The Gladiator s-1

by Ben Kane

  ‘Of course they will,’ Gannicus grumbled, but he couldn’t hide his uncertainty.

  Ariadne wanted to speak, but she held her tongue. This was down to the men. To Spartacus.

  Carbo tried to ignore Castus’ unsettling words. Yet the Gaul had a point. He worried that the slaves’ newfound confidence would not be enough. We can’t get away, and we can’t fight them in open battle. He glanced at Atheas, but got no reassurance there. The Scythian’s face was a cold, unreadable mask; Taxacis’ features were a mirror image of this. Carbo wished that he could be so inscrutable.

  ‘The men might not have the martial background you describe, Castus. They aren’t as well equipped as the Romans either. But what they do have’ — Spartacus looked at each of them in turn — ‘is the burning desire to be free! They won’t suffer the ignominy of being enslaved again. Am I not right?’

  ‘You are,’ said Gannicus.

  ‘Yes!’ cried Taxacis.

  ‘Anything… better than ludus,’ growled Atheas. ‘I… die before go back… that shithole.’

  ‘I suppose you could be right,’ Castus admitted.

  ‘That is our secret weapon,’ said Spartacus, feeling encouraged. ‘That is what will win the day for us.’

  ‘But we can’t take on two legions in open battle. Can we?’ cried Carbo, desperate to believe.

  ‘No one asked you to speak.’ Spartacus’ tone was stern. Carbo coloured. ‘For myself, I think that we could fight the whoresons face to face. However, I’ve got a far better idea than that.’

  ‘Tell us,’ urged Gannicus.

  ‘Do you want to know, Castus?’

  ‘By Taranis, I do!’

  ‘While Atheas and Carbo were making their way back, I was checking out the lie of the land around the camp.’ Spartacus winked. ‘It’s a little habit that my father taught me.’

  ‘What did you find?’ asked Carbo eagerly.

  ‘A spot where the road narrows as it passes between two sheer rock faces. At the southern end of the defile is a flattish area that is large enough to hold at least ten thousand troops. I’m going to position our best men there. Another fifteen thousand, under Egbeo and Pulcher, will be hidden in a pair of side valleys. When the enemy scouts arrive in the morning, as surely they must, they’ll go haring back to tell Lentulus the good news that their forces “equal” ours. When the Romans return, we’ll let their cavalry and one legion pass through, but then the men who are waiting on the cliff tops will roll down boulders, killing as many of the scumbags as they can. Their main purpose, however, will be to split Lentulus’ forces in two. Once that happens, the remainder of the army and all of our cavalry will fall on the second legion from behind.’ A feral grin creased Spartacus’ face.

  ‘Where will they hide?’ asked Gannicus.

  ‘In the broken ground on either side of the road. There are hundreds of places to stay out of sight.’

  ‘By all the gods, that sounds good!’ bellowed Gannicus. ‘We’ll give those bastards a surprise they’ll never forget.’

  Carbo was thrilled. Spartacus always has a plan!

  Even Castus looked slightly less dubious.

  Ariadne’s smile was bright, but her nerves were in tatters. The trap was decidedly risky. What if the Roman cavalry got wind of the hidden slaves, or spotted those lying in wait above the defile? Even if the ambush worked, the fighting on either side of the blockage would be absolutely savage. Thousands of men would die. She closed her eyes, asking for Dionysus’ protection, and feverishly hoping that her previous transgressions would continue to go unnoticed. Unpunished. Let Spartacus survive at least.

  ‘Where will you stand?’ enquired Gannicus.

  ‘I shall lead the men who serve as bait for Lentulus,’ answered Spartacus.

  The Gauls looked unsurprised, but a little disappointed.

  ‘Destroying the second legion is just as important as taking on the first. Would you do me that honour?’

  Pride restored, they grinned their acknowledgement.

  Spartacus glanced at Carbo. ‘I need a reliable man to take charge of rolling down the rocks.’

  Carbo couldn’t hide his disappointment that he hadn’t been selected to fight. ‘If you’re sure…’

  ‘I am,’ observed Spartacus firmly. ‘It’s critical that the pass is entirely blocked. Think you can do it?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Carbo fiercely. ‘I’ll do it if it kills me.’ He felt a tinge of panic. ‘When do you want me to begin the barrage?’

