by Ben Kane
‘Silence!’ thundered the senior lictor, an imposing figure with a dozen phalerae decorating his chest. ‘All stand for the consul of the day, Marcus Terentius Varro.’
Six hundred senators rose to their feet.
Varro, a squat individual with an unfashionable square beard, nodded at Longinus, his co-consul, before glancing down the room at the massed ranks of senators. ‘Honourable friends, you all know why we are here today. I do not need to remind you of the disgraceful events at Vesuvius some months ago. They have been discussed in detail, and those responsible have been punished.’
An angry rumble of agreement rose to the vaulted ceiling.
‘Two of the Senate’s most worthy praetors have been appointed to wipe the renegade Spartacus and his followers from the face of the earth. Publius Varinius is to command the mission. He will be ably assisted by his colleague Lucius Cossinius, and the legate Lucius Furius.’ Varro paused long enough for the senators to nod approvingly at the three men in full uniform who stood together near the consuls’ chairs. ‘Sacrifices have been made, and the omens declared favourable. The force is to set out tomorrow. Varinius will take with him six thousand legionaries-’
‘Veterans?’ interjected Crassus.
As Varro’s eyes bulged with surprise, shocked whispers rippled through the senators.
To Hades with etiquette, thought Crassus impatiently. Everyone knows the answer, but the question needs to be asked. To be placed on the record. ‘Are they veterans, consul?’ he repeated.
‘N-no. I don’t know what that has to do with it, praetor,’ replied Varro in an irritated tone. ‘Even the newest recruit to the legions is worth ten escaped gladiators.’
‘Damn right!’ shouted a voice.
‘The lowlifes will shit themselves when they see our soldiers coming,’ cried another.
Varro looked pleased. ‘Just so.’
‘According to those figures, Spartacus must have attacked Glaber’s camp with, let me see, thirty thousand men,’ said Crassus loudly.
An awkward silence fell.
‘Yet we are told that he had not six legions of followers, but a paltry one hundred.’
‘Come now, Crassus,’ said Varro, boldly trying to take control. ‘Glaber was attacked in a cowardly manner, in the middle of the night. That won’t happen again, you can be sure of it.’ He eyed Varinius, who nodded his head vigorously. ‘This time, we are sending six thousand men. What slave rabble will stand against more than a legion, eh? It will be a massacre!’
Spontaneous cheering broke out among the senators, and Varro’s face relaxed.
Crassus waited carefully until the noise had died down. ‘What you say is in all likelihood correct. Let me be clear: I am not doubting the quality of the soldiers who are to be sent to Vesuvius, nor the skill of Varinius and his colleagues.’
‘What in Jupiter’s name are you getting at then?’ demanded Varro.
‘All I am saying is that this Spartacus is not a mindless slave, with no idea how to fight. He should not be underestimated. I have seen him in action.’
A shocked silence fell.
‘Where?’ demanded Varro.
‘At the ludus in Capua. I paid for a mortal bout there. Spartacus was one of the two men selected by the lanista. He won, obviously. I spoke with him afterwards. The man’s a savage, but he’s intelligent.’
‘Thank you for your advice,’ snapped Varro. ‘But Publius Varinius is no callow youth. He is more than capable of dealing with a rogue gladiator. His task is simple, and straightforward. I imagine that we’ll see him back here within the month, his mission successfully completed.’
Varinius winked at his colleagues, who grinned like happy children. Lucius Cossinius, a broad-shouldered man, puffed out his chest. ‘If I get the chance, I’ll fight and kill Spartacus myself.’
Laughter and roars of approval met this comment.
‘I look forward to hearing all about it,’ said Crassus, stepping back into the crowd. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ he added.
Cossinius chuckled.
Cocksure fool, Crassus thought. You’d best hope that your men cut Spartacus down, because you wouldn’t have a hope against him.
Carbo was glad not to encounter any rebel patrols until they’d reached Vesuvius and begun making their way through the fields of wheat stubble that covered its lower slopes. When they finally did run into a section of ten men, Carbo was recognised. The patrol leader accepted his word that Navio was another slave who’d come to join Spartacus, and they continued their climb to the crater.
