Spartacus

by Robert Southworth

  Spartacus put Cassian from his mind and went and trained. He spent time with Plinius teaching him technique and while he was not showing the boy the art with the sword he had instructed Bull to do so. Spartacus was aware of the optio continually throwing insults Plinius’ way, but the boy seemed oblivious, he was so focussed on learning the sword. It was clear he had a plan and Spartacus guessed it involved the optio and revenge for his brother Aelius. Finally at the end of the day Bull asked.

  ‘So Teres, what is this mission?’

  Spartacus glanced in the direction of Cassian's quarters.

  ‘To be honest Bull, I haven't any idea, but tomorrow I think, will bring news, but I will say this, I will require yourself and Plinius and would be honoured if you were to join me.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ both soldiers snapped to attention.

  ‘No men, I believe this will be dangerous beyond usual soldiering. I ask you not as soldiers but as men, I ask you not to follow me into the depths of hell, but to stand at my side as we cross the threshold, together.’

  As he said these words he held out his hand. Plinius shook the hand of Spartacus, as Spartacus knew he would. Bull stood and grasped Spartacus by the shoulder and said,

  ‘To hell then.’

  Chapter 3

  The training continued over the next few days and it was hard, pushing each man to his very limits. Spartacus was surprised to see how quickly the men were improving. He had thought they would stick to the tried and tested methods of the Roman legions, one which flourished and relied upon endless drill and fighting in formation, but they had grasped that whatever mission they were to embark upon, it would require different skills. This type of warfare required a much greater personal skill, it was a raw, beastlike way of fighting, and where those that had learned best would remain standing, with the foe bloodied and dying in the dirt. Although he had been impressed by the men wanting to learn, he recalled the savagery of the arena in which he had learnt his own trade and he feared few of these men would have lasted long fighting under the sun in the arena at Capua.

  He smiled thinking he was lucky to survive that place and reminded himself it was impossible to second guess who would walk from the arena alive, for a man's desire to survive often outweighed his skills with a weapon. Deep within all men there is a beast which needs only to be set free, and even the most unlikely candidate could become a God amongst the blood and the sand. When victorious he would experience the crowd cheering which enthused the warrior to a point where he almost thought of himself as a God, that is until the next time he stood at the gates waiting for his next bout to begin and the fear began once more to rise within him.

  The days were long and hard and suddenly Spartacus was tired. All his life he had been wielding one weapon or another, fighting enemy after enemy, whether it had been as just a boy when he quarrelled with his father, whose savage tongue was his weapon of choice, or later fighting for Rome against its barbarian enemies, or in the arena against others forced to fight against their will. He didn't join the men that night for feasting and a goblet of wine, and for this he reproached himself, for he needed to know them better, but the spectres of his past were playing heavy upon his heart and mind and all he craved was solitude and sleep.

  Spartacus spent a troubled night, images of those he had lost swimming in and out of his mind's eye, the worst of which his son. The glint of a dagger, the splash of red and gone was that wonderful child who he had loved so deeply and who he had allowed harm to be befall. The shame and grief awoke him, tears rolling from his eyes, mixing with the sweat so common to a disturbed rest. His eyes fixed upon a shadow in the doorway.

  ‘I'm sorry did I wake you?’ The figure spoke and Spartacus realised it was Cassian. He didn't bother to answer the Roman but instead swung his legs from his bed.

  ‘I have brought something for you Spartacus. I hope you will accept it in the manner it is offered.’ There was no confidence in the man's voice, merely a meagre hoping. Spartacus growled.

  ‘What is it?’ The anger of his dreams still haunting him.

  ‘You will need to come with me,’ Cassian said. He didn't wait for a reply, but turned his back and walked from the room.

  Spartacus heaved himself from the bed and slipped on a tunic. Following Cassian from the main buildings he headed towards the babbling brook. He crossed a small wooden bridge and climbed a small hillock which overlooked the brook and surrounding valley. Spartacus spied a small grave which had been installed, marked with a small lantern and which had been topped with a marble stone.

  ‘I brought your son's body back here, and seeing your family enjoyed this area so much I thought, I thought well …it's done.’ Cassian stumbled over his words.

  ‘And this makes your murder of him wash away does it?’ Spartacus tried his best to be angry but, to be honest, he struggled, for his real anger was at himself, for all fathers are duty bound to protect and, no matter how impossible the odds, a failure is still a failure and a source of everlasting shame. Spartacus crossed to the small grave and read the inscription; tears came freely as he begged for forgiveness from his son.

  ‘You know, when Batiatus allowed the champions of Capua to have a single woman to be their mate and no other would be permitted to touch them, I thought it a kind of freedom. Then less than a year later my son Thrax was born. He had the strength of a lion from the first time he grabbed my finger, and for a while we were happy. At night they left the ludus and I stayed, confined to my room. As time went on I spoke to Batiatus about why he had allowed such a freedom to gladiators. He just laughed and said, ‘What freedom? I have chained you and your family to this place forever.’ I looked at my son, then five summers old, and decided he would never live as an ox to serve man. Within the year I was gutting that fat slob Batiatus like a fish.’ Spartacus finished talking and just stared at the grave. Cassian made to move away.

