by Ben Kane
‘My belt. Where is it?’
Carbo fumbled around until his fingers closed on the gilded metal and leather. ‘Here. I’ll carry it for you.’ With his help, Navio stood. He kicked feebly at the thief’s body. ‘You made short work of that scumbag. Have you been trained to use weapons?’
Carbo thought fast. ‘We had a slave, a Samnite who’d fought in the Social War. He taught me a lot.’
‘The Social War, eh?’ There was a bitter edge to Navio’s weak laugh.
‘What?’ Carbo moved forward, supporting Navio.
‘Nothing.’
Carbo didn’t push it. Instead, he supported Navio back to the inn. Few people paid them any heed as they re-entered, for which Carbo was grateful. Although no one would care that he’d killed a thief, he didn’t want to have to explain himself to the city watch. ‘Let’s get you to bed,’ he muttered to Navio. ‘You need to sleep your injury off.’
‘No damn way. I owe you a drink. It’s the least I can do.’
‘But the blood on your head-’
‘Fuck that. I’ve had far worse. I want wine. Lots of it, in fact.’
The determination in Navio’s voice was clear. ‘All right.’ Carbo guided them back to the table he’d sat at. They ordered another jug. When it arrived, Navio poured them both a cup with a shaking arm. ‘To friendship!’ he said, lifting his wine. Carbo echoed the toast with a grin, and they downed the first cup in one swallow. Navio did the honours again, spilling some on the tabletop. ‘That the whoreson who tried to rob me gets a warm welcome from Hades!’ Carbo nodded and threw back the second cup. It would settle his nerves. The thief would have killed me in the blink of an eye. He’s no damn loss.
Without hesitation, Navio filled their cups again. ‘To courage and loyalty!’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Carbo fervently.
‘I’d say you would,’ said Navio with a shrewd look. ‘You’re a good man.’
Feeling self-conscious, Carbo studied the tabletop.
‘Most men wouldn’t have risked their skins to save me as you just did.’
‘Maybe not.’ Carbo began to feel quite proud.
‘I can guarantee it.’ Navio leaned over the table, breathing wine fumes all over him. ‘I’d wager that you can keep a secret too.’
‘If I have to,’ replied Carbo cagily.
‘I’ve recently returned from Iberia.’
‘And…’ said Carbo, not understanding.
‘I was a soldier there.’
‘What, fighting against Sertorius and his men?’
‘Not exactly, no.’ Navio hesitated.
The wine was coursing through Carbo’s veins now, filling him with confidence. ‘Spit it out, man.’
Navio let out a great sigh. He glanced casually to either side, and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘It was the opposite, really. I was one of Sertorius’ officers.’
Carbo hadn’t expected that. He nearly dropped his cup. ‘Eh?’
‘It’s not that surprising,’ said Navio defensively. ‘I’m from Neapolis, and it was natural for my father to support Marius against Sulla. After Marius’ death, Sertorius, his right-hand man, fled to Iberia. My father went too, taking our whole family. Mother died soon after our arrival, and I grew up in a world where everything was about fighting what Rome had become. All I knew was war.’ Navio hawked and spat. ‘We did well for a long time too.’
Like anyone, Carbo knew the broad strokes of what had happened in Iberia over the previous seven years. How Sertorius had won over many of the peninsula’s fierce tribes, and how he’d proved himself a master at guerrilla warfare, defeating all comers sent against him from Rome. He had had the temerity to make contact with another enemy of Rome, Mithridates of Pontus. In return for money and ships, Sertorius had sent military officers who would train Mithridates’ army. Yet things had gone awry eventually. In the previous year or so, Carbo knew that things had soured for Sertorius, as Pompey Magnus and his generals had finally turned the tide against him. ‘Has the situation got worse?’ he asked vaguely.
Navio frowned. ‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Our farm is out in the sticks,’ lied Carbo.
‘Yes, I’d forgotten. Well, Sertorius is dead.’
‘Slain in battle?’
‘I wish,’ replied Navio bitterly. ‘No, he was stabbed and killed by Perperna three months back. The traitorous fucking dog.’
‘Perperna?’
‘Do you remember Aemilius Lepidus’ failed rebellion four years ago?’
