Spartacus: Rebellion (30 page)

Maron whimpered, distracting her. Ariadne retreated into the tent, racking her brains. There had to be somewhere that they could go. She would ask the god. Dionysus had helped her previously. Perhaps he would again now.

‘You prick!’ hissed Castus when they were clear of the throng. ‘You told her when you would leave before me?’

‘I said I’d see how the land lay after we got to Thurii. I didn’t say when I’d leave.’

‘We hadn’t even talked about that!’ Castus spat.

‘We had decided that we wouldn’t make any definite decisions until then. By inference, that meant we would move some time after that.’ Gannicus couldn’t stop the sarcasm creeping into his voice.

‘Don’t you fucking patronise me!’ shouted Castus. ‘I thought we were supposed to be acting together?’

‘We are.’

‘Well, if you want me and my men as allies, and I’d wager my left ball that I’ve got a damn sight more of them than you’ – here Castus shoved his face right into Gannicus’ – ‘there’d better be more sharing of information in future.’

Gannicus had had enough of Castus and his perpetual grievances. He shoved the redhead hard in the chest. ‘Screw you! I’ve told you before that if you want to go it alone, you can do it anytime. See how far you get with only five or six thousand men! You’ll be massacred by the first Roman legion that you come across.’

‘Is that right?’ Castus’ sword hummed free.

‘Oh, so you want to fight me now?’ snapped Gannicus, beginning to draw his own weapon.

‘No, I want to chop you into little fucking pieces.’

Gannicus felt his own rage beginning to rise. With an effort, he brought it under control. He wasn’t scared of taking on Castus, but it was a pointless exercise that would end with one or both of them injured or dead. He let his blade slide back into the scabbard. ‘This is stupid.’

Castus darted forward. ‘There’s nothing stupid about hewing your smart-arse head from your neck,’ he cried, drawing back his right arm. ‘Tell Hades I said “Hello”.’

‘You know I’m not a coward, Castus. You know I’m also your equal with a sword. Before you kill me, think about what you’re doing. Remember our plan to seize control of the whole army? To be like Brennus, the chieftain of old?’

It was as if someone had thrown Castus into a pool of icy water. A degree of sanity returned to his eyes.

‘Is that what you want still?’ Gannicus continued.

‘Of course.’

‘Then put away your damn weapon. Let’s talk about how we can make our idea a reality instead of butchering each other like a pair of drunken warriors arguing over a woman.’

Lowering his arm, Castus leaned towards him. ‘We could start by going back and slitting that bitch’s throat – and killing the baby too.’

‘I’d do it in a heartbeat, but we would never get close enough. Did you not see how closely the Scythians were watching? Even if we managed it, the men would turn on us when they found out.’

Castus looked disappointed. ‘Best to do something like that at night, I suppose. Secretly.’

‘Let’s stay focused on one idea.’ Gannicus glanced around. ‘Killing Spartacus. Once he’s out of the picture, it will be a lot easier to rally the army around us. Ariadne and the brat can be dispatched then too.’

‘Egbeo and Pulcher will also need to be killed.’

‘Agreed.’

‘What had you in mind? An ambush on him when he’s coming back here?’

Gannicus winked.

Castus’ answering grin was predatory. ‘How will they find him?’

‘It’s a gamble, I know, but I’d say that he and Carbo will travel the same way they went to Rome. Straight down the Via Annia.’

‘You’re right. All they’ll need to do is find a good spot to spy on the road some distance from here. They can do the job at night.’ Castus’ grin slipped. ‘We can’t send Gauls in case anyone sees them and points the finger at us.’

‘I’ve got a group of mixed bloods in mind. You know the types.’

Castus nodded. On the large latifundia, it was common for slaves of different origins to have children together. Thousands of the soldiers in Spartacus’ army were such. These men felt no loyalty to one race or another, as the Gauls, Thracians and Germans did.

‘They’re mostly farm slaves, former herders and the like. They answer to me, not Spartacus, and every one of them would slit their own mothers’ throats for a purse of silver.’

Suspicion flared in Castus’ eyes. ‘You’re not just sending your men. Not for something this big.’

‘Send a few of your lot as well,’ replied Gannicus, holding up his hands. ‘But make sure that they’re capable of getting the job done.’

‘If we pick five each, that will be plenty. Even Spartacus can’t kill ten men.’

‘He’s not alone, remember?’

‘Surely you’re not worried about that little sewer rat Carbo?’

‘Worried? No. But he can handle himself in a fight.’ Gannicus sucked in his moustache. ‘Ten men should be enough, though.’

