’

Spartacus was pleased to hear Oenomaus growl, ‘He’ll be back.’

Returning to the other leaders a short time later, Spartacus held out his hands. ‘It was in front of us all along.’

‘That’s a length of wild grapevine,’ said Gannicus in an incredulous voice.

Crixus’ scorn was clear. ‘What shall we do with it? Strangle Roman soldiers?’

Castus laughed.

‘Can you explain what’s going on?’asked Oenomaus, looking bewildered. The place is overrun with vines. So what?’

‘It’s clear as the sun in the sky.’

Crixus’ lip curled. ‘Put us out of our misery.’

‘These vines are excellent for weaving baskets, are they not?’

‘Yes,’ replied Oenomaus, visibly controlling his irritation.

‘Instead of baskets, we can make ropes. Ropes strong enough to take the weight of a man. Once it’s dark, we can lower ourselves down one of the cliff faces on to the slopes below. I don’t imagine that the Romans expect to be attacked from anywhere other than the path.’ Spartacus’ confident smile belied his churning stomach.
The odds against us are still terrible, but this will be a damn sight better than committing suicide in the morning
.

‘That’s a fantastic idea!’ Oenomaus clapped him on the arm.

‘It would give us a fighting chance,’ admitted Gannicus.

Spartacus glanced at Castus. His sour expression had weakened. ‘I thought you had gone mad. But you haven’t,’ he admitted. ‘It’s a good plan.’

‘It might work,’ said Crixus with a dubious shake of his head. ‘Or then again, we could all break our damn necks.’

‘It’s worth a try,’ said Oenomaus.

To Spartacus’ delight, Castus and Gannicus rumbled in agreement.

Crixus scowled. ‘Very well.’

Thank you, Great Rider. It’ll be easier with him on board
. Spartacus made a quick calculation. ‘It’s at least a hundred paces from the lowest part of the cliffs to the ground below. We’ll need a minimum of two ropes. More if they can be woven in time.’

‘And then?’ asked Oenomaus.

Spartacus was pleased to see that this time, all four waited to hear his response. He offered up more silent thanks. ‘Wait until it’s nearly midnight. Pray for cloud cover. We’ll blacken our faces and limbs with ashes from the fires. Climb down to their camp. Kill the sentries at their pickets. Fall upon their tents in silence.’

‘The bastards won’t know what hit them!’ interrupted Gannicus.

‘They won’t. We’ll slay as many as we can before the alarm is raised,’ said Spartacus.

Oenomaus frowned. ‘What will happen after that?’

‘Who knows? Perhaps we’ll escape!’ He didn’t voice the other, more likely outcome. No one looked disheartened, however, which satisfied Spartacus. ‘An offering of thanks to Dionysus is imperative now. These are his vines.’

No one argued with that.

By the time darkness had fallen, the gladiators had three ropes, each 120 paces in length. Every man and woman present had laboured to complete the cords. Some had stripped vines from the crater walls while others had trimmed them down to a central stalk. Plaited in threes and securely knotted into four sections, the ropes were tested by having a pair of the heaviest men haul with all their might on each end. To Spartacus’ delight, none broke. He ordered the fighters to prepare themselves, but they were to wait until he gave the word before making a move.

While the other leaders drank wine with their followers, Spartacus sat by the fire with Ariadne. They did not talk much, yet there was a new, intimate air between them. This might be the last time I ever see her, he thought regretfully. Across the fire from him, Ariadne’s mind was racing.
Those vines belong to Dionysus. Did he make Spartacus aware of them? It seems too much of a coincidence to be anything else
.

Despite the blanket around his shoulders, Spartacus eventually began to feel chilled through. He glanced upwards. The sliver of moon in the sky had been covered by a bank of cloud. There was little wind. ‘Time to move.’

‘I have asked Dionysus to lay a cloak of sleep over their camp.’

‘Thank you.’ He rubbed a final bit of ash on to his arms and stood. ‘By dawn, it will be over. I will see you then.’ He shoved away a pang of uncertainty.
Great Rider, let it be so
.

‘Yes.’ Ariadne was unwilling to trust her voice further.
Come back to me safely
.

Without another word, he walked off into the darkness.

* * *

‘There’s the picket,’ whispered Spartacus, pointing at a huddle of shapes no more than a long javelin throw away. Fierce satisfaction filled him at what they’d achieved thus far. They’d scrambled down the cliff face with little problem. One man had broken his ankle, and had been left behind, but the others had moved like eager, silent wraiths, scrambling through the darkness to their present position. A hundred paces beyond the Roman sentries lay the southern rampart of Glaber’s camp. Spartacus was lying on his belly in the scrub grass, the Scythians to his right, and Getas and another Thracian to his left. The remainder, including the new recruits, were waiting some distance to their rear. Given their small numbers, Spartacus had decided not to bother assaulting the other sides. Their best hope lay in a savage, frontal attack using all of their force. The other leaders had seemed happy with that idea too.