‘Now do you see why I made you take off your belt?’
‘Otherwise they’d have known me for a soldier.’
‘Precisely. And you’d already be food for those.’ Carbo pointed at a pair of vultures that were circling overhead.
‘Fair enough. It would be stupid to be killed before I’ve even had a chance to plead my case,’ admitted Navio. He squinted at the peak above them. ‘It’s a good place to choose for a camp. Hard to approach. Easy to defend.’
‘We can’t stay there forever, though. The next commander to arrive will be wise to the trick we played on Glaber. He’d just starve us out.’
‘Where’s Spartacus going to go next?’
‘South, I’d say. Away from Rome.’
‘That makes sense. Has he mentioned Sicily?’
‘What, because of the slave uprisings there?’ He hadn’t thought of Sicily before, but then he wasn’t a soldier, like Navio.
‘Yes. I’d say that two large-scale rebellions within thirty years of each other makes for fertile recruiting ground, wouldn’t you?’
Carbo flushed. ‘Where would we get the ships to transport thousands of men?’
‘The Cilician pirates sail in these waters. I’m sure some of their captains would be open to offers.’
‘Pirates would sell their own mothers into whoredom if they fetched a good enough price.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers. There won’t be too many other candidates willing to carry a slave army.’
Annoyed and impressed at the same time, Carbo did not reply. They were nearing the crater, and his nerves began to jangle. Stop it! Navio would be an asset to any leader.
They found Spartacus drilling a large group of slaves. He had them in pairs, armed with scuta and swords, sparring against each other, and was stalking among them, barking orders and reprimands in equal measure. Atheas and Taxacis lounged nearby, in the shade of a tree. They eyed Navio with naked suspicion. Seeing this, Carbo’s skin snaked with dread. He stopped in his tracks.
Navio shot him a concerned look.
Carbo rallied his courage. ‘Spartacus!’
Spartacus turned. His eyes flickered to Navio, and returned to Carbo. ‘You’re back.’ Pausing to correct the way a dark-skinned slave held his shield, he strolled over. Like shadows, so too did the Scythians. ‘What news?’ he demanded.
‘There’s not a word of any troops in Neapolis.’
‘That’s to be expected, I suppose. They probably don’t see the need to come from more than one direction.’ Spartacus saw Carbo’s surprise. ‘You weren’t the first to return. Aventianus got back last night. Apparently, there’s a large force about to set out from Rome. Two praetors, a legate and six thousand legionaries. The praetor in charge is called Publius Varinius. They’ll be here in less than a week.’
‘Shit.’ What use is Navio now?
‘You could say that.’ Spartacus smiled, but his eyes were like two chips of flint. He jerked his head at Navio. ‘Is this someone you picked up on the way back?’
‘I thought he’d be useful to us.’
‘Of course he will. Every sword will count — even if the men using them are more used to handling a hoe or a spade.’ Spartacus studied Navio. His gaze lingered on his hair, and Carbo’s worries increased tenfold. ‘Ever held a gladius in your hand?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘Plenty of times,’ answered Navio stolidly.
‘Really?’
Spartacus glanced at the Scythians.
Without a word, Atheas and Taxacis glided to stand on either side of him.
Spartacus’ stare returned to Carbo. ‘Care to explain?’
Carbo could think of nothing to say apart from the simple truth. ‘He’s a Roman soldier.’
He didn’t have time to add that Navio wanted to join them. Atheas and Taxacis leaped forward in unison, drawing their swords as they moved. A heartbeat later, Navio had a blade pricking the skin on each side of his neck. He was careful not to move a muscle, but his eyes flickered to Carbo’s. ‘Tell my story!’
The Scythians looked at Spartacus. ‘Kill him?’ asked Atheas hopefully.
‘In a moment,’ said Spartacus. His face grew fiercer than Carbo had ever seen. ‘You’ll be joining this prick in Hades, Carbo, unless you can persuade me otherwise. I don’t take kindly to Roman soldiers strolling into my camp, especially when they’ve been invited by one of my own men.’