‘They’d best leave tonight. Gods, but I’d love to go myself.’ Castus eyed Gannicus sidelong. ‘Make sure the job’s done properly.’

‘No.’

‘Why not? Spartacus won’t tell any tales afterwards.’ He leered. ‘Neither will his little catamite.’

‘That Thracian has more lives than a cat. He might get away. Imagine that he does, and that he’s seen you. What’s the first thing he’d do?’

‘All right, I see what you’re getting at.’ Castus’ face soured. ‘We would lose any chance of uniting the army under our command.’

‘Precisely. But if we only send men whom we trust, who are not Gauls, there’s far less of a trail back to us if things go wrong. And even if this doesn’t work, we’ll find another opportunity,’ said Gannicus. ‘The slyest cat uses up its lives in the end, eh?’

The next morning, Carbo and Spartacus rose early. Varus’ cook served the trio a hearty breakfast of bread, honey, nuts and cheese. The rest of the domestic slaves, a dozen or more, gathered in the doorway and windows of the kitchen and stared in awe at Spartacus. Feeling sorry for them, he said nothing. They had all asked to come with him when they left, and he’d had to refuse. What he needed were hardened agricultural slaves and herdsmen, men who were used to the outdoors and, if possible, to hunting. The frustrated slaves had then wanted to turn on Varus, and he’d had to forbid that as well. ‘You will only bring a sentence of death upon yourselves,’ he’d warned. It wasn’t uncommon for the authorities to execute every slave in a household in which the master had been murdered. For his own safety, therefore, and to ensure that he could make no attempt to escape, Varus, together with his major domo and doorman, had been locked overnight into an office.

Spartacus had resolved to confine the household slaves before they left. That way, Varus would have no real reason to punish them for not raising the alarm. What he hadn’t yet decided was their best way of leaving the city. At dawn, he’d sent Tulla out to spy on the nearest gates. To Carbo’s evident relief and Spartacus’ amusement – he had judged the girl would honour her vow – she had soon returned. She reported that all the entrances were being heavily guarded. Many of those who sought to leave were being questioned. Not surprising, thought Spartacus.

‘We should split up,’ he said as they sat in the courtyard, listening to the muttered complaints issuing from Varus’ prison. ‘The guards will be looking for two men, not one.’

‘What if you get taken?’ asked Carbo.

‘If I do, I do. The gods will decide my fate.’ A wry shrug. ‘That’s why I’m giving you the gold. If I am captured, you are to find the army. As soon as the baby is strong enough to travel, you are to escort Ariadne away – as we previously discussed. The Scythians will go with you.’

The memory of the dawn before they’d fought Lentulus – and what Spartacus had asked him to do – was etched in Carbo’s memory. He nodded miserably, feeling the loss of his parents even more. ‘What of Navio? Egbeo? Pulcher? The rest of the men?’

‘They can choose their own paths. It won’t be up to me any longer. But whatever may happen to me, my family will be safe.’

‘Of course. If the day should ever come, and I pray to the gods that it does not, I shall do everything in my power to save them.’

Spartacus gripped his shoulder. ‘I know you will.’

‘And if I am captured?’ Carbo threw the words out to confront his fear.
At least my pain would end.

‘Your comrades and I will never forget you. We shall make offerings to the gods, and hold a feast in your honour. Inside the next two months, I shall send a man to check on the progress of your parents’ tomb. If Varus hasn’t done what he said, he’ll lose a few fingers, and be warned that the next time, it will be his hands. That will hurry him along.’

A lump rose in Carbo’s throat. ‘Thank you.’ It will not come to that, he told himself.

‘Enough miserable talk,’ declared Spartacus. ‘Since when are soldiers good at seeing through disguises? We will both get through. If you cut down one of Varus’ best togas, you can just act like a rich young noble.’

‘Very well. What will you do?’

‘Take the simplest option.’ Spartacus’ eyes let his eyes go vacant and his lower lip fall slackly. A trickle of spit dribbled down on to his chin. He made a noise halfway between a distressed animal and a man in pain. He shuffled across the courtyard, hunching his back and dragging one of his legs. All the while, he kept moaning.

Carbo stared in amazement. Tulla looked horrified.

Abruptly, Spartacus stood up. ‘Convinced?’ he asked with a smile.

They both shook their heads in assent.

‘Good. That’s settled then.’ He eyed Tulla. ‘I’d wager that the busiest times are the first few hours of the day, and the last hour before the gate shuts.’

‘That’s right.’

