by Ben Kane
The killing had started soon after they reached the buildings. Hearing the commotion, the owner had emerged from his front door. A stocky man in early middle age with close-cut hair, he’d looked like an army veteran. Taking in the yelling gladiators and his wailing, terrified slaves, he’d plunged back into the villa. A few heartbeats later, he’d emerged at the head of a group of armed retainers. Waving an old but serviceable gladius, the Roman had charged straight at Crixus. Whooping with delight, the Gauls had closed around their attackers like a pack of hungry wolves.
Now, covered in stab wounds, and with his head almost severed, the man lay in a huge pool of blood. Similarly treated, the corpses of his domestic slaves lay all around him. His wife and two teenage daughters were on their backs nearby, screaming at the top of their lungs. On top of each was a bare-arsed gladiator, shoving away between their open legs. Laughing and joking with one another, a dozen others waited their turn. Spartacus, who was sitting on the edge of a fountain by the entrance to the yard, kept his gaze averted. He was waiting for the most disciplined of his men — the Scythians and two of the Thracians — to return and report what they’d found in the way of weapons, grain and other supplies.
‘Can’t you stop this?’ Carbo waved at the baying mob of fighters. ‘It’s disgusting.’
‘It is,’ agreed Spartacus wearily. ‘But it’s also inevitable. Moreover, if I tried to stop what was going on, those men would kill me without batting an eyelid. So I let them get on with it.’
‘They’re animals!’ spat Carbo.
‘No. They’re warriors who haven’t had a woman in months, or even years. Do your precious legionaries act any differently when they sack a town? I doubt it very much.’
‘Legionaries would never carry on in such a sickening manner.’ Carbo knew the words weren’t true as they left his lips.
‘Believe that if you will.’
Carbo flushed and fell silent.
‘Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go into the house and search for weapons.’
With a relieved look, Carbo disappeared.
A new set of high-pitched screams reached Spartacus. It was coming from the slave quarters. That’s where the other warriors are. Stupid fools, he thought. Carbo had a point. We need more recruits, not enemies. Who’ll want to join us if our men have raped their womenfolk? Calling for Atheas and Taxacis, he marched towards the wailing sounds.
Some discipline had to be maintained.
Two weeks passed without any sign of Roman soldiers. With every day that went by, however, Spartacus’ tension grew. It was inevitable that the Senate would send a force to crush them. The only unknown was when it would arrive. The sands of time were slipping away, and while they did, the other gladiators did nothing to prepare. Together with their leaders, they watched and jeered as Spartacus mercilessly trained his men and a number of the slaves who’d joined them. Most of his followers were now better armed than their erstwhile comrades. They had Carbo to thank for it. He was the one who had found a large stash of weapons — swords, javelins, spears and daggers — at the villa. The weapons were a major addition to the Thracians’ cause, but they still lacked shields and helmets. It would make little difference to the outcome, but it galled Spartacus. His men deserved more.
Spartacus also poured energy into instructing Carbo. It was a pleasure to have a pupil so eager to learn. The young Roman appeared to have learned his lesson at the latifundium, and had not mentioned the episode again. It’s as well, thought Spartacus, because rapes will happen anyway. Ugly as it is, it’s an integral part of war. Carbo’s keen attitude also helped to take Spartacus’ mind from his concerns. During this time, he did not ask Ariadne about his dream either. There was little point. He’d come to the conclusion that the snake symbolised Rome and its legions, and that it was his fate to die in battle against them. Spartacus brooded about it each day as he sat on the lip of the crater, studying the countryside far below. It wasn’t the worst fate a man could have. It was better than dying in the arena while thousands of Romans bayed for his blood. His decision to stay had been the right one. He was returning the loyalty of his followers by leading, not abandoning them. His men were also the reason it had been better not to head for Thrace. I cannot desert them. What of Ariadne, though? Troublingly, to this he had no answer.
Spartacus was in this spot one morning when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Atheas quietly approaching. He didn’t turn his head. ‘What is it?’
