Fortune's Favorites (109 page)

It was done without a word, a shout, a warning; Spartacus and the other gladiators now held the row of cells and the yards leading from them. Some of the dead men carried keys, more gates leading further into the labyrinth were unlocked, and the seventy men who were imprisoned in the Villa Batiatus at the time streamed silently onward, outward. There was a shed in which axes and tools were kept; a muffled jangle, and anything useful was in a gladiator's hand. Another flaw in Batiatus's ground plan now lay revealed, for the high internal walls kept what was going on limited to the immediate vicinity. Batiatus ought to have erected watch towers and put his archers in them.

The alarm was given when the men reached the kitchens, but that was far too late. Possessed now of every sharp instrument the kitchens owned, the gladiators used pot lids to ward off arrows and went after everyone left alive. Including Batiatus, who had meant to leave on his vacation the previous day but instead had stayed because he had found a discrepancy in his books. The men kept him alive until they had liberated the women, who tore him apart a little at a time under the clinical supervision of Aluso; she ate his heart with relish.

And by the time the sun had risen Spartacus and his sixty-nine companions had taken the Villa Batiatus. The weapons were removed from storage and every cart was yoked up to oxen or to mules. The food from the kitchens and all the spare armaments were piled into the wagons, the main gates were thrown open, and the little expedition marched bravely out into the world.

Knowing Campania of old, Spartacus's planning had not been confined to the taking of the Villa Batiatus. It stood beside the route from Capua to Nola some seven miles out of the city; Spartacus turned away from Capua and headed in the direction of Nola. Not far along the road they encountered another wagon train and attacked it, for no other reason than that they wanted no one alive to report which way they had gone. To the delight of all, the wagons turned out to be loaded with weapons and armor for another gladiatorial school. There were now more items useful for a war than people to wear or wield them.

Soon the cavalcade left the main road to take a deserted track which headed west of south toward Mount Vesuvius.

Clad in an archer's scaly jacket and carrying a Thracian's saber, Aluso moved to join Spartacus at the front of the column. She had washed off Batiatus's blood, but still licked her chops with the purring content of a cat every time she thought of how she had eaten his heart.

“You look like Minerva,” said Spartacus, smiling; he had found nothing to criticize in Aluso's treatment of Batiatus.

“I feel like myself for the first time in ten years.” And she jiggled the big leather bag dangling from her waist; it held the head of Batiatus, which she intended to scarify and transform its skull into her drinking cup, as was the custom of her tribe.

“You'll be my woman only, if that pleases you.”

“It pleases me if I can be a part of your war councils.”

They spoke in Greek since Aluso knew no Latin, and spoke with the ease of those who had enjoyed each other's bodies without any emotional clouding of simple passion, united in the pleasure of being free, of walking unchained and unsupervised.

Vesuvius was impressively different from other peaks. It stood alone amid the rolling plenty of Campania not far from the shores of Crater Bay, sloping upward in easy planes for three thousand feet neatly patched with vineyards, orchards, vegetable and wheat fields; the soil was deep and rich. For several thousand more feet above the tilled slopes there reared a rocky, dissected tower dotted with trees hardy enough to dig their knobby toes into crevices, but devoid of habitation or cultivation.

Spartacus knew every inch of the mountain. His father's farm lay on its western flank, and he and his older brother had played for years amid the crags of the upper peak. So he led his train with purpose ever upward until he reached a bowl-shaped hollow high among the rocks on the northern side. The edges of the hollow were steep and it was difficult getting the carts inside it, but in its bottom grew lush grass, and there was room for a much larger collection of people and animals than Spartacus owned. Yellow smears of sulphur stained the escarpment and the smells which a mound in the middle exhaled were noisome; yet that meant the grasses had never been grazed and shepherds never brought their flocks here. The place was thought to be haunted, a fact Spartacus did not impart to his followers.

For several hours he concentrated upon getting his camp organized, shelters built out of the planks dismembered from prison wagons, women set to preparing food, men deputed to this task and that. But when the sun had sunk lower than the western rim of the round hollow, he called everyone together.

