Spartacus: Rebellion (56 page)

Their army’s flanks had lost all semblance of order. Thousands of men had been streaming away from the Roman trenches, pursued by waves of legionaries. In the centre, she had made out a small bloc of soldiers still fighting – had Spartacus been among them? – but the overwhelming enemy numbers surrounding them offered but one outcome. The sight had frozen Ariadne to the spot with shock and grief. Only Atheas’ arm around her shoulders had brought her alive again, and given her the strength to move.

It had soon become apparent how fortuitous the tent’s position near the back of the camp had been. The rocky massif to its rear had afforded no escape route, so most soldiers were fleeing through the tent lines some distance below them. A few, mad with panic, had climbed up to the same level, but the sight of Atheas’ and Aventianus’ naked blades had kept them at a respectful distance. Having to threaten their old comrades seemed insane, but it had since become their reality. Ariadne had thought to be safe once they’d reached the mountains, but scores of stragglers had continued to cross their path. On Carbo’s advice, they were shunning all contact unless it was unavoidable. In his opinion – and Atheas agreed – no one could now be trusted unless he was known to them, or had proved himself. It was part of the reason why they were hiding like wild animals in the most remote spot that the Scythian could find. Five soldiers approved by Carbo had joined them subsequently. Ariadne felt a little safer for their presence. Extra men to hunt also meant more food. More than one of the new arrivals had mentioned the rumour they’d heard: that thousands of survivors were heading for the hills above Thurii, but she didn’t want to consider following until her grief had subsided a little. Until she could bear the idea of leaving the battlefield – and Spartacus’ body – behind for ever.

Maron made another grumbling noise as he snuffled at her breast.

‘Is he sick?’

Ariadne looked up. She managed a half-smile. ‘No, he’s just tired, and upset. And hungry.’

‘Like us all,’ replied Carbo with a sigh.

‘We should be grateful to be alive. If it wasn’t for you and the others—’

‘I didn’t do much,’ he said, waving a dismissive hand.

Ariadne remembered the pack of terrified men who’d come pounding towards them as they had reached the edge of the camp. They probably hadn’t even known who she and her two companions were. The fact that they had been blocking the path eastward, the only direction not filled with Roman troops, had been enough for the deserters to threaten them. Shoving her and Maron to the rear, Atheas and Aventianus had prepared to sell their lives dearly. Ariadne had begun to pray for a quick death when, from nowhere, Carbo had appeared behind the gang. Drenched in blood, screaming like a lunatic, he had cut down two men with savage thrusts of his gladius. The rest had taken to their heels. ‘You saved our lives, Carbo,’ she said quietly.

His gaze slid away.

She touched his arm. ‘It’s true. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘I left Spartacus behind,’ he muttered.
And Arnax.
The boy had probably got away, he told himself yet again. The same couldn’t be said of his leader.

‘It’s pointless torturing yourself. It wasn’t for you to choose the way he died, any more than it was mine.’

Carbo was shocked out of his own grief for a moment.

‘Spartacus was his own master. You must respect his decision to die fighting. As, somehow, must I.’ Her gaze grew distant. Deep in her gut, Ariadne worried that her dream of the crucifixes would now come true. If it did, she prayed that Spartacus would not have suffered that degrading fate. That was why she had not seen him, she thought, trying – and failing – to wrest certainty from the dream.

‘I do respect it,’ he protested.

She saw that there was more. ‘You think that you should have died with him.’

Carbo didn’t answer, but the agony in his eyes said it all.

‘What would have happened to me and Maron if you’d done that?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied uneasily.

‘I think you do. Can you not remember the group of deserters that attacked us?’

No answer.

‘Is that the end you would have wanted for me? For Spartacus’ son?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Doing what you did – leaving him – means that Spartacus’ memory will live on. Not just in men’s hearts and minds, but in real flesh and blood.’ She caressed Maron’s head. ‘Is that not a worthwhile deed?’

He stared at the baby, his face twitching with unreadable emotion. ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘It is.’

‘I cannot think of a finer legacy. A better way to ensure that Rome’s victory was not total. Can you?’ The words were to assuage her own savage grief as much as to help Carbo. To Ariadne’s ears, they rang hollow. That might not be the case for ever, but for the moment she knew that if it weren’t for Maron, she might have already given up.

Carbo’s lips finally tugged into a smile. ‘Crassus would hate to know that Spartacus’ son was alive.’

‘He would.’ She touched Maron’s smooth cheek, and he redoubled his efforts on her breast. ‘That is why he must never know about him.’