‘It’s not how it seems,’ said Carbo desperately. ‘Navio’s no friend to the Senate! He’s been fighting Rome for years. He was one of Sertorius’ men.’
‘Sertorius?’
‘You’ve heard of Marius?’
‘Of course.’
‘Sertorius was one of his men.’
Spartacus’ nostrils pinched white with anger. ‘You’d best do better than that. I can remember when Sulla passed through Thrace on his way to Pontus. The bastard left a swathe of destruction in his wake that was several miles wide. I can’t believe that Marius would have been any different if he’d ever got that far.’
‘Sertorius wasn’t like that,’ protested Carbo. Spartacus’ expression did not change, so he hurried on. ‘After Marius’ death, things went against his supporters in Italy, so Sertorius fled to Iberia. So too did Navio and his family. Sertorius quickly raised an army from the Iberian tribes. He carved out a large territory for himself, and defeated the legions sent against him by the Senate on numerous occasions. He held out for the best part of a decade, but he was murdered by a traitor a few months ago. The general Pompey Magnus had little difficulty mopping up his supporters after that. Navio survived the final battle and made his way back to Neapolis, his home town.’
‘Why didn’t you fall on your sword?’ snarled Spartacus at Navio. ‘I thought that was the Roman way after defeat.’
‘It is,’ said Navio, before adding fiercely, ‘but that would end the fight. I still want vengeance on Rome! The deaths of my father, brother and Sertorius have not been paid for in blood.’
‘Even if what you say is true, you’re only one man. One sword. Why would I even risk taking you in?’ Spartacus drew a finger across his throat. ‘If my men kill you, they can just toss you off the cliff. That’d be one less thing for me to think about.’
‘Because he can help you to train our men!’ cried Carbo, acutely aware that if sentence of death fell on Navio, it would fall on them both. Atheas and Taxacis would kill him without even blinking. Jupiter, watch over me now. ‘Navio’s an officer and a veteran soldier. He has years of experience instructing men to fight as legionaries.’
Spartacus rounded on Navio like a snake about to strike. ‘Is that true?’
‘It is. Virtually all of our soldiers were Iberian tribesmen. They were warriors, and brave too, but hadn’t the first idea about discipline, or fighting as a unit. Sertorius’ orders were that every new recruit had to be taught to fight in the Roman manner. I’ve done it with hundreds of men.’
Spartacus’ expression became calculating, and Carbo held his breath. ‘What would you do with this lot here?’ He indicated the slaves behind him.
‘How much training have they had?’ Navio’s voice was crisp.
‘It depends. Some have been here for weeks, so they’ve had quite a lot, but they’ve been coming in every day. Most have had a week or two’s instruction with gladius and shield. A few have had as little as a couple of days.’
‘How many men are there?’
‘A little over three thousand in total. About a hundred of them are gladiators or proven fighters.’
Navio firmly pushed away first Atheas’ blade, and then Taxacis’ one. The Scythians glanced at Spartacus, but he said nothing. ‘Shall I tell you what I’d do?’ asked Navio.
There was a terse nod.
‘Assign your troops into Roman cohorts. Half a dozen units of around five hundred men, divided into six centuries. They’ll need officers, at least two for each century.’
‘Go on,’ said Spartacus slowly.
Warming to his subject, Navio spoke for some time, describing how he’d instruct the slaves to fight as one, holding their shields together. To use their swords purely as thrusting weapons. To respond to basic commands relayed by instruments such as the trumpet or whistle. To advance only when told to. To retreat in good order. At length, he paused. ‘If there was more time, I’d run them up and down the mountain in full kit every day, and train them against the palus too. The basics can come later, though, if we win.’
They could be made into an army yet. Spartacus smiled. ‘We?’
Navio coloured. ‘I meant “you”.’
‘Hmmm.’ Spartacus eyed Carbo coldly. ‘I had thought you loyal.’
‘I am!’
‘Yet you saw fit to disobey my orders.’
‘I-’
‘You told someone else who you were, and what you were doing in Neapolis,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘As if that wasn’t stupid enough, you then had the temerity to bring a Roman soldier into my camp!’
