Spartacus: Rebellion (29 page)

‘Y-you heard him,’ Varus wheezed at the major domo, whose complexion had gone pasty. ‘Do as he says! Quickly!’

The grey-haired slave hurried off.

‘C-can I sit down?’ asked Varus. ‘I feel faint.’

‘Fine.’ Carbo released his grip and let his uncle slide, shaking, back on to his chair. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Shut up.’

‘Carbo—’

‘I said, shut your fat mouth! It would give me extreme pleasure to see you bleed out, you overblown piece of offal.’ Carbo’s mind was full of images of his parents, and his heart was full of sorrow and shame. Killing his uncle might not make that pain go away, but it would help.

Varus heard the threat in his voice, and subsided.

It wasn’t long before the major domo arrived with a grim-faced Spartacus and Tulla in tow. The Thracian smiled when he saw Carbo. ‘I have tied up the doorman, and locked the door. No one is going anywhere without my say so.’ He waved a set of keys. ‘This isn’t the kind of welcome I expected.’

‘Nor I,’ replied Carbo harshly. ‘But my parents are both dead. Uncle Varus here’ – he gestured with the jagged piece of glass – ‘is the only family I have remaining. Not that that means he is dear to me, because he is not. After my mother died a few months ago, he put my father out on the street. In his grief, he took to drink. He was murdered a week ago.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Spartacus. He gave Varus a pitiless look, and returned his gaze to Carbo. ‘So here is as good a place as any for us to stay.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good thinking.’

‘You must be really rich,’ said Tulla, eyeing Carbo’s uncle with not a small amount of awe.

Varus glowered in response. The urchin took a step backwards.

Carbo knew that Tulla had probably been kicked out of the way by men such as his uncle all her life. He poked Varus with the glass. ‘Answer the girl. Politely.’

‘I suppose you could say that I am wealthy, yes,’ said Varus sullenly.

‘Thought so,’ said Tulla in a grave tone. She wandered off, trailing a hand in a water channel that fed the plants.

Carbo grinned. Tulla had given him an idea. ‘Do you keep any cash in the house?’

‘A-a little, maybe. Not much.’ Varus’ eyes flickered as he spoke.

‘You’re lying.’ Carbo glanced at Spartacus. ‘Isn’t he?’

‘Definitely.’

‘We could do with the money, eh?’

‘Gold always comes in useful.’ Spartacus was more concerned with getting out of the city unharmed, but he saw that Carbo needed to do this. He would act in much the same way if he ever saw Kotys again.

Carbo’s anger towards his uncle had gone ice cold. He took hold of one of Varus’ hands and pulled it down on to the table. He raised the stump of glass high. ‘I’m going to count to three. If you haven’t answered by then, I will stick your fat fucking hand to the wood. One.’

Varus’ jowls wobbled with terror.

‘Two.’

‘All right, all right! There’s a box under a loose tile in the lararium.’

‘Tulla!’

Spartacus’ explanation of what to look for sent the girl sprinting off.

Carbo released his uncle’s hand, which seemed to give Varus some courage. ‘So you came here to rob and murder me, is that it?’

‘Weren’t you listening?’ asked Spartacus. ‘We need somewhere to stay.’

‘I-I don’t understand.’

‘I wanted to spend the night with my parents,’ said Carbo. ‘That’s why I came to your miserable bloody house.’

‘I see.’ Varus looked awkward. ‘You didn’t know that they were dead.’

‘How could I have known?’ spat Carbo.

‘Look!’ Tulla’s beam stretched from ear to ear. In her arms she bore a small iron box. ‘It’s full of gold coins and jewels!’

‘We’ll take that with us,’ said Spartacus with a wink at Carbo.

‘Have it all,’ cried Varus eagerly. ‘You’ll be able to afford the best tavern in Rome.’

Spartacus’ smile vanished. ‘We’ll stay here.’

Varus’ mouth opened to protest, but then he thought better of it. ‘Who are you?’ he whispered.

‘I am Spartacus.’

Varus’ eyes darted to Carbo, who nodded in confirmation. ‘S-Spartacus?’

‘That’s right.’

Varus’ face went even paler. ‘But you’re supposed to be with your army, near Venusia.’

‘Clearly, I’m not.’

‘Jupiter above, you’ll torture me to death!’

‘Is that what they say I do to my prisoners?’

Varus nodded fearfully. ‘Terrible, terrible things.’