‘Yes. He tried to take Rome, but the proconsul Catulus defeated him at the Milvian Bridge. Fled to Sardinia, didn’t he?’
‘That’s right. When Lepidus died soon after, his principal followers — of whom Perperna was one — sailed to Iberia with the remnants of their army. Sertorius welcomed them with open arms. He even set up an opposition Senate with them.’
‘I remember my father wondering why the Senate in Rome didn’t offer Sertorius a pardon when Sulla died,’ said Carbo. ‘There was no real reason to continue the war in Iberia, and Sertorius was such a talented general. Why didn’t they welcome him back into the fold?’
‘It was nothing but their damn arrogance and pride,’ cried Navio. He winced in pain.
‘Take it easy.’
‘I can do that when I’m dead.’ Anger throbbed in Navio’s voice. ‘Sertorius was a better man than any of Marius’ followers. He always stood up to the extremists in the party, and he took no part in the massacres sanctioned by Marius. They should have given him a chance to return with his honour. Instead, he bled out his life at a banquet in some Iberian shithole.’
‘Did Perperna take command of Sertorius’ forces?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you stayed with him?’
Navio glowered. ‘I was a complete fool, all right? My father said that we should wait until Perperna defeated Pompey before taking any action against him. I followed his lead.’ He swallowed audibly. ‘I will regret that to my dying day.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was simple. Perperna wasn’t half the leader Sertorius had been, so Pompey made mincemeat of us. He finished us off in less than two months. My father and younger brother were killed in the final battle. I managed to escape, but most of the survivors were taken prisoner. I suppose I should be grateful for one thing. Pompey offered every man who would swear his loyalty to Rome a pardon. Except for Perperna. He executed him.’
‘Sounds as if he got what was coming to him,’ said Carbo with feeling. ‘So you took up Pompey’s offer, and then came home?’
‘Eh?’ retorted Navio in disgust. ‘Accept a pardon after the way the Senate treated Sertorius? I’d rather be tied in a bag with a dog, a cock, an ape and a viper and thrown in the Tiber.’
‘Why didn’t you try to fight on in Spain?’
‘Pompey gave such generous terms to the Iberian tribes that they have no desire to go on fighting. Sertorius was an orator, and he might have changed their minds, but I’m just a simple soldier. I didn’t know what to do, so I took passage back to Neapolis. Home.’ Navio spat out the last word. ‘Where everyone now rushes to kiss the arses of men like Pompey and Crassus.’
‘What do you plan to do?’
‘I’m going to wage war on the Senate. On Rome. I want vengeance for Sertorius. For my family.’
‘You’re going to do that on your own?’
Navio gave a cracked laugh. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you?’
‘Not mad, no.’ Crazed with grief and guilt, maybe? ‘Your cause is hopeless, you know. No one can take on the Republic in open battle and win.’
‘So what? I’d rather keep my pride than bend my knee to the likes of fucking Pompey. He was supposedly the Republic’s best general, yet Sertorius defeated him — not once, but twice!’ Navio reached over to grip Carbo’s shoulder. ‘There you have it. I bet you didn’t think you’d hear a story like that when you entered the inn. And if you fancy a nice lump sum of cash, all you hav
e to do is report me to the authorities in the morning. I think the current reward for rebel officers who haven’t surrendered is two hundred denarii. Not bad, eh?’
‘I’m not going to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t need the money!’ joked Carbo. ‘No, it’s far more than that.’
‘Do you also hate Rome?’ asked Navio joyfully. ‘Are there still some who support Marius?’
‘It’s not that either.’ Carbo scanned Navio’s face, seeing his earnestness. He placed his trust, and his life, in my hands. And we could use him. He took a deep breath. ‘But I follow a man who does.’
‘You’re making fun of me.’
‘I’m not.’ Carbo looked Navio in the eyes. ‘I give you my word.’
‘He must be loyal to Marius.’
‘He’s not a Marian supporter.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Swear that you’ll tell no one.’
‘On my life.’
‘He’s a gladiator,’ said Carbo.
‘A gladiator?’
‘Yes. He’s from Thrace. About six months ago, he led a breakout from the ludus in Capua. There were only seventy-three of us at the start, but thousands of slaves have joined since then. Spartacus is training them to fight.’
