Laughing Wolf (20 page)

“I see Spartacus,” Carolyn said, using her retinal enhancements. “And Crassus is urging the Romans on.”

“He can't believe his luck,” Felix groaned. “He didn't think Spartacus would meet him in battle.”

The Roman cavalry charged ahead of the legions, and were met by a wave of archers and slingers. A number of knights were knocked from their horses, or were forced to retreat when struck by a hail of arrows, but others reached the archers and inflicted havoc: points of white lay still on the landscape, like boundary stones marking the start of Death's dark realm.

A hundred metres yawned between the armies, then eighty, fifty, twenty, ten. Like hives of rabid bees converging, the masses finally clashed with a din so loud that the crash of bronze on bronze was like a world-shaking thunderclap. Although the forces were too far off for him to spy in any detail, Felix could tell their roiling, boiling masses were wreaking terrible violence and shedding blood by the buckets. The sun was reflecting off a million points of metal and the cries of men fighting and killing and dying rolled into a wall of sound that seemed solid enough to bruise an onlooker's skin.

Several times each line threatened to buckle, only to regroup and redouble its fervour. As Crassus sent two legions to charge the slaves obliquely, three flaming arrows ignited the heavens and, from their positions in the surrounding hills, Spartacus's reserves poured in from the sides, like the jaws of a wolf snapping closed on its prey. Viewed from afar, this mass of half-crazed humans was like a monster drawing its first breaths of air, its infant lungs heaving backwards and forwards.

“The sun is halfway to the horizon,” Carolyn cried. “We should think of leaving.”

“Let's wait a few minutes. Where's Spartacus?”

She squinted and saw him ranging in the front lines. Wherever his men were weakening, he urged them to hold fast, even as he lashed out fiercely at the Romans. He was tireless and pushing as hard as he could.

“Magonus has been wounded,” she reported. “There's a spear in his shoulder. Wait, he's lifted a Roman and is swinging him in circles. He's knocked five soldiers down … he's plucked the spear out and … three more Romans have been battered. His men are taking courage … oh, he's been hit in the throat … he's on his knees … the Romans are swarming him … his men are resisting, no, they're moving back.”

Felix closed his eyes. He was sweating profusely, yet trembling with cold. Although he'd known from the start the slaves would lose, it was nightmarish to see them fall in battle, just as it was horrible to watch so many Romans die. If they knew that, down the road, every human on the planet would be threatened with extinction, would they shelve their differences and stand together?

Carolyn was nudging him. He opened his eyes.

“Spartacus is charging Crassus!” she cried. “He's gathered some men and is rushing the general! I can see his crest bobbing up and down. He's thirty yards from Crassus and is cutting through the troops.”

“I can't see.” Felix was squinting until his eyeballs hurt. “It's all one quaking, bloody mass.”

“He's rushing forward … he's twenty yards and getting closer. Crassus sees him … his troops are fighting back … he's smashing them … wait, he's hit … no, he's charging still … he's ten yards off. The Romans are massing … his men are dropping off like flies … he's lost his helmet and …”

“That's enough,” Felix said, jumping to his feet. “It's time to leave.” That said, he bounded down the hill and starting running east.

He knew what was happening. Ten yards off from Crassus, Spartacus was face-to-face with hordes of Romans, without a single friend to back him. Two centurions were hounding him like wild dogs. Killing one, he was struck by the other, just below the ribs. As he stabbed out, he kept calling to his men, but they were too far off to rally. Crassus was yelling, “Kill him! Kill him!” A hundred blades were lunging at Spartacus, striking his legs and arms and chest. The light was fading. His lungs were tasting his last breath of air, and his heart was pumping faintly, faintly … it had stopped. And now the Romans were trampling him like a doormat as they muscled forward to liquidate their adversaries.

The world was filled with death, Felix was thinking. Spartacus was gone, his men were being slaughtered, and, two millennia later, the plague would ravage everyone. He thought about his father, lying on the lawn. His mother had died on Ganymede's cold surface for want of food and oxygen. General Manes was gone, the professor was gone, the doctor, too, and everyone on earth….