  ‘As soon as half the Roman force has come through.’

  ‘How will I know that?’

  ‘Do a rough headcount as they pass below you.’

  ‘Right.’ Carbo’s stomach twisted. The task before him was huge.

  Spartacus appeared not to notice. He gave each man an encouraging smile. ‘Then we have a plan. May the Great Rider ensure its success.’

  As the men drank a toast, Ariadne threw up a fervent prayer, for the favour of one god was not enough. May Dionysus lend his aid too. Even when Ariadne had finished, she felt little better. The deity she followed was renowned for his capricious nature. One tiny slip-up in the morning and the whole ambush could fail.

  For some reason, she couldn’t put that possibility from her mind.

  When Carbo retired that night, he barely slept a wink. The day he’d entered the ludus, he could never have imagined that his path would involve following a runaway gladiator. Yet fate had led to that very end. Since their dramatic escape, events had taken on a life of their own. Spartacus’ growing trust in him had engendered in Carbo a fierce loyalty. It had enabled him to override his worries about fighting his own countrymen. Nonetheless, the idea of ambushing a consul — one of the two most powerful men in the Republic — was still shocking. Carbo tossed and turned on his blanket, trying to reconcile the irreconcilable, and failing. In the dark before dawn, he finally confided in Navio, with whom he was again sharing a tent. ‘If I do this, I can never return to normal life. To simply being a Roman.’

  ‘Eh?’ Navio glanced at him as if he was mad. ‘You can never do that anyway. No more than I can!’

  ‘Why not?’ Carbo didn’t want to admit that he’d already gone too far.

  ‘Think about it.’

  He knew that Navio was right. Nothing would ever be the same again. Even the idea of travelling to Rome in search of his family had palled. His parents would be overjoyed, but he would never be able to reveal to them what he’d done. How could he now become a lawyer, like his self-important uncle? Returning to civilian life anywhere in Italy, which was not that appealing, would also be laced with danger. If anyone got the tiniest whiff of what he’d got up to with Spartacus, he’d be exiled, or worse. Carbo frowned. Where else could he go, but with Spartacus? He gazed at Navio through the gloom. ‘What would we do in Thrace?’

  ‘Who knows? Serve Spartacus. It wouldn’t take him long to carve out a kingdom for himself. I can think of worse things than being part of something like that. It’d beat being ground down by those whoresons in Rome.’

  ‘Leave Italy?’ It felt strange questioning it, given that that had been their aim for months. Yet it was only now beginning to feel real.

  ‘Why would I do anything else?’ hissed Navio. ‘There’s nothing left here for me!’

  ‘I’ll never get my revenge on Crixus.’

  ‘Come on. You knew that when you didn’t attack him at Thurii.’

  Carbo tried to come up with another argument in favour of staying, and failed. ‘You’re right. I’ll go with Spartacus, wherever he leads us.’

  ‘Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,’ warned Navio, punching him on the shoulder. ‘We have a battle to win first! So while there’s time, get some more sleep.’ Pulling up his blanket, he rolled over and was snoring within moments.

  Carbo was envious of Navio’s ability to fall asleep no matter what was going on. There was still little light visible through the leather, but he knew that he wasn’t going to ge
t any more rest. It wasn’t just him, though. He could hear noises from other tents: coughing, snuffling, men whispering to each other. Carbo threw off his blankets. He might as well check over his equipment one last time. No doubt his sword could do with an even keener edge. Tugging up the flap, he was startled to see a figure standing by the remains of their fire. He blinked in surprise. It was Spartacus. He raised a finger to his lips, and so Carbo approached without saying a word.

  ‘Can’t sleep? Neither can I,’ said Spartacus in a low voice.

  ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  Carbo smiled as if it were the most normal thing in the world for his leader to come to his tent in secret. ‘About what?’

  ‘I need to ask you a favour.’

  A favour? Carbo’s heart began to pound.

  ‘There was a reason that I picked you to be in charge of the stones.’

  ‘You think I’m a coward,’ accused Carbo hotly. ‘That I won’t stand and fight.’

