Spartacus: Rebellion

by Ben Kane

  ‘Aye, well. What can a man do? The gods give, and the gods take away. I should be grateful that I am still here. Still breathing.’

  Publipor didn’t look grateful at all, thought Carbo. He’d found it hard thinking that he would never see his own parents again, but at least they were alive. It wasn’t completely mad to think that they might meet again one day. They weren’t that far away: Rome lay perhaps two hundred miles to the north-west. The army had been even closer to it a week or two before. Carbo had considered deserting for a short period, or even asking Spartacus if he could visit his parents, but he had discounted the idea as foolish. He’d made a fool of himself twice over with the Thracian, and he wasn’t about to do it again.

  ‘We are lucky yet to be alive, and that won’t change in the months to come,’ said Navio darkly. ‘Just because we defeated the consuls at Picenum doesn’t mean that another army won’t come looking for us. It will be a lot bigger than the ones we’ve seen so far too. As my father used to say, make the most of every day that dawns . . .’

  ‘For it might be your last,’ finished Arnax in a solemn tone.

  Navio laughed. ‘You’ve been listening to me carefully, eh?’

  Even in the dim light, it was possible to see Arnax blush.

  Navio reached over and ruffled his hair. ‘You’re making a good fist of Carbo’s gladius. Take a look at mine when you’re finished, will you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Delighted, the boy glanced at Publipor. ‘Shall I clean yours as well?’

  ‘When it needs doing, I’ll do it myself,’ the Apulian snapped. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Arnax dropped his eyes.

  ‘I’m tired,’ Publipor growled. ‘I think I’ll turn in. Good night.’

  Carbo and Navio muttered their replies. Arnax watched him go in silence.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, lad. He wasn’t having a go at you. He’s troubled about his family,’ said Carbo.

  ‘It takes at least a year before the pain eases in any way,’ pronounced Navio with a sigh.

  ‘What pain would that be?’

  They turned in surprise. ‘Spartacus!’ said Carbo with a grin.

  Navio also smiled. ‘Welcome.’

  The Thracian inclined his head in greeting and then threw a hard look at Arnax, who looked as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

  Spartacus sat down by the fire. ‘What pain were you talking about, Navio?’

  ‘The pain of losing those that one loves.’

  ‘I see.’ The Rider watch over you, Father. Maron, my brother. Getas and Seuthes, my comrades. ‘We must all have lost people. It’s one of life’s trials. A man must deal with it as best he can.’

  ‘Wise words,’ said Navio.

  They sat in silence for a short time, Carbo and Navio wondering what had brought their leader unannounced to their fire.

  ‘We’ll reach Thurii in the next month,’ announced Spartacus. ‘It will be good to stop marching, eh?’

  They murmured in agreement.

  Spartacus chuckled. ‘You want to know why I’m here, eh?’

  ‘You haven’t just come for an idle chat,’ said Carbo in a dry tone.

  Spartacus regarded him steadily. ‘No.’

  Publipor emerged from his tent, a twig protruding from his lips. He had begun brushing his teeth when he became aware of their visitor. He spat quickly. ‘Spartacus! It’s an honour to see you.’

  ‘Publipor. You’re keeping well?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you sir.’ Publipor raised his twig by way of apology. ‘I was about to turn in. I’ll come back out, though.’

  ‘No need to do that on my account. Get some rest. It will be another long day tomorrow.’ Spartacus’ tone was friendly but commanding.

  Publipor looked relieved. ‘All right then. Good night, sir.’

  ‘Sleep well.’ Spartacus turned back to Carbo and Navio. ‘A good man,’ he said quietly.

  ‘He is,’ agreed Carbo. ‘He’s a great tracker. Thanks to him, we bring back a deer or a boar most times we go out.’

  ‘It’s natural that he’s good with a bow. How’s his sword craft coming along?’

  ‘Quite well,’ replied Navio. ‘Give it a couple more months and he’ll be up to scratch with the rest of the men.’

  ‘Good. We should have the time at Thurii to train unhindered. It’s unlikely that the Romans will attack us in the winter. But they’ll be on the move.’ Spartacus’ face darkened. ‘You know that, don’t you? There is no way under the sun that we will be left alone.’