Their conversation was disturbed by Aventianus. ‘Pssst!’ He pointed beyond the clearing. Hearing movement in the undergrowth, Carbo ushered Ariadne into the shelter. He ran to join Aventianus. They both drew their swords, hoping that it was one of the group.

When Atheas emerged, they both smiled with relief. Their expressions changed the instant they saw the man limping behind the Scythian. Covered in spatters of blood, without a helmet but still carrying his sword, it was Navio.

Carbo’s heart leaped with joy. He darted to his friend’s side. ‘The gods be thanked. You made it!’

Navio rubbed at the dark rings beneath his eyes. ‘I don’t know how. I tried hard enough to die.’

‘I found him . . . by the river,’ said Atheas. ‘Just lying . . . looking at nothing.’ Muttering an excuse, he set about starting a fire.

‘We saw you. Well, saw your position. You held the left flank for an age,’ said Carbo.

‘The men did well,’ admitted Navio. ‘It was the damn artillery that did for us. That, and the fact that the cavalry couldn’t cross the ditches. They were too deep, too wide. Crassus was damn clever to think of that. He must have heard about Sulla doing it at Orchomenus fourteen years ago.’ He let out a hacking cough. ‘What happened to you?’

In a low voice, Carbo explained. When it came to the final moments before he’d fled, his voice cracked. ‘He said that he was proud to fight beside a Roman. I’m sure he meant you too.’

A spark lit in Navio’s dead eyes. ‘Well, I was proud to serve a slave.’

‘And I.’

They were quiet for a moment. Their leader’s face filled their minds.

‘I didn’t run,’ blurted Carbo. He was intensely grateful for Navio’s accepting nod. ‘He asked me to go, to see that Ariadne and the baby were safe.’

‘Ariadne’s here?’ cried Navio.

‘I am. And Maron. I’ve just put him down for a sleep.’ She ducked out of the shelter and approached them, smiling faintly. ‘I am glad that you survived, Navio.’

He gave her a respectful half-bow. ‘Jupiter be praised that you and the baby are unharmed. Atheas first, and then Carbo . . . I had not thought to hear even more good news. Since waking after the battle, I’ve wondered why the gods let me live. Now I know.’

‘Tell us your story,’ urged Carbo.

Navio studied each of their faces, and then looked away. ‘We had held our ground for some time, which was no mean feat considering how many troops Crassus threw at us and the fact that the cavalry couldn’t help. Things got worse when the enemy artillery’s volleys suddenly got heavier. Maybe it was as the left flank was giving way, I don’t know. One thing was certain, though: the bastards didn’t mind hitting their own men. The barrage went on and on. My troops withstood it for a time, but they finally cracked. I couldn’t hold them.’

‘In a situation like that, no one can,’ said Carbo.

‘That doesn’t make it any easier,’ said Navio with a heavy sigh. ‘I managed to rally together about thirty soldiers, and we kept fighting. It didn’t take long for most of us to be cut down.’ His eyes went dark. ‘I was left with a man either side of me. I felt like Horatius on the bridge, except there was no river to jump into. A rock must have hit me soon after that, and knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I found that my helmet was split in two. There was a body half across me. It was dark. The battle was over. I could hear men screaming, begging to die. Checking that there were no Romans about, I managed to get up. I began searching for anyone who might have been trapped like me. All I found were those heading for Hades. I helped more than a few of them on their way. I wandered like that for a long time, hoping that I’d be discovered and killed. There was no point in living after what my soldiers had done. After we’d lost.’ His eyes flickered to them. ‘I feel differently now. But at the time—’

‘I can imagine what you must have been going through,’ said Ariadne with feeling.
If it weren’t for Maron . . .

‘So can I,’ said Carbo. ‘What happened next?’

‘The most crazy thing. I – I found Spartacus’ helmet. It had to be his. No one else in the whole damn army had a Phrygian one like it.’

Beside Carbo, Ariadne went very still. ‘Did you find his body?’ he whispered.

‘No. I searched and searched, but it was as black as the underworld. There wasn’t even a moon. The bodies were heaped everywhere, so many of them. They all looked the same. I kept going until it began to grow light . . .’ Navio’s words ground to a halt.

‘What you did was above the call of duty, for which I thank you,’ said Ariadne gently. She glanced at Carbo. ‘Could he be alive?’

His doubts renewed, Carbo thought hard. ‘I doubt it. He wanted to go down fighting. Without a helmet, the Romans wouldn’t have known who he was. They would have just killed him like any other of our soldiers.’

‘But you can’t be sure. You didn’t see him fall.’