  ‘No!’ Spartacus gripped his shoulder. ‘That is so far from the truth. I have seen your courage enough times not to doubt it. And I trust you as I do few others.’ Yet he’s a Roman. The irony was not lost on him.

  ‘Really?’ Carbo’s eyes searched his leader’s.

  ‘Yes. I want you to do something for me. A thing that I would ask no one else. Will you do it?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Carbo instantly.

  ‘If we lose today-’

  ‘We won’t,’ Carbo burst in.

  ‘Your faith in me is encouraging, yet my plan is full of risk. So many things have to fall into place. If just one detail goes wrong, everything will fall apart. If that happens, defeat will lie around the corner. I know this.’

  The truth of Spartacus’ words hung in the air like the stink of a rotting carcass.

  Carbo couldn’t bring himself to argue, so he just nodded.

  ‘If the worst happens, it will be very clear. The moment that you’re sure the battle is lost, I want you to leave your men and return to the camp. Go to my tent, and find Ariadne. Atheas will be there, guarding her. He knows that you’re to take charge. You’re to lead her away from here. To safety.’

  Carbo was awestruck by the responsibility he’d just asked to accept. Grief thickened his throat at the mere idea of it. If this duty ever came to pass, Spartacus would be dead. Dead. Like Chloris.

  ‘Here.’

  Numbly, Carbo accepted the heavy leather pouch Spartacus handed him.

  ‘There’s enough in there to keep you all for a year, maybe longer.’

  ‘Where do you want me to go?’

  Spartacus gave a bitter chuckle. ‘Anywhere, as long as it’s safe. Find a little town on the coast of Illyria, or maybe in Greece. Live a quiet life. I want to know that my son grew up under your guidance and Atheas’ protection.’

  ‘Your son? Ariadne is…’

  ‘Yes, she’s with child. Do you understand now why your task is so important?’

  ‘Yes,’ Carbo whispered.

  ‘So, will you do it?’

  Carbo was staggered by the tone of humility in Spartacus’ voice. This was no order, but a heartfelt request from one man to another. ‘Of course! If the worst happens, Ariadne will be saved. I swear it!’

  ‘Thank you. That makes my load lighter.’ Spartacus squeezed his shoulder once, hard. ‘Tell no one of this, obviously.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Good.’ His teeth flashed in the darkness. ‘Now, we’d best get ready, eh? There will be many thousands of Romans to kill. I’ll see you when it’s all over.’

  ‘Yes.’

  With that, Spartacus was gone, slipping off into the gloom like a wraith.

  Gods, let us meet again.

  ‘Who was that?’ Navio’s head popped out of the tent.

  ‘Egbeo,’ Carbo lied. ‘He wanted to know how many men I was taking to the cliffs.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ grunted Navio. ‘It’s more bloody, but I’d rather stick a sword in a man’s guts than crush him like a beetle underfoot.’

  Carbo smiled, but all his thoughts were on his secret mission. By choosing him, Spartacus had shown him great honour. Yet it was a duty that he did not want, because if it came to pass, the man he idolised would be dead. Jupiter, Greatest and Best, he prayed desperately. Whatever happens, let us win. Grant us victory!

  Carbo was used to the silence that met his requests of the gods, but this time it resounded in his head like the emptiness of a stone dropped into a bottomless well.

  They moved out soon after, while the sun was still below the horizon. Clouds of exhaled breath filled the cold air as Carbo’s troops tramped through the darkness. It wasn’t more than a mile to the spot that Spartacus had ordered them to, which lent a palpable air of anticipation to the march. Although there was no pressing need yet to remain quiet, the men’s conversations were held in muttered tones. Working from the description he’d been given, Carbo led his force, some two hundred strong, northwards up a slope between groups of twisted junipers and sturdy holm oak trees. The vegetation gradually died away, leaving exposed great slabs of rock that were covered in rosettes of grey-green lichen.

  They had climbed a short distance when the stone opened up in a gaping chasm. It stretched from left to right for some distance and was about twenty score paces across. Carbo walked up to the edge, and looked down. The drop was precipitous. Cursing, he took a step backwards. The wind that gusted to and fro here could easily sweep a man to his death. Lying down, he crawled to the lip with a great deal more caution. The view was breathtaking. At least five hundred paces below, the thin ribbon that was the road threaded its way along the valley floor. The only sign of life was a pair of ravens that were chattering noisily to each other as they banked and turned on the early-morning air currents.