‘It happens with every army – even Roman ones,’ interjected Carbo. ‘Spartacus tries to stop it.’

‘Don’t waste your breath,’ said Spartacus wearily. ‘He won’t believe you.’

Looking at the fear and loathing smeared all over his uncle’s face, Carbo knew the Thracian’s words to be true. At that moment, part of him wanted to bury the piece of glass in Varus’ heart. There was something more important that he could ensure was done, however. ‘Where are my parents buried?’

‘Your mother lies in the Varus family tomb, and your father’ – Varus licked his lips unhappily – ‘is in a simple grave in the public cemetery.’

‘You filth!’ Carbo’s rage surged out of control, and he slashed Varus across the cheek. ‘Even in death you could not treat my father with honour!’

Varus collapsed howling to the ground with blood pouring from between his fingers.

‘I ought to slay you right here,’ Carbo shouted, pulling Varus up by the front of his tunic.

‘There is another way.’

Spartacus’ voice penetrated Carbo’s fury. ‘Eh?’

‘You could make him swear to erect a fine tomb for both your parents, and to have them reinterred there.’

Carbo heard the wisdom in Spartacus’ words and loved him for it. Despite his ruthlessness, the Thracian cared for him. He let the moaning Varus fall again. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘A tomb, yes, for your parents. It will be the finest I can have built—’

‘It doesn’t need to be the finest. Just make it fitting to their station.’

‘I will, I swear it. If I do not, may Jupiter strike me down.’

‘If you do not,’ growled Spartacus, ‘I will come back and feed you your own prick and balls.’

Varus’ jowls wobbled again, and a fat tear actually ran down each cheek. ‘I understand,’ he whispered.

Carbo’s rage subsided a little. At least he could now rest in the knowledge that they would lie together in a decent tomb. With luck, one day he would be afforded the opportunity to visit it.

One day.

After what they had heard earlier, it seemed a slim hope.

Chapter X

WHEN ARIADNE WOKE
again, the position of the sunlight on the tent told her that it was late afternoon. The
churring
of the cicadas was louder than ever, but the heat of the day had begun to abate. She gazed down at Maron, who was asleep on her chest. ‘My son,’ she whispered.

Hearing her voice, the midwife came fussing over. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired, but well.’

The old woman lifted the blanket and checked between her legs. ‘Good. There’s only been a little bleeding. In the morning, I’ll get you up.’ She grinned, revealing lines of brown pegs. ‘Word gets around fast. Hundreds of soldiers have already been asking to see Spartacus’ son. Atheas has had to post sentries to stop them approaching the tent.’

Ariadne listened. Sure enough, there were numerous muttered conversations outside. She was filled with pride at this proof of the men’s love for their leader. ‘How many are out there now?’

‘Dozens.’

‘We cannot let them wait. Take the baby, so I can sit up.’

‘You need to rest,’ said the midwife, alarmed.

‘I can do that later. Besides, I want them to see Maron.’ She handed him to the crone. ‘Swaddle him, please.’ Ariadne sat up carefully. She reached for the bronze mirror that sat beside the bed and used it so that she could comb and tie back her hair. She found her dark red woollen cloak and threw it over her shoulders. It would conceal her nightdress, and remind everyone that as well as being Spartacus’s wife, she was also a priestess. She wondered about taking out her snake too, but decided against it. Seeing Maron would impress them enough. ‘I’m ready,’ she announced, reaching out for the baby.

‘Are you sure? You’ve just been through childbirth. You mustn’t overdo it,’ scolded the midwife.

‘I won’t stay outside for long.’

There was an exasperated sigh. The old woman lifted the tent flap.

A hush fell at once.

Holding Maron to her chest, Ariadne stepped into the sunlight.

A loud
Ahhhhh
rose into the air from the large crowd of men who stood before the tent. Among them, Ariadne recognised Navio, Pulcher, Egbeo, and many others. ‘You have come to see Spartacus’ son?’ she asked.

‘YES!’ they shouted.

Startled, Maron woke up and began to cry.

The men gave each other embarrassed grins.

‘Hush now,’ Ariadne whispered, comforting Maron. ‘Those are your father’s soldiers, who have come to welcome you into the world.’ It was as if he understood her words. He quietened, and began to nuzzle for her breast. ‘In a moment, little man.’ She advanced, so that everyone could see. ‘Our son is healthy, and has fed well.’

Men laughed, grinned and slapped each other on the back.

‘What’s his name?’ asked Egbeo.

‘Maron.’