Carbo felt even worse. ‘No.’

Navio also looked stricken. ‘I would have continued my search, but there were groups of legionaries spreading out through the area. They were killing anyone still left alive. I had to crawl on my belly for an age to make sure that they hadn’t seen me.’

Guilt redoubled in Carbo, clawing at his mind and heart.
He couldn’t be alive. Could he?
‘We could go down and try to find him.’

Great Dionysus, please, thought Ariadne. My pain is bad enough. I don’t need this uncertainty. She knew how awful the scene would be by now. The stench of rotting flesh, appreciable long before the battlefield itself. Bodies bloating, discolouring in the warm sun. Maggots crawling in wounds, mouths, open bellies. Peasants scouring the site for valuables. Carrion birds hanging overheard in clouds, and gorging on the expanse of flesh below. At night, wolves and even bears might lurk at the fringes, keen not to miss out on the unparalleled feast. Revulsion filled her. If he was dead, Spartacus’ body would be prey as much as anyone else’s. If he was injured and unable to move, however—

‘It’s far too dangerous,’ said Navio. ‘Crassus has left most of his army in place. From what I could see, they’re patrolling the whole area.’

Ariadne closed her eyes. Was it worth risking Maron’s safety by returning to the battlefield? What real chance was there that Spartacus had survived?

Navio’s next words struck like a lightning bolt. ‘They’ve taken about six thousand prisoners.’

‘That many?’ cried Carbo, staring at Navio in horror.

‘Apparently so. I heard some patrolling legionaries talking when I was hiding among the bodies. On Crassus’ orders, they are to be marched to Capua and crucified on the Via Appia, all the way to Rome.’

In that instant, every terrible detail of Ariadne’s dream came back to her. It was true. Dionysus must have sent it. Thank the god she had never mentioned it to a soul.

That there would be crucifixions was unsurprising – it was a common enough fate for slaves who had committed a serious crime – but the sheer number was almost beyond belief. ‘We have to act,’ said Carbo.

Navio’s eyebrows rose. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I don’t know!’ Carbo shot back. ‘But imagine if Spartacus was on a cross? Or Egbeo? Taxacis?’

‘We can’t kill six thousand men.’ Navio’s tone was sympathetic.

‘I won’t do nothing!’ cried Carbo.

In unison, they looked to Ariadne. ‘You want my approval to go?’ she asked.

‘I don’t want to leave you and Maron,’ said Carbo.

‘You won’t be.’

Her meaning crashed down on Carbo. ‘You’re not coming with us!’

‘Try and stop me. There might only be a tiny chance that Spartacus has survived, but that’s enough for me.’ Ariadne’s concerns about her dream had changed. What if Egbeo had been trying to reveal that her husband was nearby? ‘At the very least, I have to see the crosses for myself.’

‘All of them?’ asked Navio in disbelief.

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘This is insane,’ muttered Carbo, but part of him felt the same way.

‘It’s more than a hundred and twenty miles from Capua to Rome. There will be regular pickets of soldiers. They might even be stationed on the road to make sure that no one interferes with the victims.’

‘If there was the tiniest possibility that your father or brother were down there, what would you do?’ she snapped.

Navio’s mouth worked, and he looked at Carbo.

‘If we do this, Ariadne,’ said Carbo, ‘it’s going to be done our way. You, Maron and me and Navio will go. No one else. It’s too dangerous. Atheas would attract attention, and so would a group of male slaves wandering the roads this soon after the battle. You’ll have to leave your snake as well. Being Romans of a certain class, Navio and I will get by any roadblock. You’ll just be a slave belonging to one of us. No one will care about the baby.’ He glared at Ariadne, expecting her to argue, but she nodded meekly.

‘We leave at once. It’s seventy-five miles to Capua from the River Silarus, and Crassus has a head start on us of at least a day.’

The Via Appia, between Capua and Rome

Crassus had been in a jubilant mood for a number of days – ever since the battle in fact. He smiled broadly as the first nails were hammered in and the screaming began. This is what victory tastes like, he thought, nodding and waving to the crowd. He was sitting on his horse not far from Capua’s walls, supervising a group of his soldiers as the process of crucifying the captured slaves began. Hundreds of the city’s inhabitants had gathered to watch; in the moments prior, he had bade them welcome and ordered fistfuls of coins and loaves of bread thrown to them. They had cheered him then until their throats were hoarse. Now they jeered and hurled insults as the first victim was fixed to the crossbar and hauled on to the upright portion of his cross. Soon Caepio indicated that the procedure was complete.