  ‘Wait!’ Said Spartacus. Cassian turned and, for the first time, Spartacus looked straight at him. ‘You have my thanks for this thing you have done.’

  ‘Debts often come in different guises Spartacus,’ and with that Cassian nodded and walked into what remained of the night.

  Spartacus watched him walk away, a mixture of loathing and gratitude gnawed at his insides; this was an uncommon man who left Spartacus feeling bewildered at best.

  Spartacus never returned to his bed that night but instead tended the grave until the call to breakfast. He sauntered down to the kitchens, the previous night's happenings turning over and over in his mind and he didn't regain himself until he met up with the other men. The men had grown accustomed to each other by now and idle chat sparked into life easily. All but the optio joined in, he seemed to resent the comfortable, happy aura that seemed to have developed between his men, but he held back from chastising them too obviously because Spartacus was never far away. It was clear that hatred existed between the two.

  The morning marched on with the men being put through their training. They began with weapon training, not only with swords but with javelins and slings. Spartacus believed it important that the men he would eventually choose should be able to rise and meet any challenge. As the afternoon approached Spartacus ordered the optio to take the men on a run around the villa's grounds, as he did so Cassian hailed him.

  Cassian was seated at a large wooden desk, papers covered the entire surface and, at first, the man looked transfixed by the number of documents. Eventually he looked up, smiled and motioned to Spartacus to take a seat.

  ‘Your training goes well I hear. Have you selected your men yet?’

  ‘Two are with me, I am still reviewing the qualities of the other men,’ Spartacus replied. In truth he had seen little in the other men to fill him with confidence, many were just professional soldiers. They could obey orders all day but ask them to think for themselves and it got tricky. Cassian poured wine for them both and stared, as if in deep contemplation, for a few moments at Spartacus before speaking.

  ‘Tell
me Spartacus, what do you know of Rome, not the city but the people of Rome?’

  ‘I only know of the people who have taken my liberty and order the world to conduct themselves as the Romans do, or meet with the sword and death.’

  ‘That assessment is partly correct, I wish I could sit here and declare some higher purpose, but I cannot. Let me tell you of the real Rome. Some time ago a great general named Sulla ruled Rome with an iron fist. The senators feared him, the plebs only saw a man who gave them great victories. Once Sulla defeated his great rival Marius nobody could stand against his will and Rome was truly a dangerous place to live. Then Sulla died and many thought Rome would cease to be such a sinister place. This, however, was not the case. Since the death of Sulla there has been a power struggle within Rome between those who would gain power, and that battle rages as we speak. Those who don't seek absolute power throw their allegiance behind someone who does, for if you don't have a powerful ally in Rome then you will soon be feeding the carrion.’

  ‘This is all very interesting but what has it to do with me?’ Spartacus interceded.

  ‘To succeed in this mission you will need to understand the type of men you serve and those who will want to stop you at any cost,’ Cassian replied. ‘There are three types capable of gaining power within Rome; firstly those from the position of family and tradition. Few of the Roman hierarchy can claim true Roman status stretching back more than a hundred years. The fact those families have done so shows a quality of survival few can match and, as such, others are keen to join their cause. Second comes military, a successful general will have support of his legions which strikes fear in the heart of most of the nobles and also gains supports from the plebs, who feast on great victories. Thirdly comes wealth, and I mean true wealth. A man who is capable of buying senators will always have power and person to do his bidding. Anyone who fits into these categories has potential to rise to the top and anyone who fits into more than one is almost guaranteed to attempt it.’

  ‘And where do you fit into these categories?’

  Cassian smiled. ‘My grandfather was a Greek merchant. I have never served in the military and I have wealth, but not to the levels required so, like you Spartacus, I do others bidding and, like you, I do so to survive.’ He placed emphasis on the ‘survive’ part of the statement.

  Spartacus never replied but inside he almost laughed. Like me he thought, you are nothing like me.

  ‘Which brings us to the task ahead. One such man who wishes to be the ultimate power in Rome is Marcus Lucinius Crassus, a man who not just fits into the category of those with wealth he practically is the category. Without doubt he is the richest man in Rome and, quite possibly, the world, but as for his military qualities, he has lacked the victories of his rivals. Despite putting your little rebellion down Spartacus, I am sure you will agree his tactics were hardly startling. So the natural thing for his rivals to do is to concentrate on weakening his wealth, for once that has gone his potential to rule has gone.’

  ‘How could this little band do such a thing to such a wealthy man?’ Spartacus queried.

  ‘By removing, step by step, the areas and people who make him wealthy, which is why shortly we will be travelling to Utica, once a great city of the Carthaginian Empire, because at Utica there is a man known as Dido. He is our mission.’

  ‘What we just walk in and cut his throat?’

  Cassian smiled. ‘It would seem an easy solution but one which wouldn't suffice in this instance. Dido is a powerful man in his own right, with not only friends in Carthage but Rome also. You see, Dido controls most of the pirates which operate in Roman waters and therefore, to a certain extent, he controls trade.’