‘There’s no point waiting until sunset. We want to get as far from the city as possible today. We go now,’ declared Spartacus. Inside, he wasn’t quite so certain. Crassus would be sparing no effort to find him. The politician would suspect that if he was captured, the rebellion would soon be over.
How right he would be.
Castus and Gannicus were no generals. Navio was an able tactician, but because he was a Roman, many distrusted him. Egbeo and Pulcher were brave and capable enough, but they lacked the charisma necessary to hold together tens of thousands of men.
I have to get out. Great Rider, watch over me. Dionysus, help me to return to my wife, your priestess.
The prayers helped. Spartacus felt his inner calm return. ‘Tulla, you will leave us before the gate. I’ll pay you now.’ He reached for the purse around his neck.

Dismay filled the girl’s eyes. ‘Now? But I might betray you!’

‘I don’t think you’ll do that, will you?’

‘No.’

‘I knew it. You’re a good girl.’ It had been the right decision not to kill her, thought Spartacus.

Tulla’s chin wobbled. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘Of course you don’t, but we must,’ said Spartacus in a kindly tone. ‘My army is waiting for me.’
And my wife and son.

‘Take me with you!’

‘I cannot.’

‘Why?’ wailed Tulla.

‘You cannot fight.’

‘I can be a scout! I’ll clean and polish your equipment. There must be something I can do.’

‘Tulla, you have a stout heart, but you’re too young.’ Spartacus stooped to the girl’s level. ‘However, there is something you could do for me here.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I want you to hang around the Curia, the basilicae and the better classes of baths. You know, the places where senators tend to congregate. Keep your ears open and your mouth shut. See what you can find out. Any information about Crassus or their legions could be very useful.’

Tulla’s eyes shone. ‘I can do that!’

‘I’m relying on you.’ Spartacus clapped her on the arm. ‘I’ll send word to you at the Elysian Fields, on the ides of every month. You can tell the messenger everything that you’ve heard.’

‘I will!’

Carbo admired Spartacus’ ability to make people believe in him. The day before, he’d been on the point of killing the girl. Now she was eating out of his hand. Not only that, but he had neatly restored Tulla’s pride. Now she had a purpose. As he himself did, with his oath to protect Ariadne. In the depths of his grief, that knowledge gave him strength.

Spartacus gave them both an encouraging nod. ‘Let’s move.’

Carbo’s guts had turned to liquid by the time he came within thirty paces of the gate. The Thracian had opted to go ahead of Carbo. They had arranged to meet about a mile out of the city, by a tomb that they both remembered. Carbo and Tulla – who was still hanging around – had watched with bated breath as Spartacus had joined the queue that packed the street leading up to the gate. They had grinned at the loud exclamations of disgust and the way people had moved as far away from him as possible. Spartacus’ idea of grabbing a fuller’s bucket of urine and emptying it over himself had continued to pay off royally. The guards, supplemented by ten hard-faced legionaries, had begun to complain as soon as his ripe smell had hit their nostrils. When Spartacus had shuffled before them, dribbling, moaning and covered in piss, they had urged him out of the city with the butts of their pila.

It had been as easy as that, thought Carbo enviously. Great Jupiter, let it be the same for me. His prayer did little to ease his concerns, or to propel his feet forwards. Yet he couldn’t hang around for much longer without starting to attract attention. Wealthy young men didn’t loiter on street corners. Already he had had some strange looks.

Since the Thracian had left, Carbo had seen one man – a foreigner, maybe Greek or Dacian – accused of being Spartacus. Protesting his innocence in poor Latin, the man had been hammered to the ground in a flurry of blows, trussed up like a hen for the pot, and dragged off to be interrogated. After that, Carbo had hoped that the guards’ vigilance would lapse a little, but it was not to be. They continued their aggressive questioning of all men of fighting age, as well as stabbing their pila into any carts loaded with merchandise.

Gods above, facing death in battle is easier than this.

‘Good luck!’ hissed Tulla from her spot against a wall a dozen paces away.

Carbo gave her a terse nod, and walked to join the line. He forced himself to take a deep breath in through his nostrils, counting his heartbeat as he exhaled. After he had done that several times, he felt calmer. A wagon drawn by two oxen pulled up behind him. Carbo half turned. One of the beasts sniffed at him, and then tried to lick his arm. Normally, he liked the way cattle did that, but now he recoiled from its long tongue and threw the carter a poisonous look. The man glared at him. ‘It’s what oxen do, isn’t it? Won’t do you no harm. Anyone who’d ever been around livestock would know that. Bloody city folk!’