  Carbo’s gaze flickered from side to side, assessing the best spot for the ambush. Unsurprisingly, his eyes focused on the narrowest part of the gorge. There the two sides were little more than a good spear’s throw apart. He made his mind up at once. Anything that was dropped from that point could not fail to strike anyone on the road. A roseate glow to the east told him that dawn was approaching. Time was of the essence. Carbo began issuing orders.

  The physical labour that followed filled him with relief. Finally, he was able to put what he’d been asked to do from his mind. Even the thought of killing hundreds of his fellow countrymen was better than thinking about Spartacus lying bloodied and still on the field below. If he died, Carbo did not know how he would bear it.

  Chapter XXI

  Spartacus eyed the sky, which was filled with dark, lowering thunderclouds. It wouldn’t be long until the heavens opened. At this altitude, it wouldn’t be surprising if the precipitation fell as hail, or even snow. He wasn’t the only one to have noticed. Men were casting nervous eyes upwards, and whispering unhappily to each other. Damn it all. The weather’s been fine for weeks. Why does it have to change now? Spartacus refused to countenance what his troops were thinking: that the gods were angry. The plan is good. It will work. Those were the words that Ariadne had whispered in his ear as he’d left her in the camp.

  All the same, their fates hung by the slimmest of threads. He would have to move among the men now or panic would spread. And the damn rain had to hold off, or there might be no battle. The enemy scouts had been and gone some time before. By now, Lentulus knew where they were. Yet if the ground was going to be reduced to a mud-soaked swamp, he’d probably choose not to advance. Only a fool chose to fight in such treacherous conditions, and Spartacus doubted that a man who’d become consul fell into that category. Let’s hope that Lentulus is possessed of the same arrogance that I saw in Crassus. Spartacus was relying on that overweening Roman sense of superiority: that despite hearing of his successes, Lentulus would refuse even to entertain the notion that he, a renegade gladiator, would be capable of more than the most primitive battle plan. With his men in plain sight, what el
se could he be trying here but a full-blown battle?

  It will work, Spartacus told himself. Carbo will succeed in blocking the gorge. His men would hold before the savagery of the Roman assault. Pulcher and Egbeo would fall on the Romans like Vulcan’s hammers. Castus’ and Gannicus’ forces would also prevail. Squaring his shoulders, Spartacus strode out in front of his troops. They bellowed their love for him, and he raised his arms in recognition of it. As the noise abated, he told them of their bravery in following him from the ludus or in running away from their masters. He praised their efforts during the arduous training, the sweat they’d shed and the hardships they had endured beneath Navio’s iron discipline. ‘For a Roman, he’s not bad,’ Spartacus shouted, and they roared with laughter.

  The tension eased a little, and he paced to and fro, reminding them of each incredible victory that they’d won. How, despite being betrayed, he and seventy-odd men had broken out of the ludus. How the impossible task of defeating three thousand soldiers had been achieved by climbing down a cliff and causing panic in Glaber’s camp. How they’d repeated their success against first Furius, and then Cossinius. As if that wasn’t remarkable enough, they had given Varinius the slip, and when he had finally found them at Thurii, they had virtually annihilated his entire command. Although the fool had survived, the Senate had ordered him to fall on his sword when he’d brought the news of his disgrace to Rome.

  The yells of delight grew louder and louder with every detail.

  Spartacus encouraged his men with fierce waves of his arms. They’d need every scrap of self-belief possible in the fight to come.

  The clamour abated gradually, and he glanced up. Miraculously, the black clouds had moved on without drenching them. The rain or hail would now fall on the peaks to the south, he judged. Thank you, Great Rider. He drew his sword and pointed it at the sky. ‘Look! The gods’ favour is still with us! The storm is passing.’

  ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’ cried a voice.

  ‘I try my best, Aventianus,’ Spartacus replied with a wink. Hoots of amusement rose from his men. What perfect timing. I must thank Aventianus afterwards. Instantly, doubt flared up in his mind. Don’t tempt fate. I’ll tell him if he survives. If I survive.