“Felix! Wait! Don't race ahead!”

He couldn't help himself. He was running like a panicked deer. The world was closing in on him, war was closing in on him, time and fate and death were closing on him, and, if he dared stand still for even a second, they would wrestle him down and grind him to powder.

He ran and ran and ran. He threaded through some hills and, when these ended, he dodged a tract of woodlands for the space of two miles. A stream blocked his way — a branch of the Silarus — but he splashed across its waters and charged through mud, scrub, sand, and sharp stones.

“Turn left,” Carolyn panted, as they reached the boundaries of a modest town. “Panarium is north.”

Veering north, with the sun sinking in the west, he ran full tilt, his chest on fire. On and on he stumbled, passing houses, barns, and rustic shrines. Some farmers were carrying a bundle in a winding sheet, their heads bent earthwards in a show of grief. A funeral. Yet more death. It was squeezing out his oxygen, but he couldn't stop running, not to drink, not to rest, not to pay his respects.

“Felix! The sun's setting. It's getting hard to see.”

He entered a field with grazing cows. The animals scattered before his advance, their lowing either protests or advice to take it easy. But they didn't know, they couldn't guess, that death was in pursuit of them, too, otherwise they wouldn't chew grass at their leisure. He jumped an ancient boundary wall and charged across a field of grain, certain that death was hiding in among these stalks. He crossed a second stream and barrelled through an orchard, his feet hammering the senseless earth, his eyes trained squarely on the far horizon, to a point in space that he could never reach, not before death had claimed him for its own.

Then Carolyn tackled him. The sun was gone, the moon hadn't risen, and he would break a bone if he continued. They fell to the earth and a bed of green received them. He struggled to stand, but she pinned him to the soil, both of them panting and soaked with sweat. For minutes they lay there, her hands refusing to let go, yet conveying, for all their roughness, a tenderness her ERR would normally suppress.

And then they slept, their arms wrapped tightly round each other.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he sun was rising and had a blood-red tinge. Felix stirred beneath its rays and discovered that Carolyn was curled against him. He was faintly embarrassed but grateful for her warmth: the earth was freezing and the morning dew had soaked his toga. At the same time he appreciated the … closeness of her presence.

He glanced around him. Where …? They were lying in some farmer's field. Unlike the neighbouring plots, it contained no grain or vegetables, but was filled instead with a simple flower.…

His heart practically stopped. Squirming free of Carolyn, he picked a flower and studied it closely. Yes, no doubt about it, the petals resembled a smiling wolf in profile. He gave a resounding, heartfelt whoop.

“Carolyn! Wake up!” he cried. “We've finally made it!”

“What is it?” she groaned. “And don't start running again.…”

“We're in Balbus's field! We've found the
lupus ridens
!”

Carolyn climbed to her feet and surveyed the terrain. Spying the flowers' telltale pattern, she managed something close to a smile. Not satisfied with this show of emotion, Felix grabbed her by the waist and danced with her, spinning her in circles as a million “laughing wolves” looked on.

“What now?” she panted, coming to a stop.

“We'll find a temple,” he gasped. “In Pompeii, no, in Paestum. It's fifteen miles away and probably our best bet.”

“Fifteen miles? We can get there by this afternoon. I just wish we had some food on hand, because the last time we ate was yesterday morning.”

“I'm starving too. In fact …”

He raised a flower and bits its petals off. As Carolyn watched him in disgust, he chewed energetically and swallowed the mass down.

“Come on,” he urged her, reaching for a second one. “We know it isn't poison. Besides, if we're infected with the plague, we should eat these flowers to stop the symptoms from erupting.”

With a disgruntled look, she bit into a flower. While its petals had a faint sweet taste, the stalk was tough and difficult to swallow. Still, their hunger was so pressing that they ate until they had sated themselves. Gathering multiple samples of the plant, they wrapped them into the folds of their clothing and secured the bulges with double knots. This task done, they quit the field.

Their legs were stiff from the previous day, and, because it was cold and their clothes were damp, the first few miles were difficult. Gradually their muscles slackened and the sun warmed them up. The sky was a hospitable blue and the landscape was attractive. Most important, they were close to completing their mission.