  ‘So why not send in the troops?’

  ‘For two reasons, Dido would know of any impending attack long before the troops would be knocking at his door, and secondly of his friends in Rome they block any call for action. To be fair most of the senate hold coin in their purse from either Crassus or Dido, so that option would never be viable. The only way to prevent Dido from supporting Crassus is to take away Dido's wealth to the point he becomes worthless to Crassus.’

  ‘But how? If you can't kill him or send in the troops?’

  ‘Like I told you before Spartacus, I find the weakness in people, those flaws which expose their own downfall.’ Cassian had a glint in his eyes as he spoke now.

  ‘And this Dido has a weakness?’

  ‘My dear Spartacus, this man has two. He has tried hard to make them work in his favour but weaknesses they remain.’

  ‘Women?’

  ‘Oh no. To be honest I don't think Dido's cloth is cut that way. No, his first flaw is he's a gambler, and when I say gambler, this is gambling on the very edge. The higher the risk, the less he can resist. The second is the arena. He has organised for the last three years a tournament called ‘The Blood of Baal’, where the entrants must pay a king's ransom and have a team of six gladiators just to enter. Each team of six fights each other until the final round when whatever is left of the team will fight Dido's three champions. The winnings are enormous. Dido will always bet huge sums however, because his champions have never been beaten, he has never had to pay up. It is our mission to change that.’

  ‘Our mission?’

  ‘Yes Spartacus, I will travel with you. I have given orders that your family be taken to my home and they will be treated with dignity. They will not be slaves. I have afforded to them the most secure place that I can - with my family. So you see Spartacus, failure is not an option. It will not be long before Crassus knows of what we intend to do and failure will leave us open to his wrath. However, success does not assure our safety but it does keep the support of those I serve.’

  Spartacus thought of the perils ahead and yearned for the days of the arena where there were no politics just blood. You either won or lost. Rome was like a city of mist, the clarity of the road ahead was always unclear, ghostly figures moved in the mist but were they friend or foe? Was it a hand of friendship they held out, or a dagger to cut a throat?

  ‘Crassus will know we are intending to travel soon though, I hope, will not be aware of the destination. He will know I have gathered a great wealth and wagons to load it into and I have gathered some men about me. When we leave Spartacus the route will be as dangerous as the destination and we must be prepared.’

  Chapter 4

  A few weeks passed without interruption. Cassian remained in the villa with Spartacus and the men. He discussed constantly with Spartacus the qualities of each of the men.

  ‘We will need more than the four I asked you to choose.’

  ‘Where are the six men you said were coming to join us?’ Spartacus enquired, he had wondered about this for a number of days but had waited for the right opportunity to raise the subject with Cassian.

  ‘A couple of my farm hands found them yesterday. They were hanging from a large tree which signifies the end of my land. A clear message has been sent, I believe, that Crassus knows we are up to something.’ As he spoke, Spartacus noticed the sure signs of grief creeping into the face of Cassian. He had seen this look many times, a proud man expected to take such things in his stride, never letting such matters bring him down to the level of mere mortals, but the signs were there. The slight quiver of voice and lip, the refusal to look anyone in the eye. This man had suffered a loss.

  ‘You knew them well?’ Spartacus probed, although he did not know why. What did he care for this man's grief? Cassian merely shrugged, a clear attempt at hiding his true feelings.

  ‘Five had worked for me for some time - good men, loyal men.’

  ‘And the other?’

  Cassian raised his head and, for the first time, looked Spartacus squarely in the eyes and Spartacus knew this man was in pain.

  ‘My brother! Crassus has killed my brother.’ It was not screamed or said through sobbing, it was said quietly as if an important duty was being added to a list and in many ways Spartacus believed that is what it was.
Cassian, in that moment, had added Crassus to a list. He continued ‘I believe I under estimated the reaction of our foes in this matter, we will need to take as many men as we can muster for the journey to the coast.’

  ‘As for the men, most are adequate with sword and all have the ability to follow orders,’ Spartacus replied. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ Spartacus added quietly and then moved to join the rest of the men. He was angry at himself for caring enough to say it, why should he care? Hadn't this man ordered the death of his son. Well, if he believed Cassian then that order was not his but from a higher office. So did he believe this Roman, when all Romans he had met thus far had proven to be deceitful? Yet since that very first day Cassian had shown himself to be a man of honour. Spartacus thought the world had gone mad - Romans you could trust, never!

  It was decided over the next couple of days all the legionaries would travel if they so wished. It would be a mission only a volunteer would be expected to embark upon. Each man would receive a small fortune on completion of the mission and given the option to leave the ranks and join normal society. The offer was completely mind blowing to the common soldier, who ordinarily had to serve for many, many years, and the chances of reaching the end of that service without death or serious injury were very slight. Cassian had chosen only men with no families, so to collect the reward you had to survive. If you survived then the mission would have to succeed, for failure meant only the carrion would know your graves.