‘Important… visitor.’
Spartacus’ focus drifted away from the panorama below. ‘Spit it out, then.’
‘A farm slave has come… to join us.’
‘And?’
‘He has seen soldiers… marching towards… mountain.’
Spartacus spun around. ‘How far from here?’
‘A day away, he says.’
So near. ‘Bring him to me at once!’
Atheas hurried off, returning soon after with a strapping figure in tow. Curious, Spartacus eyed the unarmed newcomer, who was clad in a coarse tunic that was little more than rags. He was young, broad-shouldered, and his skin was burned dark brown from a lifetime working outdoors. His round, pleasant face was marred by an ugly purple scar that ran across his left cheek.
‘Stop,’ Atheas ordered when they were ten steps from Spartacus.
Gazing at Spartacus with open curiosity, the slave obeyed.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Aventianus, master.’
‘There are no masters in this camp, Aventianus. Here we are all equal. Free men.’
‘They said that you treated everyone in this way, but I put it down to rumour. Until now.’
‘It is no rumour. You bring news, I believe?’
‘Yes. Yesterday, a large force of soldiers-’
‘How many?’ interrupted Spartacus.
‘About three thousand.’
Spartacus mouthed a curse. What was I thinking? Eighty of us do against that many? The figure might as well be a hundred thousand. ‘Go on.’
‘They reached the edge of my master’s land by mid-afternoon. The commander, a praetor, asked permission to camp for the night; my master was happy to oblige. He invited the detachment’s senior officers to dine with him. During the evening, it was revealed that the troops had been sent by the Senate itself. Their mission is to come to Vesuvius… and crush your uprising.’
Spartacus lifted a hand, stopping Aventianus again. ‘There are men who need to hear this.’ He glanced at Atheas. ‘Fetch the other leaders. Tell them it’s urgent.’
Spartacus was surprised that his dominant emotion was one of relief. The waiting is over.
It wasn’t long before Atheas returned with Oenomaus and the three Gauls. All four men’s faces were concerned and angry.
The word is already out.
‘What in Toutatis’ name is going on?’ demanded Crixus.
‘Fill them in on what you’ve told me so far,’ Spartacus ordered.
As Aventianus obeyed, Crixus began to swear violently under his breath. Oenomaus, his face impassive, listened in silence. Castus and Gannicus gave each other sour glances.
‘Three thousand fucking legionaries!’ spat Oenomaus. ‘Any cavalry?’
‘No.’
‘They’d be useless up here anyway,’ said Crixus.
‘Do we know their commander’s name?’ asked Spartacus.
‘Caius Claudius Glaber,’ replied Aventianus. ‘He’s a praetor.’
‘Never heard of the prick,’ Castus growled.
His name’s irrelevant. Spartacus rubbed a finger along his lips, thinking. ‘Has he any military experience?’
‘No. He seemed confident, though.’
‘Of course he did, the cocksucker,’ snarled Castus. ‘He has almost forty men to every one of ours.’
Aventianus cleared his throat. ‘They’re not regular legionaries.’
The Gauls were so angry that they didn’t take in Aventianus’ words, but Spartacus did. So d
id Oenomaus. ‘Say that again,’ ordered Spartacus.
‘Glaber said that the Senate refused to classify this as an uprising, merely naming it an emergency. It didn’t warrant a levy of troops on the Campus Martius. Glaber protested, but was overruled, so he had to recruit his soldiers on the march south from Rome. There are some veterans, but most are citizen farmers or townspeople without much military experience.’
‘Some good news!’ said Spartacus. Will it make any difference, though?
Castus made a contemptuous noise. ‘I imagine that there will be plenty of them to do the job.’
‘At least we can make a glorious end for ourselves.’ Crixus mimed a savage sword thrust, and then another. ‘One that the gods will have to notice.’
Castus and Gannicus glowered in silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Aventianus.
‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ responded Oenomaus at once. ‘You have come here to warn us, risking your life of your own accord. It is we who are in your debt.’
