Spartacus: The Gladiator (46 page)

Apart from Paccius, no one else ever had.

* * *

Upon returning to their camp, Carbo fell into conversation with Egbeo, a hulking Thracian gladiator who was one of Spartacus’ most loyal followers. He was stunned to hear from Egbeo that Amatokos, Chloris’ lover, had been slain during the fight with Furius’ soldiers. ‘Apparently, he killed more than half a dozen legionaries when his sword snapped,’ said Egbeo sourly. ‘That was it. The poor bastard had no chance after that.’ A dark joy suffused Carbo at the news, but he quickly faked a sorrowful expression. ‘He’ll go straight to Elysium.’

Egbeo’s frown eased a little. ‘The warrior’s paradise? Aye, there’s no doubt about that. I’ll warrant that the Rider himself will welcome Amatokos inside.’

Carbo murmured in agreement, but he was already wondering when to approach Chloris. If he didn’t move fast, another fighter might muscle in on her. At the same time, he didn’t want to appear ghoulish. Amatokos’ corpse hadn’t even been placed in the ground. In the event, he decided to wait. In all likelihood, the funeral would take place that evening, and the chances of anyone staking a claim to Chloris before the following day were slim indeed.

Carbo was afforded no chance to talk to her the next morning. Many of the Roman dead had been stripped of their weapons and armour but plenty of equipment still littered the field. Spartacus ordered that every able-bodied man was to do his bit, whether that was standing on guard, on the lookout for Varinius, or collecting discarded gladii, shields and pila. Carbo sweated alongside his troops, loading up the mules that they’d taken from Glaber’s camp, and which had proved immeasurably useful. He was glad when the job was done, not least because of the flies that coated the entire area in black, humming clouds and the stench of death that filled his nostrils: a potent, decaying mixture of blood, shit, vomit and piss.

The first thing Carbo did upon his return to the crater was to strip naked and wash the encrusted grime from his body. Then, wearing his only clean tunic, he headed in the direction of the tent that Chloris had shared with Amatokos. Hearing the sound of raised tones as he neared it, Carbo’s pace quickened.

He made out Chloris first. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘I just thought you might like some company.’ Carbo didn’t recognise the gravelly voice.

‘Well, I don’t. Piss off and leave me alone.’

Instantly, the man’s manner changed. ‘Be like that if you want to, gorgeous. I like a bit of rough.’

Chloris screamed, and Carbo broke into a sprint.
Thank the gods I’m wearing my sword
. A heartbeat later, he burst on to the scene. Chloris was backed up against the entrance to her tent, her hands raised defensively against a wiry figure in a mail shirt. ‘Aren’t you going to put up a fight? I’d prefer it that way.’

‘Hey! Cocksucker!’ Carbo’s blade was in his hand before he even knew it. ‘I’ll fight you.’

Slowly, the man turned. He had a narrow, weasel-like face, and Carbo recognised him as one of the few Samnites who had escaped from the ludus. His lip curled, and his hand strayed towards the hilt of his own weapon. ‘Will you now?’

‘Step away from her!’ Carbo ordered. ‘She wants nothing to do with shitbags like you.’

There was a leer. ‘She wasn’t protesting too much.’

‘You piece of maggot-blown filth! Raping a woman is what it takes to excite you, is it?’ Carbo’s fury boiled over, and he lunged forward, thrusting his gladius at the Samnite’s belly. Alarmed, the man scrambled off to the side.

‘You’re fucking crazy! Going to kill me over a whore like this?’

‘She’s no whore,’ snarled Carbo, stabbing at the other again and again, giving him no chance to draw his sword.

‘All right, all right, I get the idea. I’m not going to argue with one of Spartacus’ cronies.’ Raising his hands in the air, the glowering Samnite withdrew.

Carbo spat after him. Only when the man was out of sight did he relax. Chloris was eyeing him when he turned, her dark eyes full of unshed tears. ‘Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.’

She took a step towards him. ‘You came in good time. Thank you.’

‘It was nothing.’

‘Far from it. He would have raped me.’

