Spartacus: Rebellion

by Ben Kane

  ‘You’ve got no family?’

  Tulla gave him a defiant look. ‘Don’t need no sympathy, mister. I do fine by myself, all right?’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ Despite Tulla’s boldness, Carbo felt compassion for her. She was small, dirty and ill fed. ‘Where do you live?’

  Again the defiant stare. ‘Clemens the baker lets me sleep by his oven in return for keeping watch on his shop. Look, do you want some help or not?’

  ‘Got places to go, have you?’ interjected Spartacus.

  ‘I have, as it happens.’

  ‘I see,’ said Carbo knowingly. ‘Don’t let me stop you from heading off.’

  At once there was a change of demeanour. ‘It can wait.’

  Carbo rubbed his chin, letting the girl stew for a moment. ‘How far is the Forum?’

  ‘About half a mile. Maybe less.’

  That was what Carbo had thought. ‘Another as to take us there then.’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Look at the crowd!’ Tulla pointed. ‘It’s going to get worse from here on. Everyone wants to hear Crassus speak. Isn’t that what you’re going for?’

  ‘Crassus? No, I just want to see the place for myself,’ Carbo lied blithely.

  Tulla excavated the contents of one nostril and flicked it away. ‘You picked a bad day for sightseeing.’

  ‘I’ll give you two asses, and no more.’

  Tulla’s grubby paw shot out. ‘I want payment up front.’

  Carbo rooted in his purse and tossed a coin into the air.

  It was expertly caught. ‘That’s only one as!’

  ‘You’ll have the other when we get there.’

  Tulla didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘It will cost the same to get you back to the Elysian Fields. It’s best to do that before dark, believe me.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ said Carbo on impulse. ‘You can act as our guide for the whole of our visit. I’ll pay you an even denarius for the next three days.’

  ‘For two days.’

  ‘Fine.’ That was the figure Carbo had had in his head anyway.

  ‘Half now,’ Tulla demanded.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking! You’d vanish the moment we arrive in the Forum.’ Carbo handed over a second as. ‘I’ll give you another one tonight.’

  ‘All right,’ came the grudging reply. ‘But you can buy me a sausage on the way.’

  Reminded of his own grumbling stomach, Carbo grinned. ‘Do you know a good place to buy some?’

  Tulla was already ten paces down an alleyway. ‘The best in Rome! Come on!’

  Carbo glanced at Spartacus.

  ‘Well done. She’ll be useful. Especially if we have to get away in a hurry.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking.’

  ‘Watch what you let her hear,’ warned Spartacus. ‘She would sell us out in a heartbeat.’

  Carbo nodded grimly.

  ‘Let’s get some food then. My belly thinks that my throat’s been cut.’

  ‘Me too.’ Carbo hurried after Tulla, who was nearly out of sight.

  The girl was right about the food stall. The garlic and herb sausages that Carbo bought for them were some of the best he’d ever tasted. Shoved into the middle of a freshly baked loaf of flat bread bought from the baker’s next door, they were indescribably delicious.

  From the sausage vendor, Tulla led them through a maze of narrow alleys. Underfoot, they trod on broken pottery, items of smashed furniture and refuse from the surrounding cenaculae. The air was fetid, and more than once Carbo stepped in oozing matter that gave way beneath him. ‘This is shit we’re walking in,’ he hissed accusingly at Tulla.

  ‘Might well be in places. Watch where you put your feet,’ came the nonchalant answer. ‘It’s the same in all these back ways. I can take you back to the main street if you want.’

  Carbo turned his head.

  ‘No,’ muttered Spartacus.

  ‘Keep going,’ ordered Carbo with a sigh.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ said Tulla by way of consolation. Sure enough, their ears soon filled with the commotion that only a huge gathering of people can make. Carbo’s heart quickened as Tulla led them triumphantly out into an open space. ‘Here you are.’

  At once Carbo’s eyes were drawn above the throng to the flat-topped steep hill that loomed over the Forum. At the edge of the summit was an immense, painted statue of Jupiter, bearded and imperious. It had been positioned to watch over the city, and was truly magnificent. So too was the great gold-roofed temple behind. Despite himself, Carbo was filled with reverence. His lips moved in silent prayer.