  ‘Yes,’ they both answered. Arnax’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘At the moment, we have no idea what the dogs are planning. They, on the other hand, get word of our passage from every citizen farmer whose land we pass through.’

  ‘Not much we can do about that,’ said Navio. ‘And good intelligence on what the Romans are up to is hard to come by. The deserters who’ve joined us can’t risk going back to their units. They’d be crucified.’

  ‘I know. I have heard one interesting thing, however. Yesterday, one of the patrols stopped a trader who’d come from Rome. He had some news.’

  They leaned forward, agog with interest.

  ‘Crassus has been given charge of the campaign against us.’

  Carbo felt the blood drain from his face. ‘The same man who—’

  ‘Yes. The same prick who ruined your family. The one whom I fought in front of at Capua. Strange how the strands of fate twist, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Carbo, clenching his fists.

  ‘Apparently, Crassus is to speak to the Senate soon. I was thinking that it would be good to hear what he has to say. Maybe even slip a blade between his ribs if the opportunity arose. That would knock the bastards back on their arses for a while.’ The idea had seemed daring – even rash – from the outset, but now that he’d spoken it out loud, Spartacus revelled in the thrill of it. He was going to go, and no one would stop him.

  Navio’s eyebrows rose. ‘Would you trust me and Carbo again?’

  ‘Not you and Carbo, no.’

  Carbo sat forward with a start. ‘What, you mean—?’

  ‘You and me, yes. We’ll go to Rome. Straight to the viper’s nest! See what we can find out.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ An image of his parents flashed unbidden into Carbo’s mind. Guiltily, he shoved it away.

  ‘Never more so.’ He could still hear Ariadne’s voice warning him not to go; see the disbelief on Pulcher’s and Egbeo’s faces. ‘I’m the leader of this army. I decide what happens.’

  Carbo nodded. ‘Just you and me?’

  ‘Yes. You can play the big farmer’s son. I’ll be your slave.’

  ‘That could work,’ muttered Carbo, bemused.

  ‘What about the army?’ hissed Navio. ‘You can’t leave Castus and Gannicus unchecked. Those pieces of shit will ruin everything!’

  ‘No, they won’t. They want to find a good overwintering spot as much as I do. Once they’ve got to Thurii, all they will want to do is to drink wine and fornicate.’ Spartacus knew this for a lie. The Gauls would redouble their efforts to recruit men to their cause in his absence. His mind was made up, however. He would reassert his leadership when he returned. ‘I’ve spoken to Pulcher and Egbeo about what to do should any Roman forces appear. They can intervene if the Gauls decide to do something crazy.’

  Navio looked dubious, but he didn’t argue.

  ‘What about Ariadne? Isn’t she due any day now?’ Like every other soldier, Carbo held Spartacus’ wife in high esteem. Despite her advanced pregnancy, she still walked like everyone else. ‘It’s good for the baby,’ she said daily with a bright smile. Yet Carbo had seen the strain on her face that very afternoon. Spartacus had to be aware of that. ‘Don’t you want to be here for the birth of your son?’

  Spartacus gave him a hard look. ‘Ariadne informs me that she won’t go into labour for another three weeks. I believe her. Women know about these things.’

  ‘I
understand,’ muttered Carbo.

  ‘We’ll leave tomorrow, and reach Rome in little over a week and a half. If we can buy horses, it will be even quicker. Two or three days there should be sufficient. The horses will make the return journey faster too.’ He glanced at Navio. ‘You will have had just enough time at Thurii to erect a hut for Ariadne before we arrive.’

  ‘It’ll be the first thing we do.’

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’ said Carbo doubtfully. He hadn’t ever ridden that much.

  ‘I am.’ Spartacus said nothing of the fierce argument he’d had with Ariadne over it. She had totally opposed his going, not, she said, because he might miss the birth, but because of the dangers that he would face. ‘What if you are recognised in Rome?’ she had uttered repeatedly. Spartacus had laughed. ‘Who will recognise me? The likelihood of seeing someone who knows me are less than a icicle surviving the midday sun.’ Then he’d taken her hand. ‘I have to find out what the cursed Romans are planning. This chance to kill Crassus will only be there once.’