‘The prick won’t come back if he values his balls.’

She smiled. ‘Why won’t he?’

Carbo coloured, realising that by driving the Samnite off, he had made a very public statement. Weirdly, he felt more scared by that than he had before the ambush. Chloris came closer, gazing at him with her deep, dark eyes.
Damn it, say something!
‘Would you like …?’ he faltered.

‘To be your woman? Yes, I would.’ She stepped in, and laid her head against his chest.

‘Right.’ Awkwardly, because of the sword in his right hand, he put his arms around her. His fingers traced the flesh of her back, and she folded herself against him. They stayed like that for a few moments. Carbo didn’t know what to do next. He felt as bashful as a virgin. When Chloris lifted her face to his and kissed him, he felt a surge of relief. The electric sensation rocked him back on his heels. He had never imagined kissing could be so pleasurable. Opening his mouth, Carbo felt her tongue dart lightly against his. He responded awkwardly, terribly aware that he had never done this before. Chloris didn’t appear to notice, and he slowly grew more confident. He brought a hand around to her chest, and cupped a breast. It was deliciously pliable beneath his touch. Finding the nipple, he squeezed it gently. Chloris made a throaty little sound of pleasure, so Carbo did it again. His left hand wandered lower, towards her groin, and she pulled away.

‘Come with me.’ She took his hand and led him to her tent.

Inside, with the leather flap closed, words failed Carbo as Chloris reached down and took hold of the hem of her dress with both hands. Lifting the garment up and over her head, she dropped it to the floor. Beneath, she was naked apart from a ragged piece of cloth around her hips.

His eyes focused instantly on her pert breasts, which were tipped with brown nipples. His gaze dropped appreciatively, but then his mouth opened in horror. A meshwork of scars extended around from Chloris’ back, under her arms, their long, livid tails marring the smooth skin of her chest and belly. ‘Gods above.’

As if he’d ordered her to, Chloris turned, revealing the full extent of her injuries. Her back was a ruin. Carbo’s eyes were drawn to the worst cicatrice, a long, purple mark that looked like a burn. ‘Who did that to you?’

‘The pirate captain who abducted me from Greece,’ she whispered.

‘He must have been a complete savage,’ spat Carbo. ‘Why did he do it?’

‘It gave him pleasure. He could only get hard by beating me. Then he would …’ she stopped.

Carbo felt sick.
The Samnite was no different. And here I am, wanting sex as well
.

She picked up her dress and covered herself. ‘You think I’m disgusting. Everyone does.’

‘No! I don’t,’ protested Carbo. ‘I think you’re beautiful. You look like a statue of Diana or Juno come to life.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ said Carbo passionately.

Chloris’ dress fell to the ground again. She reached out to stroke his arm, sending a jolt of energy through his flesh. She laughed deep in her throat at his reaction. ‘You are romantic as well as courageous. I like that.’

‘Do you?’

‘Of course. I’ve liked you since the first time we met in the ludus. I was with Amatokos then, so—’

‘It was a shame that he was killed,’ lied Carbo.

‘The gods have their own purpose. And now you’ve come into my life.’ She was so close now that Carbo could feel her breath against his lips. No girl had ever willingly been this close to him, and he trembled with nervousness and desire.

‘So you find me attractive?’

His tongue felt thick and useless, like a plank of wood in his dry mouth. ‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

He dragged his eyes up to hers. ‘Gods, yes!’

‘Then kiss me.’

Carbo obeyed. The fact that Chloris wanted him to protect her from other fighters, that she might well have approached other men and been rebuffed because of her scars, was immaterial. She seemed to like him, and that was what mattered. He wasn’t going to say a word of protest, for that risked breaking the exquisite magic of the moment.
This
was what he had dreamed about for so long. Her hand dropped to his groin and within a few heartbeats, Carbo had lost all ability to think.