  ‘Impressive, eh?’ said Tulla. ‘I’ve seen peasants fall to their knees when they see it.’

  Anger filled Spartacus at the whole spectacle of the Forum, the statue, the temples, the very centre of the Republic. How he longed to tear it all down, but it was too great. He fought a rising sense of frustration and gloom. The best I can hope for is a stalemate of some kind.

  ‘Where will Crassus speak?’ asked Carbo. ‘From the Curia steps?’

  Tulla shook her head. ‘More likely from the platform by the Rostra.’

  Carbo could sense Spartacus’ question. ‘That’s a pillar decorated with the prows of captured Carthaginian ships, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Something like that,’ came the uncertain reply.

  ‘It was built after the first war with Carthage,’ Carbo declared confidently, remembering his boyhood tutor’s history lessons.

  A war that was primarily fought at sea. And which the Romans won despite the fact that at its outset they didn’t have a navy, thought Spartacus sourly.

  ‘That’s where the Vestal Virgins live.’ Tulla pointed to a circular temple, the roof of which was visible off to the left. ‘There are lots of other temples around the edges of the Forum too. There’s one to Castor and Pollux, one to—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Carbo. He had sensed Spartacus’ restlessness. ‘Let’s get a move on, eh? If we have to make our way through this crowd, it will take all day.’

  ‘Weren’t you listening to what I said? This is what it will be like everywhere in the Forum. Half of Rome wants to hear Crassus tell of how he will crush Spartacus. The shops in the markets will probably be shut for the duration too.’

  ‘Oh.’ Carbo pretended to be disappointed. ‘Still, I suppose we could listen to Crassus while we’re here.’

  Tulla gave him a withering look. ‘You’ll have trouble hearing a word he says from this spot.’

  ‘Can you get us closer?’

  ‘Of course! We’ll just go around the back streets.’ She pushed past and headed confidently back the way they had come. ‘I’ll take you right to the Rostra.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Carbo, pleased yet again by Tulla’s resourcefulness.

  This time the girl took them into a series of alleyways that criss-crossed the roads that fed into the Forum. It was a case of walking at speed for a few dozen paces, shoving their way across a busy street and then hurrying along another narrow passage. Eventually, they ended up at the back of a long, tall building. Inside, Carbo could hear the noise of many voices competing against each other. ‘Is this a market?’

  ‘Yes. A court too. The Basilica Aemilia. It’s full of lawyers, scribes and tradesmen. Even soothsayers, if you’re after a reading.’

  ‘I’ve no need of that,’ said Carbo, curling his lip. ‘They’re all liars and charlatans.’

  ‘That’s what Clemens says. He won’t let them sit anywhere near his shop. He even used his broom to drive off the last one who tried! The haruspex cursed him, but Clemens just laughed. He says that the gods look after a pious man.’

  ‘A wise man, your baker,’ said Spartacus.

  Tulla looked pleased. She guided them another twenty steps to where the alley opened on to a larger way. ‘That’s the side of the Curia,’ she said, indicating the edifice opposite.

  Carbo stared across at the simple brick-built wall and the line of glass
windows that were visible under the edge of the tiled roof. The structure wasn’t imposing in any way, but he was still filled with awe, and not a little pride. He walked over to touch the brickwork. It felt as if he was touching history. This was where the Senate had met for close to half a millennium.

  Spartacus kept his face blank, but even he was somewhat impressed. So this is where the decisions are made.

  Cheering broke out off to their left, attracting their attention.

  ‘RO-MA! RO-MA! RO-MA!’

  ‘Perfect timing,’ said Tulla with a cheeky grin. ‘That’ll be Crassus.’

  Carbo’s heart began to thump in his chest. He glanced at Spartacus, whose expression had grown hawkish. ‘Take us as close as you can,’ he ordered Tulla.

  The street was very busy. Everyone was heading in the same direction that they were, but Tulla had a knack for finding the smallest gaps. Carbo had to shove in after her to keep up. Inevitably, those he was pushing past grew irritated and more than one curse was hurled at him. Carbo’s polite excuses kept most of the citizens sweet. For those who weren’t convinced, there was Spartacus’ hard face at the back. No one wanted to argue with the compactly built slave with the penetrating grey eyes.