‘I tried to get others on the farm to join me, but no one would. They said there were too many soldiers.’ Aventianus hung his head.
‘You are a brave man.’ Spartacus stepped over and gripped his shoulder. ‘How long did it take you to get here?’
‘I ran for about three hours.’
‘So they will get here by this afternoon,’ said Spartacus, approximating.
Aventianus nodded. ‘It’s what Glaber was counting on.’
‘That’s useful to know.’ Spartacus pointed north. ‘Leave now, and you could reach your master’s property by nightfall. They might not have even noticed your absence.’
‘No,’ protested Aventianus. ‘I came here to join you!’
‘We’re all going to be killed,’ advised Spartacus softly.
‘I don’t care!’ Aventianus pointed at the irregular scar on his face. ‘See this? That was made by a hot poker. My punishment for a minor offence two years ago. Dying here with you — as a free man — is far more appealing than returning to that.’
Spartacus threw a meaningful look at the three Gauls. Why can’t you pricks be like him? ‘In that case, we’d be proud to have you join us.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You must be tired and hungry,’ said Spartacus. He glanced at Atheas again. ‘Take Aventianus to the cooking area. See that he is fed and watered. Afterwards, he’ll need a weapon and somewhere to sleep.’
As the pair disappeared, he turned to the others. The news had made his determination resurge with a vengeance. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that we’re fucked,’ snapped Castus.
Spartacus bit down on his anger. If you and your men had bothered to do some training, you might not be so damn pessimistic. ‘Oenomaus?’
‘It’s hard to disagree with Castus. Unless we want to find ourselves alone, however, we should keep it to ourselves. I’m not running away and I’m not about to surrender. I’m here to fight.’
Crixus bristled. ‘So am I!’
‘And me,’ added Gannicus quickly.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Oenomaus replied. ‘The first thing to do then is to come up with a plan of action. Decide on the best way to cause maximum casualties among the whoresons before they overrun us.’
A cruel smile spread across Castus’ face. ‘Sounds appealing.’
‘And to me,’ said Spartacus. Well handled, Oenomaus. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought. With only one decent path to the summit, it’s obvious which way they’ll come. I’ve earmarked a good position at the steepest point. If we stockpile large stones and boulders there, they can be easily rolled down on any attackers.’
‘The track is very narrow,’ added Crixus. ‘By my reckoning, three men with shields standing abreast could hold it against all comers.’
‘Shields?’ asked Spartacus.
‘I know, I know. We don’t have any. But once we’ve killed a few of the dogs, that will change.’ Crixus glared at them, daring them to challenge his idea.
‘I was thinking along the same lines,’ said Spartacus. He didn’t say what else was on his mind. How many men will we lose in the process? ‘The two Nubians have slings. They can rain down stones on the Romans the moment that they come within range; smaller rocks can be gathered for the rest of us to throw. Their shields will give the bastards some protection, but we’ll injure plenty of them. They won’t be able to do a thing about it.’ Don’t fool yourself. It will be like trying to halt a column of ants. Easy to stamp on a few hundred, but impossible to stop them all.
But his words had the desired effect. Castus in particular looked much happier. ‘I’ll get my men to start searching out boulders. The more we have, the better,’ he said, stamping off. Gannicus walked away with Crixus, already arguing over who would stand in the front line.
Oenomaus waited until the Gauls were out of earshot. ‘What if they don’t attack?’
Spartacus had half thought of this option, but dismissed it. After all, the Romans were fond of confrontation — open battle. But not always. ‘You think they’d do that?’
‘Unless Glaber wants to lose scores of soldiers before they’ve even reached our lines, it’s the sensible choice. I would set a couple of hundred men to watch the path and then just sit and wait.’
‘Starve us out of here, you mean,’ growled Spartacus.
‘Yes. It’s slow, but effective, and far less costly in human lives.’
‘If we charge down to attack them, we lose our only advantage. That of height.’