‘You’re as mad as I am!’ Noticing the pride in Carbo’s eyes, Navio’s expression changed. ‘No, you’re fucking serious.’
‘Never more so.’
‘How in all the gods’ name did you come to be serving a runaway gladiator?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Carbo. ‘I joined the ludus as an auctoratus. Inside, it’s a different world. There’s no difference between a man who’s a citizen and one who’s been enslaved. Being young and inexperienced, life was hard for me. Spartacus offered me his protection, so I became his man. I escaped when he did.’
‘A fine story, but gladiators aren’t the same as trained soldiers. You’ll be wiped out in the first battle.’
Quietly, Carbo told Navio the story of their attack on Glaber’s camp.
‘Eighty of you beat three thousand legionaries? That is an incredible feat.’ Navio whistled in respect. Then his brow furrowed. ‘It’s not the first time, come to think of it. The slaves who rebelled on Sicily won quite a few victories before they were defeated.’
Carbo threw the dice again. ‘Why don’t you join us? Spartacus is the only one among us with experience of Roman army training. But there are too many slaves for him to instruct properly.’
‘Are you offering me a job?’
‘I can’t do that. But I’ll take you to Spartacus. You can ask him yourself.’
‘Are you meant to be recruiting men?’
‘No.’ Carbo explained his mission. ‘Obviously, I’m supposed to tell no one.’
Navio’s lips quirked. ‘In that case, will he not crucify us both?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Navio laughed softly. ‘Hmmm. Would I risk my life just to ask a runaway slave if I can fight for him?’
Carbo’s heart thudded in his chest. If Navio said no, he was possibly going to have to kill him. Otherwise, his story might be spread all over Capua by the next day.
‘Why the hell not?’ Navio exclaimed. ‘It sounds more appealing than fighting a war on my own.’
Relief flooded through Carbo. ‘Good. Let’s go and drink to that,’ he declared. His relief lasted no more than a few heartbeats. Through the alcoholic haze that enveloped him, he had one crystal-clear thought. Gods, what if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life? Despite his bravado, there was every chance that Spartacus would kill them both. He downed another mouthful.
Instead of doing the sensible thing and retiring to bed, Carbo and Navio continued drinking. In the process they cemented their friendship, swearing undying loyalty to each other over cup after cup of wine. By the time they collapsed on to their bedding in the stable, the first fingers of light were tingeing the eastern sky. All too soon they were woken by the sharp end of the ostler’s pitchfork. The moment that they were awake, he hounded them out into the stable yard. Red-eyed and with pounding heads, the pair stared blearily at each other. ‘I feel like shit,’ Carbo groaned.
‘There’s only one cure for this,’ announced Navio. Stripping off his tunic, he wove over to the trough for the mules, which had just been filled by a slave. Grabbing a bucket, he dragged it through the water and then emptied it over his head. ‘Gods, but that’s cold!’ He repeated the procedure several times before shoving the pail at Carbo. ‘Now you.’
Shivering in anticipation, Carbo put himself through the same process.
‘Feel better?’ asked Navio, flicking water from his skin.
‘A little.’
‘Dionysus’ revenge, my father used to call it.’
‘I’d best head to the market to see what I can find out.’ Trying to ignore his pounding head, Carbo dried himself with a clump of straw and pulled on his tunic.
Navio’s face brightened. ‘We can get bread and cheese there. Nothing like some food to settle the stomach, eh?’
‘Maybe.’ In the cold light of day, Carbo’s plan to bring Navio back to Spartacus’ camp seemed rather less appealing. But he couldn’t back out of it now. He’d given Navio his word. Several times.
Neapolis’ market place was situated in the main forum, a large open area in the very centre of the city. The mass of stalls, tents and mobile pens was surrounded on all sides by temples, government buildings and the mansions of the rich. Despite the early hour, it was already packed with people. Every foodstuff under the sun was on sale.