“Maybe this world isn't so bad,” Carolyn spoke.

“Oh?”

“I'm not backtracking now. I still think these ancients are hopelessly backward, and their superstitious practices are ridiculous. But I'll admit there is something admirable about them. And, I suppose, I envy them their freedom.”

“I don't follow.”

“I mean their freedom to express their emotion. I live in a box with this ERR. I know it keeps me and others from exploding, but I wouldn't mind experiencing true emotion for once.…”

She broke off as a woman came running toward them, cradling a newborn. She looked distraught and on the brink of collapse. Spying the pair, she came to a halt, not knowing whether to turn about or to flee straight past them.

“It's okay,” Felix called. “We're not going to hurt you.”

The woman didn't move, as if hoping they would take her for a corpse or statue. Her baby bawled a little, but it was weak with hunger and its wails were thin.

“We were with Spartacus,” he declared. “I promise you, you're safe.”

The woman studied him. She was twenty years old but had the carriage of a crone, as if her youthfulness had buckled beneath her tribulations. Her hair was matted, her skin was filthy, her clothes were rags, and her sandals were ruined.

“They've lost,” she cried. “For all their strength, they've been cut to pieces.”

“I know. I'm very sorry.”

“The Via Appia is lined with the survivors. The Romans have crucified six thousand men and have left them to die a slow, painful death.…”

Felix was silent. There was nothing to say.

“There are Romans everywhere,” she wailed. “They will track me down, if I don't die of hunger. They will enslave me, and my child will never know freedom. But I must go! I can feel their breath upon my shoulders!”

With a shriek she barrelled past the pair and vanished into a nearby orchard, her step as unsteady as her future prospects. Unable to help her, they pressed forward.

Their mood only darkened when they stumbled on a corpse minutes later. A man was sprawled inside a bush where he had taken shelter. He was steeped in blood, the result of a wound to his neck. And that was just the first of many bodies. Farther on, they found a string of victims, all of them still and soaked with crimson, although their faces seemed to register contentment, as if each were happy to be leaving this world.

“How many of them are there?”

“Hundreds,” Felix answered. “And their numbers will grow as we get closer to Paestum.”

“What about the Romans?”

“They're here, too. Let's hope they don't bother us if we happen to be spotted.”

But they were seen soon after by a wandering patrol. And far from ignoring them, the legionnaires closed in on them with barks of triumph that were far from friendly.

“Should we run?” Carolyn asked.

“I don't think so,” Felix mused. “They'll pursue us and … look,” he said, pointing in the distance where a second band was lurking. Escape was out of the question.

“What have we here?” the lead soldier shouted, as he and his men surrounded the pair. They were sweating freely and covered in dust.

“Thank goodness you've arrived!” Felix yelled. “We thought you'd never come and they would find us again.”

“Who?” the soldier asked.

“The slaves, of course.”

“Well, there's no fear of that,” he smirked. “But how do we know you're not part of that gang? Your accent's foreign.”

Felix laughed. “We have friends in Paestum who'll vouch for us — and they'll pay a reward when they see we're alive.”

“A reward?” the soldier crowed. “Why didn't you say so? We're on our way to Paestum ourselves and would be happy to escort you. Wouldn't we boys?”

His companions agreed, opened their ranks and drew the pair into their middle, to prevent them from escaping their clutches. As they moved off at a rapid clip, Felix told his usual tale — how they were from Prytan and were of Druidic descent. The lead soldier explained that they were part of Pompey's legions and had arrived too late to fight the previous day, a pity because they hadn't received any spoils.

“But your friends in Paestum will look after us,” he said with a laugh.

They passed more corpses littering the landscape. As the troops discussed the successful campaign, and marvelled that Spartacus had at last been defeated, Carolyn asked Felix what he was planning. With a smile, he told her not to worry. These soldiers would escort them safely to Paestum, where he would ask their permission to enter a temple and extend proper thanks to the gods, a request they wouldn't dare refuse. Once inside, they would return to the future and deliver up the
lupus ridens
. Carolyn nodded and expressed her approval.