They stared at each other without speaking. The good feeling that had been present a few moments before had vanished. Their cause seemed hopeless once more.
Spartacus set his jaw. This is no time to give up. I chose to be here. ‘Let’s prepare everything as we discussed. There’s no point worrying about things we can do nothing to prevent.’
‘Agreed.’
‘I’ll talk to Ariadne. Maybe her god will give us some guidance at last.’
Oenomaus grinned. ‘That’d be most welcome.’
If it doesn’t come soon, it will be too late.
Chapter XI
It was mid-afternoon when Glaber and his soldiers were spotted. Hearing the lookout’s yell, everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing and climbed up to the crater’s lip. In the middle distance, a long, winding black line could be seen on the road that led from Capua. It was too far away to make out the individual figures of men or beasts, but after Aventianus’ news, the column could be but one thing. The instrument of their doom. For a long time, none of those watching spoke to, or even looked at, another. All eyes were locked on the approaching troops. The ominous silence was broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.
Eventually, Spartacus stirred. It wasn’t just pointless staring at the Romans, it was dangerous. He could feel the gladiators’ morale diminishing with every moment that passed. ‘Back to work! There is still plenty to do,’ he shouted. ‘I want hundreds of large rocks ready to roll down at the enemy. Thousands of stones to throw, and for the slingers to use. Every sword and dagger needs an edge on it that will shave the hairs off your arm. Those whoresons are going to regret that they ever came here!’
All the men did as they were told, but few smiled. Even fewer laughed.
Spartacus threw Ariadne a questioning look. The tiny, dismissive shake of her head that he received in return felt like a punch to his solar plexus. Is this it, Great Rider? He shook his head, pushing away his worry. ‘Atheas, Taxacis. Follow the path down the mountain. Get as close as you can to the Romans without being seen. I want to know their every move. How their camp is laid out. The number of sentries. Be sure to return before sunset.’
Grinning fiercely at their new duty, the Scythians trotted off.
Spartacus went to pray to the Great Rider.
And to sharpen his sica.
Thanks to the trees blanketing Vesuvius’ upper slopes, the Roman column was lost to sight as it reached the base of the
mountain late that afternoon. If anything, its disappearance increased the tension. Tempers grew short, and men snapped irritably at each other. Some distance from the camp, a German gladiator who was collecting rocks ran away when his comrades’ backs were turned. Angry shouts went up when he was spotted, but Oenomaus ordered that the fugitive should not be pursued. ‘Who wants a man like that by his side when the fighting starts?’ he bellowed.
The sun was low in the sky when Atheas and Taxacis reappeared. Spartacus was conferring with Oenomaus and the three Gauls, but their conversation stopped the instant the warriors approached. ‘Well?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘They have made… camp. Typical type,’ Atheas began.
Spartacus saw the others’ confusion. Born into slavery, they would never have seen the temporary fortifications thrown up every night by Romans on the march. ‘It will be rectangular, with an entrance on each side,’ he explained. ‘The whole thing will be surrounded by an earthen rampart the height of a man, topped with stakes. Outside that, they’ll have dug a waist-deep protective ditch.’
Atheas nodded in agreement. ‘We count… one picket in front… each wall. Hundred paces out.’
‘Is that all? Arrogant bastards,’ sneered Crixus.
‘Any activity on the path to the peak?’ asked Spartacus, his stomach clenching.
‘Yes. Three hundred legionaries… stationed across it. And several small groups marched… good distance up… mountain. They hid… both sides of track. No tents.’
‘Sentries then,’ grated Gannicus.
Spartacus cursed savagely. Oenomaus was right.
‘Those men are just to prevent us escaping tonight! The sons of whores will attack in the morning, surely?’ demanded Crixus. He looked at each man. Something in Spartacus and Oenomaus’ expressions made his face harden. ‘Neither of you think so.’
‘It makes more sense to lay siege,’ admitted Spartacus. ‘They can wait down there in relative comfort until we simply run out of food.’