“Crixus and Oenomaus, stand one to each side of me,” he said, “and Aluso, as chieftain of the women, as our priestess and as my woman, sit at my feet. The rest of you will face us.”

He waited until the group had sorted itself out, then raised himself higher than Crixus and Oenomaus by jumping upon a rock.

“We are free for the moment, but we must never forget that under the law we are slaves. We have murdered our keepers and our owner, and when the authorities find out we will be hunted down. Never before have we been able to gather as a people and discuss our purposes, our fate, our future.”

He drew a deep breath. “First of all, I will keep no man or no woman against his or her will. Those of a mind to seek their own ways separate from mine are at liberty to go at any time. I ask for no vows, no oaths, no ceremonies swearing fidelity to me. We have been prisoners, we have felt chains, we have been given no privileges accorded to free men, and the women have been forced into harlotry. So I will do nothing to bind you.

“This here“-he waved his hand about to indicate the camp-”is a temporary shelter. Sooner or later we will have to leave it. We were seen climbing the mountain, and the news of our deed will soon follow us.”

A gladiator squatting on his haunches in the front row- Spartacus didn't know his name-raised a hand to speak.

“I see that we will be pursued and hunted down,” said the fellow, frowning. “Would it not be better to disband now? If we scattered in a hundred directions, some of us at least will manage to escape. If we stay together, we will be captured together.”

Spartacus nodded. “There is truth in what you say. However, I'm not in favor of it. Why? Chiefly because we have no money, no clothes other than what Batiatus issued us-and they brand us for what we are-and nothing to help us except weapons, which would be dangerous if we were scattered. Batiatus had no money on the premises, not one single sestertius. But money is a vital necessity, and I think we have to stay together until we find it.”

“How can we do that?” asked the same fellow.

The smile Spartacus gave him was rueful but charming. “I have no idea!” he said frankly. “If this were Rome we could rob someone. But this is Campania, and full of careful farmers who keep everything in a bank or buried where we'd never find it.” He spread his hands in an appeal. “Let me tell you what I would like us to do, then everyone can think about it. Tomorrow at this same time we'll meet and vote.”

No more enlightened than the rest, Crixus and Oenomaus nodded vigorously.

“Tell us, Spartacus,” said Crixus.

The light was dying little by little, but Spartacus atop his rock seemed to concentrate the last rays of the sun upon himself, and looked like a man worth following. Determined, sure, strong, reliable.

“You all know the name Quintus Sertorius,” he said. “A Roman in revolt against the system which produces men like Batiatus. He has gathered Spain to himself, and soon he will be marching to Rome to be the Dictator and found a new style of Republic. We know that because we heard people talking whenever we were sent somewhere to fight. We learned too that many in Italy want Quintus Sertorius at the head of Rome. Especially the Samnites.”

He paused, wet his lips. “I know what I am going to do! I am going to Spain to join Quintus Sertorius. But if it is at all possible I would bring him another army-an army which would already have struck blows against the Rome of Sulla and his heirs. I am going to recruit among the Samnites, the Lucanians, and all the others in Italy who would rather see a new Rome than watch their heritage run away to nothing. I will recruit among the slaves of Campania too, and offer them full citizenship rights in the Rome of Quintus Sertorius. We have more weapons than we can use-unless we recruit more men. And when Rome sends troops against us we will defeat them and take their gear too!”

He shrugged. “I have nothing to lose but my life, and I have vowed that never again will I endure the kind of existence Batiatus forced upon me. A man-even a man enslaved!-must have the right to associate freely with his fellows, to move in the world. Prison is worse than death. I will never go back to any prison!”