Lucius Cossinius sighed with pleasure and lay back, his eyes closed, luxuriating in the warm water. After the heat and dust of the march from Rome, this was pure bliss. Seeing the large outdoor pool in the grounds of a fine villa as his men searched for a place to camp had been too much temptation to avoid. Naturally enough, the property’s owner had been delighted to welcome one of the officers sent by the Senate to deliver the locals from Spartacus’ menace. I deserve no less, thought Cossinius righteously. He was sunburned, his back ached, and he had saddle sores on the insides of his thighs. Of course he’d ridden rather than marched as his two thousand legionaries had, but Pompeii was still more than a hundred miles from the capital. It was considerably more exercise than Cossinius was used to. Going on an occasional hunt with his friends was a different prospect to sitting on a horse’s back from sunrise to sunset for five consecutive days. And although this was his first year of office as a praetor, he’d been living in Rome for far longer, travelling everywhere by litter.
As is my right
.

Aware of the need to show one’s willingness to lead troops into battle, Cossinius had leaped at the chance to join Publius Varinius, his friend, as an adviser. Their mission was to seek out and destroy the rabble that, months before, had somehow put Caius Claudius Glaber’s troops to flight. Cossinius’ top lip curled. He’d heard Glaber’s account with his own ears, but it was still hard to believe. It was laughable. Three thousand legionaries had been defeated by a tiny number of runaway gladiators and slaves! Another surprise defeat had transpired just a week previously, but Cossinius dismissed the matter out of hand. Lucius Furius, the legate who’d commanded one-third of Varinius’ force, was also a fool. To have been ambushed near Vesuvius, losing hundreds of men, could only mean that he was an incompetent of the highest order. After hearing his report, and absorbing the remnants of Furius’ men into his own force, Varinius had sent the man to Rome in disgrace.
Good riddance. The remaining five thousand legionaries are more than enough to sort out a few hundred slaves. There’ll be all the more glory for me and Varinius
.

Cossinius opened his eyes. Excellent. The slave, an attractive black-haired girl in a revealing shift, was still there. He’d made her take off his cloak and dusty armour, which had been very titillating. He lifted his arm. ‘More.’

Carrying a small amphora, the girl moved forward to the edge of the pool and carefully filled his proffered glass.

Cossinius slurped the wine down in two swallows. The villa’s owner – what was his name again? – had said it was his best vintage, and by all the gods, he wasn’t lying. It tasted like ambrosia, the wine of the gods. Cossinius shoved his glass at her again. ‘More.’ Turning in the water, he was afforded an excellent view of the slave’s breasts through the top of her shift as she stooped over him. It was most rewarding. On impulse, he caught her by the wrist. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join me?’

‘Yes, master.’

Her voice was a monotone, but Cossinius didn’t care. It had been a long day. He was feeling horny. She was a slave. Her master wouldn’t care if he fucked her. Even if he did, the fat fool wouldn’t dare say a thing. Once they realised, the soldiers who were on guard twenty paces away would know better than to look in his direction. He, Lucius Cossinius, was a praetor, second in rank only to the consuls, and one of just eight men chosen to fill that position. He could do as he damn well pleased. Putting down his glass, Cossinius pushed back from the edge of the pool to get a better view. ‘Take off your clothes. Slowly.’

Placing the amphora on the tiles, the girl stood up. Her face wore a resigned look. Oblivious to this, Cossinius squinted appreciatively at her. He wasn’t one for the typical pale-skinned Roman matron. Thanks to the late afternoon sunlight, the slave’s skin was a delightful olive tone. He could see her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress too. His groin tightened. The hell he’d endured on his horse for the last five days was beginning to seem worth it, even before they’d crushed Spartacus and his band of outcasts.

She pulled up the hem of her shift slowly, as he’d ordered her, stopping just below her groin. Cossinius held his breath as she lifted it further, revealing a linen undergarment.
Wonderful
. He didn’t like it when they were naked underneath. Having to wait a little longer increased his desire no end.

Her belly came into view next. It was flat, and its smooth skin was only a little paler than her arms or legs. The bones of her hips sat high on either side, enticing him to grip them from behind. Cossinius licked his lips as the bottom of her breasts peeked from under the edge of the fabric. ‘Wait. Stand like that.’

Mutely, the slave obeyed.