They cheered.

‘After Spartacus’ brother, who died fighting the Romans?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a good Thracian name. A strong name,’ declared Egbeo.

‘Behold Maron, son of Spartacus,’ cried Ariadne, raising him into the air.

That made them roar until they were hoarse.

Maron began to cry again and, seeing his distress, the men fell silent. Ariadne cuddled him until he was content once more.

‘May he grow up to be as strong and clever as his father,’ called a man with a black beard.

‘As good with a sword and spear as Spartacus!’

‘And as good-looking as his mother,’ added a voice further back.

Ariadne joined in the laughter. Here, basking in the adoration of Spartacus’ soldiers, it was easy to forget her nightmare. But she knew that when she went back inside, her fears would return. Ever since they had turned away from the Alps, she had worried about the future. They could not march around Italy for the rest of their lives. The Romans would not permit it. To think otherwise was naïve in the extreme. Yet most of the men seemed to believe just that.

‘Ariadne,’ said a familiar voice.

‘Castus.’ She could not keep her displeasure from her voice. ‘And Gannicus,’ she added with a trace more warmth. Inside, her stomach was churning. Neither man would wish Spartacus’ son and heir well. She wouldn’t put it past them to slip a blade into Maron’s heart. Ariadne took some relief from the fact that Atheas and Taxacis, scowls locked in place, were right at the Gauls’ backs. ‘You’ve come to see Maron?’

‘We have,’ said Castus with a half-smile. He came closer and Ariadne had to force herself not to back away.

Castus peered at the baby. ‘He’s handsome. May he grow up healthy and strong.’

‘Just like his father,’ added Gannicus with real heartiness. ‘And may the gods watch over him always.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ariadne, still wary.

Castus made to speak, but Gannicus intervened. ‘We shouldn’t stay. She’s tired.’

‘It was good of you to come.’ Despite their apparent goodwill, Ariadne eyed the pair with deep suspicion. Since the showdown about where the army would go, she had avoided talking to them. As far as she was concerned, they had betrayed Spartacus. They could not be relied upon. Yet although relations had been strained, Spartacus had continued to deal with them. ‘Because I have to,’ he’d said to her repeatedly. ‘Otherwise the split will come sooner.’
I want to know now.
She had heard enough talk about how they were cajoling men to follow them. She threw caution to the wind. They wouldn’t attack her or the baby, not with the Scythians at their backs. ‘When are you going to leave?’

Castus flushed. ‘We’re just leaving.’

‘That’s not what she meant,’ said Gannicus, his eyes narrowing. ‘Is it?’

‘No.’

‘What makes you so sure that we will?’ asked Castus.

‘Come on. A blind man could see how angry you were when Spartacus told the men that he would lead them south again. Besides, you told him that you would when the time was right.’

‘I might have changed my mind,’ he said with a silky smile.

‘But you haven’t.’

Castus didn’t deny it, but he didn’t answer either.

Ariadne turned to Gannicus. ‘I know that you will split off eventually. Have you decided when?’

Gannicus sucked on his moustache and said nothing.

Ariadne felt safe enough to let her temper rise. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

‘I haven’t decided,’ Gannicus admitted. ‘We’ll see how the land lies after we make camp near Thurii.’

‘But you will break away?’

‘Yes.’ He held her gaze. ‘Spartacus is a great leader, but a man can’t follow another all his life.’

‘Thank you for your honesty.’

He smiled, reminding her why she had always preferred him to the shifty Castus. Yet she still wouldn’t trust either man. Without the Scythians’ presence, she would have been scared.

‘When were you planning on telling me that?’ Castus’ tone was accusatory.

‘In my own good time.’

‘The best thing would be to unite forces. Go together.’

‘True. Let’s not argue about it here, eh?’ Gannicus glanced at Ariadne. ‘Wishing the blessings of the gods upon you and your son.’ He reached out and threw an arm over Castus’ shoulders. Still grumbling, the red-haired Gaul let himself be led away.

Ariadne watched them go.
They’ll probably go in the spring. That would make most sense, after the hard weather is over.
The knowledge sent relief, and a little sadness, flooding through her veins. After the uncertainty, it was better to know. Once she told Spartacus, he could make plans, work on the men’s loyalty, seek out even more recruits. But they still needed a place to head for. Thurii was a long way from Rome, but it wasn’t an impregnable fortress, or inaccessible. To reach it, all the Romans had to do was march down the Via Annia.
Where would be best?