There were stands groaning under the weight of cabbages, onions, carrots, chicory and cucumbers. Huge bunches of sage, coriander, fennel and parsley were laid carefully out on low tables. Scores of wasps hung over the arrangements of ripe pears, apples and plums. There were even some peaches on offer. The insects were attracted to these nearly as much as the sealed pots of honey nearby. Rounds of cheese, covered in cloth to keep them fresh, were piled one on top of the other. Bakers hawked flat loaves of bread that were still warm from the oven. Small children greedily eyed the sweet pastries on offer. Butchers stood by their massive wooden blocks, wielding cleavers and extolling the quality of their freshly killed meat. Cattle, sheep and pigs roared their unhappiness from the pens close by.
Attracted by the smell, Carbo and Navio descended on a stall where a stout woman was frying sausages. They bought two each. Carbo lingered, chatting to the woman as he ate. Mention of Spartacus’ men raiding a neighbour’s farm elicited a tirade of cursing, but no mention of soldiers.
It was the same story all over the market. Buying a selection of bread and fruit, Carbo chatted idly to the vendors, mentioning Spartacus to all and sundry. Unsurprisingly, none had a good word to say about his leader, but, to Carbo’s pleasure, none mentioned any punitive force from Rome either.
Within an hour, he was happy enough to leave. He’d drunk several cups of fruit juice, and his head was feeling much better. Navio looked brighter too. ‘Still prepared to come with me?’ Carbo asked.
‘Of course,’ said Navio with a lopsided grin. ‘As I said, I’m only a simple soldier. On my own, I’ll get nowhere. So if your leader will lead me against Rome, I’ll follow him to Hades.’
Carbo smiled confidently. Falsely. He had no doubt that if Spartacus was unhappy with what he had done, they’d both be on crosses by the day’s end. Let’s hope he sees the same thing in Navio that I did.
Chapter XIV
Half turning so the senators opposite would not notice, Crassus tugged at his toga, ensuring that it hung over his bent left arm just so. When the time came to speak, he had to look the part, and in the Senate having one’s toga correctly in place was imperative. Here everyone had to be the embodiment of Roman virtus. Crassus was sitting with six hundred-odd other senators in the Curia, the hallowed oblong building that had housed the Republic’s government for half a millennium. Perhaps
sixty paces wide by four score long, it was simply built of brick-faced concrete with a stucco frontage. High on the walls, glass windows — a rare commodity — let in plenty of light. A triangular facade over the entrance featured a centrepiece of skilfully painted carvings of the triad of Jupiter, Minerva and Juno. On either side were depictions of Romulus and Remus, Rome’s founders, and Mars, the god of war.
Inside, the Curia’s sole furnishings were the three low marble benches that ran the length of the room on each side, and the two rosewood chairs that sat on a low dais at the end. There, protected by their lictores, sat the two consuls — the men elected to rule Rome every twelve months. Crassus studied Marcus Terentius Varro and Gaius Cassius Longinus sidelong. Despite the grandeur of their positions, it was hard not to regard them with contempt. Both were ‘yes’ men, figures who were easy to manipulate and who had been chosen by a more powerful politician. Pompey Magnus had put Varro forward and Marcus Tullius Cicero was Longinus’ main backer. Crassus’ lips twitched. It could just as easily have been me. And to be fair, the pair are only a sign of the times.
The Republic was a weakened beast now compared to its heyday centuries before. The ancient law that no man should hold the consulship more than once in ten years had been discarded by leaders such as Marius, Cinna and Sulla. It wasn’t about to return any time soon. The wishes that Sulla had expressed when he’d relinquished power had been utterly ignored. His plan would never have worked anyway, thought Crassus. Not when senatorial juries are so often guilty of flagrant corruption. Not when upstarts like Pompey refuse to disband their armies, and use them to browbeat the Senate. Rome needs men like me, who are strong enough to stand up to fraudsters and bullies.
The hammering of fasces on the mosaic floor ended the host of muted conversations and attracted Crassus’ attention. So to the matter in hand. Spartacus and his band of cutthroats, and the praetors who are being sent to annihilate them. In the process they will erase from the record books the humiliation suffered by Glaber. Of course, the fool Glaber was long dead, ordered to fall on his sword in penance for his abject failure. His property had been seized by the state and his family exiled. The senior officers who had served under him had been demoted to the ranks. But that did not mean that the matter could be forgotten. Far from it.