  After much use of their shoulders and elbows, they reached the front of the crowd, which was positioned all around the front of the Curia. A line of lictores with crossed fasces prevented the people from going too close to the hallowed building. Behind the bodyguards, on the Curia’s steps, stood score upon score of senators, their brilliant white togas and haughty expressions marking them out as superior to the vast majority.

  Yet they’re as keen as the rest to hear the man of the hour speak, thought Spartacus. It’s no wonder. So far, they’ve behaved like a gaggle of hens when a fox gets into the coop. They need a proper leader, someone who can play the general as well as the politician. Is Crassus the man they’ve been looking for?

  ‘Told you I’d get you here. Happy?’ whispered Tulla with an impish smile.

  ‘Yes. Well done.’ Carbo’s gaze took in the Curia’s great bronze doors – they’re enormous – and to the left, a stone pillar decorated with anchors and ships’ bronze prows, before stopping on a simple wooden platform that stood the height of two men above the crowd. It was occupied by a pair of soldiers in scale mail carrying standards, and a grizzled officer in a mail shirt covered in phalerae. A dozen legionaries stood in front of the dais, holding their shields balanced before them. Carbo frowned. It was most unusual for soldiers to be fully armed within Rome. Normally, only lictores were entitled to carry bladed weapons inside the city walls. Crassus must be putting on a show of force, he decided. He didn’t think to mention it to Spartacus, who might not know the rule. Beside the troops trumpeters waited, their instruments held at the ready. ‘Crassus hasn’t arrived yet.’

  ‘No,’ replied Spartacus in an undertone. ‘But look who has.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘That’s Caepio. Remember him?’

  The name tugged at Carbo’s memory, and he stared again at the trio of soldiers on the podium. ‘Gods above, you’re right!’ It was the centurion who had survived the bloody munus that had left 399 of his comrades dead. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘I’d wager that Crassus is going to use him to rally support for his new legions. Clever bastard.’ Maybe I should have killed him too. Sent my message to the Senate a different way. Spartacus grimaced. No. He’s a brave soldier who deserved to survive. ‘It will work well too. Men love to hear the story of someone who survived against the odds.’

  Crassus isn’t just a money-grabbing bastard. He’s shrewd too, thought Carbo uneasily. He glanced up at the statue on the hill. Jupiter, give me the chance to kill him today. Please.

  The crowd some distance away suddenly began to chant. ‘RO-MA! RO-MA! RO-MA!’

  Their cry was taken up at once by the masses. The noise was deafening, and mesmeric. All it lacked was the metallic clash of swords off shields, reflected Carbo, for it to resemble an army before battle. It was most odd. He felt entirely at home, yet a complete stranger. This thought was followed by the sobering realisation that if any man in the vicinity knew who he or Spartacus was, they would help tear them both to shreds. And that if he didn’t also cheer, someone might notice. He glanced at the Thracian and saw that he was miming the word ‘RO-MA’.

  Carbo’s respect for his leader grew some more, and quickly, he did the same.

  Tulla was jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her voice.

  A handsome, broad-shouldered man of middle years clambered up the platform’s steps and into view. The multitude’s noise grew even greater, and the three soldiers snapped to attention. The newcomer acknowledged them with a salute of his own, and turned to face the Forum. He lifted one hand and waved it, as if to welcome them. The mob went wild.

  Carbo stared at Crassus, his face twisting with hatred. He hadn’t seen him since the day the politician had visited the ludus in Capua. Then, Carbo had been but a rookie fighter. Now, he was a veteran of many battles. Let me get close to you, you stinking cocksucker. With your last breath, you’ll hear me whisper my father’s name.

  The cry changed. ‘RO-MA! VIC-TOR! RO-MA! VIC-TOR!’

  Crassus echoed the call, which increased the crowd’s excitement even more.

  He knows how to work them, Spartacus admitted. No doubt the piece of filth is a good orator too. He eyed the dozen soldiers in sight, and prayed that Crassus walked off afterwards with only a few of them in tow. Great Rider, grant me the chance to kill him. I ask you to guide my knife.

  At length Crassus raised his arms. On cue, the trumpeters blew a fanfare.

  Silence fell.

  ‘Citizens of Rome, I salute you!’ shouted Crassus.

  Their reply was a crescendo of whistles and cheers.