  ‘And if you get caught?’

  He’d laughed. ‘That won’t happen. I’m going to take Carbo with me. He’s a native. I’ll act as his slave. We’ll be on a short business trip to Rome, just two men in a crowd of thousands. What could go wrong with that?’ Ariadne had finally acquiesced, because she’d seen that he would not be swayed, but there was now a further tension between them. It can be resolved when I return, thought Spartacus.

  ‘So, will you come?’

  As with the first time Spartacus had made such a request of him, man to man rather than from leader to a follower, Carbo was touched. He was also secretly pleased, because in Rome, the opportunity to meet his parents might arise. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good.’ Spartacus got to his feet.

  ‘Won’t you have some warmed wine?’ Carbo made a gesture that sent Arnax scrambling for the amphora in their tent.

  ‘No. I want a clear head in the morning. We’ll need to cover more than twenty miles a day.’

  ‘I understand. Arnax, leave it.’

  ‘Heat some up anyway,’ ordered Navio. ‘I’ll have a cup even if Carbo’s not going to. I’ll raise a toast to your success, and more importantly, safe return.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Spartacus cast them a warning glance. ‘It goes without saying that no one is to speak of this. To anyone.’

  Carbo and Navio nodded.

  ‘I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, I—’ blurted Arnax, looking mortified.

  ‘It’s all right. I know you won’t talk.’ With a curt nod, Spartacus disappeared into the darkness.

  Navio jerked his head after the Thracian. ‘Gods, I’d wager you didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘Neither can I. Didn’t your parents end up in Rome?’

  Carbo had told Navio his whole story after the fuss over his letter. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tempted to see them?’

  ‘I don’t know. I might not have the chance.’

  ‘When will a better opportunity come your way?’

  ‘Leave it,’ muttered Carbo.

  Navio raised his hands, palm outwards. ‘Fair enough.’

  Carbo stared into the flames, brooding. If the truth be known, he was wary of meeting his parents again. What would he say to them about where he’d been for the last year and more? He would have to lie about absolutely everything. Despite this, his heart ached at the thought of them.

  Carbo woke long before dawn. Moving carefully so he didn’t disturb Navio and Arnax, he threw off his blankets. He rolled them up, placing them in his pack, which was lying ready by his side. He had gone to bed fully dressed, so all he had to do was slip on his sandals, grab his dagger and creep outside. Although Carbo half expected to see Spartacus, he gave a start at the figure which loomed out of the semi-darkness. ‘Been here long?’ he whispered.

  ‘A little while.’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

  ‘Something like that.’ I was tired of the disapproval radiating from Ariadne. Spartacus regretted not saying goodbye, but the cool between them had hardened overnight to a thick frost.

  It was strange seeing his leader without his sword, helmet and mail shirt, thought Carbo. Spartacus was dressed in a simple wool tunic and sandals. He was carrying a pack and a stout cudgel. A sheathed knife hung from a leather strap over one shoulder. He looked like any agricultural slave.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Carbo.

  ‘Give me your bag.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘If you’re the master and I’m the slave, then I have to carry both our packs. From the start. Only the gods know whom we’ll meet on the road. No point arousing suspicions, is there?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Hand it over.’

  Feeling awkward, Carbo did as he was told.

  ‘You’ve got no weapons?’

  ‘Just this.’ He tapped his dagger.

  ‘Fine. Let’s go. It’s a long way to Rome.’

  Carbo cast a last glance at his tent. His guts lurched at the thought of never seeing Navio and Arnax again. I’ll be back before they know it, he told himself. Pushing back his shoulders, he set off, with Spartacus a step behind.

  ‘May the gods go with you!’ called a low voice.

  Turning, Carbo saw Navio’s head sticking out of their tent. He grinned. ‘Thank you.’

  Nodding farewell, the two men strode off between the lines of tents. It took a long time to work their way to the edge of the huge camp, which was situated in a flat area between two forested peaks. Nearing the perimeter, they passed several sentries, who smiled and waved them on. ‘They think we’re just going on a reconnaissance of the local area,’ muttered Spartacus. ‘I had Pulcher send out the word last night.’

  ‘What will they say when we don’t come back?’