He broke down, wept, dashed the tears away impatiently. “I am a man, and I will make my mark! But all of you should be saying that too! If we stay together and form the nucleus of an army, then we stand a chance to defend ourselves and make a great mark. If we scatter in a hundred directions, every last one of us will have to run, run, run. Why run like deer if we can march like men? Why not carve ourselves a place in the Rome of Quintus Sertorius by softening up Italy for him, then marching to join him as he comes? Rome has few troops in Italy, we know that. Which of us hasn't heard the Capuans complaining that their livelihood is dwindling because the legionary camps are empty? Who is there to stop us? I was a military tribune once. Crixus, Oenomaus, and many of you here belonged to Rome's legions. Is there anything that the likes of Lucullus or Pompeius Magnus knows about forming and running an army that I do not, or Crixus, or Oenomaus, or any of you? It isn't a difficult business to run an army! So why don't we become an army? We can win victories! There are no veteran legions in Italy to stop us, just cohorts of raw recruits. It is we who will attract experienced soldiers, the Samnites and Lucanians who fought to be free of Rome. And between us we will train the inexperienced who join us-does it follow that a slave is necessarily a man without martial ability or valor? Servile armies have brought Rome to the brink of ruin several times, and only fell because they were not led by men who understand how Rome fights. They were not led by Romans!”

Both mighty arms went up above his head; Spartacus closed his hands into fists and shook them. “I will lead our army! And I will lead it to victory! I will bring it to Quintus Sertorius wreathed in laurels and with Rome in Italy beneath its foot!” Down came the arms. “Think about what I have said, I ask nothing more.”

The little band of gladiators and women said nothing when Spartacus jumped down, but the looks directed at him were glowing and Aluso was smiling at him fiercely.

“They will vote for you tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes, I think they will.”

“Then come with me now to the spring of water. It needs to be purified if it is to give life to many.”

Quite how she understood what she was doing Spartacus did not know, but was awed to discover that after she had muttered her incantations and dug with the severed hand of Batiatus at the crumbling walls to one side of the hot, smelly fountain which gushed out of a cleft, a second spate of water appeared-cool, sweet, quenching.

“It is an omen,” said Spartacus.

In twenty days a thousand volunteers had accumulated inside the hollow near the top of Vesuvius, though it remained a mystery to Spartacus how word had flown around when he had as yet sent no messengers or recruiting teams into the surrounding countryside. Perhaps a tenth of those who arrived to join the gladiators were escaped slaves, but by far the majority were free men of Samnite nationality. Nola wasn't far away, and Nola hated Rome. So did Pompeii, Neapolis, and all the other partisans of Italy who had fought to the death against Sulla, first in the Italian War, then for Pontius Telesinus. Rome might delude herself that she had crushed Samnium; but that, thought Spartacus as he entered Samnite name after Samnite name on his recruitment list, would never happen until the last Samnite was no more. Many of them arrived wearing armor and carrying weapons, hoary veterans who spat at the mention of Sulla's name or made the sign to ward off the Evil Eye at the mention of Cethegus and Verres, the two who had scorched the Samnite heartlands.

“I have something to show you,” said Crixus to Spartacus, voice eager; it was the morning of the last day of September.

Drilling a century of slaves, Spartacus handed the task to another gladiator and moved off with Crixus, who was dragging anxiously at his arm. “What is it?” he asked.

“Better to see for yourself,” said Crixus as he led Spartacus to a gap in the crater wall which allowed a far and sweeping view of Vesuvius's northern slopes.

Two Samnites were on sentry duty, and turned excited faces toward their leader. “Look!” said one.

Spartacus looked. Below him for a thousand feet the crags and pockets of the upper mountain presented an inhospitable mien; below that lay ordered fields. And through the wheat stubble there wound a column of Roman soldiers led by four mounted men in the Attic helmets and contoured cuirasses of high officers, the man riding alone behind three riding abreast wearing the looped and ritually knotted scarlet sash of high imperium around his glittering chest.

“Well, well! They've sent a praetor against us at the very least!” said Spartacus with a chuckle.

“How many legions?” asked Crixus, looking worried.

Spartacus stared, astonished. “Legions? You were in them, Crixus, you ought to be able to tell!”

“That's just it! I was in them. When you're in them, you never get to see what you look like.”

Spartacus grinned, ruffled Crixus's hair. “Rest easy, there's no more than half a legion's worth down there-five cohorts of the greenest troops I've ever seen. Notice how they straggle, can't keep a straight line or an even distance apart? What's more important, they're being led by someone just as green! See how he rides behind his legates? Sure sign! A confident general is always out in front.”