  ‘You have come here today for one reason.’

  ‘It’s not to borrow from you, that’s for sure!’ cried a voice from the depths of the crowd.

  His comment was met with hoots of laughter.

  Crassus smiled benignly. ‘Yet my riches are not what they were, good people. Am I not using my own money to raise six new legions? With every week that goes by, hundreds of thousands of denarii are being spent on men, provisions and equipment. I do not grudge a single as of it, however, because this vast expense is for the good of the Republic!’

  ‘CRAS-SUS!’ roared a man near Carbo. Those around him quickly took up the cry, and the mob responded in kind.

  ‘They’re Crassus’ men,’ whispered Spartacus in Carbo’s ear. ‘Planted in the crowd.’

  Sewer rat. Carbo let his fingers caress the bone hilt of his dagger. In the press, no one could see.

  Again Crassus raised his arms. The uproar died away. ‘To be truthful, I am honoured to provide every assistance that I can to help the state. I would give the clothes off my back if I had to. We must do what we can! Is that not true?’

  ‘YES!’

  ‘We must act now, because Italy is threatened from within – as it has not been for more than a hundred years! It is not vile Pyrrhus this time, or the gugga Hannibal.’ Crassus let the crowd roar their abuse for a few moments. ‘No, it is someone far worse. Far more vile. We are threatened by the lowest form of life – a slave. A creature who goes by the name of Spartacus.’

  The mob’s scream that followed had no form. It had no words; it was pure anger. Pure loathing. Pure revulsion.

  You son of a whore. I would cut your liver out and feed it to the vultures. Spartacus had been expecting this, but the insults fanned his fury to new heights. All he could do, however, was stand there and listen. He straightened his back, as if he weren’t a slave. I’m standing right here, he thought proudly, and you don’t even know it.

  Carbo steeled himself against the crowd’s fervour. The bastards. Spartacus is a great man. He treats his followers better than Crassus his debtors, that’s for sure.

  ‘Since his escape from the ludus in Capua, Spartacus has gathere
d to himself an army. It is a force made up of the dregs of humanity. In it are slaves with grudges against their masters and herdsmen who hated their vilici. Every lowlife who wants to rape and pillage has thrown in his lot with this Spartacus. This gladiator. This Thracian. Together they have attacked countless farms and estates the length and breadth of Italy. They have burned villages and even sacked towns. It has all been done with total disregard for human life. Thousands of citizens have been massacred! Innumerable women have been violated!’

  Again Crassus paused, allowing his audience to express their vitriol. When the baying had died down, he assumed a sorrowful expression. ‘Sadly, that is not the whole tale. Thus far, the men who have been sent to deal with Spartacus have failed spectacularly. These were no callow youths either. No, they were praetors or legates, men who had previously proved themselves able to do their duty to the state. Caius Claudius Glaber. Publius Varinius. Lucius Cossinius. Lucius Furius. Yet all, all came to grief at the hands of the slaves. After these setbacks, we placed our trust in our consuls. Thus it has always been in Rome. When the Republic asks, the consuls answer. They lead our legions out to victory.’ Crassus acknowledged the great sigh that went rippling through the crowd. ‘It was not to be, however. Although Lucius Gellius had an initial success against a small breakaway force of slaves, his colleague Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus suffered a humiliating defeat soon after. His men ran from the field, leaving their standards and even their eagles. The bodies of the dead from that battle had scarcely cooled when Gellius’ troops were proved to be no better than those of Lentulus. Thousands more legionaries were slain; more standards and eagles were lost. To add to the indignity, four hundred of our soldiers were forced to fight to the death as part of a so-called munus to honour Spartacus’ erstwhile comrades. No doubt you have heard the tale. Beside me stands the only man to survive. This valiant centurion, Caepio.’ He gestured at the grizzled officer, who bent his head as the crowd cheered. ‘When I heard the dreadful news,’ Crassus went on, ‘I thought to myself, surely Rome’s shame could be made no greater?’

  Oh yes it could, thought Spartacus with dark satisfaction as the mob roared their fury. Carbo studied the frenzied faces around him. He was staggered by the depth of hatred. The irony wasn’t lost on him. But for a trick of fate, he could have been feeling exactly the same way. Instead he was Spartacus’ man, through and through. For good or ill.