  ‘If anyone asks, Pulcher is to say that we may have gone south ahead of the army, to check the lie of the land. It doesn’t matter too much if the men don’t believe the story. All anyone is thinking of now is reaching Thurii. We’ll return before there’s any serious problem.’ Spartacus pictured Castus, who had been delighted when he’d told him about his planned mission. Gannicus had seemed pleased too, but the chance of some decent intelligence and of killing Crassus had to take priority. They won’t win that many men over, he told himself.

  Leaving the encampment behind, they walked up a steep slope covered in beech trees and worked their way down the other side. The eastern sky was paling fast now, but it no longer mattered. Only the sentries and Publipor had seen them go.

  At least that was what they thought.

  Nine days later, the pair had nearly reached Rome. Annoyingly, finding suitable mounts had proved to be overly time-consuming. They had therefore walked, covering more than twenty miles every day, still considerably faster than the slow pace of the slave army. It had been tough going, but Carbo hadn’t complained. Spartacus was bearing both their packs while he got to walk with only his water bag to weigh him down.

  They had come down from the mountains at the first opportunity and taken the fastest route to the capital: the Via Appia, which ran from Brundisium to Rome. Paved with blocks of black basalt, it was the Republic’s main artery, carrying wagons full of trade goods, soldiers, travellers and civil servants of all types. Carbo and Spartacus had been swallowed up in the tide of humanity that flowed towards the capital, just another master and servant going about their business.

  As they had arranged, the pair only spoke on the road when there was no one else in sight. At the roadside inns where they had stayed each night, Carbo had taken a small room while the Thracian slept in the stables or even outdoors. It was customary for agricultural slaves to be treated rather poorly, and Spartacus had wanted them to look no different. Everything had to go without hitch, because time was of the essence. If he stayed away too long, the Gauls might actually do some real harm. And he might miss the birth of his son.

  ‘We must be close now,’ said Car
bo, pointing at a particularly grand brick-built tomb. ‘They’re getting larger.’ The mausoleums had lined both sides of the road for miles, memorials to the wealthy and powerful.

  ‘You’re right. There are fewer latrones and cheap whores on view too.’

  It was true, thought Carbo. The skulking shapes who lurked by the whispering cypress trees and crypts with their statues of the dead had all but vanished. ‘The city guard probably doesn’t tolerate them close to the city.’

  ‘There it is,’ said Spartacus softly. ‘Up ahead. Look.’

  Above the heads of the people in front and framed by the trees on either side, Carbo made out a high stone wall. ‘It’s bloody enormous!’

  Spartacus grunted irritably. Rome’s defences were intimidating to say the least. As tall as five men standing on each other’s shoulders, the wall was faced with large slabs of yellow tufa. He could see soldiers patrolling to and fro on a rampart that ran along the top. A fortified tower perched on either side of the iron-studded gates that led into the capital. Both had a couple of light catapults. Spartacus had only ever had a vague notion of taking Rome, but now it vanished entirely. I would need engineers who could build me hundreds of huge ballistae. Even then, it would take months to pound enough holes in the defences to storm the place successfully. Months during which other legions would have been raised elsewhere in Italy. He forced away his bad humour. ‘How old is it?’

  ‘More than three hundred years,’ replied Carbo proudly. ‘It was erected in the aftermath of the sacking of the city by the Gauls.’

  ‘Impressive, but it’s a damn shame that it was ever built. Things with Hannibal might have been very different otherwise. And for me too.’

  Carbo’s pride vanished.

  ‘How long is it?’

  ‘Five miles. It encompasses all seven hills. There’s a deep defensive ditch too. We’ll see that as we get closer.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Spartacus dryly.

  Embarrassed by his enthusiasm, Carbo fell silent.

  ‘Where does your uncle live?’

  ‘On the Esquiline Hill.’

  It had been inevitable that Carbo would tell Spartacus his family’s full story. The Thracian had already known of Crassus’ part in their downfall. ‘Do you want to see them?’ Spartacus had asked. ‘Yes.’ Carbo had studied the fire as he’d replied, his rashness in dictating the letter in Mutina vivid in his mind. ‘I think you should go,’ Spartacus had said, stunning him.