‘Because I imagined he could help us,’ retorted Carbo, his temper flaring at the injustice of it. ‘Clearly, he can’t. Neither can I.’ He glared at Taxacis and Atheas. ‘Why don’t you get on with it? Just fucking kill us and have done.’
Raising their weapons, the Scythians looked expectantly at Spartacus.
Carbo’s heart thudded in his chest as he readied himself for the worst.
Navio stuck out his chin.
‘So you will vouch for this Roman… Navio?’ asked Spartacus.
‘I will,’ replied Carbo, shooting a look at Navio. Do not betray me.
‘With your life?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine. In that case, Navio can start training the men with me. You can help too. For the moment, Atheas and Taxacis will act as your understudies. At the slightest sign of treachery, they have my full permission to kill you both. However they choose.’ At this, the Scythians leered evilly, and nausea washed over Carbo again. ‘Is that clear?’
They both shook their heads in agreement.
‘If you prove to be faithful, I will reward you well.’
Carbo’s tongue felt thick in his dry mouth. ‘Thank you,’ he croaked.
‘You won’t regret this, sir,’ said Navio.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Spartacus stepped up and patted his cheek. ‘There’s no need to call me “sir” either. We’re not in the damn legions!’
‘What should I call you?’
‘What everyone else calls me. Spartacus.’ With that he was off, waving at them to follow. ‘Come on. Every hour counts!’
‘I judged you correctly, didn’t I?’ muttered Carbo to Navio.
‘You did,’ said Navio solemnly. ‘I swear before all the gods that I am no spy. I hate Rome with all my heart, and I will do my utmost to help Spartacus. Is that enough?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘It’s I who should be thanking you. Not only did you save my life, but you’ve given me new purpose.’ Navio punched him on the chest. ‘Let’s get a move on. Spartacus is waiting.’
As they walked off, neither could help but notice the two Scythians dogging their footsteps.
It mattered less to Carbo than he’d have thought possible a few moments previously.
Six days later…
Alerted by the hissed warning, Spartacus shinnied up the holm oak tree, climbing from black-barked branch to branch. Halfway up, he found the sentry, a young shepherd who’d recently
joined them. ‘Firmus? Is that your name?’
Firmus beamed at being remembered. ‘Yes, sir.’
Spartacus had given up telling his men not to call him ‘sir’. It made no difference. ‘What have you seen?’
‘A Roman column, sir.’
Spartacus peered through the gap in the leathery, dark green leaves. The tree they were sitting in was situated at the edge of a large, thicketed area about four miles from the base of Vesuvius. The road which led from the Via Appia to the latifundia in the surrounding area ran right through it, making the spot perfect for an ambush. If it was worth doing, thought Spartacus, spotting the column’s dust cloud about half a mile away. They might be completely outnumbered.
When word had come the previous afternoon that the enemy was approaching, he had convened with the three Gaulish leaders. In just five days, Navio’s input had made a noticeable difference to their new recruits’ resolve, but that didn’t mean most wouldn’t cut and run the minute they faced a wall of Roman scuta. Spartacus had argued that using their better-trained recruits — including the gladiators, about thirteen hundred men — in another surprise attack was their best chance of success. The rest would be more risk than they were currently worth. Of course Crixus had argued against his plan, wanting more of a full-scale attack. Thankfully, the others had agreed with Spartacus. It seemed that his idea of using vine ropes and their success in attacking Glaber’s camp still carried some weight.
Newly arrived slaves had reported that the Roman commander had divided his force into three. If this information was incorrect, and Varinius’ entire force of six thousand legionaries was approaching, they’d simply melt away into the bush. Abandon Vesuvius that night, and make for the mountains to the east. From the safety of broken terrain, Spartacus knew that they could serve as a thorn in the Romans’ side for months, if not years. Just as he’d wanted to do in Thrace. Fierce excitement — and pride — gripped him at what he’d achieved thus far. Even when Crixus’ and Castus’ foot-dragging over training were taken into account, the gladiators were in a far stronger position now than they had been when Glaber arrived. Let the slaves’ reports be true, Spartacus asked silently. We face no more than two thousand soldiers under the legate Lucius Furius.